Lucas (Texas Boudreau Brotherhood Book 5)

by Kathy Ivan

  “You’re singing our song.” He closed his eyes and hummed along with her, his expression so full of love it brought tears to Jill’s eyes. Watching these two, their love stronger than ever after all these years, gave her hope maybe one day she’d be lucky enough to have something of her own.

  “Love you,” Jill heard Douglas whisper to his wife, before taking her hand and spinning her out in the prettiest dance move, before twirling her back into his arms.

  “Love you too, cowboy.”

  The moment seemed suspended in time, and Jill turned away, not wanting to intrude on the magic. The sound of splashing water and masculine chuckles caused her to turn, and she saw Chance and Shiloh watching their parents, while Liam leaned against the ladder with an indulgent expression.

  “Back to work, sons.” Douglas turned Ms. Patti loose and walked over to the partially unpacked box holding the light fixture. Between him and Liam, they’d already managed to hang one. Guess that explained why the kitchen area lights were turned off. There was enough sunshine spilling through the big glass block windows to see by, but Jill couldn’t wait until they got the other three installed.

  Grabbing a bucket, she filled it with soapy water and joined in the cleaning. Half an hour later, Brody and Lucas came back, loaded down with the buckets of paint, drop clothes, rollers, brushes, and the other stuff she’d ordered. Nibbling on her thumbnail, she hoped her business partner liked her choices, because once they started slapping paint on the walls, it was a done deal. Besides, she’d already ordered the artwork, and the sign with her logo design was simply waiting on the bakery’s name.

  Which they’d just chosen, she realized.

  “Got everything you wanted, Jill. Mr. McAnaly said if you need anything else, he can whip it up in a jiffy. His words exactly.”

  “Thanks, Brody.”

  “Boys, stack everything in the front, and then grab some supplies. We’re going to finish up the cleaning today. Tomorrow, we paint!”

  Jill fist-bumped Ms. Patti’s raised hand, and everyone laughed, before hunkering down and getting to work. It was going to be a long day.

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was later than he’d hoped by the time Lucas caught up with Dante. After spending all day working at Jill’s bakery, the place shone from top to bottom. His back ached from scrubbing windows, especially when he’d had to climb a ladder to reach the upper ones. But it had been totally worth it to see the expression on Jill’s face when they’d finished. He had to admit, the place cleaned up well, and even with his limited imagination, he could picture it as someplace he’d want to spend time.

  Except he wasn’t going to be in Shiloh Springs long enough to enjoy the ambience or the baked goods.

  He hadn’t bothered going home to change, opting instead to keep on the battered and worn T-shirt and jeans he’d worn all day, figuring where he was headed, they’d help him blend in better than fancier duds. He pulled his car up alongside Dante’s beat-up pickup, right on the outskirts of Shiloh Springs’ county line and Burnet County. The area wasn’t heavily populated, and what few buildings remained were rundown, vacant, or had for rent or for sale signs in their windows. The place was little more than a strip mall which had seen better days. A smattering of cars populated the pitted parking lot, most like their locale, weatherworn and ancient.

  The passenger door opened and Dante climbed in, a baseball cap tugged down low over his eyes, a gray sweatshirt covering his torso. He probably wouldn’t draw a second glance from passersby, if there’d been any.

  “You sure you want to do this?”

  Dante scrubbed both hands across his face, never looking at Lucas. “Tell you the truth, I’m scared. I haven’t seen or talked to Junior since I promised Jill I’d quit going to his poker games. Dude, I’ve been cold turkey since. But it’s like an itch you can’t scratch, the urge to play one more hand. The promise Lady Luck will smile on you, give you the pot of gold you’ve always dreamed about.” He sighed, long and drawn out. “This sucks.”

  “I’ll figure out another way.” Lucas reached for the ignition, and Dante grabbed his hand.

  “Don’t.” He took a ragged breath. “I can do it, just gimme a second.”

  Lucas worried he might be asking too much of the younger man. He didn’t want to be the reason Dante got sucked back into the life, even if he swore he could handle it. Putting anybody in danger went against Lucas’ personal code of ethics, and he wasn’t about to let Dante walk straight into this particular lion’s den. Not if there was the slightest chance there’d be trouble.

