Gambling on a Secret

by Ellwood, Sara Walter

  He’d never hear from Miss Charlotte Monroe again. He turned the flask up again to his lips. Through the Colton Grapevine down at the Longhorn Saloon, he’d heard she was something to see, but they hadn’t done her justice.

  She’d been one hot number standing there with orange-painted toenails shoved into the craziest sky-high heels he’d ever seen. With the way the brown miniskirt showed off legs going on forever and the fantastic view of her full breasts the tight blue-green sweater gave him, she should have been on a magazine cover, not standing in knee-high weeds.

  She was a freaking college kid. What the hell was she doing owning a ranch? She wanted to raise beef? He snorted and took another pull on the flask. Hell, she was more likely to end up making pets out of the calves, and whine when she broke a fingernail.

  Shaking his head to dispel all thought of the aquamarine-eyed redhead, he leaned back against the worn leather seat.

  Was he really this much of a coward to face his baby sister? He’d faced Taliban, Al-Qaeda and Iraqi insurgents. What happened to the guy who’d killed a drug lord with his bare hands in the jungles of South America?

  He cursed under his breath, drained the flask dry and prayed Tracy would be too busy to notice him sneaking in the back door of the salon. He needed another drink.

  When he opened the back door, a whiff of perm solution and hair dye burned his eyes, and the whiskey in his belly churned. Holding his breath against the stink and the urge to puke, he attempted to sneak by Tracy’s office door to the stairs.

  “How’d it go?” his sister called out.

  Damn his fucked-up luck.

  He stopped, drew in a deep breath, and wished he hadn’t when his gut spasmed. He peeked around the doorframe into the small office. As usual, everything in the room was organized and neatly arranged. He shrugged and mumbled, “Don’t know. Okay, I guess. Her hands are full with that dump.”

  Tracy pulled off her reading glasses and looked up at him. “So, what’s she like?”

  Prickly as a cactus. Why was Charli Monroe getting under his skin? She seemed insecure in the way she’d hugged herself and kept her distance. Although she’d tried hard not to show her fear of him, he’d seen a similar reaction before in the abused young women he and his team had liberated in a mountainous camp in Afghanistan.

  He shoved those observations to the back of his mind as he raked his fingers through his hair. “Charlotte Monroe is young. The place cost a small fortune, so she obviously has more money than brains. No one in their right mind would have paid the asking price.”

  Tracy leaned back in her office chair. “I heard today she’d only lived with her grandfather for the last couple of years before he died. Supposedly, she was in Las Vegas before moving to Oklahoma.” She shook her head. “Can’t imagine that, though. Mrs. Cartwright says she’s only twenty-four, but I guess living in Vegas would explain her expensive city-slicker duds.”

  “Who cares?” He sure as hell didn’t, so he turned away. “I’m going upstairs.”

  “Did you get the job?” Tracy asked just as coolly, before he could limp to the stairs.

  “Monroe said she’ll call if she’s interested.” He wouldn’t lose any sleep waiting up for the phone call.

  “You showed up, didn’t you? I know you ditched the last three interviews I set up for you.”

  He mumbled a vile curse he’d learned as a teen living in Germany and climbed the stairs to the apartment.

  Tracy followed him into the galley kitchen. “Dylan, I can’t take this anymore. You need to get a job and your own place.”

  He pulled a beer from the refrigerator. “I’m trying, sis.”

  “It’s been a year since you were injured,” Tracy said from the doorway. “You need to do something.”

  “I help with the bills.” It wasn’t his fault his disability payments were a pittance, or that Brenda had blown all of his savings before dumping him.

  “I don’t care about the money. I hate seeing you like this, and I don’t like Bobby being around you when you’re drunk. You need help. Zack Cartwright told me today about a group meeting–you know like Alcoholics Anonymous but for vets with posttraumatic stress disorder–over at the VA hospital in Waco. Zack said meetings like those helped him after he got back.”

  He peered at Tracy. The wateriness of her gray eyes should have bothered him, but it didn’t. “Good for Sheriff Cartwright. But I’m not going to any damned meetings where everyone cries on each other’s shoulder.”

