Surrender To Sultry

by Macy Beckett

  He’d just finished his second set of stretches when his cell phone rang from inside his utility belt. After shaking the water from one hand, he unsnapped the pouch and glanced at the screen: Shooters Tavern. He swiped a finger across the glass and answered.

  “Hey, Colt,” June Gallagher shouted above a symphony of background noises he’d known well in a past life—shouts and laughter to the backdrop of a steel guitar. “Can you hear me?”

  “Barely,” he told her. “What’s up?”

  “I need you to come down here and pick up Rachel Landry. She’s had too much to drink, and she’s looking to start trouble. It’s dollar draft night, and things are already cra—”

  “Not my jurisdiction,” he interrupted. Shooters was outside Sultry County lines; otherwise they wouldn’t be allowed to sell booze. June knew that. “You’re gonna have to call the locals.”

  “But if I do that, they’ll arrest her.”

  “Isn’t that the point?”

  “No!” June yelled like he’d done something wrong. Probably hormones. A guy couldn’t say anything right around a pregnant lady.

  Colt reminded her, “You just told me Rachel’s three sheets to the wind and spoilin’ for a fight.”

  June huffed a sigh into the phone. “Think about it. She’s Leah’s best friend…”

  Colt understood the implication. If he swooped in and rescued the sour shrew, it might earn him a few brownie points. He doubted it would do any good. Besides, the thought of Rachel Landry cooling her heels in the Hallover County tank made him smile.

  At his hesitation, June added, “C’mon. Rachel’s good people—you know that.”

  “She wouldn’t piss on me if I were on fire.”

  “I know you two don’t see eye to eye, but I’ve never seen her act like this. I think something’s wrong. I tried calling Leah, but I couldn’t reach her.”

  Colt felt his resolve slipping. He couldn’t stand Rachel, but if she was in real trouble, he didn’t want her doing something stupid and making it worse.

  “Can’t someone drive her home?” he asked.

  “Trey already offered, but she won’t go, and we’re not allowed to restrain her.”

  “Fine.” It sounded like Rachel was in a tizzy. “I’ll be on my way in a few.”

  “Thanks, Colt.”

  He grumbled a reluctant “No problem” and disconnected.

  So much for his near-perfect evening. For most good ol’ boys, hitting the local bar after work was the most natural thing in the world, but Colt hated Shooters. He’d managed to avoid the watering hole since his accident two years ago. There was nothing wrong with the place—June and Luke had done a fair job renovating it—but he’d spent too many drunken nights there, made one too many mistakes within those walls. It was at the pool tables in the back of the bar where he’d picked up Barbara Lee, the lunatic who’d knocked some sense into him—from behind the wheel of her Ford Taurus.

  Damn it, Rachel had better appreciate this. But knowing her, she wouldn’t.

  He hauled himself out of the springs and used his hands as a makeshift squeegee to dry off. Which didn’t work. His uniform clung to his damp skin and chafed the insides of his thighs, pissing him off even more as he stalked back to the cruiser. By the time he arrived at Shooters and parked out by the Dumpster, he was madder than a box of weasels.

  He pounded three times on the back door, figuring June was in the office instead of tending bar. Luke Gallagher was a crotchety son of a bitch, but a good guy, and he wouldn’t want his pregnant wife on her feet all night long.

  As it turned out, Colt was right. June answered, wearing a haggard expression and a knee-length maternity dress stretched tighter than a gnat’s belly over a fifty-gallon drum. Each time Colt saw her, he didn’t think June could get any bigger, but somehow she kept expanding. Colt didn’t give a damn what anyone said—there were two babies in there. Maybe three.

  “Thanks for coming,” June said, stepping aside to let him in. “She’s back here with me.” Averting her eyes, she added, “Kind of.”

  “Kind of?” That sounded ominous. He noticed a violent thunk coming from somewhere nearby, like boots kicking the wall, and he wondered if Rachel was throwing a tantrum in the office.

