by S Doyle
Something was going on there and I was going to find out what.
I was also going to have to do a lot of work to the get the grill ready for freaking barbecued chicken if she was going to believe I hadn’t made all of that up on the fly.
Now who was pulling stunts?
8
SABRINA
Pine’s Ranch
This is a mistake. I pulled my car up his long driveway and called myself a fool every inch of the way. Stupid, stupid, stupid, coming here for dinner. But what were my choices?
Sit at home with a gun in my lap while I hoped my phone didn’t ring? Or spend the evening with a law enforcer where I would feel perfectly safe?
Except nothing was really safe with Garrett. Any time spent with him was a major effort in reminding myself that he was just being friendly. Neighborly. Curious.
While I could feel myself falling under the same Garrett Pine charm that had bewitched me my whole life. I was surprised when I pulled my car up next to his truck to find that he was actually outside waiting for me.
“Hey,” I said as I got out of the car.
“Hey,” he said tightly. “You’re late.”
I checked my watch. “You said seven.”
“It’s seven fifteen.”
“Right. Because my hair didn’t curl like it normally does, so I had to do it twice. But look. See? Now it’s perfect.”
I pulled a perfectly curled lock over my shoulder to show him.
He snorted. “I don’t care how curly your hair is, Brin. Or what you look like, for that matter.”
That’s right, ladies and gentleman, the one man on the planet completely unmoved by my appearance. That’s the guy I fell for.
“I know,” I said, trying to be cheeky. “You prefer petite blondes.”
“I prefer for people to show up when they say they’re going to show up.”
I was about to give him a hard time over fifteen minutes. Then I stopped.
“In fact, I wish you hadn’t been so stubborn about letting me pick you up. I hate…waiting for people.”
Right. Because he’d waited once and the person hadn’t shown up. At all.
The fact that Betty had damaged a man like Garrett made me want to hunt her down and scratch her eyes out.
“Sorry I was late,” I said. “I was just trying to look nice.”
“You’re fucking beautiful, Brin. You don’t have to try so hard. Okay?”
It was like no other compliment I had ever received. Then he ran his eyes up and down what I had chosen to wear. A white denim flared skirt, a chambray shirt with the ends tied around my navel.
“Are those what I think they are?”
I smiled and stuck out my foot. “Cowboy boots. Real ones, too. I found an old pair in Bea’s closet. Do not tell her we are the same shoe size. I won’t have my collection being tainted by someone else’s feet.”
He laughed and the anger, or maybe it was something else, seemed to fade away.
“I believe I was promised barbecue.”
“Yeah. Yes. Sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.”
I walked up to him and patted his cheek gently. “It’s okay. I’m made of sterner stuff. I survived years of fat jokes, after all.”
I breezed past him and boldly walked into the house. I waited for a dog to come barreling out of some room to greet me. I don’t know why, but I always assumed Garrett was a dog type. A big, loveable, dopey dog seemed right up his alley.
But the house was quiet.
“This is the living room as you can see,” he said, coming up behind me.
“No dog?”
The look he gave was confused. “How did you know about Champ?”
See? I knew Garrett. Sometimes I tried to tell myself it was all fantasy when it came to him. That I didn’t really see him or know him as a person. But I did. It was bound to happen when you made someone the object of your obsession.
“Where is he?”
“Champ passed a few months ago. Right before your dad, actually.”
“I’m sorry.”
Garrett nodded. “Lived a good life. I basically grew up with him. I was giving myself some time to…I don’t know, honor his memory, I guess. But I’m thinking I’ve got a puppy in my future pretty soon.”
“Puppies!” I said, clapping my hands. “Mother never let us have any pets. She insisted it was because I was allergic, but I’ve never had a reaction to any animal I’ve ever been around. And there was this cat...”
The one that was killed because of me.
“You had a cat?”
“He wasn’t really mine. He just let me feed him for a while. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Okay, well, let me show you outside. The house isn’t much, but the one thing my dad did not scrimp on was the back deck.”
I followed him through the living room and past the kitchen. Off the kitchen was a large sliding door that opened out onto a large brick patio. Garrett hadn’t been kidding. There were a fireplace and a grill pit. A gas grill. Lots of sturdy furniture to hold up against a heavy Texas storm.
But the best part was the view. Land. Land as far as the eye could see. That was Texas.
“Have a seat and I’ll get you something to drink.”
I was about to sit down when I thought about what I had made this afternoon. “Oh! I left something in the car. Let me go get them and I’ll be right back.”
I made my way through the house and back out to the driveway. I opened the backseat door and pulled out the plate of cookies. I’d gone with chocolate chip because I thought Garrett looked like a chocolate chip kind of a guy. And since I had been right about him having a dog, I thought that was a good sign.
I came back in carrying my plate while he was pulling wine out of the refrigerator. I could see he had the chicken already coated with sauce and ready to be grilled. And he’d taken the macaroni salad and potato salad out of the containers and put them in bowls.
In other words, he’d made an effort. I was glad, then, to have taken the extra time with my hair, despite what he’d said, and glad, too, I was contributing something to this dinner.
