by Susan Arden
Sommer opened the photo and the image of a sparkling princess cut solitaire filled her screen. At first, she stared and then she whistled. “So freaking gorgeous. Do you have someone to lug around your hand for you?”
“I might need to,” Ivy agreed.
“That chunk of ice isn’t obscene. More like wicked huge, but wonderful. I love the setting. Girl, you two are going to be madly in love, forever and ever.”
“I hope so. Vince is amazing. I haven’t met anyone like him. Ever! You just have to get to know him, and now you will. Give me a few. I’ll book a flight and text you the ticket info. Okay?”
Holy, holy hell. I needed a solution, and look what came through. It was hard to get her head wrapped around the fact that she might actually have a way out of this torrential mess. Flying out to LA. Me. Tomorrow.
Oh. Shit! What could she tell Rory? She sat straight up, already hearing what he’d say, and none of it sounded as happy or exciting as how Ivy had framed the trip. He’d toss out living-by-the-seat-of-her-pants, unsafe, reckless, possibly a few dozen other warnings as well.
What if I just don’t tell him? “Yeah right,” she scoffed to herself, and then sat stone-still for a second.
Could she somehow slip out of Annona and find her way to LA without him knowing? It wasn’t like she was trying to pull off some corrupt deal. She sure as shit wasn’t going to sell her soul. Do a couple of tattoos. Make a little dough. Really, it was no different than working in Clarkesville...just a little farther west.
It might work. Oh hell, it had to work. And she had to get some sleep. Turning off her lamp, Sommer hugged her pillow and closed her eyes, only to have them open again as though her lids possessed a mind of their own.
“Think positive,” she huffed softly.
She had the perfect solution to an awful dilemma. God, she was so excited, now she really couldn’t sleep. All she had to do was face Rory and not cave. Never talk about the trip, and everything would be just fine. “Just dandy,” she murmured, under the weight of this big-ass lie.
Ivy came through next morning. In Sommer’s email inbox was the airline ticket confirmation. Her aunt had agreed to stay with Momma, and all Sommer needed to do was get her keister out to California and back again, fast.
Sitting in the booth of the diner, she fidgeted while waiting for Rory to arrive.
“You sure you don’t want something?” the waitress asked her.
“I’m good, thanks.”
Her pulse shot way up when Rory walked by the front of the diner. She tracked him through the windows, surprised he didn’t stop and glance toward her since she was staring so hard. Worry wormed its way through her stomach as she sat in the booth, ripping tiny pieces from the napkin like a frantic gerbil. She felt his fingers skim over her shoulder and she just about bolted up and out of the booth.
“Hey,” he said, sliding in next to her, his hard thigh coming into contact with hers. “How’s your mom?”
“Oh, uh.” She swallowed, trying to pretend her heart wasn’t clawing its way up her throat. She needed to get her act together and fast, if she didn’t want Rory to suspect she was hiding something monumental. Slowly, she ground out, “Better. The meds are kicking in. In no time, Momma will be back on track.”
She picked up her glass, only to find her hand noticeably trembling, and set it back down.
“Bet you feel better.” Rory channeled his fingers between hers, lifted her hand, and kissed her fingertips. Their gazes fused together, and a high-energy jolt pierced through her body.
Nope. I don’t! Not with this huge-ass lie between them, and growing bigger by the second. “Well, honestly…” She tried to think of something to say, but the departure time flashed like a neon sign inside her head.
The waitress returned. “What can I get you two?”
“Are you hungry?” Rory asked her.
“Just a coke. Please.” Sommer pressed the skin at her temple. Think, dammit.
Rory ordered a soda for both of them, and her gaze lingered on the corded muscles along his forearm. She traced the knuckles along his fingers and he squeezed her hands, sending shimmering vibrations along her skin.
Abort this mission! She couldn’t lie to him. Why did she think for a second, gazing into his blue voodoo eyes, she’d ever be able to? She glanced down at their hands, fingers entwined, and her heart pumped fast and furious. The words crouched on her tongue, begging to be set free. The longer she tried to remain silent, the fiercer her need to come clean.
