“He’s good. Quinn is my nephew. He’s learning the family business. Ain’t that right, boy?”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“He’ll be running this,” Jon says. “Check him for weapons, Quinn.”
“I ain’t packin’,” the man says.
Jon gives me a hard stare. “Check him.”
I stand and pat the man down.
“I’ll be right over here.” Jon leans against the back of the couch.
“He got any weapons?” the man asks. A strange question when you come to a drug deal, in my opinion.
Jon holds up the gun. “I’m the only one here with a piece.”
“Okay then,” the man says. “Let’s do this.”
Bile rises as I fork over the drugs and take the money. There’s no turning back now. I just sold my soul to the damn devil.
“Count it,” Jon says. “Make sure they’re Franklins. I don’t want no little shit.”
I make twenty piles of a thousand dollars each. “It’s all here.”
“Nice doin’ business with you,” the man says, extending his hand.
I stare at it.
Jon walks over. “Shake the man’s hand, Quinn. Do it.”
I shake. Then the man holds his hand out to Jon. “Looks like you got yourself an apprentice.”
Jon shakes his hand. “That I do.”
Then, the man twists Jon’s arm, and the gun falls to the floor. Jon is pushed, face down, onto the carpet with the guy’s knee in his back. Motherfucker. This guy is going to kill us and take all the drugs.
“Don’t fucking move,” the man says to me as he secures Jon’s wrists with a zip tie he pulled from his pocket. He turns to me. “I’m detective Ulrich. Undercover narcotics.”
I hold up my hands as my heart sinks into my stomach. I’m going to jail. Jail with Jon. “I swear this wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He forced me—”
“We know. We’ve been following him since he got out of prison. Knew he’d go right back to his old ways, and there are a lot of politicians around here who didn’t want to see that happen.”
The front door opens, and two uniformed officers come in. They walk over and take Jon from the detective, reading him his rights on the way out.
The officers practically ignore me. “You’re not arresting me?”
The detective laughs. “Are you kidding? After that pathetic drug deal? We know exactly what he was doing. Extortion. Bribery. Blackmail. But man, you almost blew it for us. We knew you were in the house earlier; we’ve been surveilling it twenty-four-seven. One of the two guys here was my partner. For a month now, we’ve been buying from Jon separately. Getting him to trust us. We were going to bust him after my partner made the deal but didn’t want you to get caught up in the middle of it. Then you had to go and get yourself caught when Jon doubled back to the house.
“I’m not in trouble?”
“No. In fact, I’d like you to testify about what went down here today. It could help our case.”
“How so?”
“You came back to your mom’s place for some of your things. You hid when Jon showed up because you’re afraid of him. He made a drug deal. Then he found you, threatened you, and held you against your will. Assaulted you with a deadly weapon by the looks of your head. That ought to add time to his sentence. What do you say?”
“I say hell yes.” I shake his hand in thanks. “I thought I was done for.”
“You were damn lucky we knew you were here, Quinn, and that Jon agreed to a sale with me. This could have gone a lot worse. In the future, don’t try to take things into your own hands.”
“I was only trying to protect my family.”
“The people at the ranch. Yeah, we know.” We walk outside and he gets something from one of the other officers. “My card,” he says, giving it to me. “Come down to the station and give a statement.”
“Just so you know, there’s a shitload of drugs hidden under a false panel in one of the lower kitchen cabinets.”
He nods. “Thanks. You made my job a little easier. And hey, it’s nice to know all the Thompsons aren’t like them.”
I observe the main house. My mom is on the front porch being questioned by an officer. She’s yelling at him to get off her property. “What’ll happen to her?”
“She’s not a part of our investigation, and as far as I can tell, she’s not into selling drugs. Do you know differently?”
I shake my head. “She’s a pathetic excuse for a mother, but that might be her only crime.”
“Well then.” He nods to the card in my hand. “Don’t wait too long to give your statement.”
“Would now be too soon?”