“Cookies,” I announced as I set the plate down on the counter.
His eyes lit up. “You made cookies?”
He obviously hadn’t watched a lot of episodes of Cowboy Princess. Hate baking was a common event on the show.
“I did. Give them a try.”
He pulled off the tinfoil I had used to cover them and took one. He bit into it and the groan he made was slightly sexual and smoking hot. On par with watching him eat a potato chip. I was used to people going crazy over my baked goods. It was part of the fun of hate baking. No, I couldn’t eat it, but I loved watching other people’s reactions. I wasn’t, however, used to getting turned on by it.
Do not get aroused by him! Do not!
“Holy shit that’s good.”
I smiled. I couldn’t help but be proud.
“It might possibly be my one skill,” I said, a little cocky. “Well, that and shoes. And I love doing it.”
“This might be the best freaking cookie I’ve ever had.” He reached for another and handed it to me but I shook my head.
“Oh, no. I don’t eat them. I just bake them and watch other people enjoy them. TV thin. Remember?”
“You don’t eat them?” he asked, his voice a little rough.
“No. Sometimes if I’m messing with a new recipe I have to try a bite…you know, just to make sure I got it right. But once I have it down, then I just bake and enjoy the smells. My kitchen right now smells yum!”
He put the cookie down and turned away from me. I had this sense that he wanted to say something but he stopped himself.
“I got two kinds of white wine. I wasn’t sure what you liked.”
“A glass of that one,” I said pointing to the bottle I recognized. “Just a little splash.”
“Right, because you can’t drink either.”
Was he angry about that?
“Uh, hello, sheriff. I’m driving. I would think you might frown upon that.”
He poured the glass and handed it to me. “You’re two and half miles down a road that is deserted most of the time. I’ll let a half of a glass of wine slip in this case.”
“You’re being awfully grumpy,” I said as I sat on one the stools that butted up to a small kitchen island. His kitchen was about of quarter of the size of the one at The King’s Land, but it oddly felt more comfortable. Homey. “Is it still because I was late or is it because you’re just hungry in general?”
He snorted. “I am behaving a little like an ass, I suppose.”
“Good thing this isn’t a date,” I told him. “Otherwise…” I made a motion with my finger indicating a slash and then a one.
“What the hell is that?”
“Wow. You really didn’t watch my show a lot. That was my universal sign when I was on a date that I was subtracting points. I would find ways to do it subtly so that only the audience watching would realize what I was doing. They loved it. Didn’t pull my chair out. Minus one. Didn’t ask me any questions about myself. Minus one. Checked out another woman walking by. Minus one.”
I showed him how I made the various different hand motions. A finger horizontal under my nose, then down my cheek. Against the wine glass, then sliding down the rim.
“I can’t imagine guys lost a lot of points with that last one.”
“You forget it was Los Angeles. Practically everyone is beautiful there.”
“Sounds shallow,” he grunted.
I took a sip of my wine. “Well, I’m shallow. So we fit.”
He scowled at me again. “Are you trying to piss me off?”
I thought about that. “Not particularly.”
“Geezus, Brin. You know what you are? You are fucked up. It’s a good thing you came back to Dusty Creek. If for no other reason than to get your head on straight.”
I blinked as his words hit home. “I’m pretty sure it was rude of you to say that to my face.”
“Sorry,” he barked. “But ever since you got back it’s just been constant dumping on yourself. You’re only what you look like. You having nothing but shoes. You’re shallow. You can’t eat because of whatever power struggle you’re in, although you left the damn TV show that you said you were doing it for in the first place. You can’t even eat what you obviously enjoy baking, but you light up like a fucking Christmas tree when you watch how I react to it.”
“I…uh…” I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to react. This was Garrett yelling at me for being me.
“What did I tell you all those years ago? When you were facing off against those sophomore assholes? Own your shit. It doesn’t look like you listened to me at all. I mean, who the fuck raised you?”
“Hank and Jennifer raised me,” I said, pushing off the counter and waiting until I knew my legs were steady and would hold me up.
“Right. Hank. Who wouldn’t even stick up for his little girl when people were teasing you. That’s why I stepped in at high school. I wasn’t going to let that shit happen anymore, but maybe what I forgot was to show you how to fight back.”
Fight back? Hadn’t I transformed myself? Hadn’t I gotten even with everyone who shit on me for being fat? I was the walking personification of fighting back. And he didn’t get to take that from me.
“Fuck you, Garrett. How is that for fighting back? I’m sorry I can’t be the woman you seem to think I should be. If only I had been…oh, I don’t know, a virtuous blonde nurse then maybe that would have been better for you. Only I guess that didn’t work out so well, after all!”
His face hardened then. “You’ve been waiting since you got back to get that shot in haven’t you?”
I hadn’t been. I didn’t think I had been. I didn’t want to hurt Garrett. I never wanted that. As many times as he’d hurt me.
I could feel my lips wobble and I knew I needed to leave. I practically sprinted for the front door. I threw it open and raced to my car. I hadn’t brought a purse or anything. Just the cookies.
