by Alison Kent
“I haven’t, no.” Faith had planned to ask for a recommendation in Luling, the closest town of any size to Crow Hill, but it hadn’t occurred to her to ask Arwen. Which was really, really dumb. “And I didn’t even think about the saloon. I’m so under the gun at work my head is ready to explode.”
“Then think about it.”
“I will. I’ll let you know. And,” Faith said, turning to Everly, “we’ll talk about the invitations soon.”
“This thing with Casper’s house on Mulberry Street,” Everly said, putting away her notebook and signaling to Luck for a to-go box. “He’s not living there, is he?”
Faith shook her head. “No, he still lives at the ranch with Boone.”
“And you’re going out there tonight?”
“To see Boone, yes.” And then the significance of Everly’s question sunk in. “If you think I’m going to sleep with Casper with Boone under the same roof, you are out of your mind.”
“Yeah, I can imagine the two of you would get pretty noisy.”
“Oh my God, Arwen. Why would you even say that?”
“That’s easy,” Arwen said, her cheeks going rosy, her eyes dewy, her smile dreamy and warm. “I want every woman I know, but especially my dearest friends, to have what I have. To know what I know. Both of you deserve this…this…” She fluttered her hands. “I don’t even know what to call it, but it’s perfect and it’s beautiful, and I don’t know how I ever got through a day without having Dax in my life.”
Faith got to her feet, twisting her mouth against a grin. “I’m going to get all weepy now.”
“Oh, shut up and go back to work,” Arwen said, stretching to meet her halfway for a hug. “And let’s talk more about the party.”
“Definitely,” she said. Then Everly whispered in her ear, “Just do it,” leaving Faith to walk out of the Hellcat Saloon with thoughts of Casper Jayne’s thighs heavy on her mind.
FOUR
WITH A BOOT on the counter’s aluminum footrest, Casper pulled a Blackbird Diner menu from between the napkin holder and the salt and pepper shakers, and leaned his crossed arms on the speckled Formica surface. He pretended to study the items offered. Pretended, because he knew what he wanted. All he needed was to have his order taken—and to avoid eye contact with anyone still holding a grudge.
He hadn’t exactly been a saint the last time he’d called Crow Hill home, and those people were still out there. Less of them were gunning for him lately since the Dalton Gang had toned down their hell-raising ways, but they were still there. No doubt watching, waiting, expecting some big fuck up.
Little did they know the fuck ups were being kept in-house these days. Most had to do with the crapfest of a ranch he and the boys were trying to make into something worth all the hours of sleep lost to work and worry. Others he blamed on too much beer. He hadn’t been completely redeemed. And he was still giving Boone plenty of grief over Faith.
Just seemed the thing to do, a last vestige of the past when Boone and Dax had decided sisters were off limits, and Casper had made no secret of his lust for both the Campbell and Mitchell girls.
Funny about that, how teasing Dax about Darcy had really been more about throwing Boone off the scent of the truth. Casper had always had a thing for Faith. He just hadn’t known what to do with it.
“What can I get you?” asked a voice into his musings.
“Let me have three, no, four cheeseburgers all the way,” he said, stabbing a finger at the laminated menu. Clay could strip off any veggies he didn’t like. “And two extra large orders of fries.”
“Four cheeseburgers and two extra large fries. Anything to drink?”
He’d grab a six-pack of soda from Nathan’s. A bag of dog food, too. A jug of water. A bowl to pour it in…Jesus. “No, but go ahead and toss in a couple slices of apple pie. Wait. Might as well give me one extra large chocolate shake.”
“Got it. And Casper, no one here’s going to bite.”
He looked up, catching the wink Teri Gregor threw him before she turned for the order wheel hanging above the kitchen’s pass-through window. He thought back over his history, weighed it, came away pretty sure he’d never crossed any lines with her, though he doubted Dax could say the same.
