Pretty Reckless (Entangled Ignite) (16 page)

“Shit!”

Gunner cracked his knuckles, pulled his hat past his eyes, and stepped out. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, stalking over to Luke.

Luke played with the toothpick between his lips and smiled as he pushed it to the corner of his mouth. “I could ask you the same thing.” He kicked forward and headed toward us, wearing that shit-eating grin of his, his wild blond hair casually tucked under his cowboy hat. He pinched the brim nodding back at me.

I swallowed hard and stepped out of the car. Speaking of confrontations I didn’t want to have… Between the daisies taking up space on my kitchen table and the note that suggested he knew what happened to the guy who’d attacked me the other night, the conversation I needed to have with him might well end up with him in handcuffs down at the jail. Almost made me glad Gunner was with me.

Almost.

“We need to talk,” I told Luke.

A slow smile slipped across his face. “You see that, Gunner”—he cut an eye in the Texas Ranger’s direction—“Laney was expecting me.”

As though I’d never said anything to him earlier about keeping his hands to himself, Gunner slung an arm around my waist. “Talk,” he snarled and tugged me closer.

I punched him in the shoulder as hard as I could and tugged out of his proprietary embrace. Time I did more than try to tell him anything. “Talk,” I told Luke even as Gunner attempted to step between us. I dodged around him, coming to a halt toe-to-toe with Mitch Wagner’s son. “What the hell do you know about the guy Gunner arrested outside of Rusty’s, and if you had anything to do with killing my dog—”

“Whoa-whoa!” Luke held up his hands in a pacifying manner and backed up a pace, spitting his ever present toothpick to the ground. “I just heard about Hank and wanted to pay my respects.”

“I appreciate it,” I said, sounding anything but even to myself, “Now tell me what the hell you meant when you wrote about taking care of my little problem in that note.”

“Shit, Laney.” He started backpedaling as fast as he could when I stepped forward into his face again. “Nothin’, I meant nothin’ by it.”

“Nothin’, Luke?” Gunner tried to grab my arm, but I shook him off, popped a hand to Luke’s chest, and shoved. He stumbled backward and sat down on his ass, hard. I leaned over and stuck my face in his. “
Nothing
, Luke?”

“Christ Almighty, Laney.” He put a hand over his heart, held the other high. “Hand to God, I swear. I had nothing to do with Hank.”

“Then what was that note about? What did you do with that guy Gunner beat up outside the sheriff’s station? Did you manage to talk Elroy into releasing him to you or something?” If he had, I was going to kick that sorry excuse for a deputy’s ass all up and down Center Street then lock him up for a month.

Gunner swaggered forward and moved me bodily out of the way to drag Luke up off his butt by the shirt collar. “What note?” he asked, deceptively calm. “And what about the guy who beat up Laney?”

Luke shook his head and looked at me as he peeled Gunner’s hand away from his shirt. “Really, I am sorry about old Hank.”

I stepped toward him again. “Damn it, Luke! What’d you do?”

He started to reach out to cup my face, but Gunner slapped his hand away. Luke grimaced and shrugged at me. “Cutie, if I tell you, then you might have to arrest me.”

“God
damn
it, Luke. Are you completely insane?”

“Laney, it’s not like I killed the bastard, just scared the shit out of him.” He grinned at me. “Son of a bitch pissed his pants at the sight of me. You should have seen it. It was priceless.”

I gave him a noncommittal nod. “I bet. Just tell me… is he okay?”

“If you mean the asshole will have to wear an icepack taped to his butt for the next month”—he raised a brow—“then yeah, he’s fine.”

“
Where
is he?” Gunner thundered.

He never had liked being left out of a conversation if he could take it over.

Luke shook his head enigmatically and dusted off his pants. “Just thought you should know, Laney, my father took over Bosley’s land.”

I eyed him for a minute then glanced at Gunner. We were back right where this started—with Mitch Wagner wanting to grab Bosley’s land, only now with Bosley Conrad conveniently dead, Mitch had apparently done it.

Luke grinned. “Can you believe I miss bickering with the old fart?”

“Sure,” I said sarcastically, “why not?”

“Yep,” Luke said, stepping toward his truck, “I sure do.” He opened the Ford’s door and threw me an unsettling smile. “Do us all a favor and stay out trouble, Laney Briggs.”

Then he jumped into the truck, fired it up, and backed out of my drive. What the hell was he up to? I wondered. It might be like him to come out here and try to make a pass at me by offering me condolences over my dog, but that random share about his father taking over Bosley’s spread reeked of more.

