Outlaw Cowboy (23 page)

“It's… I'm probably going to go to jail for a bit.”

Rose's grin faded. “What the hell for?”

“Oh, got roped into some bogus drug charges, and I think it's time I…turned myself in. But I wanted to make sure you and Steph really have everything—”

“We're going to put him away. For good. Steph planned the whole thing. I'm just the money and the muscle. Tomorrow. You can't turn yourself in. What kind of justice would it be if you went to jail before Dad? I gave you all that money. Go. Go to Seattle. Hell, go to Mexico for all I care, but don't turn yourself in.”

“I have to.”

“No, you don't.” Rose took her by the shoulders. It was the first time they'd been in the same room, within touching distance in years, and they were arguing. “You think I haven't wiggled out of a few tight spots? Of course I have. Because I kept fighting. You can't give up.”

Delia shook her head. “It isn't giving up. Maybe giving in a little, but I'm tired of fighting.” So tired. So many years of fighting and barely scraping by. It was time to make her life more than that.

Rose threw her hands in the air, stalking across the bar. “Fuck that! You have to fight.” She pointed a steady finger at Delia. “That is all there
is
in this world.”

Oddly it made her think of Caleb: the way he'd touched her face, the love in his eyes. They fought like crazy, and yet in the end they'd had a rational discussion, an almost pleasant good-bye even. Aside from the whole heart-crushed-to-tiny-bits thing.

No, there was more to life than fighting, but she couldn't argue with her sister on that point.

“Can I just hug you and tell you I love you?”

Rose all but physically recoiled. “Are you on drugs?”

“No. I've just missed you. And Steph and Billie. Elsie. I've been alone so…” Her voice cracked a little, but she straightened her shoulders. “Come here, sissy.”

In the end, Delia was sure it was the endearment that broke Rose's resolve. They hugged.

Delia didn't know how long they held on to each other, like they had as little girls to get through the scarier nights. “We'll get through this. We always do. We Rogers women are a tough breed.”

Rose finally pulled away, sniffling suspiciously, though there were no signs of tears on her cheeks. “Damn straight. You know what you need?”

Sleep. Another hug. Rose to keep talking so Delia could remember the sound of her voice while she was locked up.

Rose poured her a drink, and they talked. And talked. They filled each other in on the holes of their lives; Rose outlined Steph's plan to get Dad locked up and Mom in a facility. They'd done it without her, the perfect plan, and all Delia could do was
pray
it worked.

Exhaustion finally won and Delia fell asleep curled up next to Rose on her little couch in the apartment behind the bar.

When Delia woke up in the morning, her head was clear, her heart was heavy, but she was ready.

Caleb had never talked to Mel or Summer. He hadn't seen Dad again once he'd wheeled away after bringing Summer to tears.

Caleb had let them feed him, placate him, and he'd even hugged them and convinced them he simply needed time to think.

He'd fucked up last night. Drinking had been a stupid thing to do, especially over something so…anticlimactic. In the past, and without his family's “intervention,” he would have drowned himself in it, then spent days if not weeks pitying himself over the fall.

He'd woken up exhausted and achy, and yet somehow…seeing the way his family had come together, Dad's apology…it had changed something.

He was never going to be a perfect man, but he'd figured out how to be a decent enough one. He was never going to make all the right choices, but he could probably stop acting like the wrong ones were the end of the world.

In other words, he could man the fuck up and own up to his mistakes. He didn't want to be his father, apologizing years down the line, possibly years too late.

No, he didn't want to be that man, or the one he'd been, and really, the sad fact of the matter was nothing was stopping him. Except himself.

He got to the barn, ready to sort the feed. Usually the morning after any sort of screwup, he would wallow. That niggling instinct was there. Forget it. He'd already fucked it up. What was the point of trying?

But somehow he'd found the point in trying. Somewhere in the past few months. He wasn't even sure how or why, but wallowing sounded shitty. Maybe it was because no matter how many times he wallowed, he still ended up having to get up. Work. Live. Feel.

It was not his favorite realization, but it was life. He was tired of trying to escape it.

He went through feeding the cows, checking the fence. The sun rose, and though he felt determined to move forward, damn certain he was going to make up for last night's stumble, there was something missing.

He didn't feel his heart soar with the sunrise. The walk across Shaw property didn't ease away the weight on his shoulders. He felt like he was going to a job he didn't particularly love.

That—
that
—he didn't understand at all. The love for this place and this work had kept him going when there wasn't a whole lot else going for him.

He scrubbed both hands over his face, itching his fingers through the beard he'd let grow in the past few days. He'd made the decision to be an adult, to move forward and not stick in his own misery or let one mistake ruin everything. Where was his fucking rainbow?

