by Silver James
That’s when she had her first epiphany. She now had three hundred dollars in her pocket, thanks to the ATM. She had a debit card tied to a bank account with thirty thousand available. Well, twenty-nine thousand seven hundred. She could afford to stay wherever she wanted. And wasn’t that a kick in the seat of her pants.
She merged onto US 93, accelerated to highway speed, set the cruise control and clicked on the radio. The DJ introduced Cole Swindell’s “Ain’t Worth the Whiskey” and the opening notes filled her truck.
“Ha! The country music gods are smilin’ on me tonight,” she announced to the empty cab. As soon as Cole started singing, she was singing along. At the top of her lungs. She didn’t care that Chase and his father had shown their true colors. It was time for her to move on. All the way to San Antonio. If she got lucky and stayed on the circuit, she could mostly avoid Chase until she sat across from him in some attorney’s office signing the divorce papers a year from now. She raised her Coke bottle in a not-so-silent toast, considering she was still singing—only slightly off-key. When the next song came on, Savannah launched into it, as well. The music gods were happy tonight and sending her way every great breakup-he-done-me-wrong song on the playlist.
The lights of Las Vegas faded to a dull glow in her side mirrors. The truck’s headlights swept down the highway. This was her life. A million stars overhead, wide-open spaces, good music and the rodeo. To hell with Chase Barron. And his kisses. He’d left her alone after both old man Barron and the maître d’ humiliated her. She was done with him. So. Done. So done she ignored the ache in her chest. She knew better than to dream, knew better than to fall for a sweet-talkin’ man. She wasn’t her mother.
Fourteen
Chase let himself into the apartment quietly. After shutting and securing the door for the night, he breathed in relief. The automatic lights in the living room cast a soft glow. The rest of the place remained shrouded in darkness. He’d hoped Savannah would be there waiting for him.
She wasn’t. The couch was empty. So was the kitchen. He didn’t bother checking his office. She wouldn’t be in there. He headed to the bedroom, a slow smirk appearing. He’d acted like a jerk, but the talk with his father had been worth it. They’d come to an agreement. Of sorts. Barron Entertainment was still his. Cyrus would butt out of his personal life. If he didn’t get Savannah pregnant in two years, he’d cut her loose with a small settlement. Since he planned to divorce her in a year that was an easy stipulation to accept.
He felt his way to the bathroom, slipped inside and shut the door before he turned on the light. Once he got into bed, he’d wake Savannah, make love to her by way of apology for all she’d had to put up with tonight, and then they’d have breakfast in the morning before she headed off to...wherever she was off to for her next rodeo appearance.
Chase was halfway through brushing his teeth before he realized his bathroom counter was all but empty. He pulled out drawers. Empty. He looked up in the mirror. The short satin robe Savannah wore was still hanging there. He spit and rinsed, wiped his face and opened the door.
A rectangle of light slanted across the bed. The empty bed. He flicked on the bedside lamp. Her phone wasn’t charging on the nightstand. Her boots weren’t lined up next to the chair where she sat to put them on in the morning. Chase tore open the closet door. Most of the clothes Tucker had bought for her were still hanging there. He sorted through the hangers carefully. She’d taken a few things. A fringed leather jacket. A couple of skirts. All the jeans. Every pair of boots.
The drawers holding her underwear, T-shirts and sleep stuff were empty. Prowling through the apartment, he flipped on every light in the place. Getting progressively angrier, he searched for a message from Savannah. And found none. What did she think she was doing, running out on him like this? His cell pinged and he dug it out of his pocket. Maybe she’d left him a text. The current text was from Tucker. He ignored it to scroll through messages and emails. Still nothing from Savannah. He swiped his thumb across the screen to load Tucker’s message.
Situation in security office. Next time you ignore your wife to have dinner with your old man, try to do it away from cameras.
