Chaps and Chance

by Evans, Jessie

  The thought sent a shudder through her; Cole’s fingers gripped her hip more firmly in response.

  “You okay?” he asked. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t. I upset me.” She swallowed, but her throat remained tight. “I was thinking that a police report might at least save some other woman if it can’t save me. Might help put Wayne in jail if he ends up killing me.”

  Cole’s hands closed around either side of her face, cradling her with a gentle tension that left no doubt how precious he found her head and every other part of her. “You’re not going to die. I won’t let him hurt you, baby. I’ll kill him myself first.”

  Tears pricked at Layla’s eyes. “Don’t call me baby. That’s what he called me. Baby. And baby girl. I always hated it, even in the beginning, but I was too nervous to tell him.” Layla pressed her lips together, but she couldn’t seem to stop the flood of words. “And then nervous became worried and worried became scared and now I don’t know what to think or feel or do. I just don’t want to live like this anymore. I can’t.”

  Cole’s breath rushed out as he pulled her in for a hug. “You don’t have to. We’ll go to the police this morning and spend the rest of the day pow-wowing about what to do next.”

  He stroked her hair, calming her as easily as he’d keyed her up a few minutes before. “John and Lily said they’d help. They aren’t lawyers or cops, obviously, but they’re smart and they care about anyone I care about. We’ll pick their brains and our brains and figure something out. You don’t have to be afraid.” He paused, a hopeful smile twitching at his lips. “And I promise never to let the word ‘baby’ pass my lips ever again.”

  She looked into his kind, sincere, hopeful face and nodded. She at least had to try, for his peace of mind if nothing else. “Okay. I’ll go to the police. I should probably call Grayson and Reece, too. I didn’t want to interrupt their trip, but they’d want to know there’s been trouble.”

  “Of course they would,” Cole said. “Because they love you. Lots of people do, and we’re going to make sure Wayne Wheeler learns to keep his distance. Strength in numbers, right?”

  “Strength in numbers,” Layla echoed softly, trying not to think too much about the “L” word or whether or not Cole was falling for her as fast as she was falling for him.

  But it didn’t really feel like falling. It felt like swinging back through a familiar front door after too long away. It felt like coming home from a journey around the world to realize the treasure you’d been looking for had been sitting on your front porch in a black cowboy hat and weathered jeans the whole time.

  “So why don’t we get up, get some coffee and get ready to go see Ned at the station,” Cole said. “I’m pretty sure he works Sundays. If not, my friend Jackson does and he’s a solid guy.”

  “But I haven’t given you any good morning kisses yet.” Layla slid her leg over his. “Doesn’t seem right for me to get such lovely morning kisses and you to not even get one. I should at least kiss your ankle.”

  Cole’s lips curved as she straddled him. “I’ve got a gross hairy man ankle. You don’t want to kiss that with your sweet mouth.”

  “I don’t mind a little hairy man ankle,” Layla said, rocking gently against his rapidly swelling length. “But I could kiss your knee instead if you like. I can even make it talk if that’s the kind of stuff you’re into.”

  “Yeah, Cole, I want some kisses,” she continued in a deep voice, fighting a grin as his laughter rumbled through the room. “I don’t care about that woman’s morning breath.”

  “Neither do I, knee.” He was still laughing as his fingers curled around her neck and he pulled her down for a kiss.

  Layla made a sound of protest between her closed lips, fighting to keep her mouth shut as she started to laugh.

  “Come on, sweet lips,” Cole said against her mouth. “Give me some sugar.”

  “You’re so gross.” Layla turned her head, her laughter becoming a swiftly indrawn breath as Cole’s teeth raked gently over her neck.

  “I’m not gross, I’m crazy about you,” he said, rolling them over until he was on top and swiftly disposing of his tee shirt and boxer briefs. Her tee shirt and panties followed not long after and soon Cole was gliding inside where she ached for him and his hands were whispering over her heated skin and Layla’s morning breath worries evaporated.

  All her worries evaporated and didn’t return in full force until an hour and a half later as she slid out of Cole’s truck and started up the steps to the police station.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cole

  The Lonesome Point police station was located in the historic bank building on the Old Town Highway, just as the road entered downtown.

  Cole had only had reason to climb the steps a handful of times. The first had been a field trip in second grade, the second when he went in to pay a parking ticket, and the third when his little brother called him to come pick him up at the station one night at midnight, after he and his friend Mia were caught defacing prize-winning pigs with body paint during one of the pranks they were famous for back in high school.

  He supposed he might have been called into the station after the insanity with Neil, but he’d been so banged up the police had ended up taking his statement while he was in the hospital being monitored for a concussion.

  Cole glanced down at Layla as they approached the door to the cracked marble building, finding it hard to believe the woman beside him had come from a monster like Neil. She had such a good heart. She had refused to stomp the spiders in the tack room when they were growing up, let alone prey on the innocent. She’d clearly taken after her mother, from her porcelain skin and striking blue eyes to the graceful way she carried herself.

  “You ready?” he asked, hand lingering on the door handle.

  Layla took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s do it. It will feel good to get it over with.”

