Spring Romance: NINE Happily Ever Afters

by Tessa Bailey

  There wasn’t much I could do for her but tell the facts and report the truth. I’d bring her life—along with her death—to light.

  My initial impression of Chief Wagner had been positive. But I had a feeling he’d become accustomed to keeping the masses of Clifton Forge slightly in the dark.

  Not anymore.

  If I learned something, I was sharing.

  The sun was shining bright, even this early in the morning. The cool air was refreshing on my skin and in my lungs. I breathed deeply as I walked, the scents on the slight breeze reminding me of summers as a kid.

  Montana was typically beautiful at the beginning of June, but this year, it felt especially so. Maybe because it was my first spring back after having lived in Seattle for the better part of two decades.

  The trees seemed greener. The skies bluer, bigger. I hadn’t spent a lot of time exploring town since I’d moved, but as I walked, I felt the urge to see it all. I was ready to make this town my own, to become a part of the community.

  Clifton Forge was home.

  I reached Central Avenue, turning right. Two blocks down there was a coffee shop calling my name. Nearly all the businesses and offices that crowded this street were closed at this hour, their windows dark. The only places open were the coffee shop and the café across the road.

  Clifton Forge didn’t get the enormous influx of tourists that other small Montana towns saw each summer. Tourism here was nothing like it was in Bozeman, where I’d grown up. Our town was too far off the interstate to get much notice. The millions of visitors who poured into the state each summer to visit Yellowstone and Glacier National Parks passed us by.

  Our town’s main influx of outsiders came in the fall, when hunters made Clifton Forge their home base before setting off into the wilderness with guides and horses to hunt elk, bears and deer.

  Most of the locals liked it that way, forgoing added business traffic for peace and seclusion. When you walked into the café or the coffee shop, nine out of ten faces were familiar.

  Except mine wasn’t. Yet.

  I hadn’t spent enough time out and about town. Now that summer was here, that was going to change. I’d spent enough years in Seattle being recognized for my face—if I was recognized at all. For the most part, I was just another anonymous person going about their daily lives.

  But here, I wanted to settle in and settle deep. I wanted people to know I was Lane and Tessa Ryan’s daughter, because belonging to them made me proud. I wanted people to think of me when they thought of the newspaper, because reading my stories was a highlight of their week.

  “Good morning,” I said as I entered the coffee shop.

  The barista sat behind a counter next to an espresso machine. Her mouth was hanging open as she stared at my newspaper between her hands. “Did you hear? A woman was murdered at the motel.”

  I nodded. “I heard. It’s awful. At least they caught the guy.”

  “I can’t believe it. Draven? He’s such a nice guy. Leaves good tips. Always friendly. I just . . . wow.” She folded up the paper and put it on the counter, the shocked look on her face remaining. “What can I get you?”

  “Cappuccino, please.” I smiled politely, even though I was irritated that Draven had seemed to fool so many.

  “For here or to go?”

  “To go. I’m just out for a morning walk.”

  Any other morning, I would have introduced myself, but as she made my coffee, she kept stealing glances at the paper. I doubted that if I told her my name, she’d remember it today. She seemed distraught. And not by a woman’s murder, but because Draven was the primary suspect.

  How does he have everyone fooled?

  She made my coffee and I left her with a wave. I crossed the road, heading for the newspaper but perusing the businesses on the opposite side of the street this time. When I reached my car, I got inside but home was not my destination.

  The Evergreen Motel had been swarmed with activity over the past two days, the police barricade sending a very clear go the hell away message to anyone driving by. But the murder was two days old and my questions would only wait so long.

  It was a risk going so soon but one I was willing to take. With luck, the owners might have some information they’d be willing to share about the victim. Or Draven himself. Information they might have been too flustered to give to the cops.

  The motel was on the other edge of town, away from the river. The drive took only minutes, the streets nearly empty. It was appropriately named; the tops of the evergreens that surrounded the motel on three sides seemed to brush the clouds.

