by Mia Hopkins
The pulse in her neck tapped wildly against his fingers. “Yes, but—”
“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s go.”
Just then, the front door opened. A glamorous middle-aged woman in a feathered headdress, a masquerade mask, and a green satin dress held out her arms. “There you are! I thought I heard someone out here! I’m so glad you came!” She enveloped Harmony in a big hug. She turned to Lucky and her eyes bugged out of her head. “Oh, my word. Who’s this hunky cowboy?” She spoke with an easy Southern accent.
Harmony, a little shaken, cleared her throat. “Annette, this is Lucky Garcia. He’s a friend. Lucky, this is Annette Leblanc. She’s an administrator at the hospital—I mean, was an administrator. This is her retirement party.”
To Lucky’s surprise, Annette pulled him into another big hug, crushing her ample breasts against his chest. She gave no indication of getting stabbed by his boner. She gave him a loud smacking kiss on the cheek and grabbed their hands. “Lucky, Harmony, welcome, welcome. Come inside and meet everyone.”
The house was as beautiful as a museum. About three-dozen people in masquerade masks were milling around and chatting, drinking cocktails out of clear plastic cups served up by a bartender in the corner. A DJ was set up next to the bartender playing brass band music.
Annette took Harmony’s jacket and purse. Lucky started to take off his hat, but Annette stopped him. “Oh, no. Keep that on, sweetheart. In fact, add this.”
She handed both of them velvet masquerade masks. His was plain black and Harmony’s was studded with multicolored sequins. They slipped them on and smiled at each other like dorks.
“Kind of kinky,” he said under his breath.
“When in Rome,” Harmony said.
Their hostess clapped her hands together with glee. “Oh, Harmony. You look gorgeous. And you, Lucky. You look like the Lone Ranger. Everyone’s going to get a kick out of you.” She threaded her arm through his and pulled him into the room. “Everyone! Look who’s here!”
Annette held court. She introduced them to her neighbors and friends, but the guests were mostly hospital staff who greeted Harmony right away. It was hard to read everyone’s expressions since their faces were obscured by masks.
Distracted by some issue in the kitchen, Annette released them at last. Lucky found himself growing fond of the hostess—she was full of life, happy to have a beautiful house and beautiful friends to fill it with.
Harmony slipped her little hand into his. The gesture surprised him, particularly in front of all of her coworkers. “Would you like a drink?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said.
They went to the bar. “What is everyone drinking?” Harmony asked.
The mustachioed bartender looked back and forth between them. “Hurricanes. Do you want one?”
The music pumped in their ears. Harmony danced to the brassy jazz as they watched the bartender mix up something dangerous with three different bottles of rum and a squirt of pink syrup.
Lucky put a five-spot in the tip jar and took a sip. He made a face. “We’re going to get kidnapped by pirates tonight if we drink these.”
She put the bright red straw in her lips and took a long drink. “Sounds like fun.”
Harmony was popular and beloved among her coworkers, which didn’t surprise Lucky at all. They were all happy to see her, and deeply interested in who he was, which did surprise him. She put away her cocktail pretty quickly and soon was laughing and bouncing and bubbly. He’d hidden his drink behind a few picture frames in an attempt to look after his little hurricane, who was perfectly happy to begin an impromptu limbo game with Annette’s grandfather’s walking stick that someone had found in a hallway closet.
Lucky sat on one of the couches watching Harmony. She was so full of life. She drew people to her like a magnet. His skin prickled with mild jealousy when other men at the party talked to her. He wondered which one of these men in masks was her ex-boyfriend. There were so many possibilities, but she gave no indication that they affected her one way or another.
And then Lucky spotted him. Another guy, hiding in the shadows on the other side of the room. Dressed in an expensive suit and tie. Tall and blond. He was wearing a black mask too, but he’d slid it up. He was staring at Harmony, his features stony and full of melancholy.
Bingo.
Dr. Dickhead.