No longer could she refrain from telling him and out popped, “I’m going to California.” As if by magic, the weight of trying to fool him dissipated. But as she met his eyes, a whole new shade of discontent swathed her body when her and Rory’s gaze locked.
“You’re what?”
It was like time stood still. The rush of blood and her heartbeat overtook her hearing. Her lips opened and closed like a fish caught, and waiting for the hook to be removed from its mouth.
“Sommer.” Her name seemed to resonate off his lips and echo inside her head.
“Before you go completely off the deep end, just hear me out.” Letting go of his hand, she brushed her fingers across her cheeks, raking her hair behind her ears, and trying desperately to frame her next words.
Spilling the beans without a plan. Bright, Sommer. She mentally fumbled with Rory a click away from losing it.
“Well?” he asked. “Are you going to say something?”
“See, what I mean is—” She sweltered under his blistering stare. “Last night Ivy called me and said that Rolling Stone is doing a piece on Vince and the interview includes some discussion of his tattoo. Probably because it references his sister. She died. Did you know?”
With a slow blink, he shook his head. “No. I didn’t.”
“There are at least ten people who want tattoos. Out in LA. By me,” she said in a thin voice.
“And you’re going out there to do them? From one moment to the next?”
“Yeah.” She side-glanced him, tempted to resume tearing up her napkin, but instead she twisted her fingers in her lap. “I wouldn’t be gone long, but I need the money.”
“Let me get this straight.” Rory pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, and paused.
She watched his chest rise and fall. He was trying to keep it together, and she fought to find the right words to make him understand this wasn’t some harebrained idea. She wasn’t cutting out of town, running from a problem. She didn’t have a choice, yet she also couldn’t tell him the real reason why, and that absolutely sucked. If Rory got wind that Mike was behind this, he’d do something to intervene. Something incredibly dangerous.
She could only imagine what a thug like Carlo would do if someone hammered his partner. She hated not being able to tell Rory the whole truth. But if she did and he took it upon himself to deal with Mike, like he’d done with Lonny… Out of the question. Rory might end up like Bell. Roped, tied, and beaten.
A shudder wrenched her torso at the thought. Rory’s knife couldn’t safeguard him against two men with guns.
When he opened his eyes, he faced her. “You’re going to pay for a plane ticket, out to California to make some money?”
“I can’t drive, since the interview is in hours.”
“Aren’t airline tickets expensive?” Rory growled, his blue eyes glassy and penetrating her to the core.
She pursed her lips and nodded. I just had to open the door. She’d fueled him with the truth, and couldn’t stop now. “Vince is paying for the ticket.”
“The hell he is. No way, Sommer.”
“It isn’t like that,” she began and suddenly saw the situation from his point of view. “Ivy and Vince are engaged and she wants me to come out there, too.”
“What does that have to do with the color of milk?”
“I just mean, it’s no big deal.”
“You’re wrong there, sugar. It is to me,�
�� he said. “Sommer, I can’t ask you to stay. But I can ask that you trust me enough to tell me what’s going on.”
“I thought that’s just what I did. Instead of me sneaking out to LA, I come clean, and this is the hassle I have to deal with.”
A muscle ticked along Rory’s jaw. “Well, baby, we can’t have you dealing with a hassle. Sommer, the reason why we aren’t married boils down to one thing: you don’t trust me. Not really.”
The waitress returned, eyeing them uncertainly while she set the drinks and straws down in front of them. “Anything else?”
“Just the check,” Rory replied curtly.
Sommer took his hand between both of hers and squeezed as the words she wanted to admit crept into her mouth. She had to bite her tongue to keep from spewing everything, and lucky for her, the waitress stood in front of the table, writing the check, and giving her time to reconsider. As soon as the waitress left, she pulled on his hand, giving him a firm yank.
“That’s not true. I do trust you. The boot is on the other foot, McLemore. You trusting me is really the issue.”
