Love Under Two Private Dicks [The Lusty, Texas Collection] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  Maybe it’s time to move again. Maybe I am going crazy. Maybe I’m being haunted by ghosts—ghosts that are long dead and buried

  They were still dead and buried, weren’t they? He was still dead and buried, wasn’t he? Of course he is. No one comes back from the dead.

  Bruce left the grocery bag on the counter and headed outside. The Texas sun beat down without mercy, making the air hot and the grass dry. If the weather gurus had it right, 2013 was going to be another scorcher. Thank God he had AC and that he didn’t have to go outside very often at all.

  Sweat began to dot his forehead as he made his way across his backyard toward the barns. He had four of them, spaced out in an arc behind the house. They weren’t actual barns—they were more the size of spacious garages, but he never, ever referred to them in his thoughts as “garages.”

  Not ever.

  He thought of them as barns because the land he lived on had once been a farm. But he didn’t farm. He just did what he did, which was not much. He stood and looked at each building in turn.

  What will it be, Mr. Smith? Will you choose door number one, door number two, door number three, or door number four?

  Bruce snickered as the image of a game-show host, complete with microphone and phony smile popped into his head.

  He’d choose door number three, of course. It was always door number three.

  He pulled out the fistful of keys he religiously kept close at hand and began to open the sequence of locks that barred entrance to the building. Seven sets of hasps with seven different styles of locks had been installed on this building. He’d repeated that pattern with each of the buildings, of course, just so that they were all the same. So that they didn’t look suspicious, being different. On each one of the “barns”, the line those locks formed down the outside wall appeared straight and precise.

  He hadn’t marked the keys, because he hadn’t wanted to make things easy for anyone who might try and sneak in and see what he had inside.

  He nearly snickered aloud. If thieves broke into any of three of his buildings, they would be left disappointed. They were empty. Only this building had anything inside it.

  Smith put his attention on his task. He might have trouble figuring out what keys opened the seven locks on each of the other three barns, but he knew the ones that opened these locks on this barn by heart.

  Startled, Smith realized it had been a few months since he’d last opened this door. The locks functioned, but a couple of them seemed to have weathered slightly. He’d have to oil them—and make a point of coming out and opening these locks at least a couple of times a month.

  Finally the last padlock sprang open. He looked around, that sense of being watched almost as strong now as it had been earlier that day in town.

  There’s no one there watching you. Well, no one corporeal, at any rate. The idea of a ghost had been planted in his mind, and he wondered how long the concept would haunt him.

  He swung the door open just enough for his body to pass through, and stepped into the dark and dank interior.

  He reached for the switch on the wall, sending electricity to the single bulb that hung down from the roof rafters. He’d have more light if he opened the larger, main roll-up door, but of course he would never do that.

  Not ever.

  The bulk that took up space in the middle of the building, covered by an old tarp, rested exactly in the same place as it had been since the day he put it there, what—fourteen years ago? More? Less? He forgot and really, it didn’t matter.

  He’d scattered talc around the mass, so he’d be able to tell if anyone had been close to it. No prints of any kind marred the white powdered surface.

  Do ghosts leave tracks?

  He stepped forward to get a better look, and his foot kicked something that skittered ahead of him on the concrete floor.

  Bruce Smith looked down at the crack that dissected the cement, and the piece of loose concrete that he’d sent flying with his foot.

  He felt his heart thud heavily in his chest. As he walked and looked, he noticed that several other cracks had opened up, the pattern reminding him of a shattered windshield.

  This is worse than a shattered windshield. This could be a shattered life.

  He inhaled deeply, and fought for calm. There were no such things as ghosts. He’d simply done a poor job of laying this concrete pad all those years ago. He hadn’t let it cure properly, because he’d been in a hurry to have it covered over with a structure, and out of sight.

  He’d taken a short cut here and that—and only that—was what was going to haunt him.

  He turned from his inspection and headed for the door. Anger fueled his motions as he flicked down the light switch and slammed the door behind him.

