by Cara McKenna
She shook her head. “But he’s shaken me. And I’ve seen him get physical with other people, and the way he looked those times . . . I’ve seen that in his eyes, when he’s been angry at me, and trying hard to keep it all in. Plus I’ve never done anything this bad before—keeping him in the dark about a child. I don’t want to find out what he’s capable of.”
“I don’t much relish finding that out, either, but it’s something we do need to know. You can’t spend the rest of your life in hiding, honey. And I know you’re starting to build a life for yourself here. You’re important to the bar, and I think you like that job.”
She nodded. She made good tips at Benji’s, and she liked feeling as if she had a place in this town—even if only as a bartender—after being adrift for five years. That was a long time to go, feeling like you didn’t belong anywhere, especially to a girl who’d had a seeming idyllic small-town childhood. Fortuity might be a hundred times rougher than Bloomville, Texas, but the bar’s customers knew her name and asked after her baby. Made her feel like somebody, nearly.
“I don’t think you want the solution to be that we dream you up some fake identity and ship you off to Arkansas to start over, all alone.”
Now, that chilled her. She was already living under a false identity, already neck-deep in her first fresh start. Already living in fear that Casey might one day glance at her health insurance paperwork and realize Abilene Price was not in fact her real name, and that she might have to spill about how it was she’d come to be here with him. Tell him things she’d never even told James . . . and he’d met her during the absolute pitch-black rock bottom of her life.
“I don’t want to go away,” she said quietly. “But I don’t know if I’m ready to see him yet.”
“I kinda figured you’d say that.” Casey sighed, sipped his coffee. “So here’s the plan, okay? We sit on this issue until Ware’s turned up and made contact. Chances are, he’ll go after my brother. If he doesn’t try Vince first, it’ll be Duncan or Raina or me who encounters him, at the bar. Whatever the case, we’ll wait until he shows, and we’ll go from there. Take his temperature. See what he has to say.”
A great wave of guilt moved through her—a sour, sharp sensation that rose from her gut and flushed her face, stung her eyes. It must have shown, as Casey took her hand. “It’ll be okay.”
I’m not scared. Not just now, not for herself or the baby. Just now she felt terrible and selfish and worried that something bad might happen to whoever did see James first. That someone would get threatened or hurt if they refused to tell him where she was. Was living with that guilt truly better than living with Casey finding out her secrets?
Mustering a little bravery, a little hint of the spine she so wanted to one day possess for the sake of her daughter, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll talk to him. Once he’s made contact, like you said.” As she heard those words in her own voice, she sat up a little straighter, felt a little different, a little stronger.
“Good.” Casey gave her knuckles a rub and let her hand go. “Drink your coffee.”
She took a sip.
“It’s gonna be okay, in the end. It’s the uncertainty and the waiting that sucks, is all.”
“No kidding.”
There was a silence, and they focused on their coffees until the suspense became unbearable. She looked at him pointedly.
“What?”
“Is that it?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Were you expecting something else?”
She looked to the mug cupped in her palms. “I sort of assumed you wanted to talk about what happened. Between you and me.”
“Oh.” A canyon-deep pause. “I hadn’t planned on it. We could, though, if you want.”
Jeez, did she? “I dunno.” She wanted to know how he felt about it—she knew that much. Wanted to hear that it had meant something, anything, to him, even as she was afraid to admit the same.
“I mean, we talked some already, after it happened,” Casey said. He was acting blasé, like it hadn’t mattered, but whether that was because he regretted it or because he assumed she did, Abilene couldn’t guess. What she really wanted to hear was that it had meant something. Anything at all, even if it could never go anywhere.
Abilene wasn’t brave at the best of times, and with all the worries now rushing through her head, she had no courage to speak of. “Yeah, I guess we talked plenty already,” she agreed. “I mean, it was just a thing that happened.”
But something in her expression must have shown how much she hurt just now. He reached across the table again and touched her wrist. “It was real nice, though. It was a real nice thing that happened.”