“You really do hate your family, don’t you?”
I glance back at Mom. “They’re not my family. Haven’t been for a long time.” I start down the driveway, a sense of relief washing over me that I haven’t felt in years. Or maybe forever.
Chapter Thirty
Amber
I listen to Josie through the baby monitor. She’ll be up soon. I know the noises she makes just before she wakes. I’ll get up, change her diaper, and put her into her favorite outfit with the peaches on it. Okay, so it’s my favorite. Then I’ll feed her and do what I always do: stare at her little cherub face and wonder about her future.
Quinn coughs and rolls over, still sleeping but facing me. His jaw is purple and swollen. It’s still so unbelievable what he went through yesterday. Everyone was celebrating the news that Jon was arrested and would probably go back to prison for many years. Me? I was thinking how it could have gone horribly wrong if the undercover agent hadn’t been there. How Quinn could have been lured into his dirty family business to keep us safe. Or worse, he could have been arrested too.
Everything ends, one way or another.
Josie is stirring more. I don’t want her to start crying and wake Quinn, so I go to her. Her face lights up when she sees me. “Morning, JoJo.” I sweep her up and give her a kiss. I sing a favorite childhood song of mine as I change her. “You look good in peaches,” I say, holding her up. “To be fair, you’re adorable in everything.” I glance at the dresser where we keep her clothes, knowing we’ve added a lot to what Michelle brought. Much more than will fit in the bags she came with.
As I make her morning bottle, I think of how, any day now, a single piece of mail will arrive. When that happens, our lives will either go back to how they were a month ago, or they will become more complicated.
I admire her beautiful face as she eats. “I’ll tell you a secret,” I whisper. “I’m rooting for complicated.”
The mail. Huh. Come to think of it, Quinn hasn’t obsessively checked the mail for days, maybe longer. And he hasn’t called the pediatrician to check on the test either. Then again, it could be that I haven’t seen him do it.
I lean down and kiss her head. “Already making men fall for you, aren’t you?”
“What’d you say?” Quinn says, coming up behind me.
“Nothing. Josie and I were having a conversation.”
He comes around the front of the couch, his chest bare and his hair matted. He arches a brow.
“What?” I say. “Like you don’t talk to her too. I hear you through the baby monitor.”
“Busted,” he says. “Coffee?”
“Already brewing.”
“I’ll bring you some.”
“Cream, no—”
“No sugar, a splash of cream on top, no stirring. You don’t think I know that by now, Amber?”
He goes into the kitchen.
“Cocky men,” I say to Josie.
I finish burping her when Quinn puts my coffee on the table. “I hear you through the monitor too, you know. You have an incredible singing voice.”
I blush. I didn’t know he was listening. “I was thinking of taking her into town today.”
He shakes his head. “Can’t. I promised to help Aaron fix a second-story window at the lodge, then I have to fly.”
/> “I don’t need a babysitter. I just need a truck.”
“What’s mine is yours,” he says, nodding to his keys by the door. “Damn, it’ll be nice not to have to worry about you or Andie or anyone when you go off the property. We don’t have to look over our shoulders or wonder how Jon is going to mess with the ranch.”
“You don’t think your mom will do anything?”
“My mother?” He laughs. “No. She’s good at manipulating people, but she’s not a hardened criminal.” He reaches for Josie. “I’ll take her for a while. Drink your coffee.”
“How about I make pancakes?”
“Perfect.”
I can see them from the kitchen. He’s making her smile. They look good together. Comfortable. I get my phone and browse the pictures I’ve taken of them, trying to see similarities. Is the shape of their noses the same? The shade of their skin? Her hair is too fine and short to tell if it will curl up at the ends like his does. They both have blue eyes, but that doesn’t mean much; I’ve read a baby’s eye color can change. I stare. But their smile; I swear it’s the same. She has to be his.
Quinn props Josie on his lap while he eats. “How long before she can eat pancakes?”