Probably on a train bound for Seattle.
He pushed that thought away. Was one person important enough to make everything else seem pointless? So he really could turn into his father and be a lump of shit when some woman left him?

She left because of you.

Dad didn't really fall apart until he was paralyzed.

Got a husband out of the deal when I stopped being afraid of every damn thing that had to do with love.

Caleb tried to shake away the voices. See? Mom was right. There was something not right about him. Arguing with himself. Repeating things other people had said.

Besides, he wasn't scared of love. He'd been about to tell her, hadn't he?

And you let her go. You didn't even give her a chance to stay.

Before he could punch himself to stop the stupid, rational voice in his head, Tyler's truck appeared on the ridge.

Greeeeeeeat.

Tyler jerked his truck into park at the barn and then hopped out. He wasn't happy, and not just his typical stick up the ass. His face was full of anger and frustration.

He stalked across the way, and Caleb refused to budge. The man wanted to snarl at him, he could damn well take the paces to get here.

“It's all over town that you were talking with Rose Rogers.”

“Good morning to you too, Tyler. Nice weather we're having, isn't it?”

Tyler took a deep breath, a slight flare of his nostrils the only sign he wanted to throttle Caleb to the ground. Ah, the fun of getting under someone's cool and collected veneer. “You were talking with her on Main Street. Middle of the day. For a while.”

No point in denying it, though he was a little surprised at the vehemence of Tyler's disgust. “Yeah. So?”

“If you recall, part of our contract is you not fraternizing with undesirable elements.”

“Undesirable elements? You don't have any friends, do you?”

“You talking to her, more than in passing, is a concern to me. And my business. I can't trust someone like you near my cattle when you keep in contact with someone like
her
. Everything you touch is compromised when that is the company you keep.”

“What the hell has Rose Rogers ever done to you?”

Tyler's lips flattened so they almost disappeared. “Are you going to deny that you're friends with her?”

“Well, yeah, that's probably the first time I talked to her since she was a kid. And she approached me,
and
she was talking to me about Summer, since Summer works there.” Why was he defending himself? This was ridiculous. Why was he doing this? Just so he could convince Mel to put his name on the papers, to keep him in charge?

Suddenly—and he didn't really understand why or how—that seemed to pale against having Delia in his life. It really did. His name on a paper. Shaw was more than that, but Delia was more than Shaw.

This thing that had given him hope and meaning for years was nothing compared to waking up with her next to him. Fighting with her. Loving her. Stumbling his way through emotion with her. No comparison now.

It was a crack in his chest. The fear of failure had always kept him from trying to love. But something in Delia had made him try, and he wanted to keep doing that.

With her. Warrant or no. Lease or no. Shaw as his or not.

Maybe she didn't love him. Or maybe…maybe there was a crazy chance she was as scared as he was. Maybe she'd walked away because he
hadn't
told her, hadn't promised her, hadn't shown her she was more important than all of it.

His family had rallied around him last night, in ways Delia had been rallying around him since this whole thing started. She'd wanted to show him he was good, capable. If that wasn't love, or the chance at it, what was?

It was such a shocking realization, he laughed, which only pissed Tyler off more, but who cared? Who fucking cared? “So, no, we're not friends, but I was talking to Rose. Because I'd been hiding her sister away here while she tried to find a way to help save their other sister from their abusive asshole of a father.”

Tyler's head snapped back. “What?”

All those things he'd been hiding, been terrified of Tyler finding out…he'd just laid them on the line, because he didn't want this anymore. Not at the expense of the happiness he'd found.

“What is wrong with you? Do you have any idea what I'll do now?” Tyler demanded.

“Yeah, I know exactly what you'll do. You won't pay me for what you've already taken. You'll screw me because you can. That's what people do, isn't it? Only give a shit about their bottom line and their reputation?” Oh, hey, projection.

Apparently Tyler had nothing to say to that, as he only stared, open-mouthed.

“Do what you want, Tyler. I have better things to do than bowing and scraping to you.” Which meant he had to find Delia. It was his turn to fight for something, and he was going to fight for her.

He pushed past Tyler.

“Where are you going?”

“Away. You need help—talk to my dad.” If Dad wanted him not to be a fool about love, he could damn well handle some ranch stuff.

Caleb got in his truck and tore down to Summer's caravan. She was frowning at the little garden she and Delia'd been putting together.

His heart clutched, but he didn't have time for that. “I need you to take over my chores,” he called out the window.

Summer blinked at him, then grinned. “That better mean what I think it means.”

“That I'm fucking my life up more than I already have?”

“That love conquers all.”

“Don't get crazy. Just keep things under control here, okay? Call Mel if you need help.”

Summer nodded. “And if
you
need help, we're here.”