Had Harmony seen him? Was she ignoring him? Unsure, Lucky watched the motherfucker for five minutes as the game of limbo progressed. Annette had her staff move furniture out of the way as the party guests got more rambunctious. Harmony was their instigator, Peter Pan and Tinkerbell rolled into one, the eye of the hurricane. Paying no attention to either Lucky or her ex, Harmony laughed and clapped her hands and snapped endless pictures on her phone.
He wasn’t sure what came over him. Lucky got up from his seat on the couch and walked over to where Harmony sat perched on an ottoman, her legs folded beneath her. When he touched her bare shoulder, she looked up in surprise, dark eyes glittering behind her mask.
“Lucky! There you are!” she exclaimed.
He grabbed her arms and hauled her up against his body. His heart was beating hard, and he was having trouble drawing breath. “I have to do this,” he whispered.
“Do what?”
He kissed her right there, in the middle of the huge crowd, a dirty openmouthed kiss that couldn’t mean anything but she’s mine. Harmony stared at him, confused, but as he stroked her tongue with his, her eyes went heavy-lidded and her body went slack in his arms. He felt a moan vibrate in her throat, and she kissed him back, gripping his forearms in her hands. She tasted like cherries and dark rum, like all the sweet, wild nights they’d share if only fortune were on his side.
The people at the party began to hoot and cheer, but they meant nothing as far as Lucky was concerned. He was half a breath from dragging Harmony off into a dark corner and screwing her senseless—in the middle of a crowd of strangers, in a house that looked like a museum, while the DJ played Chubby Checker’s “Limbo Rock.”
So Lucky was justifiably unprepared when a hand yanked his collar backwards and a fist connected with his chin.
Before he knew it, he was flat on his back on the wooden floor, blinking up at the tall blond man with murder in his eyes. “Get up, asshole.”
“Frank!” Harmony was yanking on the man’s suit jacket. “Frank, stop it!”
Lucky shook off his dizziness and rubbed his sore jaw. The fucker had knocked his hat off his head. That was a death wish in Oleander. Quickly, Lucky sized the guy up. He had an inch or two on Lucky in height, but Lucky had twenty pounds of muscle on him. And no one was faster than a tie-down roper.
Lucky was on his feet in a flash. He rushed Dr. Dickhead, knocking him clear of Harmony. They crashed to the floor, where the good doctor found himself pinned down by two hundred and twenty-five pounds of angry Mexican cowboy. Satisfied to hear the thump of the other man’s skull against the parquet, Lucky pounded his face with a series of head shots that would ruin picture day for sure. When Dr. Dickhead looked sufficiently dazed, Lucky backhanded him for good measure. Blood and adrenaline pounded in his veins. It had been a long time since he’d been in a brawl. This one wasn’t that great, but the guy had snuck in one good cowardly punch, and Lucky couldn’t let him get away with that.
When he stood up, Lucky was breathing hard and his muscles twitched, flooded with adrenaline. He forced himself to calm down. He knew this feeling well—it was the same feeling he had in the rodeo arena after a good run.
He picked up his hat and took off the mask. It was then that he realized the music had stopped. He looked around. Everyone in the party was staring at him. Some of them had taken off their masks too. Their faces registered fear. Disgust. Embarrassment. Shame.
What’s happening? Why is everyone looking at me like that? He searched the room. Where’s Harmony?
Annette came out of the crowd and ushered him to the door, all mirth gone. “You need to go now.”
“I know, sweetheart. But that was…that was brutal.”
Brutal?
Lucky and his friends beat the shit out of each other on a regular basis. Surely these people didn’t think he was some kind of deviant because he knew how to fight. He took another deep breath and put his hat back on. “I’m sorry, Annette. I didn’t mean to ruin your party. Where is Harmony? I’ll take her home now.”
The loquacious woman said nothing, but the expression on Annette’s face would stay with Lucky for a long time. Wide-eyed. Ashen.
She’s afraid of me. She thinks I’ll hurt Harmony.
He glanced past Annette’s shoulder. Harmony, in her purple dress, was leaning over Frank, trying to revive him. Someone handed her a wet towel. She took it and pressed it to the doctor’s face. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.
And Lucky knew.
