by Alison Kent
“Stitches?”
“A few, yeah.”
“That must’ve hurt.”
“It did.” But not as much as Toby’s tears in her palm as he’d wrapped a towel around the gash before driving her to the ER. He’d tossed the belt, a very expensive Jack Spade, in their condo’s Dumpster on the way to the car. As if the symbolic gesture might actually mean something. “But being recognized in the ER was even more annoying.”
“How so?”
“It’s not always easy, living life under a microscope.” And what a hypocrite she was, complaining about the limelight when she was about to flip the switch and shine it on him.
“I can relate to that, though not in the same way. No one in a small town has any expectation of privacy.” He leaned his left forearm on the table’s edge, gestured with his hand. “You know everyone. You look out for everyone. It’s just how it is ’round these here parts.”
She smiled as she thought back to the night they’d danced. “I don’t mind being recognized here, though I’m not sure why exactly. It was just different in the city. The face people saw on TV was not the same face that showed up in the ER at midnight.”
“Did that bother you? Being seen without your war paint?”
She laughed. If he only knew. “That’s more accurate of a description than you might believe. But to answer your question, no. It didn’t bother me to be seen. It bothered me that because I didn’t want to answer questions about what had happened, I was called a bitch, or worse, when all I wanted was to live my personal life off camera. How I managed to fall in my kitchen and cut my arm on the sharp edge of the stove was nobody’s business but mine.”
Who was she kidding? The story was ridiculous. Even hearing herself repeat it to Boone had her wanting to roll her eyes. Toby had been the one to come up with the explanation for her injury. She hadn’t known what to say when the doctor had asked her what happened. She’d been so close to blurting out the truth, certain the staff already expected abuse. And then she did the very thing she’d sworn she wouldn’t do. Helped Toby cover it up and get away with it.
“Is that what made you move here? You finally got fed up?”
“In a way, yes,” she said, comfortable with that part of her reality. “There was a tipping point. And I finally tipped.”
“I’ve been wondering about that, why you’d give up a position on air in Austin to work for the Reporter. Can’t imagine Simmons over there can pay you close to what you must’ve been making.”
“He can’t. But the cost of living here’s a lot less. My house was a steal. And I didn’t need a new wardrobe for work.”
“You sold your place in Austin?”
She looked down at her plate. “It was my ex’s place. We dated a year. We lived together for two.”
He didn’t say anything to that, just took his knife to his rib eye, forking up one bite then slicing off another as he chewed. She twisted her hands together in her lap, glad she’d already finished eating, because her appetite was long gone. Thinking about Toby did that. Talking about him, even without mentioning his name or his crimes and fetishes, meant she wouldn’t be getting it back.
She hated that she’d let him intrude. Boone’s question had been curious, innocent. He hadn’t been prying into the disaster her relationship had been. He couldn’t have known she’d lived in Toby’s condo, couldn’t have known that was where she’d suffered most of her injuries, there in the privacy of her own home, at the hands of the only man who’d ever told her he loved her. He hadn’t. If he’d loved anyone, he’d loved himself, but she wasn’t even sure about that.
Enough, she told herself, and tossed back her hair. She refused to give any importance to her past and risk having Boone ask more questions. So far she’d gotten off light. She was thirty-two years old. It wasn’t hard to believe she’d had a serious relationship, even though she’d been fairly naive when she and Toby hooked up.
Probably too naive, she’d thought more than once since leaving. Someone with more experience might’ve seen signs she’d missed. Looking back from this distance, it was easy to see her inability to do so was the result of a childhood she’d thought perfect, never realizing how overly sheltered she’d been.
But none of what she’d revealed would raise any red flags. And tonight, that was all that mattered.
While Boone finished mopping up his bloody steak juice with his Texas toast, Everly signaled to their server for a to-go box for her steak. The young man returned minutes later with a Rainsong carryout bag, along with their check. Everly reached for it, but Boone was quicker than she was.
“This was supposed to be a business expense,” she reminded him. “My business expense.”
“Uh-huh,” he said, glancing at the check, then leaning to the side to dig for his wallet. “One of these days when we actually talk business, you can pay. In the meantime, it’s on me.”
She would’ve suggested someplace less pricey if she’d thought Boone would insist on paying. “At least split it with me.”
He laid bills to cover the total plus the tip inside the check folder, handing it to the server as he walked by. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you, sir. Ma’am. You two enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“Are we done here?” Boone asked, once they were alone.
“As long as you tell me we’re okay.”
“Why wouldn’t we be okay?”
“Because you haven’t said anything since I told you about my ex.”
He shrugged. “That’s just me not liking to think about another man having his hands on you.”
If he only knew. “I’m thirty-two years old, Boone. I had a whole different life before moving here.”
“I know.”
“Just like you had a whole different life while you were away.”
“I know.”
“Then what about my having an ex is bothering you?” She let the words hang there, a sort of a question, wondering what he was thinking and why. Wondering most of all where she fit in, and how she felt about it when she wasn’t supposed to be feeling. Just having fun.
