by Stacy Finz
Nice idea, Gabe thought. For months they’d all been working to rehabilitate the place, which had previously been owned by a hoarder who’d let the house go to pot. Annie, who had a fancy degree in agriculture and worked as farming consultant, had whipped the land into shape. Now, she grew all kinds of shit, half of which they’d be eating for dinner.
“Raylene’s still not here, huh?” Gabe didn’t want her screwing up Logan and Annie’s pre-wedding festivities, and from everything he’d heard—and seen—she was like a battering ram, causing mayhem wherever she went.
“She called and is on her way.”
“Where’d she go?”
Logan shrugged. “Annie talked to her. I suspect she needed space. This town holds a lot of bad memories for her.”
Gabe spent the next thirty minutes helping Annie’s brother, Chad, with the bar. Her parents had made the two-hour trek from Yuba City, where they grew rice, and were spending the night. It would be a full house at Chez Jenkins tonight. Gia and Flynn, who now owned Raylene’s dad’s old ranch, had offered to lend their guest cottage. Until recently, Logan and Annie had lived there while their farmhouse was being redone.
“Hey, were you two part of that UFO study group?” Owen pointed to Gabe and Logan.
As usual, Gabe didn’t know what the old man was talking about. The local barber lived in an alternative universe, as far as Gabe could tell. Plus, he was early. Guests weren’t scheduled to arrive for another ten minutes.
“You smoking weed again, Owen?”
“It’s all over the news…the Pentagon’s Advanced Aviation Threat Identification Program. So don’t try to deny it.”
“I’m not denying it, I just don’t know anything about it.”
“Of course you do. You”—he nudged his head at Logan—“and him know more than you let on.”
Yeah, and the Starship Enterprise was in the backyard. Gabe put his finger to his lips. “Don’t blow our cover, or it could mean death to the whole town.”
“You’re a real wiseacre, aren’t you?”
Gabe laughed. “Where’s Darla and Wyatt?”
“Wyatt’s finishing up his police shift, and Darla had to close the barbershop. They’ll probably be late. Those two couldn’t be on time to save their lives.”
Like you, who came early, Gabe wanted to say, but he liked the guy too much to keep razzing him. “I’ve got to bring in some extra folding chairs. I’ll catch you later.”
Gabe headed to the garage to give Logan a hand. “Chad seems good.”
“Yeah, he’s done a lot of growing up.” Annie’s kid brother hadn’t been much better than Raylene. Both disasters. But he owned a thriving restaurant now and appeared to have gotten his shit together. “Knockers is making a killing. Chad’s talking about franchising.”
“Good for him.” Gabe put Logan in a headlock. “You okay?”
“Never happier.”
“Good. It’s a lot, though. Marriage, a baby, a mortgage.”
“You ought to try it.” Logan punched Gabe in the chest. “A little responsibility would do you good.”
“Someday, but not anytime soon.” Gabe liked his life just the way it was. When he wasn’t working, he could take off to places unknown. Do a little sightseeing, a little clubbing, a little partying. After twelve years in the Navy, he liked his freedom just fine. “Who knows? Annie and I may decide to leave your ass.”
“Annie’s got good taste, Moretti. You’re the last dude she’d pick.”
He’d only known Annie since last summer and already loved her like a sister. The woman was salt of the earth.
They both lifted their heads when they heard a vehicle pull up, and Gabe peeked outside to see who it was. Raylene. She let the engine idle in the carport longer than necessary, and he got the sense she was psyching herself up to go in.
“I’ll go talk to her,” Logan said.
“Nah, it’s your party. I’ll take care of it.” Gabe handed the extra chairs to Logan and ambled over to Raylene’s truck.
“Where’d you go?” he asked as she stepped out of the cab.
“I had an errand.” She turned her back on him and started for the house. “I’ve got to get ready.”
“Okay. Just making sure everything’s okay.”
“Everything’s fine,” she said, but her hands were shaking.