  Cole brought his hand to her shoulders, giving her a rub of encouragement as he opened the door.

  Inside, the air was cooler and the white marble counter with the antique metal dividers seemed to glow in the morning light streaming through the narrow windows on the far wall. Most of the stalls that had once served as workspaces for bank tellers were empty, except one on the far left where a long-faced woman with a sensible bun waited to process fines, and the stall on the right, where a young policeman with a black buzz cut was working reception.

  Layla started toward reception and Cole followed a short distance behind, offering support, but letting her take the lead. In just a couple of days, it had become clear to him how important it was for Layla to feel like she was in control. And he couldn’t blame her for it. After what she’d been through, he was amazed she was still capable of being vulnerable at all. If he’d lived through half of what she had, he’d have scars on his heart so thick and calloused he doubted he’d ever let someone get close to him again.

  But even though Layla’s skin still bore the evidence of Wayne’s abuse, her heart was already healing, reaching for what it wanted, learning to trust and laugh and hope for something better than what she’d gotten from the twisted monster who had let her down.

  She was so much stronger than she gave herself credit for, a fact proved all over again when the young policeman—Lieutenant Sampson, Cole saw now that they were closer to the bulletproof glass separating the officer from the reception area—greeted her as if he’d been expecting her to walk into the station.

  “Layla Wheeler?” Sampson’s eyes widened before his expression grew carefully blank.

  “Um, yes,” Layla said, only the hint of surprise in her tone. “I’m sorry, have we met? Maybe at the diner? I’ve only been working there a few weeks, but—”

  “I saw your picture,” Sampson said, cutting her off. “If you’ll have a seat, I’ll let Chief Wyatt know you’re here.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Layla stepped back from the window, turning to look up at Cole, an unspoken question in he
r eyes.

  He shrugged and whispered, “I’m sure there’s some explanation.”

  “I guess so,” Layla agreed, but her brow remained furrowed and when they took a seat in two of the well-worn wooden chairs lining the wall, she perched anxiously on the edge of her seat. Her fingers fisted so tight in the top of her leather purse that her knuckles went white and her knee jogged up and down so fast he could tell it was hell for her to stay seated.

  He was about to suggest they step outside to get some air and Officer Sampson could come get them when he was ready, when Ned Wyatt, the aging police chief, stepped through the door leading back into the bowels of the station. His pale eyes found Layla and a smile stretched across his finely wrinkled face.

  But the smile was tight around the edges and his voice when he called her name held more caution than warmth.

  Caution and the hint of sadness, the kind that fills you up when you have to do something you’d rather not, but don’t have any other choice.

  “Hey there, Mrs. Wheeler. Thank you for coming down so quickly,” he said. “I appreciate your cooperation. Why don’t you come on back with me and we can get started.”

  Layla stood, breath speeding as she shook her head slowly back and forth. “I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. I came here to make a report. I’m not sure what’s going on.”

  Ned’s smile faded, but the man barely missed a beat before adding in a soothing voice. “Then I’m guessing you didn’t receive the message I left on your home phone. That’s no problem. There’s nothing to worry about. I just have a few questions for you. Come on back and I’ll explain everything and we can talk this out.”

  Layla glanced up at Cole, who nodded with what he hoped was a reassuring expression.

  He had no idea what was going on either, but he trusted Ned. Whatever questions he had for Layla he was the kind who knew how to put a person at ease.

  “All right,” Layla said, a nervous smile flickering across her face. She started toward the chief and Cole followed, but when they reached Ned, the other man shook his head and held up a hand to Cole.

  “I’m sorry, son,” Ned said. “I’m going to need to talk to Mrs. Wheeler alone. Unless you’re acting as her legal representation.”

  Cole frowned. “Why would she need legal representation? She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not something I can discuss with you,” Ned said, already edging the door closed. “But if Mrs. Wheeler decides she’d rather have a lawyer present during our chat I promise you I’ll make sure she gets one.”

  Cole’s gaze shifted to Layla’s face in time to see her blue eyes go wide and glassy, but there wasn’t time to comfort her before Ned closed the door and he was left on one side and Layla on the other.

  Through pure force of will, Cole resisted the urge to slam his fist into the door. Instead, he curled his fingers at his sides, spun on his heel, and stormed out the door and down the steps. He waited until he was on the sidewalk, walking toward the truck, before whipping out his cell phone and calling John.

  His brother answered on the second ring; Cole was talking before John could say hello. “I need the name and number of the lawyer Mom used for the land dispute. The one who wasn’t afraid to get nasty with the Levys.”

  John sighed. “So I assume you’ve heard the latest dirt floating around town.”

  “I haven’t heard shit,” Cole said, pacing back and forth on the abandoned sidewalk. “All I know is that Layla just got taken in for questioning and neither she nor I have any fucking idea what’s going on. We came to report Wayne’s break-in the other night and instead—”

  “All right, calm down,” John said. “Let me step outside. We’re having breakfast with the kids.”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Cole said tightly, listening to the sound of his brother’s footsteps and what he guessed was the back door closing behind him. “But this can’t wait. I want to make sure she’s got someone back there with her. I trust Ned, but I don’t trust him that much.”