  “Why don’t you make an appointment–”

  “I’m not going back to the fucking shrink. I’m not crazy.”

  Tracy thrust out an exasperated breath. “Okay. But sitting here all day drinking yourself senseless won’t help you get your life back.”

  “I told you I’ll find work and a place of my own.” Someday.

  Setting her jaw, she lifted her chin a notch. “I’m worried about you. You’re so different now.” She paused and shook her head. “Okay, you don’t want to go to the VA. Maybe you should see if Dad could get you a job with Homeland Security. You’d be good there with all of your experience with the Army. If nothing else, it would get you away from here and memories of Brenda.”

  “No.” He turned away and drained most of the Budweiser.

  “You’d have veteran’s preference. Mom told me so. Why won’t you even try?”

  Shit, now she had their mother involved. “Because I refuse to be under a microscope.” He pinned her with a glare over his shoulder. After the botched mess he’d made of his last mission, it was a miracle he hadn’t been court-martialed, and a goddamned shame Congress pinned a Purple Heart on him. It made him sick to think he got it because he was General Bob Quinn’s son. The last thing he wanted was his father pulling strings with his buddies in the higher echelon of government to get him a cushy job.

  “I don’t want to work for the government.”

  Tracy bit her bottom lip as he passed her to go into the living room.

  “By the way, I’d appreciate it if the next time you set up a job interview for me, you don’t mention Oak Springs Ranch again.” His feet felt heavy as he turned to face her, tripping him up. He grabbed the back of the couch to keep his balance.

  Tracy averted her eyes and folded her arms over her chest. “I know you don’t like Leon, but your experience working on the ranch was information Miss Monroe needed to know. When I was over at Oak Springs for dinner last night, Leon asked me to tell you to stop by.”

  “Hell will freeze over before I set foot on that ranch.” He took a draw on the Budweiser. “So, did you see our step-grandmother off on her next great adventure? Greece this time, right?”

  Tracy narrowed her eyes at him and pulled herself to her full height, which put her eye-to-eye and nose-to-nose with his six feet. “Have some respect. Maddie was married to our grandfather longer than our real grandmother was. She really cares about us.”

  He snorted and finished the beer. “Yeah, sure she does, as long as Mom was cut out of everything when Granddad died, and her son got it all.”

  “Uncle Leon would give you a job and a place to stay.”

  “That thief is not our uncle any more than that gold digger is our grandmother.” He bit the words out between clenched teeth and took an unsteady step toward her.

  Tracy moved back.

  He didn’t care she was afraid of him when he was drunk. “Leon stole our mother’s land and took away our birthright. Oak Springs Ranch should be ours!”

  Tracy shook her head, tossed her hands in the air, and walked away. “I have a customer in a few minutes.” She glanced over the living room. “Clean up this pigpen before Bobby comes home from school.”

  Every thump of her steps hurrying down the stairs echoed through his head like a drum in a rock band. He tossed the empty beer can toward the trashcan by the computer desk. The can missed its mark by more than five feet, and the momentum of tossing it knocked him off balance.

  He fell hard against the corne
r of the couch on the hip that metal and plastic had replaced after a piece of shrapnel had blown it apart. Cursing, he flipped over onto the seat and laid his head back. He squeezed his eyes shut. The white-hot pain searing through him reminded him of the flaming shards of metal and glass that tore through his men. Why the hell had he trusted the damned Afghani woman and her lies? He’d never be the man he was before he’d gotten his men killed.

  He wasn’t drunk enough to kill the pain or drown the memories or the dreams. But neither Brenda nor his last mission drifted through the fog of booze when he passed out. Charli Monroe’s sexy orange toenails and the ghosts he’d seen swimming in her ocean-like eyes shimmered to life.

  Chapter 2

  The Longhorn Saloon was always crowded on Friday nights and tonight was no exception. The place tried to capture the flavor of the Old West, but mostly it reminded Dylan of every other honky-tonk he’d ever stepped foot in. Old sawdust and peanut shells covered the floor. The place smelled of stale liquor, sweat, smoke and fry grease.

