The example of quick small town justice seemed to surprise Winters and he barked a laugh, which in turn startled the horse. She watched as he gentled the gelding, lowering the foot into the boot and securing it in place. The vet stood, unfolding, and stretched to his full height. He held out a hand before grimacing and pulling it back, preventing her from grasping ahold of him. With a grin, he explained, “No need for both of us to take the stench home.” She nodded and he stared at her for a moment, his attention flicking to the shed row behind her, and then back to her face. She felt a heavy presence at her back and knew it was Reuben’s stare, the substantial weight of his anger filling the air. She sighed but didn’t turn, her irritation having not yet flared out.
“Thanks, Doc.” She pushed past the awkward feeling, intending to take control of this meeting one way or another. “I’m Brenda Calloway, of DN Rodeo. While I am pleased to meet you, on your professional recommendation, I do believe I’ll pass on the shake.” She smiled and nodded, tipping her head sideways. “The growing food vacuum behind me is my son, Elias.” A quick glance showed she had been right about Reuben’s approach. “And this gentleman is Reuben Nelms, owner of DN.”
“Mr. Nelms.” He nodded coolly at Reuben, flashing a grin at Eli before returning his gaze to her. “Missus Calloway,” he said her name softly, seeming to relish the feel of it in his mouth. “I’m Doc Winters, and I’m very pleased to meet you.”
Resentment at Reuben still flooding through her system, she knew it wasn’t a mature decision, but still she tilted her head and nodded at the handsome man smiling at her, knowing exactly how it would sound as she responded, just as softly, “Likewise.”
***
What the fuck does she think she's doing? Duck’s thoughts were chaotic. Just minutes ago, he had been furious with her for making him remember the differences in his lives between Chicago and Lamesa, and now he was raging at her for something entirely different. He had been upset because she had shoved Lamesa down his throat, her words shining a spotlight on his fears.
Lamesa. He’d been unwilling to come back to town, begrudging the time. This entire visit started as involuntary because, with her call, she’d forced his hand. But in doing so, he’d found his way back to her, the beauty she gave him. He’d come home. Now, she stood here flirting with the vet right in front of him, flaunting it in his face, as if he hadn’t been embracing her not an hour ago, promising what their night would hold.
Stepping forwards into the opening the stall door made, he snapped, “Was there an agenda for this meeting today?” His action seemed to startle both of the human occupants of the stall, and Bee jerked her gaze to him, guilt staining her cheeks beautifully pink. “Not to rush anyone, but if we’re inspecting things, it could take a while.” He gestured towards Elias, “Promised Eli some ice cream. Can’t welsh on a deal with my best boy.”
For the next hour and a half, they walked the grounds, looking over and reviewing all aspects of the operation. Winters didn’t find anything wrong, but offered a dozen suggestions for safety or comfort of the equine and bovine competitors Brenda noted on her phone. The first time she had it out, the doc had boldly asked for her number. “In case there were any issues or emergencies.” His excuse so reasonable Duck couldn’t argue.
Twice he’d tried to capture and hold Bee’s hand, and twice she’d cut him a look so full of anger and sadness, he hadn’t made the attempt again. By the time they finished and were walking out to the truck, the evening, which had begun with such joy and laughter, had turned to ashes, the taste of his failure bitter in his mouth.
Wanting too much
“Reuben,” she said, keeping her gaze flat and level, “I need to tell you something.” She stopped and swallowed, her head shaking back and forth involuntarily. Reaching up she opened the medicine cabinet, losing her reflection for a moment, gaze catching on her diaphragm container, absurdly thinking it had gotten more use in the past few days than the previous five years. Hands trembling, she shut the cabinet, again looking at herself in the mirror.
“Reuben,” she began again, voice quavering. “There’s something I need to say to you.” Tipping her chin down, wet streamers of hair fell in curtains on either side of her face. “This is harder than anything I’ve ever done in my life,” she whispered, lifting her gaze back to the mirror. He deserves to know. With a deep breath, she said, “Reuben, we need to talk.”
