Sounded like she had her get-up-and-away-from-Rochelle excuse all prepared, didn’t she? Kat certainly had her opinions about Cherry, and if she didn’t like Rochelle because of them, there wasn’t much to do about it.
Still, Rochelle might’ve liked some smoother sailing between them.
Liz had totally ignored Kat’s refusal of the booze, and she went to the kitchen herself, talking over the counter as she poured.
“Kitty Kat, it isn’t like you’re an upstanding Harvey Girl waiting tables at the Rough and Tumble. Have a splash with us and live a little. I double dare you.” She made a show of pouring more than usual into the glass.
For some reason, it seemed that Liz had a magic way with Kat, and the woman shrugged in acquiescence.
“All right, I can have a little.”
“Lovely!” Liz topped off the drink. “Rochelle and I were just talking about Gideon.”
Great.
Kat glanced at Rochelle with those big blue eyes that might’ve seemed affable to others. “What’s there to say about him?”
With an amused whisper that would keep her voice from carrying to the men down the hallway, Liz said, “He’s sweet on her. Or can’t you tell? I noticed the second I saw them.”
“Didn’t notice,” Kat said, blank faced.
If Rochelle didn’t know that Kat had a boyfriend, she would’ve thought that maybe the woman was into Gideon. They’d known each other forever just like everyone who’d grown up in or around Rough & Tumble did, so maybe throughout the years, something more than a friendly relationship had developed. Rochelle had never heard that they’d gotten together, but you never knew.
At any rate, Rochelle didn’t exactly love talking about this with the woman. “Liz is stirring the pot. She thinks it’s romantic that he’s my bodyguard, and she wants to make something of it. No biggie.”
Liz returned to the room, handing off the whisky to Kat, who immediately put it on the table, and not even on a folder.
“It is romantic,” Liz said.
Kat rolled her eyes. “Rochelle’s right, though: Gideon’s just doing his job.”
Liz waved a hand at Kat dismissively. “Oh, you. Isaiah needs to come back from his schooling and get you in a better mood.”
“So I’ve heard,” Kat said. “But Isaiah ain’t the only problem here.”
Time to address that cherry-colored elephant in the room.
Rochelle spoke to Liz. “The creepers aren’t the only ones who are unhappy with Cherry’s story. Kat’s expressed some disappointment, too.”
Kat interjected. “You know this ain’t so much about Cherry herself.”
It was also time to pay the piper for how she’d avoided including any Rough & Tumblers in her research, leaving them out of Cherry’s fictional life. “I’ve actually been meaning to talk to you about that, Kat—or at least something similar. Aren’t there stories about Howard Hughes taking drinks at the R and T back in the day?”
Kat frowned. “There are tales, pretty much from old codgers who take an afternoon tipple at the bar every once in a while. Why?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d love to have you introduce me to them. You’re right—local input would be invaluable, and my next book’s about Faith Domergue, Howard Hughes’—”
Liz busted in. “Little mistress! I want to read it!”
Kat wasn’t as immediately won over with Rochelle’s olive branch. “Are you just suckin’ up to me now because I’m suddenly useful?”
Le sigh. But Rochelle got the feeling that this was a woman who had more pride than most, so she went with it. “I might be.”
Her straightforwardness made Kat’s frown fade. A hint of a smile lifted her mouth.
“Well, points to you, lady.” She took up her whisky. “I might be able to arrange a sit-down with some townsfolk. We can start off with Jimmy Beetles. He had a great uncle who supposedly met Howard Hughes at the saloon.”
Oy. Rochelle remembered Jimmy Beetles, the stocky greasy-haired nomad biker from the R&T. But if she had to talk to him, then she would.
Liz guffawed. “You’d sick Beetles on her? For shame, Kat.”
Kat was laughing softly into her drink, and Rochelle wondered if she’d only been putting her through the wringer. Had she passed muster?