Rory’s brows lifted, his eyes scanning over her face. “I trust you completely. But I’m no fool. I don’t trust two rockers who blew through here and hooked up two women from our town. One is gone, and the other is on the warpath, trying to cause destruction and screw everyone in her wake.”
She stared slack-jawed at him. “What are you talking about? Ivy has an engagement ring the size of an ice cube on her finger. And how would you know what Jen is up to?” Darts of heat shot up her neck, setting her face on fire.
“Jen offered to screw me. With that jackass—Drew. Mike was in on it,” he snapped. “Those three aren’t right in their heads.”
“What? Why didn’t you ever tell me?” She felt her energy drain out, like a plug had been pulled. She glanced out the window, wondering how many people Mike had tried to pilfer money from around this town. “But you didn’t do it,” she said softly.
“Of course not,” he replied. “Sommer, for the last time, just tell me what’s going on. I’ll give you whatever you need. If it’s money, what’s mine is yours. If we were married, this wouldn’t even be a question.”
“I can’t take your money. Please,” she said, reaching out her hand and touching her fingers to his face. “Let me deal with this.”
Chapter 25
Rory parked in the rear lot of the Barely Back, a hole-in-the-wall bar that got going late at night. No sign of Mike’s truck. He doubted there’d be much action during the day, but in the back room there was always a card game going on. Chances were good that someone would know the whereabouts of Mike. He crossed the lot, heading into the bar as he eyed the redhead walking toward him. He blinked, still adjusting to the dim lighting inside the bar.
“Well howdy,” Jen purred.
“Don’t pull that BS with me again,” he said, keeping his voice tight and in control.
“My goodness. Why so on edge?” She swished her hair to one side of her neck and he looked away, scanning the interior of the bar for any sign of Mike or some of the guys that prick ran with. “C’mon, Rory, give me a chance.”
“You want a chance? Then make right the stupidity you’re neck deep in. Where’s that moron you were with the other night?”
“Are you referring to Mike?”
“Unless you associate with more than one jackass.” Rory ground out the words, “Where’s Mike Harris?”
Jen smirked with some version of a shit-eating grin. “If I had to guess, I’d say he’s sleeping.”
It was a little after one in the afternoon, and considering that Mike wasn’t working at the ranch, that jackass probably did sleep all day. “He stays up all night swindling people. Is that what you’re into as well?”
“Just wanted some fun with you and Drew.” She stared back at him with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Same as him. Hon, we all want a piece of you. Come on back to my place, and I’ll blow you so hard you’ll see stars. Then you can fuck me any which way you like. One time offer. What do you say, hot stuff?”
“I’ll pass.” He went to move past her only interested in finding Mike and settling a score.
Jen grabbed hold of his arm and tried to press up against him. He hated having to treat a woman with blatant disregard, but playing into Jen’s game wasn’t going to happen. He stepped to the side to avoid her as she faltered, clawing at the wall for balance.
“Not much of gentleman these days?” she sneered.
“Not when it comes to someone who wants to backstab my girlfriend. I’m only interested in finding Mike.” He didn’t have the patience to stand here and let her run her mouth. He had to find the douchebag responsible for the shit running a circuit around this town.
“Need to place a bet?”
Rory scowled in Jen’s direction, choosing his words like they were boulders—heavy and cumbersome to think, let alone speak. “That’s not all that Mike’s into, and you’d do well to stay clear of him before you get involved and can’t get free.”
“I can handle myself,” she snapped. “I’m not like your little Goody Two-shoes girlfriend.”
“Stop right there. Do you know where the hell Mike staying or not?” he growled, unwilling to let this idiot insult Sommer.
“On the strip.” She jutted her chin toward the direction of the highway and a string of cheap motels. “Try Motel Three.”
He drew his brows together and frowned. “Mike, the guy you were hanging around, is staying over there?”
“So what if it isn’t Trump Tower. Not everyone has money to burn.”
