by Marie Force
“Of course. Not a problem. I’ve sent you the confirmation for your suite at the Four Seasons. You’re booked for Friday and Saturday nights, but please let me know if you’d like to add Sunday, at our expense, of course.”
“That’s very nice of you, thank you. I’ll let you know.”
“Perfect. We’re so looking forward to meeting you. Mr. Dutton is thrilled that you’ve agreed to come in.”
I rub at my chest where that ache I experienced earlier has intensified. I’m really doing this. I’m actually making plans to leave Marfa and pick up my life where it left off six long years ago. “Tell him I’m looking forward to meeting him, and please pass along my thanks for the VIP treatment.”
“Our pleasure. The driver will meet you at the hotel on Saturday morning at nine.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Long after I end the call, I sit behind my desk, staring off into space, my brain working overtime trying to process everything that’s happened in the last week. I went from years of simmer with Lauren to full-on boil. I’ve gone from working with a headhunter for a year to an honest-to-goodness hot lead on the kind of job I’ve always wanted.
The convergence of those two things has me more mixed up than I’ve been in years, since my father died and I was forced to abandon my own plans so I could pick up the baton for my family.
A knock on the door drags me out of the contemplation, but I continue to rub at the ache in my chest, wondering if I have heartburn or possibly something worse. With my father dropping dead of a heart attack at fifty-two, my thoughts linger on the second possibility, which of course totally freaks me out.
“Yeah, come in,” I call to the person who knocked.
My second-in-command, Dennis, comes in. “Hey, boss, you feeling better today?”
“Yeah, much. What’s up?”
He catches me up on a few things I missed yesterday and, as usual, impresses me with his attention to detail and his concern about pleasing our clients. If the job in Austin materializes, I decide to give him a big raise and hire him to manage my firm in Marfa.
It’s all falling into place, just the way I always hoped it would. So why the hell does my chest ache so badly?
Honey saves me the trip by dropping into the shop with a coffee for me and a soy latte for herself that she complains about the entire time we’re enjoying our beverages in my workroom.
“I can’t wait to be able to mainline caffeine again.” She puts her swollen feet up on one of the empty chairs at the table where I eat lunch just about every day. “Maybe then I won’t feel like I’m wading through quicksand.”
“Um, you do know that you can’t drink caffeine when you’re breastfeeding, right?”
“Shut your filthy mouth. I know!”
I laugh at her indignant response.
“Screw caffeine. You have a lot of explaining to do, missy. Starting with the fact that you went to dinner at Garrett’s two nights ago and didn’t resurface until this morning.”
“Did I do that?” My face goes hot with embarrassment, which is silly, really. This is Honey, for crying out loud. What do I have to be embarrassed about with her? We tell each other everything. Case in point—I know that she’s done anal with Blake and loves it.
“Don’t make me beat it out of you. It might not look like I could, but I absolutely could—and I will.”
“Easy, killer. Don’t strain yourself. I’ll tell you what happened.” And so I do. I spell it out for her, including most of the details that I know she’ll want while keeping the really intimate things private out of respect for Garrett. When I’m finished, I’m shocked to see tears rolling down her cheeks. “What? Why are you crying?”
“I’m just so damned happy for you guys.” She uses a napkin to mop up the flood. “This has been such a long time coming.”
“Don’t start planning the wedding quite yet.” I hesitate before I share the thing that’s been weighing on me since he left earlier. “I think he might want to keep it to just what’s already happened.”
“No way. You said it was amazing, right?”
“It was incredible—for both of us.”
“He’ll be back for more. Mark my words.”
“I don’t know… He was weird this morning. Noncommittal.” That was the best word I could think of to describe the feeling he’d left me with at my house. “I asked if he wanted to work out together later, and he said maybe. Usually he says definitely or absolutely. Today he said maybe.”
“And you’re reading all kinds of things into that one word.”
“It was more than that. I can’t really explain it.”
“What was the last thing he said?”
“He told me to have a good day.”
“Before that.”
I think about what we said. “We talked about the gym.”
Honey rolls her hand with annoyance. “Before that.”
“He told me to never let anyone make me think I’m anything less than perfect.” Hours later, that sentence still makes my belly drop into free fall when I recall the way he looked at me when he said it, as if I am so very precious to him.
“Hmm,” Honey says, looking away from me.
“Hmm what? What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure what it means.”
“So you agree with me that a statement like that sounds more like the end than the beginning?”
“I wouldn’t say that, for sure, but I agree it’s not a slam-dunk this-is-the-start-of-something sort of statement.”
I sag into my chair. I suspected as much, but hearing Honey confirm it has me… saggy.
“You’re going to have to be patient and see how it plays out. But if I had to guess, a man who had the best sex of his life will be back for more.”
“He never said it was the best sex of his life.”
“Didn’t he, Lo?” she asks softly. “He kept you there for thirty-six hours.”
I want to latch on to that little kernel of hope, but life has taught me to be careful what I hope for. “After everything with my mother and Wayne, it’s taken me such a long time to get back to feeling happy most of the time. I’m afraid to get my hopes up.”