What the hell? Rather than call Tucker, he stormed out and headed down to the executive floors. Five minutes later, Chase threw the security room door open and stood there with his hands on his hips, not bothering to hide his anger. The people scanning the monitors briefly looked up. With no exceptions, their gazes slid guiltily away. His focus narrowed on Tucker, and four people standing with him, their eyes downcast.
“Tuck?”
“Not now, Chase. I’ll brief you shortly.”
Someone cleared a throat behind him and Chase glanced back. Four burly security guards stood in the hallway, waiting. He stepped farther into the monitor room to let them enter. Each one escorted out one of the people—two women and two men—who’d been standing with Tucker.
“Short bathroom breaks only until I get some overtime people in,” Tucker announced to the people left at the monitors. Then he gestured for Chase to precede him into the hall and closed the door behind them.
“You just fired four people?”
“Yeah. I did.”
“You wanna explain why, cuz?”
“Not really, because even if I do I’m not sure you’ll get it through that thick head of yours.”
Chase bristled. “What the hell?”
Tucker brushed past him and strode down the hall, turned a corner and, at the end of the second hallway, pushed open the door to his office. Chase followed him and shut the door.
“What’s going on, Tuck?”
“That little stunt of yours, Chase.”
“What little stunt?”
“At Barron House. Ring a bell?”
“There was no stunt.” He was confused. Why would Tucker fire employees whose job it was to watch security monitors?
“Savannah got a boatload of disrespect. From an employee and then from your father. What did you do? You ignored her, and merrily sat with your old man and enjoyed your steak.”
“So?”
“Jeez, Chase. You truly are clueless when it comes to women. You didn’t see Savannah’s face. But those jerks in the monitor room damn sure did. And when I walked in, they were laughing and cracking jokes. About. Your. Wife!”
Chase had never seen his easygoing cousin so angry. He opened his mouth to placate Tucker but the man kept going.
“Instead of going after her, you smile and make nice with Cyrus, sit your ass down at his table and proceed to eat hearty.”
“Okay?” Chase still wasn’t following.
“Savannah was with me when I stopped in at Security to delete that footage. She stood there and listened to them crack jokes about her and your relationship to her. Thirty minutes later, your wife took a cab. With a suitcase and her duffel.” Tucker must have seen something in Chase’s expression because he softened his tone. “You hurt her, Chase, and she was so upset she was trying to access the wrong elevator when I caught up to her. Then she was witness to the idiocy of our security staff before I could escort her to your rooms. Me, Chase. Not you. Not her husband.”
“Oh.” Tuck was right; he’d totally messed up. “I’ll fix it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, Tucker, seriously. I have to keep her loyal for a year. I’ll do what it takes.”
Chase left before Tuck could respond. He rode up to his apartment in the private elevator, thinking. He had stepped on his poncho where Savannah was concerned. He’d sleep on it and come up with a plan.
The next morning, Chase discovered that breakfast was boring without Savannah. That should have been his first clue his life was veering off track. He grabbed his phone and texted Tucker.
Where’s Sav headed next?
Tuck’s reply came a few moments
later. You don’t know?
Hello, not her travel agent.
His phone rang in lieu of a text. Tucker’s gruff voice exploded in his ear. “No, but you are supposed to be her husband.”
“Ow. Low blow, cuz.”
“It was meant to be, Chase.”
“So...where’s she headed?”
“San Antonio.”
“Cool. I like it there. Wanna go?”
He could picture Tucker rolling his eyes as his cousin replied, “No. Someone has to take care of your business.”
Laughing, Chase teased back, “That’s why I pay you the big bucks.”
Three hours later, he was packed, his calendar cleared. Reservations had been made for a suite in a five-star hotel on the Riverwalk, and he was on board the corporate jet winging to South Texas. He figured he had a day and a half before Savannah arrived. He had a lot to do.
* * *
Late Sunday night, Savannah had stopped in Kingman, just over the Nevada-Arizona state line. As she drove, it occurred to her that she wouldn’t have stall space in San Antonio until Tuesday evening. She could drive easy instead of pushing it. And since money wasn’t a problem, she planned to find stables for overnight boarding and a comfortable hotel to sleep in.