He didn’t mean anything to Harmony. Just like she’d said, he was a distraction—nothing more. The man she loved was here, but he wasn’t it.
He looked at Annette and nodded. “All right. Please, just look after her for me.”
“I will, sweetheart.”
Lucky left the house. As he walked the few miles back to Harmony’s apartment, cold seeped into his damp clothes and chilled him. With each step, his jaw began to throb. It would be swollen tomorrow, making him look like the monster he felt like inside.
You were right. You’re not good enough for her. Her world isn’t yours.
After a few days, the swelling in Lucky’s jaw went down at last. Seeing what a dark mood her brother was in, Araceli didn’t tease him about Harmony. Both his sister and his mother knew things had gone horribly wrong on his date, and if he wanted to tell them more, he would open up in his own time. For now, they steered clear, giving him lots of space.
He worked at the feed and tack store. He put in his hours at the sale barn. Every night, he worked with Batman until he was so sore he couldn’t lift his arm.
On Wednesday, at the rodeo arena, Dean and Lucky watched the video of his last run. For some reason, Batman had been slow in sliding to a stop as soon as the calf was roped around the neck. Lucky racked his brains to figure out why. Dean made a few suggestions that seemed to work, but Lucky’s times had not improved in the last two weeks. He’d be leaving for Arizona in a couple days.
“You’ve been working yourself too hard. How’s the shoulder?” Dean asked.
“I’ve been icing it down at night.”
“Take it easy. You’re going to hurt yourself before Payson.”
Dean was right. “I know,” Lucky said.
“And the knee?”
Lucky had twisted his knee late last season and had to undergo weeks of physical therapy for it. It was the reason he was out of the running for world finals last year. “It’s okay. I don’t feel it much anymore.”
Dean nodded and searched his face. The eldest MacKinnon brother had always been an intimidating figure to Lucky. As a professional bullfighter, Dean had stared down eighteen-hundred-pound bulls in the arena, protecting bull riders who’d been bucked off. He’d retired from the professional arena last year. He continued to work cattle on the ranch and ran a bullfighting and bull riding school with Bo Walker, the stock contractor in nearby Lake Isabella.
So Dean would understand Lucky’s particular conundrum more than anyone else.
“Do you miss it?” Lucky asked. “Do you miss being on the road? All those shows?”
Dean shrugged. “From time to time. I miss the excitement. But I sure as hell don’t miss being away from home.” Since he’d gotten married and had a son, Dean was as steady as an oak tree, as hard a worker as his father had been. “Truth is, I don’t have much time to miss it. I don’t have time for much of anything these days.”
“I know how busy you are. Thanks for helping me out with all of this.”
“Don’t sweat it. This is how I unwind. There’s only so much talk of breast milk pumps I can take before I start to get a little weird.” Dean closed the laptop. “Tell me the truth. Are you still thinking of giving this up? Selling your horse?”
“Araceli’s starting college next year. With her and Abel enrolled at the same time, I don’t know how we’ll swing it. I need to find steady work—these odd jobs, they’re not enough. And we can’t rely on my winnings—too unpredictable.”
Dean rubbed his beard. “Steady work, huh? I might have a lead for you. Give me a few days to find out more.”
“I’d appreciate it. Anything. You know I’m down for it.”
“I gotta be honest, Luck. You giving this up—it tans my hide. Ranch or rodeo, you’re one of the best cowboys I’ve ever met. You’ve got a gift.”
“It’s not really a gift. No one gave it to me. I had to work my ass off for it.” Lucky stood up and stretched out his shoulder.
“What else is bothering you? This whole week you’ve been distracted. What’s up?”
Nothing escaped Dean. His sixth sense for reading livestock carried over to people. Lucky leaned up against the rails. Time to confess. “It’s Harmony.”
“Harmony?”
“It’s…complicated.”
“Of course it’s complicated.” Dean smiled to himself. “Lay it on me, Luck.”