“It’s not bothering me. Okay. It is bothering me. But that’s because I’m lousy at sharing.”
That made her laugh. “You are a funny man, Boone Mitchell. How, exactly, have we been sharing anything with my ex?”
“We haven’t been,” he said, lechery tugging at his mouth. “But I’m just caveman enough to want to have been your first.”
She wasn’t sure what to say to that, so she stayed silent. But she couldn’t help thinking they weren’t on the same page at all, and didn’t know why she’d assumed otherwise. She’d been a long time without a man. And she hadn’t gone into this affair with much thought.
But that’s all it was. An affair. Purely sexual. She knew that. He needed to know that. But she also wanted to understand why his wishing he was her first had sent such a strange jolt of longing through her uninvolved heart.
“So, now are we done here?” he asked, and she nodded, adding a “Sure” that didn’t sound very sure at all.
She scooted her chair back, but before she got all the way out of it, Boone was there to help her. She didn’t need his help. She was perfectly capable of getting up from her seat on her own. But she liked having him there behind her, liked his hand at her back, his manners. The Coach and Mrs. Mitchell had done a good job with this one. And, she imagined, the influence of the Daltons had a lot to do with the man Boone had become.
If she’d had any interest at all in a relationship, she could see herself falling for Boone. It would be an easy trip to make, and a short one, at that. But she knew what she wanted, so having this conversation with herself was totally unnecessary. And the brush of Boone’s hip against hers meant nothing.
As they left the restaurant and started across the parking lot, Everly looked up to see Darcy and Josh Lasko headed their way, and welcomed the distraction. Boone guided her toward them, his steps and hers slowing.
“Hey you two,” Darcy said, giving them each a kiss on the cheek.
“Darcy.” Boone returned her kiss, held out his hand for her husband. “Josh.”
“Good to see the both of you.” Finished with Boone, Josh gave Everly a hug even though she’d extended her hand for him to shake. “Food tonight as good as always?”
“It was, yes,” Everly said. “I tried to save room for dessert, but only made it through half my steak before I had to stop.”
Boone held up the white paper bag he carried. “And because of that, I get to have steak with my eggs for breakfast.”
Darcy leaned against her husband and smiled. “I had no idea how late it was until Josh asked if I planned to stop working to eat. Then I realized I was starving. And he was nice enough to suggest a night out.”
“How’re you liking lawyering for yourself?” Boone asked.
“I’m liking it a lot. A whole lot. I’m able to keep my caseload to a manageable level—”
“Don’t believe her,” Josh cut in to say.
Darcy hooked her arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder. “He’s only saying that because he never saw what I went through working for The Campbell.”
Everly smiled. She didn’t know another couple in all of Crow Hill who fit together as perfectly as these two. “Sounds like things worked out beautifully for both of you.”
“They did that,” Josh replied, covering Darcy’s hand with his. “They did that.”
“Listen,” Darcy said, turning to Boone to ask, “did Dax ever say anything to you about Nora Stokes being interested in some of Tess’s old furniture?”
Boone gave it some thought. “He mentioned you saying you were pretty sure we had some valuable pieces. I don’t recall him bringing Nora into it.”
“Typical Dax. I told him months ago. I’m kinda surprised Nora hasn’t brought it up again. She said the old buffet in the living room could be worth a couple thousand dollars, and the sideboard in the kitchen even more.”
“Thousand? As in . . . thousand?”
“As in several thousand,” she said to Boone, turning to Everly to explain. “When I was staying at the house during the summer, I started going through the Daltons’ things. Dax didn’t want to talk about selling any of it. But that was then,” she said and looked back to Boone. “Right after y’all had lost them. Maybe now you three might want to listen to what she has to say?”
“Yeah. I’ll give her a call. Thanks for mentioning it.”
“Oh, one more thing,” Darcy said, stopping again after she and Josh had started moving toward the door. “I think I saw Les Upton’s wrecker parked out front on the shoulder when we pulled in.”
“Shit. All right. Thanks.”
“You’ll give me a call if you need a restraining order?” she asked, her concern snagging Everly’s attention.
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”
“Okay, but let me know if I can help.”
“Thanks, Darcy,” he said, then looked at Josh. “You two enjoy your supper.”
Everly waited for an explanation, but when Boone said nothing, she pushed to get one. “Who’s Les Upton?”
“A blast from my past,” he said with a snort.
So he had been involved in some sort of scandal. One Darcy thought might require a restraining order all these years later. Interesting. “Someone you went to school with?”
“I went to school with his daughter,” he said, his hand low on her hip guiding her toward her car.
“Went to school with . . . and went to bed with?” Because having known the man’s daughter in school wouldn’t be reason enough for behavior Darcy thought legally worrisome.
“It was a long time ago. I went to bed with a lot of girls.”
But there was more to the story of this particular one. “Boone?”
He was busy scanning the road in front of the restaurant. “I don’t see him, but I’m going to follow you home just to be sure.”
“Wait a minute,” she said, pulling away from his hand, her heart suddenly pounding. “To be sure of what? That I make it without getting run off the road?”