Rochelle leaned back on the sofa. “Just name a time before the week is done, and I’ll be there for Jimmy Beetles.”
“My helping you won’t make you and me friends, you know.”
“I’m sure there’s a lot of work and maintenance that goes into that, Kat.”
The woman slapped her knee, looking at Liz, laughing from her belly up in a way that was entirely sincere. In the middle of her mirth, she even said, “She’s got some vinegar with her sugar!”
Liz only toasted Rochelle, looking pleased that she’d had a hand in easing some tension between the women.
Not that it was all gone, because Kat had something more to say as her laughter tapered off.
“So,” she said. “What is with you and Gideon anyway?”
Damn. “He’s my . . .”
“Bodyguard, yeah, yeah. But I’m talking about the past, not the present.” Kat leaned forward. “A long time ago, you left the ranch real sudden, and Gideon slunk around for the rest of the summer. I don’t know what happened exactly, but I’m just here to tell you that if you mess with him ever, I’ll . . .”
She left it there, as if not used to making threats to other females.
But how could Rochelle be offended when the woman was only taking up Gideon’s back? Her own cousins were the same way when it came to defending her. Or, at least, they would be, if they knew the extent of what had gone on with Rochelle and Gideon.
She let Kat’s threat roll off her. “Gideon and I have nothing going on. Even if we did, he knows I’ll be leaving town soon anyway, so why start something big up? He’s known I’d be leaving since the day I arrived.”
The explanation sounded so flat to her, so . . . unappealing. But why? Did she want to stick around?
Impossible. And Gideon knew it as well as she did.
Someone cleared his throat from the hallway, and they all turned toward it.
Gideon and Ben were standing there, looking as awkward as hell. How much had they heard?
Embarrassment inched over Rochelle’s skin, and he seemed just as bothered while he sauntered toward the door. No man liked to be talked about behind his back, especially when it came to ridiculous things like a romance between two people who were the last ones to ever have a romance.
Just sex, she thought again. Disposable, fun, thanks-for-the-memories sex.
Why did she have to keep reminding herself?
Ben saved the day. “Gideon got tired of showing me the paint cans in his guest room. How about some Rough and Tumble time?”
Liz was already starting to clear everyone’s glasses, even Kat’s, which she’d still had in hand. The woman frowned, watching her drink go.
From the kitchen, Liz said, “Sounds great to me, baby.”
“Then we’re off.” Ben held his hand out for her.
It was as if she was dying to get away from the heightened tension in the room, and she rushed to her husband and out the door in record time.
Kat got up, sending Rochelle a curious look, then headed for the door, too.
That left Rochelle and Gideon alone, him waiting for her to exit, his mouth set in a line.
No use avoiding what he’d heard, and as Rochelle got to her feet, smoothed down her shirt, then walked to him, she said, “You knew I was leaving.”
“Of course.”
And with a stiff sweep of his arm, he ushered her out, off to the saloon, where they wouldn’t have to be alone anymore.
***
So there it was, Gideon thought as they walked to the R&T w
ith the group. Rochelle was really leaving at the end of next week.
He’d known those were her plans, sure, but hearing her say it so nakedly back at his house had felt like a belt across the back leaving a punishing mark.
Had he thought that the sex was going to turn her into a one-man woman? Had he thought that their increasingly intimate talks were a sign of her falling so hard for him that she couldn’t bear to put town behind?
It was like he’d fallen for her seventeen years ago and he’d been hoping this whole time that he’d get her to see that she’d made a mistake by taking off on him . . .
The thought gnawed at him as they walked behind the others, the near-distant rock music from the saloon cluttering his mind. Thank God for the loud bliss of the Rough & Tumble, because this was the last thing he should be thinking about: Him and Rochelle. Rochelle and him. This was an equation that didn’t add up either way.
When they arrived, Ben held open the door, and Gideon caught a glimpse of Harry inside the dim saloon, waiting by the entrance with his tanked arms barred over his considerable chest. Earlier, they’d made plans to meet here and had confirmed a time back at the house while Gideon had been chatting with Ben. Gideon needed a break anyway, so having his partner here was another blessing.