Who knew getting out and about was going to have him questioning all the wrong turns he’d taken when knowing better didn’t mean shit? Whatever. He couldn’t be bothered with any of that now. He had too much on his plate already, and the dog and the squatter weren’t helping.
At some point today, he was going to have to stop by the city and have the water to the house turned back on. No doubt that would require a hefty deposit. Might as well count on one for the electricity, too. And the gas. Had to have both to run the water heater, a vacuum, the refrigerator and a fan, plus the stove, because in the end it would be cheaper than buying and fueling a generator.
And Clay had to take a bath. The boy was already ripe, and working up a sweat while cleaning would only add another layer of stink. Depending on what all Clay had in his backpack, Casper was also going to need to haul his clothes to the ranch, or at least to the Laundromat for washing.
Okay. Hold up. What was he doing? Making it easy for Clay to stay in the house instead of turning him over to the authorities or sending him on his way? Buying dog food and a water bowl for Kevin? A chocolate shake and apple pie?
He was asking for trouble. For himself, for the boy. Letting Sheriff Orleans know a runaway had taken up residence on Mulberry Street was the right thing to do for all of them.
But Casper couldn’t find it in him to be right about this.
Movement to his left had him looking that way as attorney Greg Barrett boosted onto the neighboring stool. “Casper.”
“Greg.”
“How’re things at the ranch?”
“Good. The firm?” Not that he gave a crap. Casper’s loyalties were with his boys, not the half-brother Dax had only learned this summer he had.
Greg bobbed his head. “Busy now that Darcy’s set up her own practice.”
Again. Hard to care. Darcy as a Dalton Gang sister got the same loyalty as Dax. “Word has it she’s keeping busy, too.”
“Not surprising. She had her own clients. Others,” Greg said, stopping as if to weigh what his position allowed him to say. “Some of mine preferred to take their family law issues to a different attorney once the truth came out.”
Because even though Greg’s last name was Barrett, he was still a Campbell. And since Wallace Campbell’s heart attack, the bastard son had been at the helm. Interesting that Greg didn’t seem to be bothered by the gossip. And that he still had plenty of work.
Strange, though, for Crow Hill to have two law offices instead of one, both practices belonging to Wallace Campbell’s get.
Casper wondered how many clients had come to Greg because he’d proved he could keep a secret. Yeah, yeah, attorney-client privilege and all, but Greg had kept his own. Kept Wallace Campbell’s, too, until the old man had gone down with a coronary. And even then he’d only told Dax.
“My lunch appointment’s here,” Greg said, sliding from the stool. Holding Casper’s gaze for a long beat, he said, “Give my best to Dax,” before turning away.
The door to the diner opened, and Philip Hart walked in to shake Greg’s hand. Casper watched the two of them settle into the diner’s back booth, a waitress arriving with water glasses as soon as they’d taken their seats. Huh. He’d heard rumors about the difficulties the Hart family was facing. Hell, he and the boys were up against ones that could very well drop them in the same shit bucket.
They’d used an attorney in Dallas to handle the legalities of their shared inheritance. He doubted that would change. Dax hadn’t wanted the family attorneys knowing his business.
And so far in his life, knock on wood, Casper had managed to avoid needing more than a public defender to get him out of the occasional drunk and disorderly. Though this thing with Clay…
He swiveled his stool
, facing the pass-through window and the bustle in the kitchen. Something about seeing that mess of a boy in that mess of a house took him back a lot of years to a lot of wrongs.
No kid ever needed to deal with what Clay was going through. With what Casper had gone through, and probably wouldn’t have survived if not for his boys.
Clay didn’t have a gang, he had a dog, and until Casper figured out a way to do things that wouldn’t have him hating himself, he’d do what he could his way. Since his way usually consisted of winging it, he’d have to hope he didn’t fuck up things worse than they already were, and that he could keep off the local law’s radar.
Hmm. Maybe he should’ve asked Greg for his card—
“Casper Jayne?”
Wresting off thoughts knotting his gut like a catch rope, he turned and looked into the eyes of Royce Summerlin.