“A while. She’ll have to eat pureed baby food first. She won’t eat things like pancakes until she’s much older, eight to twelve months.”
“Been reading up on it have you?”
“Well, someone has to. I didn’t want one of us killing her by trying to feed her a cheeseburger.”
He brushes a soft tuft of her hair. “We’ve muddled through okay. Don’t you think?”
I chuckle. “What do you think, Josie? Do you like it here?”
Quinn gives me an uneasy look. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Amber.”
“What? I’m just saying. I think she does. What’s not to like?”
He pushes away his plate, then puts Josie in her swing. “I have to get ready.”
“Your baby is adorable,” a woman at the park says.
“Thank you,” I say. I don’t bother correcting her. What would be the point? Let’s see, what would I say? She’s not mine. In fact, she might not even be my boyfriend’s. She was dropped off with all her stuff, forced onto us with no warning, then we got attached to her as we wait to find out her paternity, after which I have no idea what will happen. Will she remain part of our lives or will he simply write a fat check every month? Will I even get to see her anymore, or will I always wonder what became of her?
“How old is she?”
“Eleven weeks.”
She watches her son play in the sandbox. “I remember when Michael was her age. Be sure to cherish every moment. They grow up fast.”
My throat tightens and my eyes sting. I excuse myself and put Josie back in her stroller. We walk past the playground, and I wonder if I’ll ever get to push Josie on a swing. My mind goes to Piper. Did she think of me when she looked at playgrounds? Did she wonder if I was being pushed on a swing while yelling, “Higher! Higher!”?
I gaze at Josie. Why did I agree to this? I never thought it would drag out this long. We should have had the results weeks ago. Labor shortage or not, they should expedite paternity tests. How can they expect people to sit and wait for something so crucial?
“It’s not fair,” I say to her, handing her a toy. “To anyone.” Tears threaten. “You know what? We’re going shopping. Wherever you end up, you’re going in style.”
An hour and three hundred dollars later, I stop at Starbucks on the way home. The drive-thru line is super backed up, so I park, get Josie out, and go inside.
I’m waiting for my order when someone comes up behind me. “Amber Black?” I turn to see Karen Thompson. “Or should I say Amber Mitchell? Oh, that’s right, you’re not a Mitchell. She didn’t want you.”
My stomach clenches. I want to ask how she knows all this, but I’d rather just collect my coffee and leave.
“And now you have your own kid who you’re trying to push on my son.”
“You don’t know anything about it,” I say. “Excuse me.”
I walk away, but she follows. “Quinn will tire of you. He goes through women like tissues, using them and throwing them away. Surely you know this. He’s a Thompson. It’s what we do. We use people. Doesn’t matter where he lives, he’ll always be one of us.”
“Don’t you have a brother you need to bail out of jail?”
She sneers in disgust. “My brother has never been the sharpest tool in the shed. He’s a half-breed. Not like Quinn. And sooner or later, my son will realize his place. And believe me, it’s not with a woman who needs a father for her illegitimate kid.”
I’m dumbfounded. “Are you serious? Isn’t that exactly what you tried to pull when you had Quinn?”
“Like I said, we use people. And it takes one to know one. You should quit wasting your time and go back to Calloway Creek. I’m sure you can find some poor sap up there to take on your charity case.”
“Amber!” the barista calls.
I grab my coffee and leave, hurrying to the truck. I strap Josie in as Karen strolls to her Range Rover, eyeing me how a predator eyes its prey. “I take it back, JoJo. You might be better off not being a part of that family.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Quinn
I head back home after a second visit to the police station. They’re trying to make sure the case against Jon is airtight. I’m not sure how long he’ll get, but since he violated parole, held me at gunpoint, assaulted me, and was both in possession of and selling a shitload of drugs, the detective thinks he could be looking at the better part of another decade at the very least.