God knew Gideon needed a break.
As Rochelle entered, he unthinkingly put his hand at the small of her back, guiding her. He’d done it a million times with a woman, but when he realized that he was stalking that blurred, ever-changing line between him and Rochelle once again, he removed himself, his skin vibrating.
Damned skin.
Rochelle touched her arm and then lowered her hand quickly, giving him a lowered glance from under her lashes.
What the hell it meant, he wasn’t sure, but she was so close that he could smell her shampoo again. Why did it keep reminding him of honeysuckle?
She walked the rest of the way in, and Gideon followed.
Harry spoke above the booze-soaked music. “You don’t look happy.”
Gideon forced a shrug and a grin that wouldn’t tell anyone much, hoping Harry would buy it, then surveyed the room, even if his partner had already taken a look around.
Only a few customers sat at the bar: locals like Clancy DeForge, who was obviously indulging in a liquid lunch away from the connected General Store. Cassandra, the weekend helper, her long hippy braids swinging, was wiping down the counter.
Otherwise, the Rough & Tumble was no different from always: the same neon beer signs throwing colors against the planked walls and tin ceiling molding. The same jukebox twanging out tunes. The same fans chasing old smoke from the air and the same postcards from Rough & Tumble regulars hanging from the bottle-choked shelves.
Rochelle had taken a seat at the bar with Liz and Ben, but Gideon noticed that she had the best view of Cherry’s painting. As he assumed his post nearby, Cassandra brought the group some shots, and Rochelle subtly toasted Cherry before sipping.
He glanced at the painting, too—the devilish angel with red hair, a leather outfit and boots, a mysterious smile.
How much of you is fiction? Gideon thought yet again. And how much is Rochelle?
But when he saw Clancy DeForge put down his beer and stare a hole through Rochelle, Gideon’s nerves went on alert. And when the shopkeeper got up, smiling and showing his gold teeth as he walked toward her, Gideon was there before he was.
As Gideon cut him off, Clancy halted in his booted tracks. Rochelle tensed up, and Ben got off his bar stool, no stranger to altercations in this place.
Gideon raised his hand to him. I’ve got this.
Clancy spoke. “I only wanted to say something to her.”
“Clance,” Gideon said, “if you’d keep your distance two seats down, you can say what you want. Get back.”
The man stayed where he was, obviously surprised that Gideon, the kid he’d known forever, was talking to him like this. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for all she’s been going through because of her book.”
Clancy started for Rochelle again, his hand out. Even if it was only to offer a peaceful shake, Gideon thought, Creeper? Then he pulled the shopkeeper away and pinned him to the bar. Kat was behind the counter now, wide-eyed, no doubt ready to pull out Casey’s Special, the bat she used in semiserious situations.
And from the way she was watching him, Gideon wondered if the bat might be for him and not Clancy.
The older, bearded man held up his hands, leaning away from Gideon while Rochelle’s voice rose over the music.
“Gideon . . .”
Clancy interrupted her. “Damn, kid, you’ve known me since you were knee high to a grasshopper. You think I’m gonna cause someone harm?”
Gideon didn’t back off, but he did loosen his grip on Clancy’s plaid shirt. He looked over at Ben, who seemed to be seeing a stranger in Gideon, and then looked over at Rochelle . . .
Her gaze was wide, too, as though she knew that he’d overreacted for her, that he would do anything for her.
Clancy was still holding up his hands. “Search me if you need to. I’m not here to hurt her. I can’t believe you’d even think it.”
“Clancy . . .” Gideon said, mortification tapping at him. He was over the edge. He’d never lost his body-guarding cool before . . .
Clancy shrugged away from Gideon, walking around him and toward the front door. But before he left, he stopped, addressing Rochelle.
“I hope you find those people who’ve been bothering you, miss. If not for your sake, then for his.”