Chapter 3
Raylene made a beeline for the bedroom she was using. She desperately wanted to wash off the day’s grime and suit up in her best armor—a little black dress—for judgment day. No matter what she wore, she’d get talked about. Might as well do it in style. She’d bought the dress in a small, exclusive shop on Montana Avenue in Santa Monica when her bank account was still full, and it had been languishing in her closet ever since. It was high time she took the dress out for a stroll.
She locked the door and took a few seconds to breathe and stop her hands from trembling. The meeting had been good. Just what she needed, yet the desire for a drink still nagged at her. A little voice kept telling her that one vodka tonic was all she needed to get through this thing and she could go cold turkey tomorrow.
Nope. She wasn’t going to ruin this for Logan and Annie, and alcohol made her do bad things. Or maybe she was just bad and the combination was noxious.
She sat on the edge of the bed and recited, “God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference,” hoping the words would give her strength.
All she had to do was make it through dinner. If she designated herself dishwasher or oven monitor, she could hole up in the kitchen and pass much of the evening without having to talk to anyone. That was her plan, anyway.
She took a quick shower, shimmied into her dress, and did her makeup, steering away from her usual dark, smoky-eyed look. Butch had told her that it made her look like a whore. Instead, she went with a neutral palette. It was big in LA. Kind of a natural, dewy face thing. Since she didn’t have a job, she’d spent a lot of time shopping, emulating the styles of the chic women in Los Angeles. It was amazing how fast someone could piss through a fortune. Between Butch—who’d robbed her blind—her divorce attorney’s fees, the lease on her beach house, breast implant removal surgery, and her patronage of Lucy’s House, a women’s shelter, she was down to nearly nothing.
In the new year, though, she planned to start her own company with the money she got from her land—and hopefully the gold. She wanted to raise and train cutting horses for competition and working cattle ranches. It was a lifelong dream. All she needed was the money, property, a barn, an equestrian center, and some good stock. The last part was easy. The Rossers had owned one of the largest cattle operations in California. She knew her horse flesh and every breeder west of the Mississippi. It was the right property that would be hard to come by, not just because real estate in California cost a fortune, but the land had to be zoned to allow a commercial horse farm, be accessible to buyers, and close enough to a town to buy supplies. Sort of a tall order in Southern California.
But she liked it there. The ocean, the beaches, the weather, and the fact that it was hundreds of miles away from Butch, Nugget, and her past.
On her way out, she took one last look in the mirror and saw a presentable woman staring back. It wasn’t as if it mattered. Her reputation was already so scarlet, nothing would change it.
At the bottom of the stairs, Gabe waited for her as if he’d been standing sentry there for the last forty minutes. Either that, or he’d put a tracker on her to know her comings and goings. She wouldn’t doubt it.
“What took you so long?” he asked, acting put out. But his eyes told a different story. Male appreciation gleamed there. Though Raylene had been appreciated more times than she wanted to admit, something about having Gabe look at her that way gave her courage.
“I told you, I
had to change.”
“Well, the party has already started. You’re late.”
“Big deal. It’s not like I’m the main attraction,” she said, though she wasn’t so sure about that. People were probably tripping over themselves to watch her humiliation. “Is he here?”
“No, he’s not coming.”
She jerked in surprise. Annie was friends with Lucky’s wife, Tawny. And by Nugget standards the Rodriguezes were neighbors, even if they lived a few miles away. In the country, it was a cardinal sin not to invite your neighbor to an event like this. “It’s because of me.”
Gabe gazed down at his boots but didn’t deny it. She’d give him points for honesty.
“He’ll be at the wedding,” he said. “Now let’s go in. Annie has you seated next to her.”
Annie Sparks, soon to be Jenkins, was Mother Teresa. If Raylene’s brother ever hurt his wife, she would personally kill him. The thing was, he wouldn’t. Ever. Logan was as good as Annie, and why these two kind souls had taken her in, Raylene would never know.