Her conscience twinged a little bit at the thought of spending lots of Chase’s money, but only a little bit. Chase Barron was a jerk with way too much money. Her truck and trailer were rolling advertisements for Barron Entertainment, so by golly she would stay first-class from now on, just like the other competitors with big sponsors.
She knew a place just outside Kingman where she could stable Red and Cimarron and park her trailer. She pulled into the Best Western Wayfarer’s, got her own room and called the stables. Luckily, she arrived before midnight so the owner was awake and had stalls available. She drove there, got the horses settled and fed, unhitched the trailer, and headed back.
Monday’s travels got her to El Paso. The sun was just over an hour from setting as she off-loaded the horses and she decided to give them a workout. Rather than dragging out their tack, she tied off the lead line on Cimarron’s halter to use as reins and swung up onto him bareback. The paint pranced sideways, testing her seat. She squeezed with her knees and the horse settled. With Red on a halter rope, she rode out into the field behind the barn.
This was what she loved about the life she’d chosen—on the road, a good horse between her legs, the sky above. Her heart should have been light but it wasn’t. Try as she might, she hadn’t been able to put aside the hurt from the scene Sunday night. And Chase hadn’t bothered to call. Or text.
She rubbed at her left ring finger and noted there was a small rash within the dark circle left by the ring. She needed to get some clear fingernail polish to coat the ring. She’d heard somewhere that it helped seal cheap metal. Her mood shattered now, she rode back to the barn, dismounted and rubbed down both horses. She tossed in a block of hay, poured a measure of grain and made sure they had fresh water.
After a solitary dinner at a Mexican restaurant down the street from the Holiday Inn, Savannah showered, flopped onto the bed with the TV remote and resisted the urge to call Tucker. Doing so was a really bad idea. Tucker had been nice to her, but not only was he Chase’s family, he was Chase’s second in command. Putting him in the middle of things was way more high school than she was comfortable with.
She found an action-adventure movie starring a hunky actor and settled in to watch. She fell asleep somewhere between a big explosion and the steamy kiss between the star and the beautiful girl he rescued. Savvie didn’t turn off the TV and she blamed that fact for the sexy dreams she had, the images leaving her hot, achy and frustrated when she woke up, despite a cold shower, followed by a hot shower. She found herself squirming a lot on her drive to San Antonio.
As she queued up in traffic to turn into San Antonio’s AT&T Center, Savannah was rocking out to Luke Bryan’s “That’s My Kind of Night.” In fact, she was singing along and bouncing in her seat so hard she didn’t notice the knot of people who surged forward as she pulled up to the horse check-in station. She grabbed her purse and the folder with the horses’ veterinary health certificates, put on her Stetson, hopped out of the truck and froze.
* * *
Chase recognized the truck and trailer as it idled in line. He’d been hanging around since Monday afternoon and when Savannah hadn’t shown up, he’d...panicked was too strong a word. He’d been concerned, and as a result, he had Cash’s security company locate her by the GPS installed in the truck. When he realized she was taking her time, he was relieved. This gave him more time to set up for her arrival.
And set up he did. He’d already secured her two stalls, feed and hay. He also started the rumor in social media that he and his bride were using her rodeo appearances as an extended honeymoon. The paparazzi were salivating. Any picture of him was a guaranteed paycheck for the freelancers.
Watching as the truck inched closer, Chase felt unaccustomed anticipation build in his gut. Nothing so wimpy as butterflies; the sensation was more like F-16 fighter jets dive-bombing. Though disconcerting, it was still fun—like what Christmas used to be when his mother had been alive. Savannah was doing something inside the cab: bouncing around, waving her arms. He wondered if she was singing along to the radio. That was kinda cute.