When I pull into the ranch, the mail truck is leaving. I gaze at the mailbox. Is today the day? It has to be coming soon. I pull to the side, get out, and stand in front of the box. “Pussy,” I tell myself. “Just open it.”
I unlatch it and reach inside, well aware of my heart pounding as I sift through the mail. It’s not here. And for the first time, I’m not sure if I want to be relieved or pissed. I glance at the guest house. Do I want her to be mine? And if she is, what would it mean? I get the feeling that Amber would be fine with it. The two of them have some cosmic connection. But would I be okay with it?
When I go inside, Josie is on her stomach on the floor. She sees me and rolls over as if excited. I get down on all fours and make a production of crawling over to her. “You’re a pro, JoJo. Look at you! Did you roll over?” I tickle her chin. “You’re such a big girl.” I lean down and blow raspberries on her neck, and she laughs.
I pull back and stare in disbelief. I lean down and do it again. Again, she laughs. I pick her up and twirl her around.
Sophie comes over from the kitchen. “Did she laugh?”
“She did indeed. Too bad Amber isn’t here.”
“Do it again.”
I do, but Josie doesn’t laugh. I prop her on the couch and make funny faces until she does.
Sophie sits. “Oh my gosh, she has the most adorable giggle.” She pulls out her phone and videos us.
I turn to her. “Yeah, I’m gonna need a copy of that.”
Sophie leaves after lunch for a job interview.
“Looks like it’s just you and me,” I say to Josie. I put her down for a nap and pull up an old email. I have Michelle’s address. When I hired the PI to find her family, they gave it to me. Could I have taken Josie there and made Michelle keep her while awaiting the results? Sure, but by then, when a few weeks had passed, Amber insisted bouncing her from place to place could be bad for Josie and we should just wait for the results. Who was I to argue with a woman who’d also been abandoned?
There’s a knock on the front door and Aaron walks in. “Want to go into town with Maddox and me to check out a new feed supply store?”
“Can’t. I’m on baby duty. Sophie had a thing, and Amber went shopping with your wives.”
He thumbs to Maddox’s house. “We have a sitter. I’m sure she could take Josie.”
&
nbsp; “Nah. You go ahead.”
He chuckles. “Okay.”
I go to the bedroom and swap my button-down for a T-shirt. I stand in the closet, looking at Amber’s clothes. I said I loved her, and we haven’t talked about it since. What does that mean? Is she only staying for Josie? And if Josie leaves, what then? Am I kidding myself when I think we could have a future together? A future with a woman who’s convinced everyone leaves?
Josie starts wailing. Not her normal cry; screams. I rush back, convinced someone is murdering her. It’s just her in the crib, but something’s not right. I pick her up. “What’s wrong? Bad dream?” I take her to the changing table to put on a new diaper. When I unbutton her outfit, my heart stops. She’s got a rash all over.
I pull my phone out and call Amber. I try to explain over Josie’s crying.
“I’m all the way in Dallas,” Amber says. “Can’t you take her to the doctor?”
“It’s Sunday.”
“Right. Well, how bad is it?”
“Fucking bad. It’s all over. Like she rolled in poison ivy or something. Don’t you hear her screaming?”
“Take her to the hospital, then. We’ll meet you there.”
I button Josie’s clothes and get the diaper bag, making sure I have formula if she gets hungry. I stare at the can. What if she’s allergic to it and we’re hurting her every time we feed her? What if this can has been poisoned? I throw it in the trash and get a different one.
Josie cries all the way to the hospital. The kind of cry that makes her lose her breath. It breaks my goddamn heart. I park by the emergency entrance and take her in. “She’s got a bad rash,” I say to the person at the desk. “And she won’t stop crying.”
The lady hands me a clipboard and a pen. “Fill this out.”
“Seriously? I’m holding a screaming baby. How can I possibly fill out your form?”
“Maybe you should get her car seat.”
“Maybe you should get her back there so a doctor can see her.”
Texas Roses (The Devil's Horn Ranch Series) Page 19