Her shirt had pulled on crooked, sticking to her, and as she attempted to straighten it the fabric slid in jerky movements over her still damp body. Nothing’s easy. Turning, she opened the door, gasping in surprise to see Reuben there. Leaning against the opposite wall, his arms were tightly folded across his chest. He made an imposing figure, standing there immobile, staring at her. His voice cold and toneless, he barked, “You got something to say to me, Brenda?”
Mouth open, she stared at him, unable to speak. Her practiced words failing at the evidence of his anger. He let the silence build between them for a moment before he said, “Never mind, just save it. I get it. You saw a side of me you didn’t care for today, then saw something you could like better. This won’t work between us, Brenda. Good thing we learned it early on.” His words made it impossible for her to suck in breath, hitting her in ways that felt physical.
“We can both go back to our lives. I’ll stick around until after the rodeo, make sure you have help in place. It’s why you called me, right? Just for the business. Nothing else going on here, right? Nothing else on your mind. Nothing to say to me.” He paused, tipping his chin down, gaze raking along her form, lips twisting in a sneer that froze the blood in her veins. “Means there isn’t any reason for me to stay beyond that.” He straightened and unfolded his arms, hands hanging in heavy balls of clenched muscle at his sides. “Just like before, there isn’t anything here for me. Nothing but goddamned stupid pipe dreams.”
When the last word fell from his lips, he turned and stalked up the hallway to the bedroom he had been occupying until they’d come together. Since the first time they’d made love, neither had slept alone, the bed in his childhood room going unused. She heard the door whisper shut behind him, the soft sound of the latch seating in the frame much more final than a slam. Her breath came in ragged, hard gasps, painfully rasping in and out of her throat, as she tried to hold onto any hint of control. The smooth closing of that door tipped the balance, releasing the tears to fall in silent sheets down her face.
She wasn’t worth the energy of anger.
She was still standing there, body hitching with unvoiced sobs when he came back out. The leather vest, which had hung in his closet since arriving on his back, now rode his shoulders like a second skin. His movements tense, yet fluid, he walked with the sense of power and silent strength she had always witnessed from him.
Took you everywhere with me.
The memory of his lies ripped through the last vestiges of her self-control, and she covered her mouth with both palms, trying ineffectually to hold in the anguished cries of pain. He didn’t react at all. Without looking to where she stood, without even glancing at her, he strode past, headed for the stairs.
Loved you all my life.
Wordless and motionless, she listened for the sound of his boots on the steps, but there was no noise to accompany his departure. Not until the truck engine started outside, the mechanical racket rapidly dwindling as it moved away from the ranch, down the drive, and away towards town.
Need you in my life.
Her heart broke as the silence settled around her, heavy and thick, pressing against her skin. Sagging to the floor, she curved and wrapped her arms around her bent knees, angling her legs and curling into herself. Trying to protect herself. Trying to hold back the pain. Trying, and failing. Just as when he’d left her the first time, she wasn’t worth the effort of goodbye.
***
“When did Mason get back from out west?” Watcher lifted his beer to his mouth, taking a slow swallow, measuring the amount in an unconsciou
s acknowledgement that, as always, he needed to remain in control. The man had been a friend of the club for decades. Had known Mason since they were both pre-teens in an eastern Kentucky mining town. Word had it that Watcher had tried to recruit Mason a dozen times before the Rebels were formed, and now the men’s clubs shared a multistate partnership built on an unshakable trust, nearly unheard of among clubs.
“He wasn’t home yet when I flew down. On his way, but hadn’t made it back. Should be in either Chi-town or the Fort by now,” Duck responded. “Man seems to have found his woman, finally. Thank God.” Willa Shipman, the chestnut-haired beauty from Fort Wayne, had drawn Mason’s interest in what looked to be a permanent way. They had taken off on an extended bike ride nearly two months ago and the club’s chapters had eagerly tracked the couple’s cross-country progress. Members and officers exchanging notes and comments about the steadily growing ease filling their president’s voice with every mile his woman rode wrapped around him. Peerless relaxation through road therapy.
