Unforgettable (The Dalton Gang #3)

by Alison Kent

  “People like me.”

  “And like me,” she said without thinking where such an admission might lead.

  “I came for a job. And, yes, it happened to be a job with my father. I thought I might get to know my half siblings. So in my case, it was family, too. What about you?”

  “I came for a job—”

  “You know a lot of folks wonder about that, you leaving KXAN for the Reporter.”

  That stopped her in her tracks. Though why she should be surprised she was the subject of speculation . . . “None of the Dalton Gang men came back because they had family here. They came back for an inheritance.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question about why you left KXAN.”

  “You didn’t ask me a question.” Though now she was wondering if he knew of her past with Toby. Had he lived in Austin before coming here to work for the man Darcy called The Campbell?

  “You’re right,” he said, then leaned forward in the booth, his forearms on the tabletop, his hands laced. “Do you think coming back for an inheritance rather than for their kin says something about them? Besides Casper, that is, since he didn’t have anyone here.”

  “I don’t think it was the inheritance as much as it was the Daltons. The faith they put in the three by willing them the ranch. They could’ve sold it, and I know Tess needed the money, especially toward the end, but she didn’t. I’m sure the older couple believing in them, giving them a reason to believe in themselves maybe?” She thought back to what Casper had said about the Daltons equipping them with what they needed to straighten themselves out. “If coming home because of the inheritance says anything, I can’t imagine it’s more than that.”

  “Makes one wonder what truly kept them away.”

  Had Casper not wanted to face the horrors he’d lived on Mulberry Street, until he’d had Faith at his side while he did? Had Dax’s disinheritance left him feeling he no longer belonged, and only Arwen had been able to convince him otherwise?

  Had Boone stayed away because of what Les Upton said? That he’d gotten Penny pregnant and she hadn’t want his child?

  “Listen,” Greg said, getting to his feet, “Teri’s got my lunch ready, so I need to get back to the office. If you need anything more specific for your piece, just give me a call.”

  “I will. Thanks. And thanks again for playing the part of the white knight.”

  “A lot more fun than playing the part of the bastard,” he said, leaving her with a wave.

  TWENTY-THREE

  AS SHE TURNED off the county highway onto the Dalton Ranch road, Everly wondered if her showing up unannounced made Boone uncomfortable at all. Other than his not being thrilled with the newspaper piece, he’d given her no indication that her visits were disruptive. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  Still, she worried. For as much as he was one of a trio, he was a solitary man. He lived alone, and worked alone long after his partners had returned to their homes in town. It made sense he wouldn’t want his life on display in the paper. Or have his work interrupted by visitors unannounced.

  If she could’ve reached him on his cell, she would’ve called instead of making the drive. Though she wasn’t sure that was the truth. She wanted to tell him about seeing Les Upton. And she didn’t want to do that over the phone.

  Plus, she wanted to see him, even though she’d seen him yesterday, had sex with him yesterday. Even though she’d be seeing him again to finish their interview that had never really started.

  A part of her was beginning to wonder if her questioning him had become a MacGuffin. If the story was her way to spend time with him, and not about the assignment at all.

  She had no doubt he appreciated their sex life, but on more than one occasion she’d sensed he wanted more. Was he keeping that wish to himself because she’d been very clear in what she wanted? Did that make her selfish? Coming in here and stirring up his past, then allowing him the pleasure of her body on her terms?

  Yes, she had her reasons for keeping emotions at bay, but he didn’t know what they were. He knew she’d had a bad breakup, but that was all. How fair was she being to him when he’d been so open with her? Was her showing up like this feeding into his dreams when that wasn’t what she wanted to happen?

  Unless she was fooling herself in that regard. Unless their being together had seeds of hope taking root and flowering. Hope. It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to feel anything close to that particular emotion. Since she’d had reason to. And yet Boone had given her that.

  Of course none of that explained her drunken admission of love . . .