  It didn’t take long for him to put the locks back in place. Then he stepped back, slipped the key ring back in his pocket, and considered his options.

  No one could see into this building, and no one would be opening it and looking around inside of it. It was just not going to happen. He had to quell the fear that had begun to blossom deep into his chest and pulse with each heavy heartbeat into his blood. No one was following him, no one was watching him, and there were no such things as ghosts.

  People got away with stuff all the time—it was simply propaganda from law enforcement agencies that maintained every criminal would be caught. The truth was that very few criminals were ever caught. So he didn’t have to worry about any fucking thing except one, and that was his own nerves. His only enemy at this point was his own stupid, asinine fear.

  If he let it, that fear could eat him alive—or make him do something that would ultimately prove to be his downfall.

  Bruce Smith inhaled deeply, then ran his hand over his face. He decided to ignore the fact that his hand was shaking. Instead, he cast his thoughts in search of a solution.

  He didn’t feel safe and he needed to feel safe.

  Of course! He was a little embarrassed that he hadn’t thought about it before. He headed back into his house. He walked through the kitchen to his bedroom. He reached into his sock drawer and pulled out the bank envelope he kept there. He counted out the money he thought he would need.

  His movements were automatic as he stuffed the money into his pocket, snatched up his keys and headed out again.

  Because he had lived in this area for so long, he knew where a man could get most anything he wanted—whether he should have it, or not.

  Ol’ Bill was a man he’d met and talked to now and again, over on the other side of Morehead. He had a collection of guns and rifles that would make a military man proud.

  And he knew that Ol’ Bill would sell him a nice little Glock for a couple hundred dollars, and then forget he’d done so.

  Smith started the car and headed out. Having a handgun with him at all times would be just the thing to make him feel safe and secure.

  * * * *

  Emily Anne’s step faltered as she neared the front door of Lusty Appetites. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing—who she was seeing, right there before her two disbelieving eyes!

  The last time Emily Anne had seen Billy J, she’d been certain that her heart—and her self-esteem—had been shattered beyond repair. She’d even sung along at the top of her lungs as Miranda Lambert’s “Mamma’s Broken Heart” played on her car radio while she’d made her way to San Antonio for her retail therapy.

  Her own mother bore an amazing resemblance to the mother in Miranda’s song, more concerned with appearances than feelings. True, it hadn’t taken her very long, once she’d arrived in Lusty, to understand she was better off without Billy J. Cooper. He’d treated her shabbily and as she’d opened her eyes and seen what real love looked like, and how real relationships worked, she’d healed not only her broken heart, but far more significantly, she’d begun to heal her broken self-esteem. But before she came to Lusty she’d believed that day—the day Billy J dumped her—had been the worst day of her life.

  How
could I have ever been so stupid?

  Today she’d used her lunch break to go down to Chloe’s to have her bikini line waxed. She was working up her nerve to get a full Brazilian—she planned to ask Connor and Mel if it was something they’d like her to have done. If their eyes lit up at the prospect then by damn she’d do it, and suffer the discomfort gladly.

  Emily Anne dragged her attention back to the here and now. About the only good thing she could think of to say about what she was looking at was that it sure as heck took her mind off the lingering burn from Chloe’s wax.

  Inside Lusty Appetites, right there at a table beside the front window, bold as brass, sat Billy J. The foolish man had his attention fixed in a way she knew meant he was looking at one of the women inside there.

  Too bad I know Chloe’s not in there. It sure would be interesting to see Billy J’s reaction if Grant and Andrew Jessop caught him ogling their fiancé.

  Then another thought took over center stage of her brain. How the hell had that little pissant even found her?

  Oh, Momma, what have you done? Emily Anne’s heart hurt from the thought of parental betrayal. She shook her head. That was something she would have to deal with, later.

  For one fleeting moment she thought to spin on her heel and go back toward Chloe’s. She’d call and speak to Kelsey, and explain that she’d be back to work as soon as that low-down, no-good son of a…No.