  “I can figure out another way to get the info.”

  “Dude, I volunteered to do this. I want to take these guys down. For you, this is all about a story, exposing the ugly side of gambling to your readers.” He sat up straighter in his seat. “For me, it’s a way I can prove to Jill—to myself—that I’ve changed.”

  Lucas reached into the center console and pulled out the recording equipment he’d borrowed from his brother. Ridge wanted to come along and make sure there weren’t any problems or glitches, but he’d had an emergency at the last minute. Truthfully, Lucas thought his brother wanted to keep an eye on him and make sure he didn’t screw up. Once a big brother, always a big brother.

  The mic was small enough he doubted anybody would notice it, even if they frisked Dante. He had Dante pull the drawstring out from the hoodie, before sliding the mic into the opening where the drawstring would normally go. Unless somebody grabbed the guy by the collar, they’d never spot it.

  Lifting the recorder, he turned it on. “Say something so we can test the mic.”

  “What do you want me to say? Testing one, two, three?”

  Lucas played back the few brief words, and they came through loud and clear. Fingers crossed, distance wouldn’t be a factor or distort the quality, though Ridge assured him it shouldn’t be a problem. He used this particular model in his surveillance work, and Lucas trusted his judgment.

  “You know what to do, right?”

  “Easy. Go in, talk to Junior. Tell him I’ve got a buddy who wants to play. Give him your name—”

  “Not my real name.”

  Dante shot him a glare which could have peeled the flesh off his bones. “I’m not an idiot. You’re my friend, Luke, visiting your sister from North Carolina, and wanting to hook up in a nice friendly local game.”

  “Good. I’ll answer easily to Luke since it’s close enough.”

  “He might balk at first. Junior can be real picky about who he invites in. Tends to be super-suspicious of strangers.”

  Lucas nodded. “Which is why I need you to vouch for me. Once I’m in the game, you’re out. You do not play. I’m not going to be the reason you break your word to your sister.”

  “Not a problem, buddy. Let’s get it over with. He’s gonna want to get in touch with you, kinda feel you out before he gives the okay. You good with that?”

  “Yeah, I expected as much. You might mention you noticed I had a wad of cash, if you can work it into the conversation without looking obvious. Give him the number I had you put in your phone. It’s a burner, so he can’t track it.”

  “And you’re gonna be out here, in case things go south?”

  “I’m not going anywhere, and Rafe is a phone call away.”

  Dante scrubbed his palms against his jean-clad legs and nodded. “Alright. Here goes nothing.”

  He climbed from the car and headed toward a weather-beaten and worn storefront with the windows blacked out in places, and covered with yellowed newspapers in others. The unlit sign out front proclaimed it to be Henderson’s Hardware, although a battered for rent sign in the window told its own story. Dante’s shoulders were hunched, and his posture resembled that of a defeated, down-on-his-luck man, and not the young, full of life guy he knew.

  Dante rapped three times on the glass front door, each spaced out and deliberate. After two beats, he knocked two more times in quick succession, and then shoved his hands into his pockets,
head bowed. He stood there more than a minute, and Lucas couldn’t detect any movement from inside the darkness. After what seemed an eternity, the front door opened enough for Dante to slide through.

  Now all he could do was sit back and wait.

  Jill finished tying the last bag of trash, and carried it out the back door, tossing it into the dumpster. Back inside, she stopped and looked around the kitchen. The amount of work they’d accomplished was astounding. Everything shone beneath the artificial lights, the floors were spotless, and the metal tabletops gleamed.

  Ms. Patti promised they’d be back tomorrow after church to start painting. Things were progressing quicker than Jill thought possible, but then again, they usually did when Ms. Patti got involved. The woman could move mountains if she wanted, by sheer determination and stubbornness if she set her mind to it. And for some inexplicable reason, she’d turned all that focused attention on Jill.