“No. Nothing like that.” But he still wasn’t looking at her.
She grabbed for his arm and made him. “Is he dangerous?”
He reached up, ran a thumb over one eyebrow. “He’s a nuisance is all.”
“Then why are you going to follow me home?”
“I want to make sure you get there safely.”
“Safely? Dammit, Boone,” she said, her heart having moved into her throat to choke her. “What’s going on? What have you gotten me into?”
“I haven’t gotten you into anything,” he said, biting off a curse as he looked down at her. “Upton’s been pissed at me for sixteen years. I’ve been wondering how long it would take him to crawl out of the woodwork and into my face.”
“You think he might follow me to get back at you?”
“I doubt it.”
“But if he does? Then what? Do I need a . . . gun?” She was not going to be a victim again. Not Toby’s directly. Not Boone’s secondhand.
“No, Everly. You don’t need a gun,” he said, opening her SUV’s door. “Just wait for me before you leave.”
“Fine,” she said, sliding into her seat and reaching for her door to shut it, but Boone held on, waiting for her to look up. “What?”
“Don’t be mad.”
Mad? He thought she was mad? Try furious. Also try scared to death. And then try furious again. “I just want to go home.”
He waited a long several seconds before asking, “Alone?”
She’d been looking forward to another night with him in her bed. But now . . . “That’s probably for the best.”
He glanced away, muttered a low, “Shit,” under his breath, the word less about his not getting laid than the reasons for it.
Whipping off his hat, he stepped into the V of her open door. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Les isn’t dangerous. He might want to scare you because it’s a way to get to me, and I’m sorry for that. And I’ll do everything I can to keep him from having the chance. But he’s not a threat.”
“Then why did Darcy mention a restraining order?”
“That’s just Darcy being Darcy.”
“I’m not sure that’s good enough.”
“It’s all I can do.”
“You could’ve mentioned this before now. I don’t like stepping into someone else’s shit pile because I don’t know it’s there.”
“We just talked about this the other day. Everyone’s got unknowns in their past. Even you, I reckon.”
“Not any that might cause trouble for you,” she said, though she wondered if Toby had really given up trying to ruin her life.
Boone dropped his gaze to his hat where he worried his way around the brim. “The boys and I raised a lot of hell in the past. None of that’s a secret, and seeing as how you hang with my sister and Arwen, I’m pretty sure you were aware of what you were getting into when you asked me to stay for dessert.”
She was beginning to wonder if that hadn’t been a horrible mistake. Was this her lot in life? Being attracted to men who meant trouble? Even, in Boone’s case, inadvertently? And if that was the truth, what did it say about her? “I didn’t know I’d be getting into this.”
“You haven’t gotten into anything. And there’s no reason to think you will.”
“That’s why you’re following me home? For no reason?”
“Can we talk about this when we get there? And just go?”
She was shaking her head before she even realized she was going to say no. “I don’t think so. If you want to follow me, that’s fine, but we’re done talking for tonight.”
“Everly—”
“Later, Boone. I just want to go.” Avoiding his gaze, she took hold of her door, leaving him no choice but to get out of her way. He helped her shut it, then circled the rear of the SUV on his way to his truck parked on her passenger
side.
She turned her key and backed out of her spot, waiting to pull out of the parking lot as he’d asked. She wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t going to rush home ahead of him just to prove she didn’t need his protection when she very well might.
And that was the problem here. She’d come to Crow Hill to get away from a man with a violent nature. Why in the world would she get involved with one who might bring more of the same into her life?
TWELVE
OVER THE LAST two days, Everly had spent way too much time looking over her shoulder. She hated the feeling of being watched, especially when no one was watching her. She hadn’t seen hide nor hair of Les Upton, or his tow truck anyway, since she’d never met the man and had no idea what he looked like. Neither had she seen hide nor hair of Boone. And she hated that even more because she’d thought he might’ve been keeping an eye on her, making sure she was safe.
He could’ve been there, she supposed, looking out for her, but really, such a thought was ridiculous. He was at the ranch, working as he should be, and she had no call for alarm because Upton wasn’t a threat. Still, she’d wanted Boone to be there. She’d wanted to catch a glimpse of him. His dark eyes, his dark hair, the muscles in his forearms that made her think of thick marine ropes. But her wanting that was not because she might be in danger.
Two days now she’d gone without seeing him, and she missed him more than she should have, and in ways that made no sense in the scheme of a purely sexual relationship. She wanted to hear him laugh, that deep gravelly rumble that tickled her to her core. She wanted to smell his sun-warmed skin. And she wanted to see his eyes soften when he talked about Sundays spent with his family.
And, yes, she enjoyed him in bed, but didn’t need him for sexual pleasure, though the orgasms he gave her were so much more fun than the ones she gave herself. There was something about the hair on a man’s body, the scrape of it against her skin, and his weight as he pressed her down and possessed her.
Obviously, however, she must need him for something, or her heart wouldn’t have thumped in her chest like a kick drum when, realizing she was no longer alone, she looked up to see him—and not Whitey—blocking her office door.