  No, this was her town, and that was her place of employment. She belonged here, and Billy J. Cooper most definitely did not.

  Emily Anne inhaled deeply and walked right through the door and into the restaurant.

  Billy J didn’t see her at first, and wasn’t that just typical? He had his gaze fixed on Michelle Grant or, more specifically, Michelle’s butt. Her friend and co-worker had her back to him as she was serving lunch to Miz Bernice and Miz Abigail who were chatting with Michelle. Not one of those good women had a clue about the lech seated so near to them.

  I ought to go right over there and slap his face.

  Then she blinked and looked around. Those ladies may not have any idea of what was happening in their midst, but some of the men sitting around, finishing their lunch, sure as hell did. Emily Anne held on to the urge to laugh. She could see Colt Evans and Ryder Magee, at a table beside Carrie’s two husbands, Chase and Brian Benedict, who were sitting with their brother Greg and Cody Harper and all six men looked pissed.

  Emily Anne didn’t call out to him, or call him any of the nasty names that came to her mind. She simply took the steps needed to stand so that she blocked his view of Michelle’s butt.

  Billy J could never be called swift. He scowled, then looked up. For a heartbeat she thought he didn’t even recognize her. Then his expression cleared, and he pasted on the smarmiest smile she’d ever seen on anyone anywhere anytime.

  “Emily Anne! Sweetheart! There you are.” He jumped to his feet and made as if to grab her into a hug.

  She stepped back, held up her hand. “Don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me, Billy J. Cooper. What in the hell are you doing here?”

  If Emily Anne hadn’t been forewarned, if her mind hadn’t been worrying the problem of why her mother had wanted her to give this no account another chance, she might have been fooled by the downcast turn of his face, as if he was fixing to fess up to some horrible sin.

  But she was paying close attention and she caught the glitter in his eyes and knew what was about to come out of his mouth for the bullshit is surely was.

  “You know that sayin’ you don’t never know what you’ve got till it’s gone. That’s me, right there, Emily Anne. You left and I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. I…I owe you an apology for the way I treated ya. I’m sorry, and I’m hoping you’ll forgive me and take me back.”

  Wow, there must be something going on that’s real important for him to lie like that. And he was lying. Billy J always got a little twitch around his left eye when he told a fib. Right now that particular muscle looked as if it was hooked up to his daddy’s car battery, it was popping so fast and so hard.

  “You must think I’m dumber ’n dirt, Billy J. Cooper, if you think I believe any of that bull you just tossed.” Still, just because he was a miserable excuse for a human being didn’t mean she ought to lower herself to his level.

  So she folded her hands in front of her and nodded once. “Fine. I accept your apology. But I’m not ever going to ‘take you back.’ Not ever.” Okay, so I’m not as mature as I think I am. “In case your vision has gone fuzzy, I’m still the ‘fat and frumpy bitch’ you dumped. So you just go on home and have yourself a nice life.”

  She turned and barely took one step when she felt a painful pressure on her arm. Billy J had grabbed her, and his grip hurt. She heard the sound of chairs scraping, but poor, dumb Billy J was too focused on his own needs to register that sound for what it was.

  “Now you just wait one damn minute there, Emily Anne. You will too take me back. And what’s more…”

  Emily Anne didn’t even think about what happened next. He had hold of her left arm, a hot and punishing grip that spiked her temper like nothing else could have done.

  She made a fist with her right hand, pulled back her arm and let him have it. He deflected her blow at the last moment but she’d hit his face. And while there wasn’t any blood, his cussing let her know she’d hurt him right back.

  And then he let her go. Of course, he had no choice but to let her go, because he was suddenly dangling from the grip of Colt Evan’s one hand fisted in his shirtfront.

  “Son, we don’t take to having our women treated with disrespect here in Lusty.” Colt turned his attention to her. “Are you all right, Emily Anne?”

  “I’m fine, Colt. Thank you.”

  “Someone ought to call Adam.” Mr. Parker had been one of the chair scrapers. He stood just a few feet away, hands on hips, a surly look on his sweet face. “That boy needs a trip to the woodshed.”