“I don’t blame you for being cautious. I know how hard it is to be patient in situations like this. Remember how I almost lost my mind when Blake checked out after the accident? I didn’t know if he was ever going to come around, but I was sure of only one thing.”
The reminder of the awful accident they were in last year makes me feel sick. “What’s that?”
“If he was ever going to come around, it had to be on his terms. I couldn’t force it. He had to get there himself. The same is true for Garrett. There’s no doubt that he cares for you. A lot. The question becomes whether you want the same things.”
“I have no idea what he wants. He rarely ever talks about his hopes or dreams or the future or anything like that.”
“It’s possible he hasn’t felt capable of having dreams for himself when he’s been so busy seeing to his father’s dream and making sure his family is cared for.”
“That’s a good point.” She’s definitely given me plenty to chew on.
“Tell me I have to go back to work now.”
“Honey, get your fat ass out of my shop and go back to work.”
“The fat-ass part was unnecessary roughness.” She hauls said ass out of the chair with the grace of a water buffalo. “Flag on the play.”
I giggle at her dramatic display as she lumbers to the back door. The alley behind my shop leads to the back door of hers. At the door, she stops and turns to me. “You know where I am if you need me, right? Any time. Pregnant or not. In labor or not.”
Smiling, I say, “I know. Thank you.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.” I blow her a kiss and see her out the door, watching her until she ducks into the door to the studio. Then I close the back door and slide the lock into place. Leaning against the door, I contemplate my ne
xt move. Garrett is nothing if not a creature of habit. He arrives at our gym five nights a week between six fifteen and six thirty. When he gets there tonight, I’ll be waiting for him.
Satisfied to have a plan, I get back to work. I’m still catching up from yesterday, and I need to get out of here on time.
I’m doing biceps curls when Blake comes into the gym. I nod at him across the wide-open room that’s always busy this time of day. He ambles over to join me, choosing the fifty-pound weights and jumping into my workout already in progress.
“How you feeling?” he asks, eyeing me with suspicion that tells me he probably knows the truth about my “illness.”
“Much better.”
“Glad to hear it. I looked at your report on the spec houses, and you’ve got me convinced to dive in.”
“You won’t be sorry. With the school being built out there, you’re sitting on a gold mine.”
“I agree. I made an offer on the other fifteen parcels today, and the owner seemed excited. He was thinking he’d be selling them piecemeal, so fifteen at once was unexpected.”
“He’ll probably give you a deal for the quantity.”
“That’s what my broker said, too.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks, I think. Remind me why I thought this was such a good idea six months from now when I’m losing my mind at work and at home.”
“You’ll be fine. I have contacting recruiters for you on my to-do list for tomorrow.”
“You might be able to scratch that off the list.”
“Really? What happened?”
“It’s the damnedest thing. You know my guy Mickey?”
“Uh-huh.” As the keeper of the HR records for Blake’s company, I have the lowdown on all his employees.
“His brother Jace is a construction supervisor for one of the biggest outfits in Dallas. At lunch the other day, Mickey mentioned his brother is looking to simplify a bit and starting to look around. I asked if he might be interested in working with us, and Mickey said he’d probably jump on it. He’s talking to him this week to feel him out.”
“That’s great. If it works out, it’ll save you the hassle of using a recruiter.”
“If he comes down for a meeting, I’d want you there.”
“Of course.” Sitting on the tip of my tongue is the news about my interview in Austin, but I bite my tongue and keep the info to myself until I know for sure whether or not the job is going to happen. “I have to go to Austin Friday to Sunday. Do you mind being on call in case there’s another plumbing disaster while I’m gone?”
“No problem,” he says with a laugh. “Unless I’m in a delivery room, I’m all yours.”
“Appreciate it.”
“What’s in Austin?”
Tell him. Tell him the truth. He’d understand. But would he? He relies so heavily on me to run his business that the news would probably freak him out, and he has enough on his mind with Honey about to pop and offering on the new development. I’ll tell him afterward, if anything comes of it. “Taking a meeting for a client.”
“Hope you’ll have some fun while you’re there.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Hey, guess what I heard at the quick mart earlier when I was getting gas?”
“What’s that?”
“Wayne Peterson’s grandfather died. I wonder if he’ll come home for the funeral.”
Simon, one of the other gym rats we work out with regularly, pipes up. “He’s back. I saw him at the bank earlier today.”
It dawns on me that Lauren hasn’t shown up to work out after indicating that she probably would. I drop the weights to the padded floor, and they land with a loud clank that startles Blake and the others working out nearby.
Suddenly, there’s nothing more important to me in this world than getting to her before she hears this news from someone else. “I gotta go to her.”
Nodding, Blake says, “Good call. You want me to come?”
“No, I’ve got it, but thanks.”
“Call me later,” he says as I bolt for the locker room, grab my clothes, wallet, phone and keys and run to the parking lot. As I throw the car into gear, I try to decide where to look first—home or the shop. After a second of debate, I head for the shop, because anyone can walk in through the front door there. At least at home, she’d have to choose to let him in—and she’d never do that.
