Snow in Texas (Lean Dogs Legacy #1)

by Lauren Gilley

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “What for? For thinking I’m an asshole? Or for suggesting I’m not masculine?”

  “I didn’t do either of those things.”

  “Might as well have.”

  She stifled a laugh and schooled her composure. “Colin, look at me.”

  He did so, but with obvious reluctance.

  “Everybody feels like you do right now during their prospect year. It’s normal. Maybe not fun, no. But normal. I wasn’t trying to suggest anything about you because there’s nothing to suggest. To be honest, I’d worry about you if you weren’t asking these kinds of questions.” And having an identity crisis, she added in her head. “The guys who think it’s fun are either wacko, or not seeing the bigger picture.”

  He studied her a moment, eyes somber, but one corner of his mouth flicked upward in an uncertain smile. “Wacko?”

  “Wacko. It’s a good thing you hated what happened tonight. I can promise you that Candy hated it too.”

  He snorted, unconvinced.

  “My brother might be a monster,” she said, “but he’s the right kind of monster. I’m grateful for that.”

  Your brother is too, she thought. The question remained: what kind of monster are you?

  Twenty-Three

  Colin

  “He quit?”

  The kitchen manager was a sun-damaged, sour-faced woman with wisps of greasy dark hair coming loose of the net she wore on her head. One eye on the cooks ladling up pinto beans, one eye on Colin, she took her cigarette between gloved fingers and exhaled with a grunt of distaste. “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  Charming lady.

  “Did he quit that day?” Colin pressed, undeterred.

  “Which day?”

  “The day that fucking creep tried to haul Jen off for questioning.”

  The manager’s brows jumped up beneath her hair net as she took another drag. “You’ve got a foul mouth, boy.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

  Okay….eeeewwww.

  He cleared his throat and leaned away from her a fraction. “Look, I just need to know where I can find him. Do you have an address?”

  She tapped ash off the end of her cig down onto the kitchen floor, making him regret all the meals he’d eaten here. Her gaze flicked to the Prospect patch sewn to the front of his cut. “You Lean Dogs,” she said, lip curling. “Y’all think you’re the damn cops or something.”

  “Um, I’m pretty sure none of us think that.”

  She made a disagreeing sound. “What do you even want with Dusty? What’d he ever do to any of you?”

  Colin sighed. “Can you tell me where he lives, or not?”

  She shrugged. “I can tell you.” Her eyes narrowed, and her gaze became calculating. “But you’ll need to do something for me.”

  Aw shit. “What?”

  “Lift your shirt up.”

  “What?”

  Fifteen uncomfortable seconds later, he stepped back into the dining area of the restaurant, shuddering, Dusty’s address saved in his phone.

  Jenny was at the register, enjoying a brief lull in customers, and turned to him as he approached. “Get what you need?”

  “At a cost.”

  “Cost?”

  “Your manager…” He fought not to shiver again, revulsion crawling across his skin. “She wanted to touch my stomach.”

  Jenny stared at him. Blinked. And burst out laughing, grabbing at her own stomach as she doubled over.

  “Glad you think it’s funny. Meanwhile I’ve been traumatized.”

  “Ha!” She tossed her head back, blonde hair shimmering. “Seriously?” she asked as she tried to catch her breath. “Touch your stomach?”

  “And she kinda…” He grimaced and gestured toward the violated area. “Rubbed me a little.”

  That sparked a fresh outburst from Jenny.

  Colin folded his arms and glowered at her. But his girl ignored him, taking long moments to work past her laughter and draw in a deep breath.

  “You didn’t like it, did you? Secretly? A little?” she asked.

  “Bite me, Snow.”

  “No, I think Rosemary wants to do that.”

  “Can we please stop talking about it?”

  Jenny dabbed at her eyes and composed herself, finally. “Yeah. Sure.” She cleared her throat. “So you got an address.”

  “Yeah.” He shook off the remnants of disgust and frowned as reality set in again. “Candy wants me to go with Fox.”

  “Ah. Well, you’ll be in good hands, then.”