“You go first.” She nudged him.
“Nope, age before beauty.” But he took her hand and they walked into the dining room together.
Maybe it was Raylene’s imagination, but she could’ve sworn there was a gasp from someone sitting at one of the banquet tables that had been lined up from one end of the room to the other and draped in mismatched linens. Annie waved to Raylene from across the room, pointing to an empty chair.
To get there, though, Raylene would have to run the gauntlet. Gabe squeezed her hand and led her through the dining room.
“Thank you,” she whispered and sank into her seat between Annie and her brother.
Gabe took the chair across from her. It was as if they’d formed a protective wall around her.
“The tables look great,” Raylene told Annie for the sake of something to say. But the truth was she liked Annie’s quirky style, a combination of thrift store, farmhouse, and shabby chic. She’d grown up in a house where even the candles had to match the china.
“They do, don’t they? Everyone brought stuff, including Emily, who has a treasure trove of tablecloths and dishes.”
“Hello,” Emily said from across the table. Her voice was far from friendly and her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I don’t think we’ve officially met.”
Emily wasn’t originally from Nugget. She was a cookbook author and was now married to Clay McCreedy. Raylene knew that because the McCreedys had been the Rossers’ closest neighbors before her father had been forced to sell the ranch to pay his defense lawyers. Like Ray, Clay was a cattle rancher.
Raylene cleared her throat. “I was happy to hear the news about your daughter.”
“It was our Christmas miracle,” Emily said, and turned to look at the end of the table where a group of children sat.
Raylene didn’t know the whole story, only that Emily’s little girl was abducted years ago and had recently been found living with a dying woman in Idaho. Unsure what was appropriate to discuss at the dinner table, she left the topic alone.
Out of the side of her eye, she saw Gabe watching her. “What?” she whispered.
“Nothing.” He filled her glass with pinot noir. “Pass the potatoes, would you?”
She handed him the huge crockery bowl and tried to ignore the red wine that seemed to be pleading with her to drink it.
“I hear you live in Santa Monica,” Annie’s brother, Chad, said. “I’m thinking of opening a restaurant there.”
The area had more restaurants than one person could eat at in a year. Even more than her old trendy neighborhood in Denver. “Really?”
“Good demographics.” He grabbed a roll and seemed to remember his manners. “You want one?”
“No, thank you.”
The guests who sat directly near her proceeded to make small talk. Raylene noted that most of them were either newcomers or from out of town, while the old timers sat at the other end of the table. Raylene was sure Annie had planned it that way. Another reason to love her soon-to-be sister-in-law.
She got into a lengthy discussion with Annie’s father about rice farming. Although her family’s specialty was livestock, she knew enough to keep up. A few times, she caught Harlee Roberts, owner of the Nugget Tribune, staring daggers at her. Harlee was besties with Tawny, so it stood to reason that she hated Raylene’s guts.
She checked the clock on the fireplace mantel. It was only five minutes past the last time she’d looked.
“Relax.” Gabe had switched to her side of the table, grabbing Logan’s chair while her brother and Annie made the rounds, talking with their guests.
“I am.”
“Could’ve fooled me.” He stabbed a piece of steak on her plate with his fork and put it in his mouth. “That was nice, what you said to Emily.”
“I’m not a complete ogre.” When the story hit the news, Raylene had cried. She noted that Emily had gotten up to talk to Donna and asked, “Is the little girl okay?”
“Yeah. I mean it’s been a hard transition, but physically…she’s fine.”
“How did they find her?”
Gabe nudged his head at Clay, who’d wandered to their end of the table. “Let’s talk about it later.”
“Hi, Clay.” He was standing right next to her, so it wasn’t as if she could ignore him, even though he was ignoring her.
“Raylene,” he said tightly.
“How are you?”
