“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Which one was that?”
Her eyes flashed and she all but spit at him. “Are you doing anything next weekend?” She spoke slowly, as if she was talking to a dimwit. He grinned. The return of sarcastic Betty was good. He didn’t like her vulnerable. On camera yes—it’s what he was aiming for.
But not in real life.
He also didn’t like playing games, which made this entire conversation insane. Beau decided enough was enough.
“I’ve got no plans.” Bullshit. He was supposed to hook up with Lane Summers. He’d been seeing her for a few months now and the socialite would be pissed if he missed their rendezvous. But if he could work this favor into an advantage for himself, he was willing to face Lane’s wrath.
Besides, makeup sex was hot.
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
“Duke wanted me to ask if you’d be, um,” her foot tapped louder and sweat beaded along the top of her lip. “He wanted to know if you would be interested in taking part in a celebrity mixed ball tournament next weekend.”
Okay. That’s not what he’d been expecting to hear.
“Baseball?” he asked.
She nodded.
Shit. He hadn’t played ball since last summer when he and some of the guys had gotten together after the all-star game and messed around. His knee was good for recreational, so the thought interested the hell out of him.
Wait. Mixed?
“Are we talking men and women?”
Again, with the chin. She faced him, hands now on her hips and Jesus Christ, that top…
“Well, mixed usually means more than one type. What? You don’t think girls can play with the boys? You do know about my sister right? Billie would have played in the NHL if she’d been born with a dick, and in fact played overseas in a Men’s league. She’s an amazing hockey player and well…” Cheeks now bright red, Betty stumbled a bit over her words. “I’m just saying.”
Beau should have been surprised at Betty’s ardent defense of her sister, but he wasn’t. He was starting to think that the relationship between the Barker girls was extremely complicated.
That maybe they didn’t even understand the complexities of it all.
“I know all about your sister and that’s not what I meant.” He took a second. “Are you playing?”
“Excuse me?”
“Are you playing in the tournament?”
An idea popped into his head and her eyes narrowed as a slow grin crossed his face.
“Apparently. My outrageous reputation and the fact that I was on the cover of SI means something, so yes, I’m playing. Not that I like baseball. Or hockey for that matter. But the tournament is to help raise funds for this little boy and it’s for a good cause, and…”
“Wow.”
“Wow, what?”
“Betty Jo Barker does have a heart somewhere in there.”
She made a face and he listened as Betty rambled on about the whys and reasons for the tournament. He wasn’t about to tell her she didn’t need to go on and on about it. She had him. Or rather, she had him once she accepted his counter offer. In the meantime, he liked watching her talk. Her eyes came alive and her mouth…well, that mouth alone was something to behold.
“So?” she finished breathlessly. Her hands were loose at her sides and her foot was done tapping. It was as if a cork had just burst and she wasn’t wound so freaking tight.
A car drove by, horns honking and girls screaming his name and he knew their quiet time was about to be disrupted. Beau needed to be quick about this.
“I’ll do it,” he said. “On one condition.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask what that condition will be.”
He waved at another car that honked as it slowed to a crawl, causing the car behind it to squeal to a stop.
“I want you to read something.” He saw her confusion. “A script.”
“You want me to read a script.” She paused. He saw the flair of interest, quickly followed by mistrust. He couldn’t blame her. It’s not as if her last movie experience was anything great.
“It’s mine. My script. My movie. And I want you for the lead.”
Betty didn’t say a word. Her features were schooled into an expressionless mask. But he had her. Damn straight, but had her.
“I’ll drop it by later.”
Before she could refuse, Beau walked over to his bike, strapped on his helmet, and settled onto his motorcycle. He nodded to her as he rode out of the parking lot, acknowledging the girls giggling on the sidewalk.
He rode up Main Street, his mood light, his mega-watt smile grinning from ear to ear. The sun was shining, it was a beautiful day and for the first time since he’d arrived in New Waterford, Beau Simon had Betty Jo Barker right where he wanted her.
Chapter Nine
A SCRIPT.
Beau Simon wanted her to read a script. What the hell was up with that? He’d taken off so fast that Betty hadn’t had time to ask any questions, and she wasn’t sure what to think.
So, she decided not to think about it at all. She marched back into The Grill, ignoring Jackie, Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, and the clone beside her, as well as the asshole with Jason Danvers.
She found Duke in the kitchen, set her hands on her hips and glared at him.
Duke tossed the remains of the lemons and limes that Betty had cut earlier into the garbage and leaned against the large wooden prep table.
“By the sourpuss look on your face, I’m taking it Beau can’t commit to the tournament.”
“Oh he can do it alright.” Now that she’d had a few seconds to think things over, Betty was pissed. She felt as if she’d been used by Duke and by Beau, and she was pretty damn sure that neither one of them gave a rat’s ass.
A wide smile broke over Duke’s face and his mustache quivered. It actually quivered.
“Nothing like pimping yourself out and taking one for the team,” she muttered.
“What’s that?” Duke’s mustache froze as he frowned. “Is everything alright?”
“You know what? It’s fine. Everything’s fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. None of this was fine. Something dark stirred inside Betty and she felt her cheeks flush as heat erupted along her skin.