  The building itself was only a single story, built when the style was for each room to have an exterior door. The metal keys were no doubt attached to red oval disks with the room numbers stamped in white letters. The motel was a U shape, all twelve rooms facing the kiosk in the center that was the office.

  Had the owners not taken such good care of the Evergreen, it might have reminded me of some seedier areas of Seattle where motel rooms like these were rented by the hour. But as it was, this place was clean and charming.

  The siding was a freshly painted sage green. Flower baskets hung on posts outside each room, overflowing with red, white and pink petunias. The parking lot had recently been restriped.

  Definitely not a place I would have expected a murder.

  A man about my age sat behind the front desk in the office, the small room built solely for function. There was no waiting area for coffee in the mornings or a cookie plate in the evenings. There was just enough space to stand by the counter to collect your key—all of which hung on a pegboard on the wall. I’d guessed red oval disks. These were green.

  “Morning, ma’am,” he greeted.

  “Good morning.” I flashed my brightest, friendliest smile.

  “Do you have a reservation?”

  “No, I’m actually from here.” I extended my hand across the counter. “Bryce Ryan. I work at the Tribune.”

  “Oh.” He hesitated before taking my hand. “Cody. Cody Pruitt.”

  “Nice to meet you, Cody.”

  “You’re here about what happened in 114?”

  I nodded. “Yes. I’d like to ask you some questions if you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t know anything more than I already told the police.”

  “That’s okay.” I reached into my purse for a small notepad and a pen. “Would you mind if I took a few notes as we talked? You can always say no. And you can always say something is off the record if you want to keep it between you and me.”

  “That’s fine. But like I said, I don’t have much to report.” His jaw was tense. His eyes narrowed. Cody was seconds away from shoving me out the door.

  “Well, that’s okay.” I held my smile. “I’m new to town anyway, so I’ll probably just ask you a bunch of stupid questions. Are you from here?”

  “Yeah. Born and raised. My grandparents bought the Evergreen. They passed it down to my parents. Now I’m taking it over from them.”

  “Oh, that’s great. I work with family too. My dad bought the newspaper and I just moved here to work with him. Those first few months were, uh . . .” I bugged out my eyes. “It was an adjustment for us both. Kind of strange to be working for your parent. But now I think we’ve got a groove. He hasn’t threatened to fire me in over a month, and I haven’t thrown my stapler at his head in weeks.”

  Dad and I loved working together, but the lie was worth it when Cody chuckled.

  “We had some of those days too. There were days when I was pretty frustrated with my parents. Well, maybe not so much me as my wife. She wanted to do some things to fix up the place and they were being stubborn. But eventually we worked it out. The place looks a lot better too.”

  “I’m guessing those beautiful flower pots were your wife’s idea.”

  His chest swelled with pride. “They were. She’s got a green thumb.”

  “They’re beautiful.”

  “Yeah.” Cody’s smile
dimmed. “My wife, she does housekeeping here. Actually, we trade off days. Friday was her day. She found . . .” He shook his head, his voice lowering. “I don’t know how she’ll ever get over it. My parents are heartbroken. I’m the only one who can stomach working here. Not that I have a choice. We have bills to pay and I can’t turn away reservations. Hell, I’m just glad we have guests.”

  “I’m sorry. And I’m so sorry for your wife.” Finding a dead body would leave scars for anyone.

  “Thanks.” He fisted his hand on the counter. “I wish I could say I was surprised.”

  My ears perked up. “You’re not?”

  “That club has never done anything but cause trouble.”

  My heart began to race but I did my best to hide my excitement. Cody Pruitt might be the first person in Clifton Forge who would willingly give me information about the Tin Gypsies instead of warning me away. “Have they caused you trouble here before?”

  “Not lately. But I went to high school with Dash. He was an arrogant son of a bitch back then. Same as he is now. Him and some friends rented out a couple of rooms from my parents after our senior prom. Trashed them.”