  Since she’d passed both Casper and Dax on their way back to town not long after leaving Crow Hill, she assumed she’d find Boone at the house or the barn and not out riding the range, or visiting his oil well, or herding cattle, or . . . whatever kept him so busy. She had so much to learn about a rancher’s life.

  No. She didn’t. This was Boone’s life, not hers. Hers she had down pat. She knew all she needed to about sitting behind a desk and manipulating the English language into cleverly compelling stories. She also knew all she needed to about her favorite cheeses and wines, the shoes she loved, how to keep her hair from drying out, her makeup from running.

  Face it, Grant. As much as you love your life, you have none.

  She’d left Austin and time had frozen. Her days passed in a bubble that had no relevance to the life she’d lived before. Boone was right. She was wasting a big fat something, and enough was enough. Once this story was done, she’d take his advice and parlay her connections and her talent into the high-profile position she deserved.

  Except that wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she wanted at all.

  Could she possibly be any more confused? she thought, parking, letting the dust settle, getting out of her SUV and shading her eyes to look for him, hoping he was around.

  She found him near the barn, standing at the back of the ranch’s flatbed, though it wasn’t until she got closer, stumbling once when a heel hit what looked like a dried rat carcass—a sight that had her skittering—that she could see the tools he’d laid out, the oil he was using to clean them, the rags.

  “What’s up?” he asked, giving her a brief glance before returning to his chore.

  She sidled up to the truck’s door and out of the way of his grime. “I wasn’t sure when I’d see you again, and something came up today that I thought you might want to know.”

  “You could’ve called.”

  And left a message. Because he wasn’t around during the day to pick up. “I can go. If I’m bothering you. It can wait. I guess.”

  “You’re not bothering me.” He looked up at her, looked down at her, taking in her shoes and her buttons and the mane of her hair. A tic beat in his jaw. “Are you feeling better?”

  She nodded. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.” Because she had embarrassed herself in so many ways.

  “Nah, I have Faith for that,” he said, snorting, and that let her smile.

  “You were pretty quiet on Sunday. After . . .” She waved her hand instead of finishing the sentence. He knew what she meant, that he’d had nothing to say about what they’d done in her shower. “I love your family. Your parents are wonderful.”

  “Yeah. They’re good people,” he said, and got back to work. “So what’s up?”

  Fine. Done with the small talk. Out with it. “I was at the Blackbird Diner today, talking to Nora and Teri for my story. I ran into Greg Barrett, too, so had a chance to talk to him.”

  “Yeah?” he asked, but he didn’t look over, just kept wiping down the tools and returning them to the toolbox attached to the cab. “How’s the dirt digging going?”

  “I’m not digging for dirt,” she said with a roll of her eyes he was too busy to see. “We’ve been over that.”

  “Whatever.”

  She shaded her forehead with both hands to see him better, but it didn’t really help. The setting sun cast him in shadow. His hat brim added ano
ther. She could see his frown, and that shadow, too, but little more. “Boone, talk to me. What’s the matter?”

  He stopped what he was doing, a blade of some sort in one hand, a squeeze can of oil in the other, staring at both, not looking at her. “‘What’s the matter’ is seeing my mother so excited about the story coming out, and hating what’s going to happen when she reads it.”

  She flinched at the words, but not fast enough. They flew into her face to beat her like angry wings. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You know what it means.”

  Really? “You think I’m out to crucify the Dalton Gang? Seriously?”

  “I don’t know, Everly,” he said, spinning on her. “You’re talking to Nora and Teri. You’re talking to Casper. You’re talking to Greg. But you’re not talking to me.”

  That’s what this was about? The fact that she’d yet to ask him questions? And that was her fault? When neither one of them could keep their hands to themselves?

  Grabbing a calming breath, she stacked her hands behind her and leaned against the truck door. Then she glanced over. “Are you hungry?”

  “It’s almost seven,” he said with a nod. “I’m starving.”