Even if Clancy utterly ignored Gideon as he turned around to leave, everyone knew who he was talking about.
The other two daytime local bike enthusiasts who were in the bar—Dustin and Hooper—went back to their drinks. Ben led Liz off her stool, murmuring something about dancing with him to the slow Aerosmith song that’d come on. Kat and Cassandra busied themselves with polishing glasses. And Harry?
He stayed by the door, no expression on him at all.
It was like Gideon had just asked for a gunfight, and no one wanted to meet his gaze now, lest they become a target. He should’ve felt bad about that—he never set out to scare or intimidate his friends—so what had gotten into him?
He felt someone holding onto his shirt, and he glanced down to see Rochelle looking up at him with those green, green eyes.
“You thought he was a creeper?” she asked. “I know we don’t know the identities of anyone else who might be out there, but . . . That was Clancy.”
Gideon couldn’t look at her anymore. If he did, his emotions were going to explode, and that was only because he’d gotten so wound up back at the house, hearing how casual she’d been about how she was going to leave soon.
She had him so addled that he had no idea what was up or down anymore. This fact should’ve been bad enough, but there was an even worse point to consider: Somewhere in all that turmoil, he’d discovered that he could feel. Feel too much.
And the last thing he wanted to do was show Rochelle that this was even possible.
He grasped his badass bodyguard cool and answered her. “Sorry if I startled you, but even if I’ve known Clancy for years, he was moving toward you with a purpose that screamed at me to get between you.”
Hell, he was going to have to make his apologies to the man for being wrong, wasn’t he?
He could still feel Rochelle gazing at him, and in spite of his best efforts not to meet her eyes, he did. He fought the lure of them, struggling to stay afloat.
“You’re trying so hard for me. Thank you, Gideon.”
He wished she would just cuss him out, tell him that he’d lost his grip. Either option would’ve felt so much better than this: the loss of control around her.
He backed away, and Rochelle watched him go. Was she just as scattered about what she was doing to him as he was?
As the music played on, she went back to drinking, peering above the bar at Cherry, maybe even asking her what to do about the possessive cowboy who’d overstepped yet another line.
Meanwhile, Ben and Liz returned to the bar, now that matters were settled. As Gideon kept his distance from all of them, he was glad that they could make Rochelle smile a bit, even as Ben kept glancing back at Gideon with questions in his eyes.
Gideon could’ve handled that just fine, but then Buzz and Jonsey Burton walked through the door.
Dear Lord, if anyone mentioned how Gideon had unnecessarily jumped on Clancy for Rochelle’s sake, he’d be getting more big-brother looks from the cousins. Maybe he’d even be getting The Talk.
But fuck The Talk; Rochelle would be leaving soon anyway. That was all there was to it.
The boys tipped back their cowboy hats, spotting Rochelle at the bar—she must’ve texted them that she was here—and greeted Ben with a hearty hello. Jonsey kissed Liz’s hand, earning a playful scowl from Ben as Buzz, who knew better, merely said a gentlemanly hello.
Then the moment Gideon had been dreading happened—the boys spied him in the corner, blending in with the wall but not blending as much as he would’ve liked.
Both cousins moseyed over, their boots just as weathered as Gideon’s, their expressions just as poker faced.
“Hey, cowboy,” Jonsey said.
Gideon nodded in a fine hi and hello.
“He’s on duty, Jon,” Buzz said. “Although, lately, I’m not sure what that duty is.”
Goddammit. Really? This was going to happen here? Now?
“Well,” Jonsey said, hooking his thumbs in his jeans pockets. “He did save Shel from the creeper the other day. He’s been doing good on his duty, if we’re talking about body guarding.”
“And there’s no denying that saving her was a brave thing,” Buzz said. “Then again, we knew he’d be up to this job. Hellfire, he’s even brave enough to bring Shel back to the saloon, even if he nearly got real hurt for her with a creeper.”
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