by Alison Kent
His shoulders filled the open space from side to side, his hat brushed the frame when he ducked and stepped through. His hips were stout, his thighs thick, his legs long. The heels of his boots were worn, but still gave him two extra inches of height. He was imposing, a broad, towering figure and impossible to ignore—not to mention impossible to miss.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, pushing up out of her chair and pulling him all the way into her office before Whitey got wind of his presence, though that ship had no doubt already sailed.
She shut the door behind him, then closed the blinds on her window that faced the newsroom. She couldn’t have her boss knowing she and Boone were involved. Not when she was supposed to be writing what amounted to an exposé on the man. Though considering the circulation numbers of the Crow Hill Reporter, the extra hint of scandal provided by news of their affair might actually be good for sales.
“I was in town,” he said, moving out of her way as she pushed by to shutter the blinds facing the sidewalk on Main Street. “Thought I’d see if I could buy you lunch.”
She peeked between two of the slats but didn’t see anyone taking undo notice of her office or her visitor. Or of Boone’s truck—sporting a capital D hooked over a capital T that was the Dalton ranch brand—parked out front. “As much as I would love to, it’s probably best if we don’t.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re the subject of a story,” she said, finally turning to him and crossing her arms. “I can’t be fraternizing.”
The roll of Boone’s eyes said she was two days too late. “That shit may fly in Austin, but not here. No one’s going to care what we do together as long as they get to read about the sins of my past.”
He was right, of course. So why was she hesitating when she was so glad to see him, and actually very hungry? “I don’t know—”
“Tell you what,” he said, his arms crossed, too. “Ask me some questions while we eat. I’ll see if I can’t come up with some juice for your story to make it worth your time.”
“And my money?” she asked, because lunch with a story subject in the middle of the day would get back to Whitey, and if she didn’t turn it in as an expense . . .
He nodded. “Hellcat Saloon okay? Or are we keeping this on the down low?”
“The interview, or the . . . involvement?”
“I was talking about the first,” he said, opening her door and tugging down the brim of his hat as he ushered her out. “But I’m thinking we need to talk about the second.”
“That might be a good idea.” Considering how much of the talking they’d done together so far had been words not fit for print. “And we need to talk about Les Upton, too.”
“Hold on,” he said, reaching for her arm and pulling her to a stop before she’d taken more than two steps into the newsroom. “Has he been harassing you?”
“I haven’t seen him, no,” she said, raking back the hair falling into her eyes, giving up on hiding his visit. “Or I haven’t seen his wrecker, since that’s the only way I’d recognize him.”
Boone gave a jerk of his head toward her desk. “You can access the paper’s archives on your machine, yes?”
She looked from his face to her surprisingly sophisticated monitor where, in a window hidden behind that of another program, she’d already done some looking into his past. What she hadn’t done was decide how fair and balanced her story would be after so thoroughly invading his privacy. “Yes, of course, why?”
“C’mon,” he said, motioning her back inside. “Sixteen years ago. The dirt’s all there, and a photo. He’ll have aged, but I imagine Google can give you a newer one.”
“Boone, it doesn’t matter—”
“It does matter. It matters to me. I want you to know what he looks like. He won’t always be driving his wrecker.” He was insisting, even though the other man wasn’t supposed to be a problem.
“Fine,” she said, tossing her bag to the bench next to the door and returning to her chair. “You know, I’ve lived here four years and haven’t even heard of Les Upton. The only mechanic I know is Skeet Bandy.”
“Upton’s garage is closer to Luling. Or it was last I knew. I haven’t had call to head up that way since moving back.”
Interesting that he wasn’t worried for his own safety. Only hers. “I thought the advice was to keep your enemies closer than friends.”
“I don’t think of him as an enemy. I don’t think of him at all.”
“He obviously still thinks about you. And Darcy considers him enough of one to ask about a restraining order.”
He stood there, his hands now at his hips, his gaze boring into hers. “Upton is my business. Not Darcy’s.”
“And not mine.”
“Criminy,” he muttered, and pulled off his hat. “I would’ve told you the whole story eventually. I just didn’t think you needed to hear it yet.”
“Why not?”
“I was a teenager and it was ugly, and I don’t want you using it to judge me now.” He worried his hat brim, frowning, shaking his head as if arguing with himself. “But since Darcy put it out there, I’d rather you hear it from me and not someone you interview who might twist it up.”
“Except I’m not hearing it from you,” she reminded him.
He gestured toward her screen with his hat before settling it back in place. “Just read it. We’ll talk about it over lunch.”
“Are you going to wait? While I do?”
He nodded. “Then I’m going to drive you to the saloon. I don’t want to be sitting there and not have you show.”
Because after she finished reading, she might change her mind about lunch. That’s what he was saying. And that’s what made up her mind.
She got to her feet, grabbed her hobo bag from the bench. “Let’s go eat. You tell me what happened. I’ll read the story when I get back.”
“Okay then,” he said, falling into step behind her. “My truck’s out front.”
She said nothing else as they left the building, Boone seeing her into her seat at the curb outside. The ride from the Reporter to the saloon took less than five minutes, a typical trip length to anywhere in downtown Crow Hill. Strangely enough, she loved it.