  “Why don’t I go see about supper while you finish up . . . whatever this is with your tools?”

  A smile tugged. A dimple appeared. “You know supper for me means cooking. Not bread and cheese and grapes.”

  “I didn’t bring anything with me. I’ll have to use what you have on hand.”

  He turned back to his shop rags and oil can. No smile. No dimple. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”

  Good luck indeed, she mused minutes later, staring at the contents of his refrigerator, or the decided lack thereof. His freezer offered more, but all of that more was frozen.

  She glanced around the kitchen, saw what looked like a fairly new microwave, wondered if Casper had bought it for Clay to use while those two had lived here. If she recalled correctly, Clay had been really good about cooking up extra batches of chili and stew.

  She moved aside butcher-wrapped packages of ground beef and found a plastic potato salad container with the words taco meat scrawled on the side. She popped off the lid, found the expected icy crystals, but freezer burn or not, it would have to do. The pantry didn’t yield much more, but she grabbed a can of corn, another of Ranch Style Beans, and one of RO*TEL tomatoes.

  Back at the fridge, she pulled open the crisper drawer, and lo and behold, two onions. She chose the larger of the two and then went in search of a knife. The meat was on thaw in the microwave, the onion frying in a spoonful of shortening, since there hadn’t been enough butter and no olive oil at all, when Boone came inside.

  He hung his hat on a peg by the door, washed his hands up to his forearms in the sink. Then turned and leaned against the counter, watching her work. “Smells good.”

  “It’s just onions,” she said as she stirred. “And Crisco.”

  “Yeah, sorry. Running low on butter.”

  He was running low on everything considered a staple. “Listen, I’m sorry if I caught you at a bad time. I shouldn’t have come.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. I’ve been a crabby asshole all day. Dax and Casper will tell you.”

  “What’s wrong? I mean, what specifically?” she asked, the microwave buzzer sounding.

  “Nothing,” he said as she retrieved the meat and added it to the stockpot. “I’m just pissed about the auction coming up this weekend.”

  “Already?” She tossed the plastic container into the sink and glanced over. “Nora moves fast.”

  “Nora’s got connections. Nora knows we need the money.”

  “She’s a nice woman. Her and Teri both.” She scanned the three lengths of countertops. “Where’s your can opener?”

  He crossed to the drawer beneath the coffeemaker and handed it to her. “You were talking to her for the story?”

  Right. That’s what she’d come here to tell him. She opened the corn, dumped the contents, juice and all, on top of the meat. The soup was a whole lot better when slow-cooked all day, but this would have to do. “I was. And after we finished up, Les Upton stopped at my table.”

  “What? You’re fucking kidding me. You’re not fucking kidding me.” He scrubbed his hands down his face, then back through his hair. “Criminy. That son of a bitch.”

  “I didn’t know who he was. At least not right away, though the name on his coveralls registered at the same time he told me.” She opened the tomatoes and the beans, stirred the soup while adding both of those, then turned up the flame on the burner.

  “What did he say? What happened? Did he give you a hard time? Did he follow you? Do we need to call the sheriff?”

  We. She liked that he’d said we. “He got mouthy and rude, and I slapped him. He wouldn’t leave. Greg Barrett saw the whole thing.” The soup came to a boil and she continued to stir, then set the heat at a high simmer. “He got him out of there, and that was the end of it. But I thought since the story will no doubt get around, that I should be the one to tell you.”

  He was smiling, his mouth twisted, his eyes twinkling. “You slapped him. You slapped Les Upton.”

  “I did. Then I went to the kitchen and had Teri bleach my hand,” she said, because that’s what she’d felt like doing. “Not really, of course, but yeah. He’s a pretty despicable man, isn’t he?”

  “He always was. I can’t imagine that’s changed.”

  “It hasn’t. Trust me.”

  “Shit, woman. Good for you,” he said, leaning forward for a kiss, taking one then lingering for another.