  As he pulled his old felt hat low over his forehead, he weaved his way past the mechanical bull and the jukebox. On the dance floor, an energetic group of locals and college kids were attempting to follow Ella Larson’s cowboy boots as she scooted and boogied across the worn hardwood to Brooks and Dunn.

  He headed for his favorite corner booth to find two barely legal boys sitting there. He pinned the college kids with his best tough-guy scowl. They got up and left so fast they had to stop and go back for their beers.

  After sliding into the booth, he didn’t have to wait long for Ella’s younger sister, Julie, to come forward with a bottle of his usual. He handed her his credit card to cover the tab.

  He’d thrown back a couple shots of Jack Daniels when a group of college kids shoved into the booth across from him. From the wild look in one of the boy’s eyes, it had to be his first time in a bar.

  Julie stopped by the table, checked their IDs and took their orders. He couldn’t help but overhear the blonde, pressed up close to the wide-eyed boy, telling Julie today was his twenty-first birthday. After several minutes of teasing by the other boy, and giggles from the two girls in the group, Julie went to the bar to put in their orders.

  Their drinks arrived and they toasted Birthday Boy with more laughter.

  He didn’t need this crap. Looking around, he found an empty spot at the bar and reached for his bottle.

  Blondie next to Birthday Boy said, “Guess what Charli Monroe’s doing tonight.”

  He slid a sideways glance at the table of kids, set the bottle down and stayed glued to the cracked vinyl.

  The girl across from her laughed. “Oh, I can only imagine. She’s in my psych class. I bet she’s studying.”

  “Yep.” Blondie played with the fruit balls in her prissy drink.

  The boy beside the psychology girl lifted his beer and smirked. “She’s one hot number. I’ve thought about asking her out, but something about her is just strange.”

  Psychology Girl, who looked too much like the boy sitting beside her to not be his sister, laughed. “I have to agree. She’s weird. I don’t think she even has any friends. She’s been at Colton College since the beginning of the semester, and I’ve never seen her hang out with anyone. No wonder she’s all the teachers’ pet. As if the way she dresses wouldn’t be enough to get their attention, she’s a damned brainiac, and rich.”

  Dylan downed another shot of whiskey. His interview had been over a week ago. Charli Monroe hadn’t called. No surprise there. Tracy was hounding him again to crawl to Leon Ferguson for a job. Lucifer would sit on the left hand of God before that happened.

  When two familiar couples came into view, he was pouring another shot. His hand shook as he set the bottle on the table with a bang. What was his ex doing in here? At the sight of the skinny geek, Nick Dailey, with Brenda, he gritted his teeth as fire spread up his neck.

  He had hated the pencil-neck geek since meeting him at a Christmas party a month before he’d shipped out to Afghanistan. Brenda, an English teacher, had become best friends with the science teacher after he started working at Killeen High School.

  Nicky pulled out a chair. How long had his wife screwed around behind his back with her BFF before she ended up pregnant?

  Brenda smiled up at her new husband before sitting. Nick took the chair next to her as Brenda’s sister and her husband sat across from them. A few minutes later, Julie came over to take their orders.

  Once the waitress left, he slid out of the booth. Somewhere in the fog clouding his good sense, he knew he shouldn’t, but he was spoiling for a fight.

  He half-limped, half-staggered to stand at the end of the square table.

  Brenda’s dark eyes widened when she noticed him. “Dylan?”

  “Forgotten me already, Brenda?”

  Sitting across from Brenda, her brother-in-law scowled. “I think you should walk away now.”

  “Howdy, Mike. Interesting that you have to stand up for your wife’s sister, while her new husband sits there scared shitless.” He nodded his head at the near replica of his ex-wife next to Mike. “Carrie.”

  “Leave now,” Brenda growled.

  “I’m crushed.” He put his hat on his head to free up his hands. “I wasn’t invited to the weddin’. I heard all about it, though. Gotta love the Colton Grapevine. Was it as nice as ours?”

  She glared up at him. Her chest rose and fell in rapid breaths. “It was better, actually. The Country Club was remodeled since our wedding.”

  “That’s something, I guess. Baby Geek doin’ okay?” he asked, referring to Brenda’s baby with Nick.