Except for the part where he banged Harmony to three screaming orgasms in the bunkhouse, Lucky told Dean everything. From the opening of the Silver Spur to the final moment on the doorstep of Annette Leblanc’s house. He’d been torn up, inside out, for days. Only his own shame kept him from calling her. She’d texted him a couple times. He didn’t respond. Not to be a dick, but to keep distance between them. She obviously loved Frank. Why would Lucky complicate that with something as inconsequential as a childhood crush? Who was he fooling? She wasn’t part of his world. She was destined to love a Lockwood, not a Garcia.
Dean kicked back in his folding chair and listened in silence. When Lucky was done, he shook his head slowly. “Jesus. That is some shit.”
“Some shit,” Lucky agreed.
“What are you going to do?”
“What am I going to do? Nothing. You should’ve seen her. Leaning over him. Wiping his face. Crying. Fuck, if a woman felt like that about me after I got my ass kicked, I’d have it made. I won that fight and what did I get? They all looked at me like I was some kind of monster.” Lucky paused, shame clawing at his insides. “I never want to be looked at like that again.”
“Don’t worry about them. They’re just not used to our brand of macho.”
“What should I do? Do you think I should call her?”
“Yeah. Call her. Talk it out. What you feel is what you feel. You have no way of knowing the truth until she tells you.” Dean nodded thoughtfully. “You may be right about her not wanting to have anything to do with you. But I watched that girl grow up. It would take a lot more than a brawl to scare Harmony Santos off. Trust me.”
The next morning, Lucky texted her. She didn’t text him back. He called her. She didn’t pick up.
Serves you right for not answering her calls first. What was the saying? Karma’s a bitch.
When her voicemail beeped, he cleared his throat. “Harmony. This is Lucky. I just wanted to…to talk to you and see how you are. I know it’s been a few days. I’m sorry I didn’t answer your texts earlier. I guess I needed to simmer down a little bit.” He paused. “I didn’t know what to say. I guess.” He groaned inwardly. He wished he could erase the whole message and start again. “Anyhow, please call me. I want to tell you something important. Okay. Bye.”
She didn’t respond all day. Before he could second-guess himself, he got in his truck after work and drove to Bakersfield to see her. He parked outside her apartment building to pump himself up. Fog had gathered in the valley. The street lamps shimmered through the thick vapor, creating ghosts of light on the wet asphalt.
He rubbed his hands together and summoned up his courage.
With a dreamy
sigh, he thought about her sitting under the plum tree with him. Sunlight, glittering through the leaves, illuminating her cheeks. Her lips, wet with sweet juice.
Lockwood was a doctor from the wealthiest family in the county. How could he compete with that? What did he have to offer her?
A rickety bench. A handful of fruit. A patch of dirt. A horse. His beat-up body. The anger of an abandoned son. The forever-looming shadow of debt, almost too fast for him to outrun. He still had nightmares about it, about the lights being turned off. He’d never forget the way his nine-year-old brother cried or the way his seven-year-old sister wailed, holding on to him in the dark.
But what else did he have to offer Harmony?
His brain, for one. He had given up his chance of going to college, but he knew he was smart. He understood numbers better than people who had more education than him. And Dean was right. He was a damned good cowboy—he’d worked cattle all his life, even back in Zacatecas. He rode horses before he could walk.
Most of all, Lucky was sure of one thing. He knew no one loved the way he did.
It was hard to articulate this quality. All he knew was if Harmony was his, he’d give his life to see her happy. He’d give her everything he had, inside and out.
But how could he tell her that he had nothing to give her now except everything he was going to do? The outline of kingdoms he would build, lands he would conquer for her?
Right now, they were only imaginary kingdoms. Empty spaces on a map.
How did that make him different from his father?
Lucky looked at himself in the rearview mirror. He was nothing like his father.
He took one more deep breath and put his hand on the door handle of his truck.
Do it.
Before he opened his door, two figures appeared in the fog. They were walking side by side towards his truck. Talking, they approached the front gate of the apartment and the woman tapped in a code.
Lucky narrowed his eyes. She was dressed in a jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots. She had dark hair. The man was tall and dressed in a suit. He had blond hair. When he stepped into the light from the street lamp, Lucky saw that his face was beat to shit, lip split with a black eye fading to purple.