She’d lived her whole life in Austin. Gone to school in Austin. Worked at one of Austin’s television stations. She was a city girl through and through, yet glancing across the cab of the truck, she had no trouble understanding the appeal of living in a home on the range.
And that made no sense at all. She barely knew the man behind the wheel. But the thoughts she was having had little to do with sex and everything to do with who and what he was. Honorable, loyal, industrious, humble. Honest. Above all, honest.
The man Toby had never been.
He glanced her way as he put on his turn signal, caught her taking him in. “What?”
“You know my house isn’t but another two minutes away. We could have lunch there.” She bit at the corner of her lip, holding in the moan tickling the back of her throat. “Maybe dessert.”
He canceled the turn signal and returned his attention to the road, moving his foot to the accelerator from the brake. Two minutes later, and without another word, he was turning onto Pineycreek Avenue, then pulling to a stop in her driveway so hard her shoulder strap popped her against the seat. He shut off the truck, but left the keys in the ignition.
His hat brim was pulled low on his forehead when he looked at her. “I know what we’re doing here, but I want you to tell me anyway.”
Where to start? So many thoughts had been swirling through her head since Monday at the Rainsong Cafe. She didn’t know what to say to him except that she wanted him fiercely. “I like that you want me to know about your past. I like how up-front you are. About everything.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, and seemed genuinely confused. “I’ve got a lot of stuff I could hide, but what’s the point? Especially with you being a reporter and all.”
No. That wasn�
��t what she’d meant. “You’re honest with everyone. It has nothing to do with me. It’s about you being a good guy. And I like that.”
One wrist draped over the steering wheel, he stared through the windshield, grimacing as if his being good was a myth. “I won’t say I’m not ashamed of things I’ve done. I’ve got more than enough shame. And I’d do over a whole lot of stuff if I could. But since I can’t, facing and dealing with whatever, or whoever, comes my way is all I’ve got.”
“Like Les Upton.”
He turned his head, his gaze piercing, searching, making sure he had her attention before he asked, “You want to talk about Les now? Here?”
Contradictory to what she’d said earlier, she didn’t want to talk about Les at all. But she felt that of all the things Boone had in his past, this was the one that perhaps haunted him most, and because of that, she nodded.
“Okay. Like I told you, I went to school with his daughter.” When she arched a brow, his mouth pulled into a smirk. “And I went to bed with his daughter. Penny. Lots of guys went to bed with Penny. She kinda reminds me of Luck Summerlin in that way, except Luck comes from all kinds of money, and doesn’t put out as much as she teases about doing so.”
“Penny did put out, but didn’t come from money.”
He nodded, reached up and rubbed at his eyes with one hand. “Her mom, Lucinda, she was a stunner. She’d been a cheerleader in high school, good grades, came from a decent family, was pretty popular from what I understand. How she ended up with Les . . .”
“I can probably fill in those blanks,” she said, thinking of her upbringing and the first time she’d met Toby.
“Is it some kind of girl thing?” he asked, frowning as he glanced over.
A thing for some girls, anyway. “Was Les a bad boy? From the wrong side of the tracks, or from an abusive home? Did he drive a hot car and smoke and drink and act like he didn’t give a shit about getting in trouble?”
“Sounds like you’re describing Casper Jayne. Except he had my folks, my family, and then he had the Daltons in his corner. I doubt Les ever had anyone. Except Lucinda.”
“How long did that last? Her being in his corner?”
“Penny was eighteen when her mom split for good, so that long at least. Though I have a feeling the corner thing was over with the first time Les hit her.”
An icy chill rose the hair on Everly’s arms. “Hit his wife? Or his daughter?”
“I know he hit his wife, but I wouldn’t doubt Penny took a few punches over the years. And learned from them.” He shook his head as if reliving a memory and not liking it much. “She knew how to fight back. I saw it happen.”
“When was that?” she asked, not sure she wanted to know.
“The night Les came home and caught me with my dick in his daughter.”
Crude, but she got the point. His relationship with Penny hadn’t been more than sex. “That must’ve been unpleasant.”
“For Lucinda more than anyone,” he said with a snort. “She’d come home first. Stood there in Penny’s open door and watched us fuck.”
“Seriously?” she asked, disbelief like a fist slamming into her.
“Oh, yeah. I about shit a brick when I saw her there.” He barked out a harsh laugh. “Penny told me just to ignore her, and went back to grinding.”
Everly cringed, swallowing hard as she imagined Boone’s panic. “What happened?”
“Nothing. At least not then. Lucinda shook her head, rolled her eyes, and left. And, yeah, I know this because I was watching her until she moved out of the door, wondering what she was going to do. I heard the refrigerator open, heard her pop the top on a beer, heard her pull a chair out from under the table, and flick her cigarette lighter. Smelled the smoke.”
“And what was Penny doing while you were listening to all this?”
“Oh, I was still fucking her. But only my dick was in it. My head was wondering what kind of shit Lucinda was pulling, because I just knew things weren’t going to end well.”
“And they didn’t.”