  Tomorrow, she’d bring in the custom artwork she’d commissioned from her friend, Harper. The peach, cream, and green colors she’d chosen for the walls and trim might seem an odd choice for a bakery to others. Most of the more contemporary ones she’d seen in the big cities like Austin and Dallas tended more toward primary, bright pops of color, eye-catching and festive. Those worked well for their clientele, but her gut felt they were too modern, too hip, for Shiloh Springs. Instead, she planned a relaxed atmosphere, a little bit country but with a contemporary appeal. A place people could walk into and relax with friends. Which she hoped was reflected in her friend Harper’s art work. She also planned to have framed portraits of her baked goods along a display wall, with pretty green frames to match the trim paint. Seeing the actual cakes, pies, and other sweets in living color would hopefully encourage orders. At least that was the plan.

  With an official name for her bakery, Harper could finish the design she’d come up with for the bakery’s sign. Jill wanted a large chalkboard display as the backdrop behind the glass-fronted counters, with the bakery’s name in the center, and hand-drawn cupcakes, cookies, macarons, and other edible goodies drawn with chalk and then sealed for a rustic yet charming image. She’d seen something similar when she’d been in Dallas, and had fallen in love with the simplicity and timelessness of the design. When she’d shown it to Harper, her friend immediately sketched the perfect display piece, everything but the bakery name.

  How Sweet It Is. Jill smiled, recalling Ms. Patti and Douglas dancing in the center of the kitchen to a song only they could hear, confirming once again the name was the ideal choice.

  Locking the back door, she grabbed her purse and turned off the lights in the kitchen, and pulled the keys out of her pocket. Giving the place a final onceover, she grinned, an almost giddy feeling racing through her. It finally felt real, things were falling into place, and she was getting everything she’d ever wanted.

  Well, not quite, if she was honest. She didn’t have the man who still held her heart. The one she’d never gotten over, no matter how hard she tried. Lucas had captured her heart when she’d barely understood what love meant, and even though he wasn’t in the picture, not in any tangible way, she’d never been able to forget him, and probably never would.

  “Stop daydreaming about the one that got away. You can’t go back and change the past, any more than you can lasso the moon. Be happy with what you’ve got right in the palm of your hands, and hold on tight.”

  “Who are you talking to?”

  Jill screamed and spun around, hands balled into fists, the keys sticking out between her fingers, feet in a fighter’s stance. She’d taken self-defense classes a couple of years ago, when she’d been working late hours and going out to her car in a dark parking lot made her leery. Looked like some of those moves had stuck. She relaxed when she realized it was only Dusty Sinclair.

  “You scared me half to death. What are you doing here?”

  “I saw the lights on, and figured I’d better check things out. I heard you rented this space. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. I’m still pinching myself, because it feels a bit surreal that in a few weeks I’ll have a bakery.”

  Dusty grinned and pushed his cowboy hat a little farther back. “Well, I’m looking forward to it. Don’t get me wrong, Daisy’s Diner makes a mean breakfast, but nobody can touch your baked goods. I’ll be in line opening day, I guarantee.”

  “Thanks, Dusty. I’m really looking forward to seeing what I can do with the place. The equipment will be here soon. Paint’s going on the walls tomorrow.”

  “Need any help?”

  Jill shook her head. “Ms. Patti’s pretty much got it covered. She’s corralled all her sons and Douglas, and they’ll be here after church. With all those hands, it shouldn’t take long.”

  “Well, good luck. I’ll keep an eye on things when I’m doing my rounds.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  “You need a lift home?”

  Jill studied Dusty closely before shaking her head. They’d gone out a couple of times when he’d first moved to Shiloh Springs, and while he was a good man, somebody she trusted implicitly, she’d quickly figured out there wasn’t a spark. As a friend, she wouldn’t hesitate to call on him. Anything more simply wasn’t in the cards. He was such a sweet guy, and she refused to lead him on or give him false hope.

  “Thanks, I’m good.”

  “Alright. I’m on duty tonight, so if you need anything, give me a shout.”

  “I will. Thanks again for checking on the place.”

  “No problem. Take care, Jill.”