Gunner tapped me on the shoulder. I jumped and turned to face him. “I guess that’s my cue.” He rattled his keys, looking me over. “What the hell,” he mumbled and leaned down to plant a wet one on my lips. “Like the man said, Laney Briggs, stay out of trouble.” He winked and headed for the Yukon, turning back with his hand on the door. “See you at Bosley’s funeral tomorrow,” he called.

I stared after him, appalled at his audacity—but it still took me a second to stop daydreaming about his hands traveling all over my body as I watched the Yukon disappear. When it was gone, I went inside in search of my keys. A note taped to the fridge informed me Boomer had gone to the liquor store. Tapping it once, I grabbed my keys off the counter, took a last look around, locked the door, and left for Nathan’s.

Chapter Thirteen

“So, you finally decided to come back to my place,” Nathan said, leaning against the frame of his front door, arms folded over his chest.

“Had some work to finish up,” I said and pushed past him through the door.

His eyes dropped to my keys and then back to my face. “You really think I’m buying that shit?” He snatched the keys out of my hand and stuffed them in the back pocket of his jeans.

“Hey!”

Nathan frowned. “We need to talk,” he said and backed off the wall, closing in on me.

I narrowed my eyes at him. “How does taking my keys have anything to do with us talking?”

“Are you in love with him?”

I shook my head no. “No, I love you.”

He stalked forward and jerked at my shoulders. “You do realize that’s my God damn ring on your finger.”

I let out a hysterical laugh as I rubbed my diamond.

“Uh, yeah. Who else would’ve given it to me?”

“From the looks of it, I suspect you think Gunner Wilson did,” he snarled, digging his fingernails into my arms.

“Ouch.” I jumped back and stiffened my arms at my side, scowling at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Nathan aggressively shoved me back into the wall. Even with a throbbing head and blurred vision, I could still taste the stench of dried beer on his cracked lips. His fingernails latched into my skin, and when he dug deeper into the flesh, I could feel the raw burn of tearing skin slicing down my arms. I stared back into his dead green eyes. Never had he lifted a hand to me. Never had he lost control, and now…well, now I wasn’t entirely certain what I was dealing with. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw his raised fist making a play for my face. I ducked to the side and heard his knuckles slam into the wall.

“Holy shit!” I half whispered, half yelled, turning to look with astonishment and dread at the hole he’d put in the wall. “What the hell has gotten into you?”

“Is this what you want?” he asked, eyeing me down and shaking out his hand. “You want me to take what’s mine?”

“Nathan, what are you talking about?”

“I love you. Do you understand that?” His stale voice bristled down my neck. “Laney, you’re mine and only mine.”

Fear not allowing me to do anything else, I violently nodded. “Yes, I’m yours.”

He smiled as he roughly swept a piece of hair behind my ear. There was something about his eyes. Something inside them that made me want to shrivel into a ball in the corner and die before this went any further. I knew what happened when a man turned on a woman—I’d seen too many domestics on the job—and I concluded the only way to save myself right now was to play the part of the doting fiancé—at least until I could get out of here.

“I hate that fucking prick. I’m going to rip out his fucking throat for touching you,” he said and sealed his mouth so roughly over mine that I tasted blood. Then he backed off to run his hands up and down my arms. “Tell me you feel the same.”

I looked into his angry green eyes and gulped down the bile rising in my throat. “I missed you,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling as a tear fell down my cheek. God, I’d screwed up bad. I knew what he was doing to me wasn’t right no matter what Gunner’d done—what I’d let him do—by kissing me this morning. But damned if guilt wasn’t riding me hard, telling me I deserved this, too.

No matter what I told the other women I’d seen who’d been worked over by their men for both more and less.

And damned if I didn’t now understand why they put up with it and why they didn’t report it.

And I hated myself for it.

The hard line of his mouth faded. He wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed my tear-stained lips and pulled back, smiling. “I love you Laney Briggs,” he said through another kiss.

I tugged at his sweaty blond hair, crushing him to me, and kissed him back. “We’ll all be okay soon,” I said, feeling the lie stick, all hot and seedy, in the back of my throat.

It wasn’t the first lie I’d ever told, but it might’ve been the biggest.