Her heart buoyed at that. She flipped her hand over, clasped his in return. “You think?”
Another nod. “Not something we can keep doing, but I don’t regret it. Not unless you do.”
She shook her head. It was weird, talking to a guy this way. Openly, about sex or anything else. She wasn’t like Kim or Raina—women with no issues sharing their opinions and feelings with a man, talking with one like they were equals. Abilene had never been the equal of any of the men she’d been with, or hadn’t felt like she was. She did what voiceless women did—she manipulated. Through sex or tears, she could coerce a guy into not being angry with her, or into lending her money, into just about anything. It wasn’t good, but she’d gotten good at it. Way better at it than speaking her mind and articulating her needs. She’d gone unheard her entire life, after all. The concept was foreign.
What would she say, if she could get her mouth to speak the absolute truth?
I do want that to happen again. And again, and again, until my body’s ready for more, and then I want to do a hundred other things with you. And to hell with his past, and all her vows to quit falling for criminals. Her life was teeming with uncertainty and worry just now, the temptation to escape into good feelings all the more seductive. To hell with everything that didn’t feel half as wonderful as that kiss had.
But wants weren’t needs, and what she needed was exactly the opposite of all these reckless, selfish desires. She needed stability and security, for herself just as much as for her daughter. Another encounter with Casey offered none of that. Offered nothing except excitement and a fleeting imitation of comfort, and desires like those had brought her nothing but ruin, again and again.
“The flesh is weak,” whispered a voice from her past. “The flesh is weak so the resolve must be steadfast. To give in to our animal natures is to turn our backs on the Lord, to trade our very souls for a taste of the Devil’s wares. And those wares do not nourish; no, they do not. The wants of the flesh lead us only to poison.”
It was all such bullshit—every fear-mongering, sex-shaming word she’d been fed, growing up.
Except was it, really, when her past mistakes really had poisoned her life?
It has to be bullshit. If Mercy came out of one of those mistakes, there’s no way it can be true.
Unless Abilene lost her, somehow. Unless that was the real punishment she’d earned herself—
“Hey,” Casey said, leaning in, catching her eye. “You all right?”
She blinked, escaping her thoughts. “Yeah. Sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“No doubt. But you don’t need to worry about what happened between us, okay? You can set that one aside. We had a moment, it was a little fucked, but also nice, and that’s all it has to be. Okay?”
“Okay.” Abilene swallowed, forced herself to believe that he was right, that it had been nothing more than a little effed but also nice. He made it sound so easy to set aside.
“Effed, and nice,” she agreed. “And it was nice—nice to feel that way again, if only for a few minutes.” She’d forgotten how much her body could feel, with a man. For a year now, she’d set all that aside and turned her physical self over to the baby’s needs, and undoubtedly for the best. Though now she’d tasted that again . . . the memory of it lingered on her tongue, deepening to a craving.
And how unfair that people’s greatest cravings so often made them sick, gave them heart disease or cancer, or left them addicted. There was a lesson in that. One she’d been needing to learn for years. She heard the baby fussing from the den and went to fetch her, setting her up in her collapsible rocker beside the table.
She eyed the clock. “Better get to work on those eggs.”
“I’ll get a bottle going—she looks like she’ll be wanting one soon. And I can help out some more once the meeting wraps. I don’t have much on my plate today.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.” Way better than I deserve. Yet way more trouble than I need.
But she wanted him all the same. More than just about anything.
Chapter 8
Good job, Grossier, Casey thought as he turned bacon rashers over on the griddle, pleased with how the first half of his talk had gone with Abilene. You sounded like a stern-ass man there. Not some stammering, horny mess, like Monday night, barely able to hit the brakes. That was what she needed in her life right now—a decisive, firm, reliable man.
She needed Miah, basically, but Casey could fake it for the sake of the situation.
Miah and his dad strolled in soon, both dressed for work, and Don lingered long enough to fill a thermos and eat a test pancake before heading out on ranch business. Vince and Kim were next to arrive. Christine excused herself, and Abilene stuck around until Kim seemed to have gotten her fill of baby ogling.