Chapter Nine
It takes fifteen interminable minutes to make the short drive in what counts for “rush hour” in Marfa. While I wait for every light to cycle through twice, I try to call her four times while using the shirt I wore to work to mop up the sweat on my face. By the time I tear into the lot at Bloomsbury where Lauren’s car is still parked, my anxiety is through the roof. It spikes even further when I realize the front door is still unlocked more than an hour after closing.
“Lauren!” The lights are on, but there’s no sign of her in the storefront portion of the shop, so I round the counter and rush into the workroom. What I see there stops my heart. My beautiful Lauren, huddled in the corner, head down, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking back and forth. I’ll fucking kill him with my bare hands, but first I have to see to her.
I drop to my knees in front of her. “Lauren. Sweetheart, it’s me, Garrett.” I tentatively place my hand over her freezing one, and she flinches. “Baby, it’s me. You’re okay. I’m here now. Hold on to me.”
She moans like a wounded animal, and I have to remind myself to stay calm, to focus on her. The rage can wait.
I carefully wrap my arms around her, and she half leaps, half levitates into my embrace, nearly knocking me backward. But I manage to hold on to her as she breaks down into the kind of sobs that remind me all too much of the aftermath of her last go-round with Wayne.
“Shhh.” I rub circles on her back and stroke her hair. “I’m here now. You’re safe.” I have no idea how long we sit there on the floor wrapped up in each other as she sobs, but after a while, she begins to calm ever so slightly, although she’s still trembling violently. I’m not sure how to proceed. Do I ask what happened, or do I wait for her to tell me? I’ve got to know if he hurt her. In the softest voice I can manage, I say, “Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head.
Both our phones ring, but I ignore them. It’s probably Blake calling me and Honey calling her. I’ll update them as soon as I can. Right now, I’m all about Lauren.
“Sweetheart, will you look at me?”
Slowly, she raises her head to reveal her ravaged face. I grit my teeth to keep from roaring at the sight of her swollen eyes, bright red cheeks and… Are those fucking bruises?
I run my finger over the purple mark on her lower right cheek. There’s a matching one on the other side. “Did he do this to you?”
“He… He came in to buy f-flowers for… for his grandfather’s f-funeral.” A sob shakes her. “I… I couldn’t move. I was so scared. And then he… he grabbed my face and forced me to look at him.”
I want to roar and rage. That he’d have the nerve to go anywhere near her is enough to make me want to see him dead.
“We’re calling the police this time.” She refused to cooperate in pressing charges the last time, saying she just wanted him gone, and if she pressed charges she’d have to deal with him for a long time—and he still could’ve gotten away with it after all that. “We can’t let him do this.”
“O-okay.” The stammer, the sobs, the tears… They bring me back to the dreadful days that followed the first time he dared to lay his hands on her.
Tugging my cell phone from my pocket, I dial 9-1-1 and ask them to send police to Bloomsbury on Highland.
“What is your emergency?” the operator asks.
“My friend has been assaulted.”
“Officers are on their way.”
Lauren whimpers, and I wrap her up in my embrace again.
“Don’t let go. Please don’t let go.”
The ache in my chest f
lares into a full-blown flame that threatens to incinerate me. “Never. I’ll never let you go.” As I hold her, the air conditioner comes on, triggering the delicate music of the wind chimes Lauren has displayed in the store. The joyful noise seems out of place in the midst of the drama unfolding around us.
In the distance, I hear approaching sirens. “Here they come, sweetheart. Do you feel able to talk to them?”
She shakes her head to say no.
“That’s okay. I’ll do the talking for you. Don’t worry about anything. Just breathe.”
The bells on the front door jingle as the cops come in. I’m relieved to hear my friend Brock Hernandez, chief of the Marfa Police Department, call for Lauren. “Back here, Brock.”
He comes into the storeroom with a patrol officer and stops short at the sight of me sitting on the floor with Lauren in my arms. “What happened?” He’s about six feet four inches of pure muscle, with dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Our friend Scarlett says the sight of his sexy face makes her want to drop her panties—information I could do without, but there you have it. From what I’m told by my female friends, Brock is hot, especially in uniform.
“Wayne Peterson happened—again. Came into the store and scared the hell out of her and then grabbed her face. He bruised and terrified her.”
Brock’s normally amiable expression goes hard as stone. To the officer with him, he says, “Put out the word for patrol to pick up Wayne Peterson at his mother’s place.” He rattles off the address from memory.
The patrolman goes outside to call it in.
Brock squats down next to us. “Hey, Lauren.”
“Hi, Brock,” she says, her voice muffled by my T-shirt.
“You want to tell me what happened?”
As promised, I speak for her. “She told me he came in to order flowers for his grandfather’s funeral and caught her completely by surprise. She hasn’t seen him since the night he attacked her. When she froze in shock, he took her by the face and squeezed hard enough to leave bruises. Tell me that counts as an assault.”