  After Dusty left, she turned off the lights and locked up. One of the things she liked about the new bakery space was its proximity to her apartment. Within walking distance, that alone would safe her tons in wear and tear on her old rust bucket of a car, not to mention gasoline costs. Turning toward home, she watched the sporadic headlights of the passing cars as she walked. It wouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes to reach her apartment, and it was a gorgeous night. Nary a cloud overhead, the stars twinkled like the backdrop for a painting. Small town at nightfall, the perfect place.

  She wasn’t sure why, but she’d barely walked a block before being overcome with the strangest feeling, like somebody watched her. Looking around, she didn’t spot anybody. The lights on either side of the front door to the sheriff’s department gleamed, illuminating the sidewalk for several feet. Yet she still felt uneasy. Not scared exactly. More like alert with a desire to be extra cautious.

  Shaking her head at her vivid imagination, she walked past the sheriff’s office, intent of keeping a tight rein on her thoughts. Halfway down the block, the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood straight up, and she clutched her purse closer on her shoulder. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being stalked. Hunted. And like prey, the fight or flight instinct kicked in. Adrenaline raced through her, spiking her anxiety and quickening her breathing.

  Refusing to let fear dictate her actions, she sped up. But she also wasn’t a fool and standing in the middle of the sidewalk with nobody around wasn’t the brightest idea either.

  She’d barely taken two steps when she heard it. Footsteps behind her. Like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming semi, she froze. There it was again—the tap, tap of heels against concrete. Her heart raced and she swallowed down the lump of fear lodged in her throat.

  Refusing to act the coward, she whirled around, intent on confronting whoever was stalking her. Only there was nobody there. The sidewalk behind her stood empty, the illumination of the streetlights and from the sheriff’s office the only things between the bakery and where she stood.

  I’m an idiot, jumping at shadows, letting my overactive imagination run rampant. Who’d want to follow me?

  Turning, she started back toward home, though the night no longer held the same beauty it had earlier. That sense of safety had disappeared and her anxiety ratcheted higher. Her pace increased with every step, until she was practically running by the time she turned the corner toward her apar
tment. Racing past the closed shops, she sprinted the last hundred feet to her apartment, and shoved the key into the door.

  Sliding the deadbolt into place, she leaned her back against the door, the breath soughing in and out of her lungs. Eyes closed, she took steadying breaths, willing her heartbeat to slow.

  She didn’t understand what had spooked her or why, but she did realize one thing. Tomorrow, she was driving to the bakery.

  From the shadows he watched, noted the exact instant she realized someone was following her. Her rigid posture. Hands gripping her handbag closer to her body. Cataloging every movement, he noted every nuanced action. He replayed every moment in his mind over and over, memorizing each detail later.

  He’d watched her most of the afternoon and into the evening. Saw people traipsing in and out of the place on Main Street. Of course, he recognized the Boudreaus instantly. Pillars of Shiloh Springs, easily identifiable, though he rarely ventured into their beloved town. He wondered how Jill ended up on their radar. She didn’t seem the type to catch the notice of the high and mighty Boudreaus. Jill’s family wasn’t from the same social class, didn’t breathe the rarified air of the high and mighty Boudreaus.

  Her footsteps quickened as she walked farther down Main Street, and his lips quirked up in a smirk. She was heading home. The place she felt safe. Would it surprise her if she knew how fragile that safety was? Would her heart race, her breaths quicken, when she realized her sanctuary had been breached before without her knowledge? Oh, he’d been careful the last time he’d visited. She never knew he’d been inside her sacred space.

  But he remembered every single detail. The scent of the candle beside her bed. The brand of lotion she lovingly spread on her body each night. The feel of the sheets that touched her body with an intimate caress while she slept burned into his subconscious.

  Oh, he’d been tempted to take a souvenir, a memento, something tangible and tactile he could hold in his hands whenever he thought about Jill. He remembered how strong she’d been standing up to him, her eyes flashing, contempt a visible, almost physical thing. Her brother hadn’t been a challenge; no, he’d been little more than a debt to be collected. But Jill Monroe? She was a prize worth pursuing. And he intended to capture the prize.