She should just go before she did something stupid. Like open her mouth and insert her goddamn foot.
“I’m sick of everyone wanting something from me and not really giving a shit about the way I feel. Do I want to play in this stupid tournament? Hell no. Do I want all those men looking at me, thinking the things they’re going to think, which you and I both know won’t be rated PG. Oh, and then their wives and girlfriends will whisper to each other, ‘look, there’s that skank Barker’. I know what everyone says about me, Duke.”
Goddammit! There went those stupid feelings again. Couldn’t she just shut the hell up?
“You want to know the truth?” she snapped.
Holy. Hell. Where was this all coming from?
Betty’s chest was so tight that for a moment she couldn’t breathe and she saw black dots in front of her eyes. But then like a freight train running full steam ahead down a track that was broken, she couldn’t’ stop herself.
“I hate Beau Simon, and do you know why?” Tear pricked the corners of her eyes as that well inside her—the one that housed all kinds of crap—broke apart.
“I hate him because he fucked me to prove a point, and when I say fucked, I don’t mean he fucked me over. I mean he literally fucked me to prove a point.” She paused, chest heaving. “He made me…he made me feel things I thought I was done with.”
But she couldn’t finish. She was done.
Duke rubbed the ends of his mustache, his frown deeper, his eyes somber. “I’m sorry, Betty. I didn’t know.”
“Don’t pretend to care, Duke. We both know I’m not Billie or Bobbi and that I probably deserve every dirty look and nasty comment thrown my way. Normally I can
handle it.”
She sighed tiredly, and rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m taking the rest of the afternoon.”
Without waiting for an answer she turned around and marched past Jackie, who was frozen near the entrance. The woman had obviously heard everything and Betty fought to keep her damn tears in her eyes where they belonged.
Head high. Shoulders squared. She pushed through the door and was gone.
New Waterford was a small town. You could walk from one end to the other in half an hour, so a few minutes later, she pulled up to the house and parked beside Shane Gallagher’s bike.
The petunias along the front of the porch looked wilted and she made a mental note to get the hose out later. The railing could use a good coat of paint as well, which was just one more thing to add to her list.
God, if the New York crowd she used to run with could see her now—though, domestic goddess wasn’t exactly something she was stellar at. None of the everyday things were getting done. Not since Bobbi had moved in with Shane. He’d inherited his grandfather’s place in the country, so she wasn’t exactly local anymore. Between Bobbi’s job and her love-life, there wasn’t a whole lot of time for anything else.
Oh, she still came around—Bobbi loved Gramps and Dad as much as they all did—but she was moving on with her life and Bobbi deserved it.
Betty had moved on years ago, except her moving on had led her back here. Back to the beginning.
Pretty damn ironic.
Betty tossed her purse on the hall table and found her sister out back, sitting across Shane’s lap, his hands up her shirt and his tongue down her throat.
“Jesus, enough with the live sex show. I really don’t need to see that.”
Bobbi’s head popped up and, with a squeal, she slid from Shane’s lap, laughing as he tried to keep his hands up where they shouldn’t be.
“Hey,” Bobbi said, a husky note in her voice. “You’re back early.”
“Yeah, well I don’t feel so hot.” Betty frowned and glanced around. “Where’s Dad?”
“Napping.”
“Are you sure about that?” Betty retorted. “It’s not as if he won’t wander off while you two are out here feeling each other up.”
“Yep.” Bobbi pointed to the baby monitor they’d started using again. “Listen.”
Betty relaxed when the unmistakable sound of her father’s snores reached her ears. She flopped down in a low-slung lounge chair and leaned all the way back. “God, I wish I still drank.”
“Your day that bad?” Shane asked, as he too stood.
Betty lifted her head long enough to glance over to him. Shane Gallagher wore a pair of faded cargo shorts, slung way too low on his hips. His longish hair hung to his shoulders in waves and his jaw was shadowed with day old stubble. He was shirtless. Tanned. Ripped. Tattooed. And Hot.
And every single inch of him belonged to her sister, Bobbi.
Damn shame.
“Worse than you can imagine.”
Bobbi stretched like a cat, sidled up to Shane, and then settled her intense blue eyes on Betty. “This have anything to do with Beau Simon?”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
“Bobbi,” Betty said in warning. “No.”
Bobbi’s mouth tightened and Betty feared her sister was going to ignore her request. Bobbi’s selective hearing was notorious.
“Seriously, Bobbi. I can’t take it. Not now.” Her voice cracked a little and she hung her head back, eyes closed.
God, she sounded as pathetic as she felt.
A few seconds went by and then she felt a gentle touch across her forehead. “I’m sorry,” Bobbi said softly.
“Yeah, me too.”
The wind whistled in the trees and Betty inhaled a hot, humid, shot of summer. The lilac bushes along the side of the house were still in bloom and the heavy scent hung in the air, making her remember things long past. A time when she had been happy.
“Dad asked for barbecued chicken, so I took out some breasts and they’re marinating in the fridge.” Bobbi’s voice was soothing, and, for just one second it felt like a whisper in her ear from long ago.