  “Yeah, but will you?” He shot a glance across the restaurant to where Talis sat devouring a plate of chicken with mechanical proficiency. For some reason, it was always spooky to watch the guy eat. Like seeing something inanimate come to life.

  Jenny’s hand stroked down his arm, her touch eliciting pleasant goosebumps across his skin. “It’ll be fine.”

  He gave her a disbelieving look.

  “You doubt Talis? Come on. You have to admit that he even gives you the creeps. He’s good at his job.”

  Colin frowned. “Yeah, but that’s the thing. To him, it’s a job.”

  Surprise flared in her eyes. A slow smile curved her mouth. “Well aren’t you sweet.”

  Shit. “Yeah. Real sweet.” He dropped a fast kiss on her lips and headed for the door. “Tell him I’ll beat his ass if he falls asleep on the clock.”

  She snorted. “You have a good day, too, dear.”

  ~*~

  Jenny

  “Do you care about me?”

  Jenny couldn’t stop replaying the words in her head. Over and over. It had been a few days since he’d asked the question, but it hadn’t dulled in her mind, still felt like a loaded gun resting inside her somewhere.

  “Do you care about me?”

  She’d answered him truthfully, because she’d never slept with any man she hadn’t cared about. It was just that she hadn’t put two-and-two-together until she’d said it. She did care for Colin; she just hadn’t been willing to say it in such simple terms.

  It terrified her, if she was honest.

  Once upon a time, she’d been a blushing bride with silly dreams of a three-bedroom house, two blonde kids, and a Golden retriever. At some point between the first and second slap Riley cracked across her cheek, the night the illusion crumbled, she’d realized those were dreams for ordinary women. Women who hadn’t aligned themselves with outlaws. In the following years, the dreams had gone from tarnished, to nonexistent…and eventually to nightmares to be feared.

  She didn’t trust her own heart. So finding out that Colin had carved himself a sizable place in it? Spooky stuff.

  She cupped tepid water from the bathroom tap in her hands and brought it to her face, suddenly feeling flushed. In the flaked mirror, her reflection stared back, a little pale and drawn, crows’ feet and laugh lines noticeable under the fluorescent lights.

  Had her white knight finally come? When she was jaded and almost forty? When it was too late to revive all her old hopes?

  No, she reasoned. Probably not.

  A Cajun beefcake was probably nothing more than a diversion.

  Even if she was half-in love with the man.

  ~*~

  Colin

  “ ‘Charlie,’ I tell myself sometimes. ‘You’ve got to move up in the world, mate.’ And then I see someplace like this,” Fox remarked as they climbed off their bikes.

  “Hmm,” Colin said. “Kinda puts shit in perspective,” he agreed.

  Shit being an operative word in this instance. The gravel driveway they’d turned down had finally given way to mud, and they’d been forced to leave the bikes.

  “It hasn’t rained in days,” Colin said. “What the hell’s with this?”

  Fox smirked, the expression just a flicker of movement in his otherwise impassive face. “Take a whiff.”

  Colin did, and almost gagged.
>
  “Smell that? They’ve got a busted septic line somewhere, and it’s bubbling up through the ground. That’s not regular mud, yeah?”

  “Aw, damn…” Colin muttered. “I ain’t walking through that.”

  The house lay a few hundred yards up the drive, a ramshackle hellhole with a partially collapsed roof and a porch overflowing with cardboard boxes of junk and most likely an upholstered piece of furniture or two.

  “’Spect we’ll have to,” Fox said, but dug a smoke out of his jeans pocket, surveying the way ahead without hurry.

  Colin took the chance to check his phone. No calls or texts. His belly flexed with quiet anxiety. Really, it was a good thing Jenny was leaving him alone. It meant she probably wasn’t being hauled out to a cop car.

  Or maybe she was, and that was why she couldn’t reach out to him.

  Maybe –

  “Christ, you’re terrible,” Fox said beside him, voice flat. “Are you really that lovesick?”

  “No.” He shoved his phone away and shot the man a hard look.

  A look Fox ignored. “Does it run in the family? Getting attached like that.”

