"And do all the heavy lifting myself?" Beck shook his head. "No. We do this together."
Sweat beaded over her brow and upper lip, even dripped down her nape, which was odd since ice crystals had sprouted inside her veins. "I'm just... I'm not going in there. Okay?"
"What, you don't want to be seen with me?" He arched a brow at her. "What if I promise to make it worth your while?"
He didn't understand. A guy like him, so blessed in every area of his life, would never understand.
She backed away from him, saying, "I'm sorry, Beck, but I just remembered I'm needed at work. Private party." She turned and rushed away, never looking back.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE NEXT DAY, Beck had a meeting in Oklahoma City. He decided to use the opportunity to find a new distraction.
He'd tossed and turned all night, his mind a volcano of activity. He knew he wasn't good enough for long-term anything with anybody, but Harlow had taken it to a whole other level by refusing to be seen in public with him. She'd actually run away from him.
He wished he'd never seen the photos of her, wished he'd never spied her across the road yesterday, looking adorable with dirt streaked on her cheeks and arms, her hair so black it gleamed blue in the sunlight, her skin rosy, the smattering of freckles more evident than usual. She'd been fan-freaking-tastically adorable. A Country Girl Gone Wild fantasy he hadn't known he'd had.
Her white shirt had been so thin, so damp with perspiration, he'd seen the outline of her bra. A sensible white cotton somehow sexier than red lace just because it nestled against her. It hadn't helped when her nipples puckered before his eyes.
Desire for her had come swift and sharp, strong enough to make him crazy, to make him pant like a dog. His mouth had watered at the thought of tasting her, and his hands had itched to touch her. If she'd given him any encouragement at all, he would have gladly spent the rest of the day feasting on her.
But she hadn't encouraged him, and now he was glad. Harlow Glass was nothing like the women he usually pursued; she wasn't looking for a good time, and she wouldn't go quietly in the morning. She'd already expressed curiosity about his past and would have demanded stories about his childhood as soon as she'd told stories about her own.
She was a complication he didn't need, so, he'd find someone else. Easily. And he'd do it today.
The pencil in his hand snapped in half.
Dane Michaelson's newest assistant... Sarah? Samantha? Whatever. She rushed over to pick up the pieces and give him a new one. He looked her over. She was understated but pretty, with brown hair and piercing green eyes. Not that it mattered. A woman was a woman. And he could have this one. She would take him however she could get him, and for the few hours he spent between her legs, he could fool himself into believing everything was okay. No thoughts. No problems. No worries, he reminded himself. Only pleasure.
He smiled at her, and she smiled back. Good. This was good. This was familiar.
"That will be all, Sasha," Dane said. "Thank you."
She sauntered out of the office, casting Beck a final peek over her shoulder. He winked at her.
"You surprise me. Flirting? At a business meeting?" Dane sat across from him, relaxed behind an elaborate desk constructed from salvaged wood. For a billionaire oil tycoon, he was absurdly young. Twenty-eight, Beck's age. They'd known each other for...what? Close to six years now? Though they'd merely traded phone calls up until recently.
The guy had grown up in Strawberry Valley and even though he'd moved to the big, bad city for a number of years, he'd never been able to cut ties with his hometown, even tattooing his arms with wild strawberries.
"And now you ignore me," Dane muttered. "We've been sitting in silence for a full ten minutes. You want to tell me about the new security program or not? That is the reason you're here, isn't it?"
"We both know you're going to buy it no matter what I say. West does quality work and you won't find a better system anywhere else."
"Can we at least pretend to negotiate?"
"No. I'd rather talk about Harlow Glass. Do you know her?" Damn it. What happened to washing his hands of her?
What the hell made her so special? Yes, he'd seen pictures of her during childhood. Yes, he had an insane need to know more about the girl she'd been and the woman she'd become. But this seeming obsession with her did not fit his character.
"Know?" Dane said. "No. Know of? Yes. She went from shy and sugar-sweet to barbwire-mean overnight, eventually becoming the meanest girl in elementary school." He worked his jaw. "She used to make Kenna cry."