  “You’re kidding.” I feigned shock when inside I was doing cartwheels. Finally I’d found someone who wasn’t warning me away from Dash or a founding member of his fan club.

  “Nope.”

  I waited, wondering if he’d say something more, but Cody’s eyes drifted out the office window, toward the room marked 114. When I’d driven by yesterday, there’d been police tape over the front. Now, it was gone. Unless you knew where it had happened, you wouldn’t guess a woman had been killed across the courtyard.

  “Did you see Draven here on Friday?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “No. My mom was working that night.”

  “Did she—”

  I was cut off by the rumble of an engine outside. Both Cody and I whipped our heads to the other window in time to see Dash roll into the parking lot on his Harley.

  Shit. Great timing, Slater.

  Dash parked next to my car and swung his leg off the motorcycle. He was wearing a black leather jacket today and a pair of faded jeans. Just the sight of his long legs and his unruly hair made my heart jump. Damn him. Why couldn’t he have been blond? I’d never had a thing for blonds.

  I did my best to keep my breaths even as he strode our way. The last thing I wanted was to have him come in here and see me panting. The flush in my cheeks was bad enough.

  I turned my back to the door, keeping my attention on Cody, who was practically seething.

  The bell chimed as Dash came inside. His stare burned my backside as it trailed down my spine, yet I refused to turn or acknowledge him as he came to the counter. From the corner of my eye, I saw him slip off his sunglasses.

  “Cody.” Dash’s heat hit my shoulder as he leaned his elbows on the counter. “Bryce.”

  My name in his voice gave me goose bumps on my skin. I pulled my arms to the side, hiding them from his view. Did he have to be so close? He was less than an inch away and the smell of leather and wind filled my nose. And, damn it, I inhaled a deeper breath.

  To hell with you, pheromones.

  “Kingston,” I drawled, daring a glance at his profile with my best unaffected stare.

  A growl formed deep in his chest, but he didn’t utter any other response. He held my gaze for a moment too long, and then he dismissed me, giving Cody a nod. “How are you?”

  “How am I?” Cody’s voice shook. “You have some nerve coming here, Slater.”

  “I’m not here to cause trouble.”

  “Then leave.”

  “Just want to ask you some questions.”

  Get in line, pal. “Cody was just telling me that he’s given all the information to the police.”

  “That’s right.” Cody pointed to the door. “I have nothing else to say. So unless you want to destroy another room or two, I think it’s best you leave.”

  “Look, I’ve said it a hundred times. I’m sorry about prom. My dad and I paid for that and then some. I was a stupid kid. If I could go back in time, I’d undo it. But I can’t.”

  They’d paid for it? Interesting. I’d pegged Draven and Dash as men who wouldn’t make amends for something like petty vandalism. As leaders of a dangerous motorcycle gang, they could have made some threats and gotten away with it. Taking responsibility was not something I’d expected.

  And something Cody had conveniently left out of his story.

  “I have nothing to say to you,” Cody snapped. He was a good four inches shorter than Dash and at least thirty pounds lighter. But I got the impression this wasn’t so much about the murder or prom as it was a less-popular kid taking a stand against an old nemesis.

  Good for you, Cody.

  “I only want to find out who killed that woman.” There was vulnerability in Dash’s voice. I didn’t like how my heart softened.

  Cody huffed. “You Slaters are all the same. Your dad takes a knife to a woman in my motel, stabs her from head to toe, and you’re here to pin it on someone else. Guess it’s a good thing Bryce is here. Otherwise you might try to say I killed her.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Get out,” Cody snarled. “Before I call the cops.”

  Dash blew out a long breath, then turned his attention to me. “You put my dad’s name and picture in the paper.”

  “Well, he was, in fact, arrested for murder. You might remember, I was there.”

  The corner of his lip curled up. “You make a habit of printing lies? I can’t wait to shove them down your throat.”