  Yet another reference to Mercy. When would people quit dragging his brother into every damn conversation?

  Fox took a thoughtful drag on his cig and glanced away. “God love Jen. Wonderful girl. But you know she isn’t the settling down type, yeah? She’s not looking to be anyone else’s old lady.”

  Anger spiked in his chest, a hot burst that traveled up his throat and tightened his jaw. “How would you know?”

  Fox shrugged. “She’s lonely, is all. Every once in a while, she gets lonely enough to climb into someone’s bed. But she never stays there long.”

  It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to Colin, the way it became suddenly hard to breathe, the way his hands curled into fists, the way his vision seemed to narrow and darken around the edges, until all he saw was the laid-back Englishman beside him. He couldn’t explain the way his voice sounded choked when he said, “And I guess you’d know that from experience?”

  Another shrug. Totally casual. “We shagged a few times. While back. Reckon she needed to let off some steam.” He turned toward Colin…and for the first time since their meeting, Colin saw something like apprehension flash in his blue eyes. “Hey, wait, I didn’t mean–”

  ~*~

  Jenny

  Darla had been busy baking. Three plates of a variety of cookies and a bunt cake sat on the bar when Jenny walked into the clubhouse after work. The scents of sugar, cinnamon, vanilla, and orange zest blended in a thick, sweet cloud that she passed through on her way to the kitchen. She propped a shoulder in the doorjamb and surveyed the carnage: bowls stacked in the sink, dusting of flour and powdered sugar on the countertops, dribbled clumps of dough, empty bags of chocolate chips sticking out of the trash can.

  “Stress-baking?” Jenny guessed with a smile.

  Darla dashed at her forehead with the back of her hand, leaving a smudge of flour behind. Her black apron was coated in the stuff, and her hair was pale with it. “Nothing to be stressed about,” she said with a tired huff. “Just realized all the eggs were on the verge of going bad.”

  “Gotcha.” Jenny made a mental note not to eat any of the cookies. “Are you–”

  The front door of the clubhouse flew open with a crash, and she jumped.

  Darla exclaimed in alarm.

  It took Jenny a second to rectify the truly murderous, towering man walking toward her with the goofus she’d learned Colin to be.

  “Hey,” she said carefully, stepping toward him. “What are you–”

  “Come with me.” His hand darted out and latched onto her wrist, his grip crushing, and he tugged her off balance and dragged her after him as he charged down the hall toward the sanctuary.

  “Hey!” she protested. But there was no pulling away from him. She stumbled to keep up with his long strides, anger kindling. “What the hell are you doing? Let go of me. Why do you smell like shit?”

  And he did. He reeked.

  “I stepped in some,” he muttered, yanking her along.

  Jenny tried to plant her feet and her boot heels skidded on the hardwood. She’d known he was strong, but this was ridiculous! “Ah!” she yelped, stumbling and landing against his back. “Colin!” she demanded. “Colin whatever-your-middle-name-is Lécuyer, stop right now!”

  That got his attention. He halted just outside the sanctuary door and shot a glare over his shoulder at her. “What did you just call me?”

  “I…” She realized, belatedly, that she’d used Mercy’s last name. Shit. But she wasn’t in the mood to be gentle with his feelings, after he’d just manhandled her. “That’s your real name,” she snapped. “Not that you’d admit it. Now let go of me, you asshole!”

  He didn’t. Instead, he dragged her into the sanctuary and slammed the door. Only then did he release her.

  And then she realized how badly it had frightened her, being dragged like that. The shakes hit her all at once, full-body and debilitating. Her teeth chattered and her skin prickled. She hugged herself to stop the onslaught, but it was no use.

  “You asshole,” she hissed, sinking down into Candy’s chair. “What the hell?”

  “Like I said, I stepped in shit.” He was toeing his boots off. “Real, actual human shit.” He undid his jeans and pushed them down his legs, stepped out of them, looking stupid in boxers and his shirt and cut. “And then I threw Fox in it,” he added, expression furious.