“Nope,” he said, finally thumbing the button to release his seatbelt and scraping both hands down his face. “That’s when Les came home. Their house was pretty small. You walked in the front door and you could see straight to the kitchen. And Penny’s room opened up off the living room.”
Everly easily pictured the whole tableau—mother, father, daughter, and the Dalton Gang hell-raiser in the middle of it all. “So when Les walked in the front, he could see his wife sitting at the table with a beer and a cigarette, and see your bare ass in his daughter’s bed.”
“That’s about the size of it.” He wrapped his fingers around his steering wheel, twisted his hand back and forth. “He didn’t know who to go after first. He just stood there while I scrambled back into my pants, hoping I’d get them zipped before he took a knife to my dick.”
Her chest ached from her jackhammer heart. “Jesus, Boone.”
“He went after Lucinda. His fists. His belt. A rolling pin. It was marble,” he added, and Everly gasped, then nearly vomited when her stomach began to roil. “Penny was screaming the whole time, still naked, crying at her dad to stop, beating on him until he turned and started beating on her. Lucinda wasn’t making a sound. After I got my pants on, I took off for the kitchen, yelling at Penny to call 9-1-1 and tangling with Les.
“He caught me in the jaw with the rolling pin, but I ducked and it glanced off instead of breaking my face. I smashed a blender into his head. He came back with a chair. After that, we just used our fists. It took the sheriff forever to get there. Lucinda was unconscious. Les had heard the sirens and was long gone. Penny was sitting on the kitchen floor sobbing, bleeding from a gash on her forehead, the phone in one hand, smoothing back Lucinda’s hair with the other. I had to manhandle her to get her to put on her clothes.”
At that, Everly started shaking, her hands first, then the whole upper half of her body. Her eyes were wide open, and she was looking at Boone, but all she could see was Toby. His fists. His belt. There had never been a rolling pin, but she didn’t doubt if she’d stayed there would’ve been that, or worse. A blender or a knife or a chair.
Her voice scratched her throat on the way out. “What happened to Lucinda?”
“She spent a week in the hospital. Les, it turned out, hadn’t gone far. The sheriff found him in the back room of his shop, blood still on his hands.”
“Did he go to prison?”
“For battery, yeah, though not the attempted murder he deserved. I had to give a statement. My folks had to come to get me, so they heard the whole thing. It was probably the worst experience of my life. For weeks after, I spent more time at the Daltons’ ranch than I ever had. I needed to keep busy, and Dave always had something I could do.”
“And you?” She swallowed, tasted bile. “How badly were you hurt?”
“Bruises. A few cuts. Nothing that needed stitches like Penny’s.
Tears were spilling down her cheeks when she pressed the fingers of one hand to her mouth. “Boone. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”
“Still—”
“It was a wake-up call I needed, but it’s over and done with, and I’m fine. But now you see why I didn’t want you to hear this from someone else. It’s bad enough that you had to hear it at all.” He reached for her free hand, then suddenly frowned. “Criminy, Ev. Your fingers feel like ice cubes.”
She let him take both of her hands to rub between his, unable to tell him what she was thinking, the memories of flinching away from Toby, of the second trip to the ER that had put an end to his intimidation and to their relationship. That had put an end to the life in Austin she’d loved.
“C’mon.” He tugged her toward him. “Let’s go in. Get you some hot tea or something.”
Hot tea. Something she needed. Not the sex they’d come here for. He helped her across the cab and out the driver’s door, and she leaned into his big body when he wrapped h
er close with one arm.
She stayed tucked against him as they walked up the driveway, as she unlocked the kitchen door and they went inside. Once there, she felt capable of drawing a full breath for the first time since he’d begun his story.
And she thought she was going to be okay until he looked at her, his eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat, and said, “Tea first, but his time, no scarves.”
THIRTEEN
“IS THAT AN order or a request?” She stared at him, her skin blanched of color, her voice as flat as the pastures that spread from the ranch house and barn to the horizon.
Boone wanted to kick his own ass even more than he wanted to get his hands on her, and he wanted them all over her, everywhere. He wanted her flat on her back, begging beneath him. He wanted her on her knees begging, too. But something was wrong, and he wanted first to know what it was, because her being okay was all that mattered.
He held out his arms. “Neither one. It was my very bad attempt to lighten the mood. C’mere.”
Exhaling fully, she did, shutting her eyes before she buried her face in his chest. Her arms went around his waist, then she pressed her wrists between his shoulder blades, her fists at the base of his neck holding him, as if she couldn’t bear his leaving.
He thought back to the truck, how cold her fingers had been. How wide and frightened her eyes. Her reaction hadn’t been just to his story, no matter his description of that night. She’d been remembering something else. He was certain of it. Maybe the something Faith had mentioned. The something Everly hadn’t told him about, keeping him at a distance—the same way she’d done with the scarves.
Even now she was trembling, her whole body aligned with his and shaking. And her shaking was getting to him. He wasn’t about to bed her when she was this upset. He just wished he knew what had gone wrong. Yeah. Because all he’d done was give her the grisly details of a man nearly beating his family to death . . .
The pit of his stomach started gnawing, and he tightened his arms around her. “Everly?”