  June ducked her head and glanced down the dark, narrow hallway leading to the bar. “Luke and Trey locked her in the closet with the plastic cups and the cocktail napkins. We figured she couldn’t hurt herself in there.”

  Colt shook his head and started toward the closet. “I’m gonna pretend I didn’t hear that.” The thumping grew louder as he approached the door. Rachel was going apeshit in there. He pointed at the brass latch. “Go ahead and release the beast.”

  June slid aside the bolt while Colt held the knob firmly in both hands. “Okay,” he said, “now get back in the office. She might come out swinging.” Once June had waddled safely into the next room, Colt opened the door and braced himself for impact. Good thing, too, because one hundred and thirty pounds of nearly dead weight fell into his arms. He widened his stance and tried to lift with his legs, not his back, but a shock of pain licked his spine.

  Rachel gripped his shoulders and stared at his uniformed chest, then slurred, “Oh, good. The law’s here. Occifer, I want ’em all arrested.” She stank like cigarettes and sour whiskey. “They nevvver lemme finish my drink, an’ I paid forrrr it.”

  There was no way she could walk to the cruiser on her own. Colt wrapped one arm around her rib cage and bent low to scoop beneath her knees. He hoisted her up and warned, “You’ll pay for it big-time if you puke on me.”

  It took a few seconds for the lush to realize who was holding her. She wrinkled her forehead and peered at him with wide, unfocused eyes. “Heyyyy,” she said accusingly, “it’s you.” She tried poking his chest with an index finger, but missed the mark and knocked his windpipe instead, making him cough. “I hate your face, Colton Bea.”

  He turned that face aside to cough again. “June,” he called, “get the door.”

  “Guys like you ’n Tommy ’n Marcus,” Rachel went on, “you think you’re the shit.”

  June let him out into the parking lot. “Thanks again, Colt.”

  “…that just because you’re good-lookin’ or rich, you can do whatevvvver you want…”

  “Next time, call the Hallover boys,” Colt told June. “A night in the tank might do her some good.”

  “…you’re lying liars, all three of you…”

  Rachel’s head flopped against his chest as he strode toward the car, but that didn’t stop her from bitching about some guy named Marcus, who she claimed was a “lizard-licking donkey sucker.” Colt didn’t know the guy, but he felt kind of sorry for Marcus. Whoever he was, he had no idea of the hellfire he’d unleashed.

  Colt set Rachel on her feet, but kept one arm around her waist while he pressed his key fob and opened the back door. No way he’d put her in front. She was going to spew for sure.

  “Wait,” she said, shoving aside a lock of her brown hair and scowling at the cruiser. “Am I underrrr arrest?”

  “Unh-uh. But don’t tempt me.” He pushed on Rachel’s head to keep her from clocking it on the roof, then helped her settle on the plastic bench seat. “You’re going home.”

  She let out a small gasp and begged, “No! I don’t wanna go home!”

  For some reason, the drunks never did. “It’s either that or the county jail.”

  “Jail, then.”

  Colt massaged his temples. He had no intention of hauling in Rachel. For one, he was outside Sultry County lines, and even if she’d given him cause to arrest her, all that paperwork would tie him up for the rest of the night. “Forget it. I’m taking you to your mama.”

  “Please,” Rachel whispered. Her voice had turned thick, and Colt glanced down to find her eyes
welling with tears. “I can’t go back there and face her. Not yet.”

  “Aw, now, don’t do that.” He shook a finger at her wobbly chin. Colt couldn’t stand to see a woman cry. It was the easiest way to get out of a ticket with him—fifty bucks wasn’t worth having to listen to all that sniveling. “No crying.”

  Her face contorted and her whole body shook. She clamped her lips shut and made a few choking noises, then let it all out, bawling in loud, open-mouthed sobs, complete with dribble trickling down her chin. Black goop from her lashes began leaking down her cheeks, and she didn’t even bother to wipe away the muck. Damn it. He’d never seen Rachel cry, not once in all the years he’d known her.

  Colt tore off his Stetson. What was he supposed to do with her now? There really was something wrong. Plus, she needed to sober up, but the diner and the coffee joint were both closed.