The fucking cookies I made for Garrett.
So I had left the key fob in the center console. I fumbled with it to get the car to start, although I wasn’t sure why I was in a hurry. Because it wasn’t like Garrett was storming after me.
Why would he?
9
GARRETT
Pine’s Ranch
Shit. What the fuck just happened? I tried to think. She’d been late, which made me crazy. She wore cowboy boots and made me chocolate chip cookies, which also made me crazy. I’d come down on her like a ton of bricks for being too damn hard on herself. And she’d fired back with the one weapon she had.
It was a good one, too. Because the whole time during my engagement, she had known what Betty was. A cheater. She’d told me to my face, expecting me to believe her and I hadn’t. She must have laughed her ass off when she heard what Betty did to me at the church.
I stopped then and ran a hand through my hair. No, she wouldn’t have laughed. She would have felt bad for me. Sad, even.
She’s not good enough for you.
That’s what Brin had always told me about the women in my life. It sort of sucked to know she was right. I looked around my empty home and thought of the things I was missing.
I’d thought I would have long been married by now, maybe already had a couple of kids. It’s what Betty had told me she wanted. And she had, she just hadn’t wanted those things with me.
So, fine, I gave up on all that crap. Who needed it?
Then why were you freaking out that Brin was fifteen minutes late?
Shit.
Because I’d been anxious to see her. Anxious to cook for her and just talk with her. Staring at the clock, wondering if she had changed her mind, twisted my guts up. I didn’t want this woman to change her mind about me.
Maybe that was my problem. I had lived in the world for a long time, confident that Sabrina King of The Kings had a crush on me. I wanted that back. The idea of knowing someone in my life would put me first, above anyone else.
It was nice. It also made me a raging asshole.
I needed to apologize. I looked around for my keys and found them on the table by the front door. I jogged out to my truck, trying to think of what the hell was I going to say.
I was still running through it when I pulled up to her gate. Damn, the gate. I didn’t want to buzz her and give her the chance to tell me to go away. Instead, I left the truck at the bottom of the drive and hopped the low fence onto the property. The gate kept unwanted vehicles out, but that was about it.
I marched up the driveway and got to her front door. I pounded on it because it felt good. Loud and hard, and as upset as I was it gave me a little relief.
Except I heard a scream, a loud scared one from inside the house. Damn it. “Sabrina!” I shouted. “Sabrina! Answer me.”
I reached for the knob and jerked on it, but there was no way I was getting past the large wooden door.
But I knew from experience the back kitchen door off the sunporch was pretty flimsy. I jogged around the expansive mansion until I saw the kitchen door. The lock on this door was just a latch hook that I bulled my way through. Once inside, I started running through the house. That scream. That hadn’t been about anger or outrage.
It had been about fear.
“Sabrina! Where the hell are you?”
Turning the corner out of the hallway, making my toward the living room, I saw her sitting on the floor with her back to the wall. There was a gun in her hand but she wasn’t aiming it. She was crying.
No. Sobbing.
Cautiously, because a sobbing woman with a gun in her hand was not something to take lightly, I approached her. “Brin,” I said softly.
Her body jerked but she still didn’t look at me.
I crouched down beside her and took the gun out of her hand. “Brin, talk to me.”
She shook he
r head.
“Where are Ronnie and Bea? Hell, where is Trudy?”
She shook her head again.
“I can’t help you if you won’t talk to me.”
She looked at me then, and I could see it, the bone-deep fear in her eyes. “You won’t believe me.”
“Okay, let’s start with the easy stuff. Ronnie and Bea?”
“Ronnie’s back in Dallas and I think Bea went back to Austin.”
“Oscar and Trudy?”
She sniffed. “They’re on an extended cruise.”
“Who’s taking care of the horses?”
“Walt’s son comes over every day.”
I nodded. “So, with Ronnie back in Dallas you’re out here by yourself most of the time.”
She nodded.
Okay. That made some sense. Big sprawling house, all alone. Someone pounding on the door. “Did I scare you? Pounding on the door that way.”
She nodded tightly.
“Honey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to be loud enough so that you would hear me.”
She swallowed and rubbed her nose against the sleeve of her shirt. “It’s not that. I…I don’t want to talk about it.”
I stood then and reached my hand out to her. “Sorry again, but I don’t hear you scream like that, find you curled up on the floor with a gun in your hand, and let you get away with not talking about it.”
“Why are you even here?” she asked even as she took my hand and let me pull her to her feet. “You hate me, remember?”
And that was about the farthest thing from the truth I had ever heard.
“I was here to apologize, but now I’m here on official business.” I directed her over to one of the long leather sectionals in what I believed was the game room. A more manly space, as opposed to all the delicate furniture in the living room. I sat down and pulled her down next to me.
She didn’t resist, but she still wasn’t looking at me.
“Talk, Brin. Why were you freaking out just then? Why are you walking around Dusty Creek with a gun?”
“Why didn’t you buzz at the gate?” she fired back. “Then I would have known you were coming.”