“Do you think…” Hell, why was he asking Summer this?

“Do I think what? That she loves you right back? Yeah.” Summer smiled, so certain and reassuring. “Actually I don't
think
that. I'm sure of it. Sure.”

He tipped his hat, and since nothing else really mattered, he tore his way toward Blue Valley. Screw speed limits and traffic laws.

Hopefully Delia had gotten out of town and he'd find her. But first, he was going to find a way to fix this warrant shit. Which meant he had to know where to find the little asshole who'd gotten her mixed up in it in the first place.

Which meant a trip to Pioneer Spirit. People would talk, and while he didn't want to hurt Mel or Summer by having to hear shit gossip about him…he was starting to realize it didn't
have
to matter. Not if he was honest and open with the people who mattered.

He'd done and said the worst things for years, because he hadn't ever wanted to try to be better. Because it was easier to live down to the voice in his head and what people thought he was than try to figure out
who
he was. What he wanted to be. What rules he thought were important enough to live by.

It had gotten him precisely nothing. When he'd gone against the grain to do what in his gut he'd known was right—he'd gotten everything.

Believing he didn't deserve anything—especially love—hadn't kept his family from loving him through it. So it was his turn to love someone through it. Maybe Delia didn't love him yet, but he was too stubborn to believe he didn't have a chance at earning her love.

So it was time to make it right—all of it.

He went around to the back of Pioneer Spirit, since it wasn't open yet. He'd known the former owner, and there was an apartment back here, though he had no idea if Rose would be living in it.

Still, he banged on the door. A lot. To the point his hand hurt and he was almost sure no one was inside.

When the door finally swung open, a worse-for-the-wear Rose squinted her displeasure at him. There was a moment she recognized him and softened. “She's not here,” she said in a gravelly voice that sounded like the rough end of a hangover.

“Please tell me she's on a train to Seattle.”

Rose shook her head and waved him inside. The apartment was an absolute nightmare of a mess that put his room back home to shame, but she led him through it, and then through a door to the bar. Once they were in the shadowy darkness of the bar, she let out a long breath. “She went to the police station.”

“Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Rose let out a sigh that gave away her worry more than her expression or her words. “First thing. If they weren't going to lock her up, she'd be back by now.”

“You don't know that.”

“I know a thing or two about how police stations work. Even Valley County.”

“Okay, well then…where can I find the bastard who got her mixed up in this?”

“Going to swoop in like some fucking knight in shining armor after being the jackass who let her go?”

“Damn straight.”

Rose's mouth curved. “Bartlett. Name's Eddie Boothe. I called around a bit this morning. He hangs out at the Brick House mostly.” Rose bent behind the counter, placing a gun on the bar. “Here. You might need this.”

“I…that's a terrible idea.”

She grinned. “I expect it back. So don't kill him or anything. Just make him think you might.”

He considered the gun. Even if he didn't care about his reputation anymore, or rather if he was putting Delia above his reputation, breaking the law seemed a bit unnecessary. And he remembered what had happened the night he'd beat Graham Rogers into a coma. Had he had a gun…

Well, technically, there
had
been a gun available—Graham's. And he hadn't touched it. So…

“Sometimes you bend the rules to do the right thing,” Rose said, nudging the gun into his hand. “If you don't do this, I will. I'm stepping out of the way only because I've got Steph to help today and I don't need to make any amends to Delia.”

“Don't you?”

“Who talked to her about your sorry ass last night? Believe that was me.”

Caleb let his fingers curl around the gun. The words
Come and Get It
were inscribed on the barrel. “You Rogers women sure like your bizarre inscriptions.” He took a deep breath, let it out, studied Rose for a second. “She loves me.” This time, he said it like a statement.

“God knows why.”

“Think she'll forgive me?”

Rose didn't give anything away. “Guess you'll have to try and find out.”

Try and find out. It was a fitting punishment, all in all, and he'd take it. Because he wasn't going to be a coward or a self-fulfilling prophecy anymore. He was going to be happy. One way or a-fucking-nother.

* * *

Jail wasn't so bad. Of course, this was just a holding cell. But they'd given Delia a Hot Pocket. Hard to complain.

She'd be taken in to be questioned eventually, but these small county departments didn't exactly run the tightest of schedules or the fullest of shifts. She sat on a hard little bench and stared at the bars in front of her.

Actual real-life bars. It was surreal enough she couldn't even panic yet. She was sitting in a jail cell, awaiting her fate for a crime she honestly hadn't even committed.

Life could be a real kick in the metaphorical balls.

She blew out a breath. Well, this would give her ample time to plan her future after serving her sentence. It couldn't be all that long. Eddie hadn't been a big-time dealer. At least, she couldn't imagine he was.