Kenna, Dane's fiancee, was as tough as nails, so it was hard to imagine her breaking down, and equally hard to imagine Harlow the wannabe stripper as a school-yard terror. But then, most people probably didn't look at him and see a murderer.
Dane eyed him thoughtfully. "Why the interest in her?"
"She and I have unfinished business." He offered no more, his feelings too personal--too raw. "What else do you know about her?"
"Not much. I once overhead Kenna and Brook Lynn talking about her, and from what I gathered, she dropped out of public school her junior year in favor of being homeschooled and after that, she rarely left her house." Dane leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen against the edge of his desk. "I must admit, your curiosity surprises me more than anything else."
"Why?"
"For the first time in our history, you've turned a business meeting into a personal gabfest."
He had, hadn't he? Damn it! It was a small change, but a change nonetheless.
He adjusted his tie before standing a little too swiftly. "All right. Meeting adjourned. I'll tell West you want his new program as soon as possible, and you'll be paying full asking price."
"You could at least give me the friendship discount."
"Full asking price is the friendship discount. Everyone else will have to pay double." He strode out of the office before he did something stupid, like ask more questions about Harlow.
The assistant spotted him and leaped to her feet, smoothing her skirt. "Leaving so soon, Mr. Ockley?"
Not just the perfect distraction, he decided, but the perfect means to an end. Harlow wasn't anything special to him, and she wouldn't usher in any more changes; he would prove it. "Now that my eyes are on you," he said, leaning against the counter in front of her, "leaving is the last thing on my mind."
She batted her lashes at him, playfully twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. "Thank you. I'm flattered."
"Then I'm pleased." But was he? He'd said the words by rote, with a definite lack of enthusiasm. Where was his enjoyment? His sense of victory?
Or was this yet another change to place at Harlow's door?
"Will you have dinner with me?" he asked, his hands fisting.
Green eyes widened, a cherry-red mouth forming a small O. "I... Yes. When?"
"How about tonight? The sooner I see you again the better." That he meant with every fiber of his being.
She practically hummed with excitement as she rattled off her digits.
"I'll be counting the minutes."
By the time Beck made it home, the farmhouse was empty. West was at the office, while Brook Lynn and Jase were out delivering sandwiches for her catering business, You've Got It Coming.
Beck threw his briefcase on his bedroom floor and sank into the chair in front of his desk, where pictures of Harlow were scattered. He went still. Sad ocean-water eyes stared up at him, holding his gaze captive, silently beseeching him to help...to save. His gut knotted. He was no one's savior. He was too screwed up.
Look at him. He bounced from moment to moment without any thought for the future. He broke into a sweat at the mere thought of commitment. He had an all-consuming hatred for change. His first sexual experience had been with a married maternal figure. He'd helped kill a man in a fistfight, and then allowed his best friend to rot in prison for nine years.
Beck anchored his elbows on his knees and rested his head in
his upraised hands. Clearly he needed someone to save him.
As if he could be saved.
But...maybe it wasn't too late for Harlow. While he wasn't a savior, there were things even a guy like him could do to help. Like set her up financially, maybe even move her into the city where she wouldn't be reviled at every turn. And bonus for him: she would be out of sight, out of mind.
Yes. He picked up the landline and started making calls, putting the wheels in motion to set up a trust in Harlow's name, telling his real estate agent what kind of home to search for in Oklahoma City. Then he called West.
"You in front of a computer?" he asked in lieu of a greeting.
"Are you a top contender for banging the most women in any given year?"
"I'll take that as a yes. Work your magic and tell me how Harlow Glass has been making money." To survive as long as she had, she had to be bringing in a little cash from somewhere.
"All right." Fingers click-clacked over a keyboard, one minute bleeding into another. "Okay, this is strange."
"What?"
"My superpower is finding information--nice trust you're setting up for her, by the way--but I can't locate Harlow's place of employment. Or where she's been staying. She has no known address and hasn't paid taxes. She has zero credit cards and no checking account. She doesn't have a tag registered for a vehicle."