As soon as she stopped and climbed out, he headed in her direction. He didn’t let the look on her face deter him as he shoved up in her space, took her in his arms and kissed her hard enough to knock her hat off.
Chase eased back on the kiss and whispered against her lips, “Smile, kitten, we’re on Candid Camera.” Then he claimed her lips again and kissed her like a starving man—or a man still celebrating his honeymoon.
Her fists balled against his chest. Was she pushing him away or resisting an urge to grab his shirt and pull him closer? He couldn’t decide. He prolonged the kiss for several more long moments before easing back, letting her catch a breath. He stepped to Savannah’s side as a rodeo official appeared. The woman wore a huge grin and pantomimed fanning her face.
“Sugar, I gotta admire your tenacity t’hit the circuit, but dang. If that man was my husband, I don’t think I’d get out of bed for a year.”
“Yeah, easy for you to say,” Savannah muttered under her breath, but loud enough for Chase to hear.
Laughing, he hooked his arm around her neck. “That’s why I’m here. We might be newlyweds but I love that my woman wants to do things her way, wants to make her mark in her chosen career. I’m proud of Savannah, and I plan on being at the Thomas and Mack Center in Vegas come December. I’ll be cheering when she wins the championship.”
He didn’t miss the crowd snapping pictures with their cell phones and cameras. He planned to tie her up tight in his web so she was stuck with him, just like their agreement stipulated. Chase had a plan.
Fifteen
Chase didn’t give Savannah a chance to protest. He rushed her through check-in, off-loading and feeding the horses. Then he locked up her truck and trailer, herded her to the Ford Explorer he’d leased for the week and swept her off to their five-star suite on the Riverwalk. He had kept the location secret, though that was always subject to change. It all depended on Savannah.
“I thought we’d go out to dinner,” he suggested after she’d showered and shed the funky horse-sweat smell.
“Feel free to go without me.”
“Kitten.” He put a whole heap of pretty please and don’t be mad in that word.
“Don’t. Just...don’t.”
He choked back a laugh. Her lip curled and her nose scrunched as she glowered at him.
“Kitten.” This time, his amusement leaked through, along with a dribble of I think you’re cute.
“No. Won’t work. Just...go out to eat. And don’t come back. Better yet. You sta
y in, I’ll go out and get a room in another hotel.”
“Sweetheart, I’ll bet a week’s salary that the lobby is swarming with media.”
“Then why are you suggesting we go out to eat?”
“Because we can go out the back way, catch a river taxi, have a great dinner and talk.”
She crossed her arms, and Chase reminded himself to breathe so he didn’t hyperventilate. He loved her breasts, and when she was standing like that, they were plumped and peeking at him through the V of her shirt. He wanted to cup them, kiss them—wanted to kiss her in lots of places, actually. Maybe room service wasn’t such a bad idea. He shifted the fly of his jeans and didn’t hide the motion.
Her skin flushed. He watched the pink tinge climb from her chest to her neck before it flooded her cheeks. Getting her to blush was almost as much fun as making her mad.
“Fine. We’ll go out. What’s the dress code? I wouldn’t want my lack of taste and sense of propriety to reflect badly on you and your father.” She spit the words out, hissing like the wildcat he often compared her to.
He was even more turned on. “There’s a Mexican café down on the river. I think you’ll like it. And you’re dressed fine. Put your boots on and grab a jacket. It’s chilly at night on the water.”
He waited while she rooted for clean socks, sat on the bed to pull them on and shoved her feet into a pair of boots. She grabbed the fringed leather jacket from the closet and shrugged into it. Then she stood there, thumbs hooked in her front pockets, glare on her face, her breasts still peeking at him from the V of her shirt. He contemplated how angry makeup sex was always fun.
With a shake of her head, she marched across the suite to the door. “Whatever you’re thinking, hoss, ain’t gonna happen.”
He perked up at that slip. Hoss. That was infinitely better than many of the names she’d probably tagged him with in the past few days. “After you.”