They’d been so young when their mother had passed, but sometimes Bobbi would turn a certain way or speak and just like that, Betty was transported back in time.
God, what would her mother think of the mess she’d made of her life?
“Are you guys staying for dinner?” Betty cracked her neck to look up at Bobbi.
Her sister’s short bob was a mess, her mouth was swollen and her cheeks were flushed.
“Um,” Bobbi said glanced back at Shane.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Betty said.
“We can stay if you want.”
“So that I can watch the two of you make out like a couple of teenagers? No thanks. Not my idea of fun.” She glanced around. “Where’s Gramps?”
“Out back with his bees.”
That brought a small smile to Betty’s face. Herschel Barker loved his bees. She’d bet anything he was decked out in his white coveralls—even in this heat—with his white ball cap and large, black, farmer boots.
Betty paused and then said quietly. “How was Dad today? He seemed so normal at breakfast. As if nothing happened.”
“He’s good,” Bobbi answered and then sighed. “I made sure he took his anxiety pills.” Bobbi paused. “Bets, I don’t know how much longer he’s going to be able to stay here. Last night…He could have fallen in the river. The thought of him alone out there and in danger…He’s starting to scare me, you know? It’s not fair, that burden, not on you or Gramps or any of us.”
Betty nodded, but didn’t answer. She didn’t have the mental strength to talk about this right now. She’d think about it later. You know, when her head was clear and she’d banished all emotion from her psyche.
“Go,” she waved at her sister. “I’ll see you guys later.”
The warm breeze, the smell of lilac, and the buzzing of the cicadas in the garden lulled Betty into a place of calm. Her head fell back, her eyes slowly closed, and eventually she fell asleep for a few hours, coming awake with a start and groaning at the stiffness in her neck.
“Christ,” she muttered struggling to sit up. Her long legs hung over the end of the chair and as she straightened, she realized that she wasn’t alone. Her father stood a few feet away, his mouth pensive, his eyes intense as he stared at her.
Warily, she eyed him. “Dad?”
Trent Barker shook his head, rubbing his arms as if cold. “Why are you dressed like that?” he asked harshly.
Betty’s heart sank. She knew what was coming. Instead of replying, she slowly got to her feet. Another time and place would have found her smart mouth leading the charge, but it wasn’t good to antagonize her father when he was like this.
He took a step forward and her eyes ran over the faded, stained, grey cardigan he wore. His pants were wrinkled and she was willing to bet he’d slept in them. And his hair…shoot, she needed to call the barber. It was just easier to have Bill Mason come by when Trent was having a good day.
Which definitely wasn’t today. How the hell had he gone from being so nice this morning—making Betty eggs even though she didn’t want them—to this?
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” he said roughly.
Here we go. Where was Gramps? Usually, he rescued her.
“Dressed like a slut with your tits and ass nearly hanging out. Where is your pride girl? Or do you like the fact that the entire town thinks you’re nothing but a two-bit whore? You think I don’t know what they say about you? You think I don’t know about all the boys you’ve been with?”
Ouch.
His voice rose.
So did Betty’s heart rate. She knew it was better to just shut the hell up when he was like this, but the hurt inside her threatened to explode. It was getting harder to stay quiet.
Harder not to tell him to shut up—he didn’t know one fucking thing about her. How could he? He’d always treated Betty as an afterthought. She wasn’t the hockey phenom. She wasn’t the smart go-getter that Bobbi was.
Trent moved toward her so fast she nearly fell back on the chair. He was close enough that Betty could see the weird light in his eyes and she knew he was beyond agitated.
“You need to march your ass upstairs and put some clothes on, you hear? I won’t have no daughter of mine running around looking like that.”
The disgust in his voice was clear. The dislike in his eyes even clearer. That look shot straight into Betty. It penetrated the layers she’d built up.
Heat pricked the corners of her eyes. Don’t cry, you idiot.
“Dad, you need to calm down.”
“Are you talking back to me, girlie?”
“No, I just…Dad, you need to…”
Calm down and let me help you.
But she didn’t have a chance to get the rest of the words out.
At first she wasn’t sure what happened because it took a few seconds for it to sink in. A sharp crack echoed in her head, followed by searing pain along her jaw and mouth.
Oh, God.
Betty heard the frantic beating of her heart, pounding in tandem with the harsh sounds of her father’s breaths. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth and her hand shook as she reached up and felt along her lip.
Oh, God.
He’d never hit her before.
Oh, God.
Dazedly, she looked at the blood in her hand, her tongue feeling along the corner where her lip was split.
“Betty, I…”
Her father’s eyes filled with tears and he took a step back. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to do that.” He shook his head and stared at his hand. “Goddammit, I don’t think I did. I don’t…”
He dropped his head into his hands, his body shaking, and Betty moved forward, on auto-pilot. She loved this man. She did. In spite of everything.
She just didn’t know how to show it.
Gingerly, she patted him on the back, exhaling roughly as she struggled to keep it together.
“It’s okay, Dad. I know.”
“I’ll take him up, Bets. You’ve got a visitor,” Herschel Barker said softly.
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