The older man nudged his hat up a notch, his face ruddy from more than the sun and his ancestry, his gaze sharp as barbed wire, his mind thoroughly whetted to getting his way. “Heard you were back but haven’t had a chance to say hello.”
Casper was pretty sure there wouldn’t have been any reason for him to, but he took hold of the man’s outstretched hand and gave it a firm shake. Royce was in his sixties, looked older, but had the grip of a man a decade to the other side. Dave Dalton had looked similar, aged by the weather and the worry of a life lived at the mercy of the land, a life made easier for Royce by the Summerlin fortune.
“Royce. How’re things?”
“Good enough, but could always be better.”
Casper nodded. It was a sentiment widely held. But he didn’t have time to spend talking about beef prices and the drought. “I hear you’re looking for someone to break some horses.”
“I am,” Royce said, standing tall beneath a hat that added to his imposing height. “Had a man doing it for me, but I’ve sent him over to help Nina.”
“Banning?”
“That’s him,” Royce said with a nod. “I know you made your name and your money riding bulls, but if you’ve got any interest—”
“I do.” He pushed up from where he’d been leaning, reaching for his wallet as Teri brought a big brown grocery bag to the counter.
“Hey, Royce.”
“Afternoon, Teri,” the older man said, sweeping his hat from his head. “What do you hear from Shane?”
Teri reached for the three tens Casper handed her, rang up his order, and made change. “He’s doing well. Hoping to get home for a week when Shannon starts school. It’s hard on her, going back without her mom or dad when the rest of the kids have a parent with them.”
“Shane’s a good brother, a good man. Can’t be easy coming home to take on a little sister he didn’t even know.” Royce waited for Casper to pocket his wallet before continuing where they’d left off. “Walk out with me, Jayne. Teri, say hello to your folks.”
“I will. Thanks, Royce. And see you around, Casper.”
Casper gave her a wave without looking back, his mind on Summerlin’s offer. He set the bag of his and Clay’s lunch on the hood of his truck, then turned. “About the horses.”
“Why don’t you come out to the ranch and see them for yourself? Might help you decide—”
“I don’t need to see them. I’ll do the job.”
Summerlin settled his hat back on his head, narrowed his eyes. “I can’t pay you a lot.”
That was a lie. “I’ll take what you can give me.” And that was the truth.
Royce glanced toward the diner as if taking the time to run a tally of a possible profit and loss. “It’s not my business how you manage your time, but I know the ranch is keeping you busy. I don’t want to take you away from that, cause you any problems with Coach Mitchell’s kid and the Campbell boy.”
Doubtful Dax and Boone would appreciate being referred to as a kid and a boy, but at least he and Summerlin were on the same page. “I can spare a couple of hours a day, if that works for you.”
“I’d rather have someone who can spare more, but since it seems we’re both in a bind, that’ll do. At least until I can find someone to hire full time.” He quoted Casper a figure. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”
Casper and all of Crow Hill knew Royce could pony up more, but he wasn’t in a position to ask for it. He needed anything he could get, and it wouldn’t hurt to prove he’d moved beyond his hell-raising ways. “It’s fine. I’ve got a couple stops to make before heading back to the ranch. I could swing by once I’m done and you can show me what I’m looking at. We can see what sort of schedule works best.”
“That’ll do. I’ll look forward to seein’ ya,” Royce said, slamming his palm against the hood of Casper’s truck before making his bowlegged way to his own.
Snagging an arm around the grocery bag, Casper watched him go, his stomach growling, his head torn between getting back to Clay and getting started with Summerlin, some part of what he supposed was his conscience pressing him to get back to the ranch and the chores waiting there.
But most insistent was his lower body, reminding him of his date later tonight with Faith. A date to talk. Not exactly his first choice of activities but he could be patient. Though the idea of getting his hands on Faith would most likely test the truth of that.