  Brenda’s plump red lips twisted into a cold smile. “He’s doing exceptionally well,” she said a little too sweetly. “We figure he’ll make a great scholar someday. Strive for world peace, unlike the barbarians in your family.”

  He let the jab go regarding the Quinns’ long military history, and moved around the table. He rested his palms on the table and leaned over them.

  Nick pressed away, and his face lost most of its color.

  “So, Nicky, how do you like sleeping in another man’s bed? Livin’ in another man’s house? Oh, wait, that’s right, you were makin’ a baby with my wife while I was in Afghanistan getting blown up.”

  “Quinn.” Brenda’s brother-in-law stood, and Dylan straightened. Mike was taller by two inches, but he wasn’t worried. He easily out-bulked the man by twenty pounds. “If you don’t leave–”

  Nick sprung from his chair. “If you want a piece of me, let’s go out to the parking lot and go at it.”

  Brenda jumped to her feet and grabbed his arm. “Nick, don’t be ridiculous.”

  Oh, how he wanted to punch this piss-ant into next week. He laid his hand on the other man’s shoulder. The action looked friendly, until Nick winced in pain when Dylan applied pressure in the right places. “I think you’d better just sit right back down there, geek. I’ve killed bugs bigger than you. I wouldn’t want the new baby to grow up without his papa.”

  His sharp tone gained the attention of curious customers sitting close by. Nick’s face flushed, and he drew back his fist and let loose. Dylan saw it coming and nimbly dodged the sucker punch by grabbing the flailing arm. A heartbeat later, he had Nicky in a chokehold.

  Brenda and her sister screamed, and Mike stepped closer. The bartender moved in with an old billy club in hand. “That’s enough, Quinn. Let him go.”

  He looked over at the big man. “Aww, Sam, can’t a man have some fun?”

  Sam Larson slapped the billy club on the palm of his hand with a loud smack. “I’m not tellin’ you again, Quinn. Let him go.”

  He glanced around. Every eye was on him. “Fine.” But instead of letting go, he tightening his hold on Nick and said in the other man’s ear, “Just a word of advice, Nicky. Don’t get too comfortable in my house. If she cheated on me, how long do you think it will be before she throws you over?”

  He let go of the gasping man, but Brend
a grabbed Dylan’s arm. She stood before him toe-to-toe. He looked over the curves the tight jeans and snug T-shirt outlined. What the hell had he ever seen in her?

  Brenda fisted her hands by her sides and stood with her feet apart. “I never set out to cheat on you.” Her voice pitched low, and her eyes flashed with rage. “But when I came to Fort Benning to see you off before you went to Afghanistan, you refused to even discuss us having a baby.” Brenda swallowed and glanced at Nick, who was rubbing his neck and watching them. “I wanted kids. I was thirty-four and got tired of waiting on you to deal with your screwed up issues with your father.” She returned to Nick and glared at Dylan over her shoulder. “Don’t ever come near us again, or I’ll press charges for harassment.”

  He snorted in response, turned away and stepped right into the path of Zack Cartwright.

  “Shit, this night just keeps gettin’ better,” he mumbled.

  The sheriff stood with his feet apart, hands on his waist above his service belt and scowled at him. “What’s the problem here?”

  He shrugged and glanced back at his ex-wife fawning over Nicky. “Nothin’, Sheriff. Just congratulatin’ the happy couple.”

  “That so?” Cartwright continued to throw off big-bad-lawman vibes. “Let’s go, Captain.”

  He dodged the sheriff’s hand before it landed on his upper arm. “You takin’ me to jail?”

  “Not tonight. I’m taking you home. You aren’t in any shape to drive, but since you’re still on your feet, I’ll let Tracy deal with your sorry ass.”

  As they headed to the exit, he said, “Geez, Zack, you and my sister seem to be getting quite cozy these days. You rekindlin’ those old flames?”

  Zack stiffened and narrowed his eyes again. “You’re a comedian when you’re shitfaced, Quinn. Let’s go. I don’t have all night to deal with your bullshit. My daughter’s home with a sitter.”