“Best Christmas ever.” For a second, he dropped his reserve and smiled. But just like that, the grin was gone. He didn’t like her, and on several occasions in the past he’d made it known that he thought she was a spoiled brat. She supposed it was better than what he thought of her now. But for the sake of Logan and Annie, he was being cordial. It didn’t take a particularly astute observer to know that.
Raylene was relieved when he moved on to talk to Rhys Shepard, the police chief. That glass of wine still sat at her elbow, teasing and tempting. Just one sip.
“You want dessert?” Gabe asked her. Members of the Baker’s Dozen, a cooking club, had baked enough cakes and pies to feed the entire state of California. Someone had even brought homemade ice cream.
“I’ll get it.” She needed to stretch her legs and wished she’d taken up smoking. Then she’d have an excuse to go outside for a cigarette break.
The sweets were laid out on the counter, and several people stood huddled around the assortment, trying to make their selections, Raylene noted as she entered the kitchen. She’d just started to exercise an about-face when she heard the whispers.
“I still can’t believe her audacity.”
“This has to put a pall over the whole wedding. But Logan and Annie are too sweet to turn her away, even though I can’t imagine them wanting her here. For goodness’ sake, she and Butch tried to sue Logan and steal his inheritance.”
“The scheming bitch should’ve gone to prison like her daddy.”
From their backs, Raylene couldn’t tell who they were. Not Donna or Ethel—too young. Quietly, she slipped out of the room, wended her way back to the table, and grabbed her wineglass. The powder room in the hallway was empty. She ducked in and quickly locked the door, leaning her back against the pedestal sink.
She pushed the bowl of the glass underneath her nose and inhaled. After all this time, she’d forgotten how good wine smelled. Like fruit and earth and freedom. Her father used to sneak her sips of the Russian River pinots he liked so much behind her mama’s back when she was just a little girl. She’d giggle and he’d laugh. Their own private joke. Later, he’d slip her shots of whiskey. If you were a Rosser, you held your liquor. Inebriation was for the weak, he’d say. But she’d always been a lightweight. A sloppy drunk who danced on tables, took off her clothes, and wept until she passed out.
“To you, Ray.” She held up
the glass in a salute, letting the rivulets catch the light. “May you rot in hell.”
* * * *
“You okay in there?” Gabe knocked. He’d seen her go in at least ten minutes ago.
The toilet flushed and Raylene emerged, holding an empty wineglass.
“You drinking alone, Ray?”
“I’m not feeling well.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Stomachache. I think I’ll go up to my room.”
He gave her a long, hard look. “I thought you were tougher than that.”
“You want me to throw up on you?”
He rolled his eyes. “There’s that flair for dramatics you’re so famous for. You can’t tough it out another hour? By then, I’m gauging everyone will go home.”
“No, I need to lie down.”
She looked fine to him, but he couldn’t force her to stay. She’d surprised him by holding her own over dinner. She’d been subdued, gracious, even friendly, despite the death glares that had been thrown her way. For a minute there, he thought Clay McCreedy was going to bite her head off. And Harlee’s resting bitch face would’ve scared an entire SEAL team.
“All right,” he told her. “Take care of yourself. We’ve got a long three days ahead of us.”
“Night.” She handed him the wineglass.
Okay, apparently he was a waiter now. He watched her climb the stairs in her little black dress, a few inappropriate thoughts flitting through his head. She was Logan’s sister—and Nightmare on Elm Street.
Try to remember that, idiot.
He turned to go to the kitchen and bumped into Rhys. “Hey, Chief. What’s shaking?”
“All’s quiet on the Western front.” He motioned at the stairs. “Stay away from her. She’s bad news.” And with that, he moved on to join a group of old dudes who everyone called the Nugget Mafia.
Gabe had always gotten a kick out of that. To him, Owen, the mayor, and the rest of their cadre were more like a barbershop quartet. Then again, he was from Jersey, home to real wise guys.
“Where’s Raylene?” Logan took the glass from Gabe and stuck it on the counter.