  “P-p-p-pleeeeeease?”

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “I won’t take you home yet.”

  “Tha-tha-th-tha…” Before she could thank him, he shut the door and turned his face to the sky to pull in a deep breath.

  What a shitty night this turned out to be.

  ***

  Leah gazed at the full moon and filled her lungs with sweet autumn air. What a beautiful night!

  She clicked on her flashlight, slung her towel over one shoulder, and started down the narrow path to the springs, reminding herself she wasn’t doing anything wrong. Colt enjoyed her company and she enjoyed his, simple as that. There was no harm in spending a little time together while she was in town. That didn’t mean they had to take things farther, and it didn’t make them a couple.

  But when Leah arrived at the springs and saw that Colt wasn’t there, her heart sank. She swept her flashlight beam over the water three more times as if to summon him through sheer determination. When he didn’t magically appear, she stood there a while longer, rooted to the ground by disappointment.

  Well, shoot. Where was he?

  ***

  Colt pulled a mug from his kitchen cabinet and filled it with fresh black coffee while Rachel rinsed her mouth in the sink. To her credit, she hadn’t gotten sick in the cruiser. She’d waited until she reached his front porch, then tossed her cookies on his rattan Welcome mat. At least she seemed to feel a little better. She wasn’t crying or slurring anymore.

  “Here, drink this.” He set the steaming mug on the table and pulled out a chair for her. “I’m gonna go hose off that mess.”

  She blotted her face with a paper towel. “Mm-kay. Sorry ’bout that.”

  “Better the porch than the living room.” If she’d lost it inside the house, he’d have to pull up the carpet, because no way in hell was he getting on his hands and knees to clean up the contents of Rachel Landry’s stomach.

  Colt flipped on the front lights and uncoiled the garden hose. After he’d finished spraying down the mat and the surrounding wood planks, he returned inside and washed his hands. He changed his clothes, too, for good measure. When he joined Rachel in the kitchen, she was quietly sipping her second cup of coffee, gazing at her lap in obvious embarrassment. The last thing Colt wanted to do was have a heart-to-heart with her, but he needed to know she was okay. Rachel may have given him the single-finger salute more times than he could count, but June was right—she was good people. More or less.

  He sat down opposite her at the table. “Did you and your mama have a fight?” Lord knows he wouldn’t last five minutes living with his folks. They got along okay, but a man needed his space. “Is that why you don’t wanna go home?”

  She shook her head and gnawed on her bottom lip.

  “You told me you couldn’t face her,” Colt said. “You’re not pregnant, are you? If so, you’re off to a bad start with the cigarettes and the whiskey.”

  Peering into her coffee, she opened her mouth to answer him. But her voice came out low and pitiful in a way that made her sound like a little kid. “I couldn’t stop him. Marcus Steele is putting up a Super Home Cheapo right outside town.”

  Colt drew a breath. That was worse than an unplanned pregnancy. He knew what it would mean for her family—Landry Building and Supply didn’t stand a chance against the Home Cheapo. Nothing did. Mom and Pop shops like theirs couldn’t compete. No matter how supportive the locals claimed to be, folks always gravitated toward the lowest price.

  But Rachel had a spot on the town council. Colt figured that would’ve helped her block the big chain.

  “I promised Mama I’d find a way to keep ’em out,” Rachel went on, “but I couldn’t do it. The bastards were too smart. Or maybe I was too stupid.”

  “What happened?” he asked. “I thought the council had to vote on anything that big.”

  “They do. Any retail store larger than five thousand square feet has to get approval before they can build.” She glanced up at him. “But Steele got around it by splitting the supercenter three ways.”

  Colt raised his brows in a silent question.

  “He’s putting up three stores on the same lot,” Rachel explained. “One for lumber, one for general hardware, and one for home goods. All right next to each other. And as fast as he builds them, they’ll probably be open in the spring.”

  “Damn.” What a dirty trick. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Colt remembered Rachel’s words from earlier that evening. “You’re right—he’s a lizard-licking donkey sucker.”