“Willa’s something else,” Watcher snorted a laugh. “Met her at Slate’s shindig. Woman had a thousand questions about a thousand different things. I was flat wrung out when she got done with me. She should work for the government, be an interrogator. Start her own Gitmo.”
Duck laughed. “She works in a school full of lying little teenaged bastards. She probably picked up the skills in a need-to-deal environment. Learn as you go.”
There was silence between them for a moment. Then Watcher quietly asked, “She doing okay since Utah? That was some shit, man. Never seen a set-up like that one. Someone put money and time into their play. Y’all get a read on who and what yet?”
Utah was all about Mason. It was where Judge, Mason’s own blood, had imprisoned four women, each with a different piece of the Rebel president’s history in their heart and hands. Mica, the woman he had first loved, now married and a mother. His baby sister had been at the compound, too, isolated in her own cell. Carrie Sosa, mother to his son, had taken a final trip before being dismembered in an effort to intimidate the man. Then there was Willa, the woman he had grown to love more than life itself, stolen from him and nearly destroyed by Judge. Watcher and Duck had been part of the group that made the journey to Utah at Mason’s side, retrieving three of the women, some more damaged than others.
Duck shook his head, not in a ‘no,’ but in a necessary denial of what he had seen, what he knew had happened in the compound in Utah. “She’s doing as well as can be expected, I think. That’s the main reason he took her on the run. Give her a chance to settle with him without eyes studying, watching…knowing. He never spilled it, but every man who was there that day knows what Bones saw on the video. Sometimes at night, I can still hear it…can’t get the sound of her voice out of my head. Shit like that sticks with you. Sticks deep and dark. I cannot fucking imagine what it must have been like to live it.”
He sucked in a breath, thinking and remembering his first time with Brenda. How sweet and giving she had been, tipsy enthusiasm making up for the limited experience her younger self had. Then he compared it to their reunion, thinking about how quiet and still she was. That stillness and so many other careful behaviors drummed into her by someone…her husband? He knew not even a marriage bed was proof against the same kind of abuse Willa suffered at the hands of a madman.
“Tell me about the beauty you had in your cage today.” Watcher grinned slyly at him and tipped his bottle. “Woman was pissed, but cool about it. She know she’s your property?”
Duck’s heart stuttered; this pain was too fresh for humor. He’d watched Brenda with the vet today. A man without a history in the town. Winters was someone she could be proud to be with, regardless of the audience. A man who’d made it clear he was interested. Who seemed to intuitively sense there were no claims on her heart, because he pushed the charm hard, even with her kid and a man walking beside them. A man worthy of Brenda. Worthy in ways Duck could never be since he didn’t have a magic wand, and couldn’t change his blood.
Once they got home, Duck had been determined to talk to her. Hash things out and find a way forward, because while he could see Winters would be a smart choice for her, he was not going to give in without a fight. He’d needed to see her, talk to her, and understand what had changed. Talk it through like adults, because it was more than just the two of them tied into this knot. Eli sat right there with them both, and his confusion today at the rodeo grounds had been painful to watch.
Then, on his way up the hallway to Brenda’s bedroom, he overheard his name and stopped to listen. Her voice coming from the bathroom had given him an earful, far more than he’d been prepared for as he listened to the false starts and stammered practice at giving him the boot.
Even as hurt as he was, when she opened the door, his cock evidently hadn’t gotten the message her body was no longer welcoming. The little fucker had stood at half-mast upon him sighting that mass of tousled hair, delicate strands clinging to the sweep of her cheek, skin still damp after her shower. The thin shirt she wore clung to her in other places, outlining the curves of her breasts, the slope of her collarbones. Beautiful. His.
Waiting for her words had been agonizing, but he had given her a moment to launch into her prepared speech, and then another. When she didn’t, it seemed she wasn’t able to follow through, couldn’t bring herself to say the words. He had felt stuck, but knowing what he’d heard, wrenched himself out of it, and took it all on. Took the words he’d listened to through the door and carried them to the obvious conclusion. In the space of two minutes, he’d killed his dream. Made it easy for her by being the first to step away, the sounds she made tearing at his chest, ripping his heart in two. A necessary pain. His no longer. Not his Bee.