“YOU’RE GOING TO be on your own until morning,” Casper said, gathering the trash from the lunch he and Clay had inhaled. Kevin lay on the parlor floor nearby, having chowed on his kibbles and now begging with his big black eyes for their scraps. He could just keep begging. There weren’t any. “I’ve a million chores waiting at the ranch, two partners breathing down my neck, and I need to see a man about a horse.”
His buying dog food along with cleaning supplies at Nathan’s Food and Drug had raised eyebrows in the aisles and at checkout. Folks knew Casper, knew the ranch ordered for Bing and Bob in bulk from Lasko Ranch Supply. He supposed word of his purchases would reach Boone and Dax before he did—meaning he might as well come up with an explanation now instead of stumbling over one later.
The cleaning supplies would be easy enough. They knew about the house. And he could pass off the six-pack of soda as his, though most of his six-packs were made up of longnecks instead of aluminum cans. The dog food, not so much. He couldn’t see them buying a story that he’d developed a soft heart for a stray.
Ah, truth. You ironic bitch.
Clay shrugged, sucked down the rest of his milkshake, then belched. “You act like I’ve got a problem being on my own.”
The kid was fourteen. He should have a problem with it. Casper sure as hell did, but he knew this wasn’t the time to start digging into what had driven the boy to Crow Hill when he’d had a world of places to choose from.
That, more than anything, was getting Casper’s goat. What the hell impression had he given the boy in Albuquerque?
And how was he going to reverse it without making things worse? “What I mean is that you’re going to have to get started cleaning up without me here.”
“Here to help?” Clay asked, tossing his head to get his lank and overlong hair out of his eyes. “Or to look over my shoulder?”
“Both, but since I won’t be here, then neither. I’m going to stop and put in orders to have the water and power and gas turned on, but you can start with the obvious trash in the meantime. I bought an industrial-sized box of garbage bags.”
“Garbage detail. Got it.”
“And stay out of sight.”
“Got that one, too.”
“Good, because we could both be in deep shit if you’re discovered before I can figure out what to do with you.”
That had Clay backing up a couple of steps. “I don’t need you to do anything with me. You don’t want me here, say the word and I’m gone.”
Jesus. Casper closed his eyes, rubbed the grit away instead of snatching up the kid and shaking him. “Just stay out of sight. If anyone comes around, find a closet or something.”
“No one has to come in to check the utilities
are working?”
“Shouldn’t. Well, maybe the gas, but they can wait till I’m here if that’s the case. Water’ll get turned on at the meter, and the electric box is on the rear of the house. Just keep Kevin off the porch.”
“And you’ll be back when?”
He thought of all the things at the ranch he’d already put off too long. Thought of letting down Boone and Dax, not holding up his third of the partnership. He thought about Faith. Then he thought about growing up and having no one watching his back.
He grabbed one last plastic fork from the floor along with a wedge-shaped container that had held a slice of pie, and headed for the kitchen, calling back, “As soon as I can in the morning. I’ll work out a schedule for the things that need doing.”
“I can pretty much figure out what needs doing,” Clay said, following.
“Yeah, smart-ass, I know. But some things take priority.”
“How much are you going to pay me?”
“Over your room and board?”
“This isn’t much of a room, and Vienna sausages with cheese crackers and Coke doesn’t count as much in the way of board.”
“Vienna sausages with cheese crackers don’t require cooking or digging through restaurant trash. And it’s only for the rest of the day. I’ll get you a microwave and figure out what to do about a fridge once I see if that one,” he said, nodding toward the ancient appliance, “has any life left in it.”
Clay screwed up his mouth. “You saying I can’t use the stove? I do know how to cook.”
“Without setting the house on fire?”
“I used to cook for my mom. Really cook, not just heating up cans of soup and nuking pizza bites.”
Huh. Interesting. “We’ll cross that bridge. Best to keep things simple for now.”
“Whatever.”
Jesus H. A teenager complaining about eating junk for a few days? “I’ll pick up kolaches or breakfast tacos in the morning, okay?”