  Lies? No. No one questioned my integrity as a journalist. “What I printed was the truth. A woman was murdered. Truth. She died here at the motel. Truth. Your father was arrested as a suspect. Truth. Are those the lies you’re going to shove down my throat?”

  He inched closer, looking down his nose at me. “Maybe. But I’d rather shove something else down that pretty throat instead.”

  “Weak.” I rolled my eyes. “If you think threats laced with sexual innuendo will scare me away, you’ll need to try harder.”

  “Harder. You’ll beg for harder.” He came closer again, the smooth leather of his jacket brushing against the thin cotton of my tee. I’d worn a sports bra to the paper last night, opting for comfort instead of lift. I’d chosen one without padding and when his eyes drifted lower, I knew he saw my nipples peeking through.

  I could step away. Or I could call his bluff. Was Dash a bad-boy playboy? Absolutely. But was he a misogynistic womanizer who’d force himself on me? No. Which meant he was pushing to see how hard I’d push back.

  Game on.

  I took my own step forward, pressing my breasts into his chest. “I doubt that . . . King.”

  Dash hissed as I dragged my nails up the side of his jean-clad thigh. My entire body was braced, waiting to see his reaction. If he touched me, I’d probably have to knee him in the balls. But it didn’t come to that. Calling his bluff worked.

  In a flash, he stepped away, his frame strung tight, and marched out the door. The bell filled the air and my breath came back in heaves, the sound drowned out by the noise of Dash’s Harley as it raced away.

  Cody’s grin stretched ear to ear. “I like you.”

  “Thanks.” I laughed, my heart rate settling.

  “What else would you like to know?” Cody asked. “I’ll tell you everything if you’re out to get Dash.”

  Now it was my turn to grin from ear to ear. “Do you happen to know the victim’s name?”

  Chapter Five

  Dash

  “They won’t let me see him.” I slammed the door as I walked into the office at the garage.

  “Can they do that?” Presley asked, looking between Emmett and me.

  Emmett shrugged. “They’re cops. At this point, they can pretty much do whatever the hell they want.”

  I’d been trying to see Dad for days but the chief had thrown up a steel barrier. No visitors unless it w
as Dad’s attorney. No exceptions. So while I could glean some information from Jim, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t the one-on-one conversation I needed. We trusted our lawyer but there were questions I wasn’t going to let him relay. Their conversations were no doubt being recorded, which was illegal, but I didn’t trust the cops to uphold Dad’s constitutional rights.

  Besides, depending on the situation, Dad wouldn’t tell Jim everything. Because Jim wasn’t a Gypsy. We might not be tied together with patches and oaths anymore, but we were still loyal to one another. Loyal until death.

  “Is it normal for them to take this long to release a suspect?” Presley asked.

  I shrugged. “According to Jim, the prosecutor is trying to decide whether she wants to charge Dad with first- or second-degree murder at the arraignment. We could push them to decide, set the bond hearing, but Jim worries that if we do that, they’ll go for first. Thinks it’s better to let Dad stay where he’s at and hope for second.”

  “What do you think?” Emmett asked.

  “I don’t know,” I muttered. “I don’t know enough about the criminal justice system to question Jim. He’s always done good by us. And Dad trusts him.”

  With any luck, they’d decide soon and set the bond hearing. Maybe Dad would be out by Friday. Then we’d get some answers.

  “I hate being in the dark.” I took a seat along the window. “Did you hear anything?”

  “Nothing,” Emmett said. “Leo and I asked everywhere. Not a damn word. Everyone was as surprised as we were.”

  “Shit.” Across the room, Dad’s office sat empty. Normally, we’d be in there this time of day, having a cup of coffee and talking about cars or bikes. I’d see what kind of paperwork he’d let me push from my desk to his. At the moment, I couldn’t concentrate on work. The questions about the murder stole all my focus.

  “I wish I could find out who she was, the woman. Find out what Dad was doing with her.”