Now, Watcher wanted to talk about her, find out who she was, what she meant to Duck. Wanted to try and determine the best way to understand this addition to his mental profile of Duck, the man. Watcher wanted to ask about the statement he’d made today, telling them all she was with him, not knowing later events would pull those words into confused disarray. Time to deflect, he thought, bring the conversation back to club.
“How are you faring with the lack of Diamante in your territory?” Diamante was a fairly new one-percent club that had been dogging the Rebel’s heels across four states for the past couple of years. Not long ago, Mason and the Rebels had assisted in the dismantling of a two Diamante chapters by absorbing two different clubs in Chicago.
They might not have been Diamante, but the removal of those rivals proved enough to distract the Diamante chapter in Chicago until the Skeptics could shut them down. In a coordinated effort, at the same time things were going down in Chicago, Watcher’s men in Las Cruces were taking care of their Diamante nuisance. The two takeovers left dozens of homeless club members to migrate east, looking for another Diamante chapter to settle into.
Then the Rebels in Memphis had a hand in pushing the Diamante chapter there to abandon their territory. Not a shutdown, not a takeover, but an extremely effective blow to the club. To make things even more frenzied, about the same time as the Memphis deal, the Fort Wayne Rebel chapter had absorbed the men from a Diamante chapter there, which had shut down of their own accord, voluntarily relinquishing their charter. So much change in the power dynamics in four different regions had left many clubs feeling off balance, eyeballing the Rebels with concern at what looked to be a growing ambition for domination at a national level.
This did not leave any of them with an atmosphere conducive to trust and peace, so all Rebels were on high alert for any sign of retaliation or war. All their members had come to a place of paranoia, seeing enemies behind every bush, which was honestly the only way to stay upright and breathing. They had lost a few men to an ambush, and in addition, there had been several single-bike accidents that cost lives, seeming to happen without rhyme or reason. Each accident reviewed by the club’s officers with an eye towards cause. Maybe operator error, sliding out on the greasy wet of
a rained-on street. Or, maybe a tapout from a cage, the assassin’s car bumping the bike out of control, off the road. Difficult to say with each case happening in isolation. So much to consider, to think about.
Watcher gave him a look that told him the diversionary tactic was noted but accepted as he laughed. “Fuck absence making the heart grow fonder.” He grinned broadly. “Diamante’s absence makes my fucking dick hard. Glad as hell they aren’t an issue any longer. I know Bones feels the same.” Bones was the president of the Skeptics, and had been a Rebel friend for decades. Been a friend of Mason’s since before there was a club.
From there, Duck and Watcher traversed a dozen topics, their conversation sticking to club business. Duck was thankful to leave his life off the table for the balance of the meeting.
***
Brenda had forced herself to stay awake and was waiting for Reuben when he got back to the ranch. As far as she was concerned, there were no other choices, because she wouldn’t let it happen again. He didn’t get to just walk away, not like he had before. She needed him to tell her what had happened, not just snap phrases in her direction, riding roughshod over her own words. Over the past two hours, she had moved restlessly from seat to seat, trying to find a comfortable position, eventually coming to realize there would be no comfort for her this night, not while things were left unsaid.
The truck growled up the drive, headlights continuing to move for a moment after the engine cut off, gravel crunching underneath the still gliding vehicle until the squeak of the brakes signaled it pulling to a stop. The ka-chunk of the driver’s door closing caused her to draw a sharp breath, because he would be coming through the door any minute now.
Perched on one end of the kitchen table, she stilled her nervously swinging feet, bare toes curling tight until the muscles in her legs threatened a sharp cramp, uncurling slowly when, by her counted breaths, he should have already been inside. Quietly, she shifted on the hard surface, then heard the sound of booted footsteps outside. Gaze trained on the door, she waited. And waited, hearing her son turn over in his sleep overhead, the squeak of his bedframe witness to the restlessness of his rest.
Rebel Wayfarers MC Boxset 3 Page 46