…

Half an hour later, when he’d finished imprinting himself on me by taking me with bruising force right there on the floor, he rolled me with a self-satisfied grunt and rose. I sat up, feeling awkward at my nakedness, and quickly yanked my pants and shirt back on. Nathan stepped into his jeans, shrugged his T-shirt back on, and went into the kitchen. I heard cabinets open and shut, a corkscrew pop, and then the shuffling of bare feet across the floor.

“Would you like a drink?” Nathan asked, passing me a glass of white wine.

I took the glass and stared at him, not recognizing the man standing in front of me. He’d changed since coming back from Houston. My actions hadn’t helped, but this Nathan was an entirely new and frightening beast.

I tried to smile and raised my glass, toasting, “To us.”

Nathan snorted. “Yeah, to us,” he said coldly and downed his wine.

I gulped and finished off mine. “We’re okay, right?” I asked, climbing to my feet.

He turned on his heels, leaving me, then stopped in the doorway. “It would make me feel better if you said you hated that asshole’s guts,” he said.

I wanted to be convinced his hysterical anger and bruising roughness was nothing more than a consequence of the stress boiling over in our relationship. He’d always been such a calm man, never hotheaded or temperamental. That was my role in the relationship.

I slowly lifted my eyes to his face. His upper lip twitched in anticipation at my answer. I needed to get out of here, but there were answers I wanted from him first—answers I might never get if I somehow managed to walk out on him now. If he didn’t manage to lock me up and throw away the key or kill me before I could.

At least this is what I told myself right then—
it’ll be all right if I do what he wants
—exactly the way thousands of other women had told themselves about their men.

Despising myself for it, I took a second to steady my voice, then said through clenched teeth, “I find the man despicable.”

The boyish grin that always used to settle my nerves when I was hot and bothered—the one I’d never again be able to look at without flinching—returned. “How about I start us some dinner?” Nathan said.

A few minutes later, steaks sizzled over the gas stove as Nathan tossed mushrooms and onions into the frying pan. I pulled out a chair at the table and tried to relax as I watched him plate up the food. This was right, I tried to convince myself. I’d made a lifetime of mistakes and had almost screwed up the one thing that I once thought I’d gotten right.

I was such a liar.

He put two full plates on the table and then took his seat. “Was out at the Wagner’s ranch today.” He looked up at me. “Had an interesting chat with Luke.”

I stopped in the middle of chewing a bite of steak, almost choking on the gristly meat. “Oh, yeah, and what did y’all two chat about?”

His expression hardened. “How you accused him of having something to do with Bosley’s death while killing a couple beers over at Rusty’s. And then that guy beating you up, it’s almost too much.” He nodded and gave me a noncommittal smile. “You don’t need to hide things from me, Laney. I’m here for you. But if I lose the Wagners as clients, I’ll be neutering hunting dogs for the rest of my life to pay the electric bills. I need them.” The tinge of animosity he’d been holding back was clear as a direct threat. “And I need you to quit antagonizing them over things I’m sure they had no part of.”

Well, hell. Why couldn’t that little shit keep his mouth shut? And why hadn’t Nathan just asked me about Luke and my bruised face yesterday at my place after Hank was killed? He must’ve not wanted Gunner to hear how he was in bed with the Wagners, since the Texas Ranger was on a warpath to take down Luke at any cost. I swallowed and washed down the steak with a drink of wine, mustering up the courage to speak. “I didn’t want to upset you,” I said.

He tossed his fork at the table, clanking it against the dinnerware. “I would have come back sooner, Laney.” He glared at me.

I shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Nathan slammed his hands down on the table. “Luke told me a different story,” he snapped. “He told me he saw Gunner pull the guy off you after you’d been punched and kicked.” He gave me a hard look. “I want you to quit this case before I end up calling Dobbs myself to have him take you off it.”

I was livid. Telling me what to do, threatening to call my boss. I was an adult, this was my job, and he was neither my mother nor the boss of me. “It’s not your call.”

Nathan flung his chair back. “Damn it, Laney! Have you taken a look in the mirror lately? You look like shit.” I picked up my plate and pushed back in my chair, then walked over to the kitchen sink. Dinner didn’t look that appetizing anymore. I tossed the food down the drain and flipped on the garbage disposal. I washed my hands and pivoted around, leaning my butt back into the countertop. “I’m working this case straight through to the end, Nathan.”

He picked up his chair and shoved it under the table. “You’re stubborn as hell.” He flung my keys across the table. “I don’t know why I even bother sometimes.”

“I know. And we’ll get through this,” I said.