  “You really look tired today,” she said, when he let her go, scraping her nails through his beard stubble. “More so than usual.”

  He held her hand to his face, closed his eyes. His weariness spilled from his pores like sweat, soaking him. Soaking her. “This is so far off the record,” he said, opening his eyes, “that if I see it hit print you will have no peace in this life and I will haunt you in the next.”

  If she’d thought for a moment he meant it, she wouldn’t have laughed, but she did to lighten the mood. She knew from his threat he was hurting, and she took back her hand to give him space. “I promise. Not a word.”

  “I feel like I’m losing it, like I’m falling apart. I can’t figure out why. I came back to Crow Hill thinking I had it made. It would be a lot of work, but I’d be here with my family, with my boys, Tess and Dave’s memory. Everything was set.”

  “Except it wasn’t,” she said.

  “We got here to find the ranch . . . I don’t even know how to describe what bad condition it’s in. We’re running the flatbed on used tires, and because the roads around the place are such crap, we ruin at least one a week. Same with the horse tack. I’m forever repairing what’s there, and we can’t replace it. We’re lucky Arwen and Faith feed us as much as they do since all our food money goes for the animals.”

  “Boone. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” She stared at the pot of soup, guilty. “And here I used your food without asking you.”

  “I’ve gotta eat. Don’t even think about it. That’s what it’s for.”

  “I’ll bring you out some groceries tomorrow.”

  “No. You won’t—”

  “Yes. I will. At least to replace what I used.”

  “Everly, you’re feeding me. You’re using the same food I would’ve used. But you’re keeping me from having to cook.”

  She wanted to cry. Stupid, but that’s what she was feeling. A hurt she didn’t understand. “I just don’t like the idea that you’re barely getting by.”

  “I’m fine. Or I was fine. Getting by.” He shoved both hands through his overly long hair, held it to the back of his head, breathed deep. “Then I went to that damn library fund-raiser, and I met you. Nothing’s been the same since, and my head’s all fucked up.”

  “In a good way, I hope.” Though why she said that after her earlier thoughts . . . Confused wasn’t the half of it.r />
  “In the best of ways, I promise. And I thought I had a handle on that. I knew you wanted a no-strings affair. And I was dealing with that just fine.” He closed his eyes, scrubbed both hands down his faced. “But then, Friday night . . .”

  Friday night. The sex where he’d torn and cut off her clothes. When her world had been upended. When she’d wondered what the rest of her life would be like without him. When she’d realized how much trouble she was in. “What about it?”

  “I didn’t use a condom.”

  He was upset about not using a condom? “I told you the first time that I’m clean, and I’m not going to get pregnant . . .” She let the sentence trail, her face heating. The pregnancy Les Upton had hinted at. Penny’s pregnancy. Boone had insisted on using a condom even as their relationship—was it a relationship?—advanced because of Penny’s pregnancy. Les hadn’t been lying at all.

  Boone crossed the kitchen, fetched two bowls from a cabinet, two spoons from a drawer, set them on the table. “Until Friday night, I’d used a condom every time I’d had sex since high school. I know you’re on the pill, but I know accidents can happen. I let down my guard. I don’t like that I let down my guard.”

  “Because you let it down with me?” she asked, fearing the answer.

  “No, because I learned my . . . Because I learned a long time ago about responsibility. I want a family. I want a big family.” He found a pot holder, hefted the soup from the stove, set it on a trivet he’d tossed to the table. “I want to see my kids playing hide-and-seek on horseback. I want to play hide-and-seek upstairs with my wife. But I can’t afford to take care of myself right now, much less a family. And if things don’t get better, I won’t be able to afford the life I want. I’ll be stuck with this one.”

  “No you won’t,” she said, joining him at the table when he motioned her to come. “You’ll find something else to do. Some way to dissolve your partnership, or sell the ranch and hire on as a hand elsewhere, or you’ll go to school, get your degree, coach football with your father. I promise. It’s not that hopeless.”