  She laughed into her cup. “Steele’s a clever son of a bitch, I’ll give him that.”

  Colt leaned forward and folded his arms on the table. “What’re you gonna do?”

  “I’m not going down fighting,” she said, wiping at the caked mascara beneath her eyes. “There’s no point. I’ll help Mama close down the store and sell off what we can before the Cheapo opens. The sooner the better—we won’t have a lot of time. Daddy left her with enough savings when he passed, so she should be okay.”

  “What about you?” Colt asked. Rachel had worked in her parents’ store since high school. When her daddy died, she’d taken over for him and married that loser, Tommy Robbins, instead of going away to college.

  “I’ll be okay too.” She slouched, wrapping both hands around her mug. “I’m already living at home, so it’s not like I’ve got much to lose. I’ll figure out something.” She drew a deep breath through her nose and held it a while, then let it out real slow. “I just don’t know how I’m gonna break it to Mama.”

  If Mrs. Landry didn’t know about the supercenter yet, she would soon. Nothing stayed quiet in this town. “She should probably hear it from you.”

  “I know.”

  Colt stood from the table and took Rachel’s half-empty coffee cup. “Then let’s get you home. She’s only gonna worry if you stay out any later.”

  Rachel gave a weary nod, and Colt wished there was more he could do. She pushed to standing and took a sudden interest in her fingernails. “Thanks.” She turned away and added, “For not locking me up and stuff. Maybe I don’t completely hate your face.”

  Smiling, Colt set the mug in the sink and grabbed his keys. “You’re not goin’ soft on me, are you, Landry?”

  She answered him with her middle finger.

  Yeah, Colt thought, she’s gonna be all right.

  Chapter 12

  Rachel pulled a plastic Going Out of Business! sign from the store’s shelf display and brushed her fingers over the glossy red lettering. “I always hated having to sell these—it meant someone’s dream was dead. Never thought I’d need them myself.” With a wistful sigh, she grabbed half a dozen more and passed them off to Leah. “At least we’ve got plenty in stock.”

  “You sure about this?” Leah asked. The flimsy signs felt like lead in her hands. She glanced over her shoulder at Rachel’s mom, whose fingers flew over the keys of the same antique cash register her grandfather had christened wit
h a wheat penny the day he’d opened this shop. Even though Mrs. Landry’s voice sounded rough as asphalt from crying, she smiled and invited her customer to come back soon. But come back for what, the clearance sales? After bargain shoppers had picked the place clean, what would replace it, if anything? Was this the beginning of the end for Main Street?

  A lump rose in Leah’s throat. There was history here—years of memories in these narrow aisles. When couples married and bought their first fixer-uppers, they came to Landry Supply for everything from floor tiles to drawer pulls, and if Mrs. Landry didn’t have it in stock, she’d special order it with free delivery. Leah had never thought about it before, but this humble store had helped transform every house in Sultry Springs into a home. It seemed wrong to let Marcus Steele win so easily.

  After blotting her nose with a crumpled tissue, Rachel shrugged. “What’re we gonna do? It’s not like we can hogtie Marcus to my bumper and drag him down a gravel road.” Before Leah could answer, Rachel went on, “Then strip him naked and dip him in the creek until he’s covered in bloodsucking leeches.” With an evil grin, she added, “Or spray him with deer pheromones and tie him to a log, bent over, so the bucks can violate his sorry ass all night long.”

  Leah couldn’t help but giggle. Clearly, Rachel had given this some thought.

  “That would take too much work,” Leah said, faking a lazy shrug. “If you really want to get back at him, you should order a bunch of embarrassing stuff in his name, like male enhancement pills and a penis enlarger pump.”

  Rachel’s eyebrows rose as a smile uncurled across her lips. “I like where you’re going with this. I could subscribe him to some freaky-deaky magazines too.”

  “Along with some blow-up dolls…of sheep!” Assuming those even existed. “But mail it to his neighbor’s house instead of his, so they have to hand-deliver it to him!”