Nathan looked at me, his eyes void of emotion, and without a word, picked up his brief case and walked out the door.

I snatched the bottle of wine off the table, tucked it under my arm, and bolted for the stairs, locking myself inside Nathan’s bedroom. I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over my head, begging God to forgive me my sins because I was coming to realize my fiancé never would.

…

It was a muggy summer morning, sticky and wet, a perfect day to attend a funeral. I rolled over, and my hand brushed the left side of the bed, cold and untouched. I ambled into the bathroom and stood under the showerhead as the scalding hot water blasted me in the face. I washed my face, scrubbed under my arms, rinsed my hair, and then stepped out. I wrapped a towel tightly at my chest and smeared a hand print across the steamed, fogged mirror.

Gunner will be gone soon
I reassured myself, then frowned at my pathetic reflection.

I forced myself into a beige blouse, tucked it into a black pencil skirt, shimmied on a pair of nude stockings, and stepped into my black pumps. There. Dressed for Bosley Conrad’s funeral. I’d just finished covering my yellowing bruise with concealer and was painting my lips red when I heard the front door open and close.

“Are you ready?” Nathan called.

“Give me a minute,” I shouted back, wondering where the hell he’d slept last night, then remembering with a shudder how he’d tried to take a fist to me and how it all connected to my ex-boyfriend trampling his boots back into Pistol Rock.

I smacked my lips together, readjusted my ponytail, and rounded the stairs. I was expecting a huge turnout today, even if the mourning was intended for the town’s bastard. There wasn’t much do on a Saturday in Pistol Rock. There would be many blissful weepers in attendance at this wake.

Nathan was waiting for me by the door, dressed in khaki’s, a white long-sleeved polo, and a grey windbreaker. “You look nice,” he said and took my hand.

I smiled, accepting the compliment. “Did you sleep well?”

He slipped my jacket up an arm. “I had some work to finish up, so I stayed at the clinic,” he said and tugged my other sleeve on.

We were good. We were happy. Why else would I be dragging myself through the mud?

Nathan kissed my head and pulled me into his side. “Can we forget the fight, Laney?” he asked, tipping my chin upward so I’d meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

I looked at him, badly wanting to believe that last night had been an aberration, that it would never happen again, that the real Nathan was back and standing before me. “No need to apologize.”

“Thank you,” he said, pulling open the front door.

We stepped outside when the phone started to ring, stopping us in our tracks. He stalked back inside, ripped the cordless off the wall, and handed it to me.

“Laney, it’s Dobbs,” he hollered in that voice that made everything he did an emergency. “We need to stop by the elementary before Bosley’s funeral. Boomer’s passed out drunk on the merry go round.”

…

The sky was a dismal gray, the air balmy but thick with the promise of an impending thunderstorm. I wanted nothing more than to haul Boomer’s ass into the back of the pickup and buck it over to the funeral. I was anticipating the closing of the casket and calling the rotten event a done deal.

I leaned into the window and watched the road fly by. Ten minutes later, we drove up to Bluebonnet Elementary. Nathan backed the pickup to the curb and stepped out, leaving the engine still running. The wind flapped at his grey windbreaker, and his blond hair whirled about his face. He tugged at the khaki’s around his waist, took a step forward, and sloshed his Ropers into a muddy puddle, then opened my door. I stepped out, tightly wrapped my trench coat up under my chin, and took his hand.

Nathan hooked an arm around my waist, smothered me into his side, and ushered us over to the chain link fence. I unlatched the gate and placed a heel on the dead lawn of the school playground. It didn’t take long to find Boomer. He was flopped back on a rusting merry go round singing the blues. His short sleeve Nirvana shirt pulled at his beer gut. There was an empty bottle of Jack stuck in the mud right next to his bare left foot. The chilly wind bit at my nose as I bent down next to him.

“Boomer,” I whispered, tapping his boney knee.

Drool leaked down his chin. He grumbled and tossed his head to the right, then slit an eye open, looking back at me.

“Laney, I knew you would come for me,” Boomer mumbled, grappling for the metal bar while trying to pull himself up.

Nathan moved in front of me and reached out a hand. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said, grabbing Boomer by the wrist.

Boomer stumbled to his feet and managed to send me a droopy smile before falling flat on his face. He snickered and wobbled back to his feet. “Sorry, must have had more than I thought.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and swung my hands on my hips. “Come on, Boomer. For crying out loud, today’s Bosley’s funeral.”