  “Why would you do that?” she asked, lips feeling numb with panic and shock. She rubbed at her arms, trying to dispel the goosebumps.

  If Colin noticed the effect his ill-treatment was having on her, he didn’t let on. “Why?” he asked. “Because he fucked you, that’s why.”

  Oh.

  Oooohhhhh.

  She sucked in a breath. “He told you?”

  “When were you gonna clue me in?” he asked, voice a growl. “Or were you gonna keep it a secret? In case you ever got the itch for something British again?”

  She felt like she’d been slapped. “Are you kidding me?”

  He turned away from her and walked down the hall toward the bathroom, shedding the rest of his clothes as he went.

  Jenny followed. She stepped over his shirt and said, “Is that what this is? Some sort of jealous fit ‘cause Fox and I messed around a long time ago?”

  He didn’t answer. Naked, he stepped into the bathroom and left the door open, leaned in and started the shower.

  Angry, rattled, Jenny looked him over with complete dispassion. Yes, he was a monster. With big, solid bones and heavy muscles. Broad, long-fingered hands capable of crushing things – like, say, for instance, her wrist. She rubbed at the offended joint as her gaze skipped down his back, the way his generous shoulders tapered down to narrow hips, the tan lines at his waist, the shadow between his legs. Nothing about him aroused her in that moment. All she felt was small and fearful, and completely incapable.

  “I asked you a question,” she said.

  He glanced back at her over his shoulder as he tested the water temperature, gaze dark and harsh. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because it happened years ago. It’s ancient history.”

  “Did you cheat on your husband with him?”

  “Are you fucking serious?”

  They glared at one another until Jenny couldn’t stand it any more. She glanced away, choking on her fury. “It was about a year after the divorce. I got very drunk, and Charlie was being very sweet–”

  “Oh, so it’s ‘Charlie’ now?”

  “Shut up,” she snapped. “You don’t get to resent me for things I did a long time ago. I’ve known you a few months. A tumble I took six years ago isn’t any of your business.”

  Scowling to himself, he stepped under the spray and pulled the clear glass door shut. Jenny wished it was frosted, so she couldn’t see him so clearly as the water pattered across his shoulders.

  She clo
sed her eyes and the dim, wine-soaked memory of six years ago filled her mind, warm, but impressionless as the steam that filled the bathroom. She’d wanted a little friction, and she’d trusted Fox, and known he wouldn’t mistake what happened between them for anything real.

  Unlike Colin, apparently.

  “Why does it make a difference?” she asked, opening her eyes.

  Colin scrubbed a froth of shampoo bubbles through his short hair, white rivulets trickling down his face. “It makes me look like an idiot.”

  “Oh. Well. I’d hate to fuck with your man-pride. That’s super important. Never mind my bones.” She lifted her bruised wrist. Never mind my nerves, she added to herself.

  His eyes opened to slits, and his body stilled, suddenly, rigid beneath the spray. “Did I hurt you?”

  “Yeah.”

  His eyes widened, and she saw the shampoo run into them, knew it had to sting. His voice changed. “I’m sorry.”

  “Whatever.” As she turned to leave, she heard the shower door slide back, and the light splatter of water hitting the floor.

  “Baby,” he said, and she hated that one word could hold her in place like that. Just as weak as she’d always been. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, wiping the shampoo from his eyes. “Really, I didn’t mean…”

  Jenny sighed and sagged against the counter. “You know what? Riley always used to say that. Right after he blacked my eyes. ‘I didn’t mean it.’ ‘Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to hurt you.’ And then a week later, I was spitting blood again.”

  His face paled beneath its golden tan. Water sluiced down off his body and landed on the bathmat, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Jen.”

  “Is it not okay that I had sex with a friend? Should I have just sat around with my legs crossed until you showed up?”

  “Jen,” he repeated, and stepped fully out of the shower, dripping all over the place.

  “You’re ruining my bathroom. You’re gonna have to mop all of this up.”

  He reached her in one long stride and took her hand in his slippery wet one, turning it palm-up so he could see the already-darkening finger marks along her pulse point.