  “I get it,” John said, his voice low. “I’ll tell you what I heard, but I have no idea what’s true and what’s not so don’t shoot the messenger, okay?”

  “Just tell me.” Cole laid his hand on the truck, bracing himself for the bad news.

  “Rumor has it that one of the wells on the Wheeler land is contaminated with arsenic,” John said, his tone making it clear he wasn’t enjoying sharing this particular piece of gossip. “And they don’t think it was a naturally occurring contamination if you know what I mean.”

  Cole’s chest tightened, his body responding to the shock of the announcement before his mind had fully caught up.

  When it did, he almost choked on his next breath. “You’re fucking kidding me. They’re accusing Layla of poisoning their fucking well? After her husband beat her black and blue for years and left scars all over her damned body they have the gall to—”

  “Relax, man,” John said. “And lower your voice. I don’t know where you are right now, but the best thing for Layla is to keep the gossip as under wraps as possible.”

  “Where did you hear it?” Cole asked. “Because if you heard it from Mom you know it’s already all over the goddamned town.”

  John grunted. “Well, you didn’t know. There’s a chance a few other people are still in the dark. And for what it’s worth, Mom thought it was horseshit and so do I. The Wheelers are a bunch of whacked out conspiracy theorists. You know Dirk and Preston have a doomsday supply of guns and food in an underground bunker at the back of their property. I doubt their well was poisoned. And even if it was, what kind of sense would it make for Layla to poison the same water she drank every day?”

  “It wouldn’t make any sense,” Cole said, but doubt was starting to whisper at the back of his mind, like a flash of movement at the edge of his vision that vanished when he turned his head to look.

  He didn’t know the exact reason for the unease creeping in to cramp the muscles in his shoulders, but he felt even more certain that Layla needed a lawyer. A good one.

  Just in case…

  He got the name and number from John and was about to hang up and call the man, when his brother spoke again.

  “Be careful, okay,” John warned. “I believe Layla’s innocent, but you’re getting into the middle of something a lot bigger than a fight with an ex-husband. Just make sure you take care of yourself. You’ve got a life and a future and you need to protect that, no matter how much you care about Layla.”

  A frown clawed at Cole’s face, making him feel like the muscles in his forehead were about to burst through the skin. “What’s that supposed to mean? That I should abandon her because she’s been accused of some crazy bullshit? Because I won’t.”

  “Relax,” John said, heat creeping into his own tone. “I know you pined after the girl in high school, but you’re both grown-ups now. And when grown-ups make mistakes they have to pay grown-up prices. Just think before you get in too deep. That’s all I’m saying. Think with your brain, not your heart. Or your cock.”

  Cole’s jaw clenched and his next words seethed out through gritted teeth. “Thanks, big brother. That wasn’t fucking condescending at all.”

  John made a huffing, frustrated sound. “What do you want from me, Cole? I let you bring Layla onto our property and I—”

  “You didn’t let me do shit,” Cole snapped. “That ranch is one-third mine and I don’t need your permission to bring people on my land. I asked you out of consideration, not because I need your stamp of approval.”

  “You damned sure do need my approval. I’ve got a—”

  “No, I don’t. And if you have a problem with that we can split up the property three ways when Mom passes and put up fences to keep each other out.”

  “I’ll talk to you later,” John said in a cool, clipped voice. “When you’re not being a hotheaded asshole.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Cole said, cursing as his brother hung up and “call ended”
flashed on his phone’s screen.

  He spun in an angry circle, kicking the truck’s tire with his boot—once, twice—until a jolt of pain flashed behind his kneecap.

  Then he stood with his hands on his hips and his head tipped down, catching his breath, forcing himself to pull it together before he called the lawyer. For all he knew, Layla would be out of questioning before the lawyer arrived, but he still wanted to call.

  It gave him something to do, something to make him feel useful while he was stuck out here and Layla was in there, having to face police questioning alone, after he’d promised to be by her side every step of the way.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Layla

  Layla followed Ned down a sunny hallway, past offices with glass walls where men and women in uniform sat filling out paperwork, talking on the phone, or typing in front of bulky computers that looked like they hadn’t been updated since the early nineties.

  In one room, a female officer leaned across her desk, talking earnestly to a young woman in an oversized flowered dress with a sleeping toddler drooling on her chest. Layla only had a few seconds to catalog the scene, but what she saw was enough to make her already tight throat ache.

  She didn’t know what had brought the young woman to the police station today, but she recognized the beaten look in the girl’s eyes. Whatever had happened to her, it had driven her to the edge of hope, where the world is a cold place and the only thing that keeps you clinging to life is primal instinct.

  Deep down at the core of a person, lurking in the bone marrow, is an ancient drive that knows nothing about good or bad, happy or sad, hope or hopeless. All it knows is life or death, and when a person’s more recently evolved coping mechanisms fail, the primitive instinct steps in to insist on life. To demand it, to fight for it, tooth and claw, until the blood of its enemies dries beneath its nails. But when the fight is over, the instinct retreats and a person is left alone.