“Better be careful,” Casey muttered to his brother, and nodded in his girlfriend’s direction. “You might be next.”
“Thanks to all the Mom-sitting she’s been doing, I think I’m safe for a few years, still. All Kim seems to fantasize about is travel.” His attention turned to the heaps of pancakes and eggs and bacon laid out on the table. “Goddamn. Tell your mom thanks, Miah.”
“Hey, I helped,” Casey said. “I did the bacon. And Abilene did the eggs.”
Raina and Duncan arrived last, a few minutes past six. Had to be Raina’s doing—Duncan would rather slam his dick in a door than be late for anything.
“Sorry,” Raina said as she brushed past, making a beeline for the coffee. “I forgot there was no gas in the truck.”
“S’fine,” Miah said evenly, refreshing his own mug. He cast Duncan a cool look, nodded once in acknowledgment. Duncan returned it.
Miah took a seat on one of the two long benches, grabbed a wooden pepper grinder, and thumped it on the tabletop. “Let’s get this thing under way—I’ve got a feed delivery coming at seven. Item one, we need to get the security coverage worked out.”
“I took the liberty of printing up a blank roster,” Duncan said, pulling papers out of a leather dossier.
“You know,” Casey said, sliding the pancake platter over, “on TV, when motorcycle clubs hold meetings, it’s to discuss who gets to murder the rival drug lord.”
Duncan ignored him, clicking out the tip of a mechanical pencil. “Raina and I can cover the bar, through this week and also next, if necessary. That frees Casey up to stay here for much of the time, with smaller windows of cover so that he can attend to his personal domestic matters.”
He shot Duncan a funny look. “You’ve been to my apartment. I don’t even have any plants.” And he didn’t intend to leave Abilene alone for a moment longer than was necessary. He was already mixed-up from his nascent attachments to her and the baby, and that awkward-hot couch incident had only crossed the wires further. He was all messed up in his body with protective instincts he’d never felt for a woman before. He supposed that must happen when sleeping with somebody was off the table. Your dick transferred all that aggression elsewhere.
“You’ll want to at least escape to do laundry and check your mail now and then,” Duncan countered. “Vince, do you have any evenings free?”
He nodded and glanced at Kim. “You could watch Mom by yourself a couple evenings, right? If Nita could take the afternoon?”
“Sure.”
“And I can relieve Case for a few hours now and then,” Miah said. “After dinnertime, at least, but only until about midnight.”
They spent twenty minutes hammering out everyone’s shifts, and eventually a schedule came together. Vince had even offered to take the overnight watch duty on Friday so Casey could get an actual night’s sleep in his own bed, but Casey had declined—he’d only spend every last minute lying awake, worrying. Miah left for a minute to make photocopies in the office. He passed them out, grabbed a scoop of eggs, and plowed onward.
“Item two—the Ware situation itself.”
“Been working on that,” Casey said. “I talked to Abilene this morning. She’s promised to talk to him, if a meeting can get arranged. If anybody runs into him, give him my number. I’ll set it up.”
Everyone nodded except Duncan, who, with the admin portion of the meeting wrapped, had gone silent, clearly feeling out of place when it came to matters that couldn’t be solved with a spreadsheet.
“Sounds good,” Vince said. “Keeping her safe’s priority number one, but it’s not going to work as a long-term solution. We need to know ASAP if this is going to end in some awkward convo or if a restraining order’s getting filed.”
Casey winced. Neither outcome appealed to him. Of course the latter was the worst-case scenario, but there was also a petty, insecure bit of him that couldn’t help but think that she’d liked the guy enough to be in a relationship with him. She might’ve loved him, even, provided she hadn’t stuck around out of fear. While a civil reconciliation was undoubtedly the best result they could hope for, his coffee curdled in his gut as he imagined them getting so good with each other that maybe they’d try to get back together, to make things work for Mercy’s sake.
His fingers curled up into fists underneath the table.