“Are you blind? That asshole is taking money from people in this community like it’s nothing.”
“But not you. Right? Heard you never lost to him,” Jen scoffed. “Think your luck is gonna hold out?”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” she answered, cocking her brow. “Not a goddamn thing.”
He left without taking Jen’s bait, but her smugness and assurance annoyed him. She had some line on what was going down, and he couldn’t believe after being friends with Sommer for years, that twit would just throw it away over some motherfucker who blew into town.
Going down to the strip that ran parallel to the highway, he swung into the parking lot of the cheapest motel, infamous for charging for rooms by the hour. Most of the single-story motels were dives, and some housed the temporary ranch hands who came into town for the cattle drives twice a year, then moved on. A few also had people way down on their luck and about a whisker away from being homeless. He recognized Mike’s truck, decked out with all sorts of sports paraphernalia on the windows and bumpers. Rory walked up to the truck, parked at the walkway but not directly in front of any specific door.
Only one way to find out where that sleazebag was holed up. He went to the window beneath the ‘Check-in’ sign and tapped on the glass. “You got a Mike Harris staying here?”
The woman peered back at him, studying him for a beat. “Who wants to know?”
“He worked for me last week. Just need to speak with him.” He clenched his jaw, imagining this woman had probably heard it all given the baseball bat she had propped up in the corner.
“Hold on.” She looked down at a sheet of paper. “Room twelve. Straight down on this side.”
“Much obliged.” He tipped his hat.
The hotel room wasn’t far from the office, and more than a few doors down from Mike’s truck. He stood in front of the room and listened to the sound of a television along with some voices coming from inside. He rapped his knuckles on the door and it flew open followed by a man poking his head outward.
“You got the stuff?” he barked, squinting up at Rory.
A billowing cloud of smoke tumbled outward from the room, and Rory waved his hand in front of his face. “Mike around?”
“You here with the stuff?” the dude repeated, this time stepping onto the walkway.
&nb
sp; “Naw. I’m here to talk with Mike,” he answered.
“Gary, he’s not the one.” Mike appeared in the doorway, slapped the guy on the back, and chortled. “Stop worryin’. Shit man, I said he’d be here, and he will.”
“I ain’t worried.” When the other man cleared the threshold, disappearing back inside, Mike narrowed his eyes and focused on him. “What are you after, McLemore?”
“Won’t discuss my business in the doorway. Either come out or I’ll find someone else.”
Mike stared at him, possibly trying to weigh why he was there. He exhaled, then stepped outside and pulled the door closed. Bare-chested, Mike leaned against the doorframe, and sucked on a toothpick. “You want a line on some of the action? NASCAR is going strong. Or is this about that pretty little thing from the other night? Shame when your old lady isn’t giving it up for you. Still, you can probably pound some pussy anywhere in this town, am I right?”
He was close to clocking Mike in the mouth, but he wasn’t going to resort to throwing a sucker punch. Hell no.
Rory widened his stance, looking both ways, and spoke nice and slow. “Listen to me you low life cocksucker, I don’t know what the fuck you’re up to or why. But you say one thing about my girlfriend, or you try to intimidate her again, and I’ll knock all your crooked teeth down your fucking throat.”
“Ain’t nothing to do with you McLemore. Sommer’s—”
“Don’t hear very well, do you. On that front, I’m going to settle a score that scum like you should understand.” With that said Rory swung wide and sailed his fist into Mike’s face. Without waiting, he brought his left hook around, connecting a punch with Mike’s jaw. The sack of shit careened into the motel door and grabbed hold of the knob. He twisted the handle in his hand, but it was locked. Not a shocker that no one inside offered to open it up.
Keeling over, Mike held the side of his face, and grunted, “Stop.”
“Get up,” Rory growled, clenching his fists, more than prepared to trounce this asshole into tomorrow.
“Shit, just wait,” Mike started to say, waving his hands. But like the slimeball he was, Mike lunged for Rory with a well-placed jab to his chin.