Damn. "Thanks, West."
"Anytime, my man. Sorry I couldn't be of more help."
"No worries. Just...do me a solid and keep digging." He hung up, mind racing. Where the hell was Harlow staying? How was she getting around? How was she eating?
The answer to that last one seemed an unequivocal she wasn't, and for a moment, his vision went black, rage boiling to the surface. No one should have to live that way, and whether Harlow liked it or not, he wasn't going to stand for it in her case.
*
LATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Beck was ready for a straitjacket and a padded room. They'd make a nice vacation. Harlow hadn't shown up to work on the garden that morning, and he'd had no luck finding her in town. He'd asked around, but no one had seen her. A couple of people had offered to round up a lynch mob and go hunting for her, and he'd had to curb the urge to respond with his fists. She seemed to have disappeared into the ether.
Now he racked the balls on one of the most expensive pool tables ever made, the outer shell a limited edition 1965 Shelby GT 350. Normally he took great care with every inch of it. My precious. Today, he wanted to rip out the felt and pull the metal and wood apart piece by piece.
His date with Sandra...Sally?...could have made a Worst Ever list. He'd thought about Harlow all evening, wondering where she was and what she was doing. Frustrated with the lack of answers, he'd turned up the heat with S girl until she'd practically begged him to stay the night at her place. There was no better distraction than sex, but as she'd undressed, his mind had returned to Harlow yet again. He'd thought of the nice steak dinner he'd just enjoyed and wondered if she'd had any dinner at all.
Little surprise he'd failed to get an erection while a beautiful woman writhed on his lap.
He'd left without doing the deed, and the humiliation still lingered.
"Your turn," Jase said, snapping fingers in front of his face.
Beck swiped up his cue and nearly broke the wood in two, so tight was his grip.
"Careful. What's with you?"
"I'm fine." No way he'd dump his problems in Jase's lap. The guy had carried too many burdens for too long. Beck would die before he added another.
"Don't lie. Not to us."
The statement came from West, who rose from the bench press Jase had installed earlier in the week. Though he'd built a workout room in the back of the house, more and more equipment was migrating into other areas of the house, allowing anyone in the mood to exercise to spend time with those who weren't.
Dark locks of hair were plastered to West's face, and he used the shirt he'd discarded to wipe his brow. Sweat dripped down the ropes of muscle and sinew in his chest, bypassing his only tattoo: the name Tessa etched over his heart.
He snatched the cue from Beck. "Bad boys don't get to play the greatest game ever invented."
At six-two--two inches taller than Beck--West was his staunchest competition in the meat market. Not that they'd ever competed. West only dated for two months out of the year, picking one female and staying with her the entire time, only to dump her for some made-up reason when the clock zeroed out.
He had his reasons, so Beck didn't fault him. "Okay, all right." Beck held up his hands, palms out. "You got me. I'm not fine, but I will be. There's no need to worry."
"We'll worry if we want to worry," Jase said. "We haven't seen you this worked up since you went parking with Kara Bradburry in the tenth grade."
West barked out a laugh. "Dude. You were so nervous, shaking so hard, you couldn't even unhook her bra."
At the time, his only experience had come from a woman more than twice Kara's age, who'd told him what to do every step of the way.
Great. Now he needed a drink.
He grabbed a beer from the minifridge and downed half. "Like you guys did any better with your dates." Back then, the three of them had seen nothing wrong with semipublic make-out sessions, because they were teenagers and teenagers were stupid, the males most of all; they had two brains and the one down south usually made the most important life decisions. It went something like: Her. Her. Not her--fine, she'll do.
West lined up a shot and with his gaze on Beck, sank a solid in the corner pocket. "Let me guess. This is about Harlow Glass."
Just the mention of her name proved last night's limp-wood experience had been an anomaly, and it pissed him off as much as it relieved him.
"She's pretty," Jase said, his tone conversational.