Chill out. What the fuck had happened to the old Casey, anyhow? Before last summer he’d have taken one look at this situation—seen an emotional girl, a baby, and some mysterious gunrunner ex—and booked it out of there quick enough to kick up dust. He should have left the Robin Hood scene to his brother; Vince was the one who enjoyed bleeding, after all. Casey liked his face and limbs just how they were.
“Let’s see where that goes,” Miah said, meaning the plan to get Ware in touch with Abilene, “and regroup from there.”
“Meantime,” Vince said, “we’re still on high alert. Especially you guys at the bar—no doubt he’ll be looking for her there.”
“I brought these,” Raina said, rooting through Duncan’s dossier. “Mug shot, plus a picture from the paper when he was arrested.” She handed out printouts with the two black-and-white photos on them.
Casey studied it, stomach dropping. He’d been avoiding this moment.
Ware looked about how he’d pictured. No face tattoos, but a mean mug, shaved head, scar through one eyebrow, glare like an angry dog. Guy must have some kind of winning-ass smile, he thought, if a sweet thing like Abilene had managed to fall for him, once upon a time.
Miah nodded, studying his copy. “Thanks. That’s way better than the photos I was able to find. Okay, item three: I’ve got some security concerns of my own.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Vince said.
“It’s nothing compared to Abilene’s worries.” Miah sipped his coffee. “But last fall we found some evidence that pointed to possible drug dealing, out on the range. Or maybe not drugs this time—could be weapons or any other thing. But pickups and drop-offs of some nature, likely. Strange vehicles seen turning off the access roads, late at night.”
“Déjà vu,” Vince said.
Miah nodded. “It’s happened before—one of my hands once found a cooler full of weed just sitting at the junction of two of our private roads. Whoever was meant to pick it up must’ve gotten lost or detained or something. We filed a report but nothing ever came of it. In any case, the BCSD doesn’t patrol out here, and there’re no lights or any workers out after sundown. It’s an obvious temptation.”
; “You want us to patrol?” Vince asked.
“No, I can do that myself—I have been for months, just a couple times a week. There haven’t been any known thefts or property damage, so it’s more a nuisance than anything. But also not a development anybody wants becoming a regular thing. But I was thinking maybe one of us could go sniffing around the shadier corners of Fortuity. Drop hints like they’re looking for a distributor, that sort of thing. I think that probably means you, Case. Too many people know Vince and I are friends to buy it, but you’re still a new face to any criminals who didn’t grow up here.”
Casey shrugged, game for it. He did enjoy a good con. “I can give it a shot. Not sure where to start—or when I’ll have the time—but I’ll give it a try.”
Vince said, “Dancer,” just as Duncan suggested, “Perhaps John Dancer.”
“Fuck me, that psycho? Last time I saw him he chloroformed me.” Ostensibly as anesthesia, when Casey had been taken to Dancer to get a bullet tweezed out of his thigh, but it wasn’t as though he’d consented to it.
“Count yourself lucky you got to be unconscious for most of that morning,” Kim said.
John Dancer was Fortuity’s least reputable resident—and that was saying something. He attracted enemies like horseshit drew flies, and lived in a creepy orange camper van way out in the badlands by the creek.
“He’ll know you and me are friends,” Miah said, “so no need to pretend you’re after something shady.”
“Bribe him if you have to,” Vince agreed. “I’ll comp you out of the club’s account.” Meaning the many coffee cans full of cash Vince kept secreted around the auto garage—proceeds from his sideline as an unlicensed bookie and the sale of questionably acquired cars. “Ask Dancer if he’s ever done business with Ware, while you’re at it,” Vince added. “He’s been kicking around here for twelve years, probably, and I still got no clue what he does for money. But I wouldn’t be shocked if illegal weapons factored, here and there.”
“Fine, fine.” Casey glanced at his photocopy of the roster. “It’ll have to be an evening. I’ll try tonight, actually, if Miah can be with Abilene for a couple hours . . . ?”