  “Already done, Mr. Parker, sir,” Cody Harper called out. “And here he comes, now.”

  Emily Anne looked up and saw Lusty’s sheriff, Adam Kendall, making quick tracks down the sidewalk toward the restaurant.

  “You put me down, asshole! You’re strangling me!” Billy J still didn’t seem to understand the mess he was in. Emily Anne wished she wasn’t so petty as to be enjoying this moment more than a little bit. But she was. Her right hand began to gently rub her left forearm, and she realized she was subconsciously trying to rub the sting of his grip away.

  “I ain’t strangling you, boy,” Colt said.

  “I ain’t no boy, I’m a man. Now put me down!” Billy J sounded like a ten-year-old getting ready to slide into full tantrum mode.

  Adam Kendall came through the door and Billy J’s eyes lit on him in an instant. “Sheriff, arrest this man! Look! He’s assaulting me!”

  Adam’s eyes landed on Emily Anne, sending her a sympathetic look. Then he turned his attention on Colt and Billy J.

  “What have you got there, Colt?”

  “Some young boy who doesn’t know better than to come in here ogling and disrespecting our women, Adam. Then when Emily Anne told him to git, he grabbed hold of her arm and gave her a good jerk.” Colt’s affable good-ole-boy demeanor vanished. “She’s already got a bruise forming there.”

  Emily Anne looked down at her arm the same instant that Adam reached her, gently cupping her elbow to have a look for himself. He hissed in a breath at what he saw.

  Red outlined the imprint of where Billy J’s fingers had gripped her, and sure enough, she could see the bruise beginning to form.

  Embarrassment swamped her. Yes, she wanted Billy J gone, but she didn’t want to be either the cause or the center of a full-blown scene.

  Huh. Maybe there’s more of my momma in me than I knew.

  “It’s nothing, Adam. Really. I’m fine.”

  Adam ran his thumb over the imprint of a thumb and fingers. When he looked up and met her gaze she realized that he was very
, very angry.

  “Emily Anne, this is going to be one hell of a bruise, sweetheart. That’s not fine. That’s assault.” He turned his head to look at Billy J. “I’ve half a mind to just hold him till your men get back from Divine.”

  “Adam, please…” One thing Emily Anne knew without a doubt. Billy J. Cooper was not worth either Connor or Mel getting in trouble over.

  Adam sighed and let go of her arm. He nodded toward Billy J and Colt lowered him to the floor, but didn’t let him go.

  “Who is he to you?” Adam asked her.

  “A mistake from my past,” she said. Conscious that whether she wanted it or not she was indeed the center of a scene, Emily Anne soldiered on. Her face had turned beet red, but there was no help for it. “Up until a few months ago he was my boyfriend. He dumped me, and I moved on.” Forgetting about the witnesses she looked at Billy J and scowled. “Lately, though, he’s been pestering my momma to tell him where I was. I asked her not to, Adam. I told her I didn’t want anything more to do with him. Not ever.” She looked over at Billy J. He was slow but not completely clueless. He finally seemed to get that he was in a bit of trouble here.

  More than a bit, if she understood the men who lived in this town. They really didn’t take to anyone mistreating any of the women who lived here, period.

  She put her attention back on Billy J. “You shouldn’t have hounded my mother and she shouldn’t have told you where I was.”

  “Dried up old bitch wouldn’t tell me a damn thing. I had to pump Linda Sue Powers, if you know what I mean, to find out where you were. Hell, she wasn’t even a good lay.”

  Emily Anne revised her opinion of Billy J. Apparently, he was clueless. She was glad to hear her mother hadn’t betrayed her trust, though.

  “Boy, you need to learn some manners.” Colt gave him a shake that made his head bob.

  “He does, indeed. But that’s a discussion for down the street.” Adam reached behind and pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his belt and slapped them on Billy J before he could even think of a protest.

  “You can’t arrest me! I didn’t do anything!”