Pretty? Like calling an ocean a puddle. "She's gorgeous."
West straightened and grinned. A genuine grin, and it was good to see. The past few weeks had been rough for him, the anniversary of Tessa's death taking a toll. "Are you about to wax poetic about Harlow? Because I don't have bad poetry penciled into my schedule."
West lived by the clock, and if he had his way, he would die by it, too.
"I wax poetic about nothing," Beck said. "Except pie. And cake. Maybe cookies in a pinch, but that's only on a case-by-case basis. Anything with raisins should be stuffed in a box and delivered to hell with Return to Sender stamped over the top."
Jase snickered. "How's this for poetry? 'Roses are red, violets are blue. Beck wants Harlow, I know this to be true.'"
Beck, in the process of lifting the bottle to his mouth, went still, nearly swept away by a tide of shock. Jase hadn't cracked a joke in damn near forever, and until that moment, Beck hadn't realized how much he'd missed the playful side of his friend.
"Beck, my man," Jase said, frowning at him. "Don't look at me like I'm some kind of mythical creature. Not after I told you to let go of the past. I have."
"I know. I'm sorry. I freaking love you, that's all." Beck set his beer aside and swiped his cue from West. He lined up his own shot...and like a loser, failed to sink a solid. Usually he could win the game blindfolded with both hands tied behind his back.
Yes, he was that good.
"I freaking love you, too." Jase patted him on the shoulder before going for one of the only remaining stripes. "But I still want you to admit you're into Harlow."
Guy didn't know his own strength and nearly pounded Beck into the floor, but damn if Beck didn't adore every second of it, the affectionate gesture somehow drilling through all kinds of dark emotion.
"I'm into her, okay," he said. "Happy now? I'm curious and concerned about her. I can't get her out of my head."
"Well, that's new," West said.
"You're telling me. But she wants nothing to do with me."
"Dude. You sound just like Jase when he first met Brook Lynn." West hit another shot and of course, two solids flew into their slots. "You're all 'woe is me' with zero nut power.
Just suck it up and make a play for her. She'll fold. They always do."
Maybe. But then what? He would casually mention he planned to finance the rest of her life, before walking away from her? He would forget her like all the others and move on to his next conquest, his next moment?
That was where things got tricky. He didn't want to forget her. He wanted to hang around her, wanted the right to check on her anytime the urge hit, to make sure she had everything she needed... Damn it, he wanted the right to protect her.
Protect someone other than himself? Please.
The ache in his chest returned, a pesky fly he couldn't kill. He wanted her to have what he never would: a happily-ever-after. But as he well knew, money and security could only do so much. Women like her usually wanted more. They dreamed of falling in love, connecting emotionally as well as physically. Something he'd never done and wasn't even sure he could do.
He saluted his friends with the beer bottle, then drained the contents.
Jase took pity on him and changed the subject. "You'll be pleased to know Brook Lynn has claimed responsibility for the soccer banquet."
"We're in good hands, then." The best. For the past eight years, Beck and West had financed and coached a soccer team for underprivileged kids, always ending a season with a big blowout celebration. While they loved the interaction, they hated the planning.
"Brook Lynn is pretty much a unicorn at the end of a double rainbow," West said. "And since we're on the subject of parties, I should warn you. I got a call from Charlene Burns. She's in charge of the annual Berryween Festival, some kind of Strawberry Valley play on Halloween. She asked us to set up a booth."
"For?" Beck asked.
"Kissing. And if not that, anything we want."
"Someone doesn't know us very well," Jase said. "Otherwise she would have given us a ten-page list of restrictions. To start."
"I told Charlene we wouldn't be setting up our own booth, but we would be happy to pay for all the booths," West said, "as long as You've Got It Coming is allowed to cater the event exclusively."
Jase gave West a pat--drill--on the shoulder. "Good man."
West tried to play it cool, but his ear-to-ear smile gave him away. "You're just now noticing? You kind of suck."
The front door creaked open and closed, a patter of footsteps soon following. "Jase?" Brook Lynn called.
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