by Nicole Snow
I take a deep breath.
My shaky fingers turn white at their knuckles as I grip the wheel.
Dear God.
If I wasn’t on the phone with Quinn, I’d be a basket case by now. I’m sure of it.
“Where are you?” I ask. “Are you close?”
“On my way.”
I smile at that, how I already knew.
“Where, Quinn?”
“In town, just coming out the other side. Is he closing in on your ass? Making any moves to try to ram you?”
Ram me? Holy hell.
That’s action movie stuff. The thought never even crossed my mind, and I hold in a breath as my eyes flick back.
“No. He’s still three or four car lengths behind the trailer.” The sign telling me the highway is coming up comes into view. “I’m almost to the highway again, right by the Bobcat, I think.”
“Perfect. I’ll be at Grady’s in a few minutes.”
“How fast are you driving?” I shake my head, knowing how long it takes to get out here from Dallas’ main drag.
“Why’s it matter?” he asks.
“Because you must be speeding! I don’t want you getting into trouble.”
“I know all the deputies. They won’t give me shit.”
I smile. “What about the highway patrols?”
“Tory, fuck. They won’t pull me over, either. Now stop talking crap and tell me you’re on the highway?”
“Almost.” I don’t turn on my blinker this time. Quinn will drive past this road on his way, so I ask, “Are you near the intersection?”
“I will be shortly.”
I slow enough to get on the highway.
“He’s right behind me now. Taking the corner onto the highway.”
“Okay. Chin up. Grady knows you’re on your way. He’s waiting in the parking lot.”
That makes me worry about his safety.
“Um, how long was that text you sent him? Sounds like you told him everything.”
“Can you see the bar?” he asks, ignoring my question.
“Nope, I haven’t topped the hill just yet.”
“You’ll be able to see it as soon as you do.”
“I know.” That’s why I said I hadn’t topped the hill, but no sense in pointing it out.
We’re both so keyed up it’s a miracle we can think. A double miracle, certainly, that I’m able to drive like this.
I glance at Owl, who stares at the mirror outside the passenger window like he also knows something’s very wrong.
“I can see the Purple Bobcat sign,” I tell Quinn a moment later.
“All right, slow down. Tell me if he brakes, too.”
I tap my brakes and turn on my blinker, then shut it off, knowing that would tell Polyphemus what I’m doing.
But before I can worry more, the Chevy changes lanes abruptly.
“He’s changing lanes. He’s...he’s passing me! Thank Gawd.”
“Perfect. Just pull into the lot. Can you see Grady?”
“I see someone standing next to a black truck. It looks like Grady, but I’m not there yet. He’s too far away. The Chevy just flew past the bar, by the way...”
“Okay. I’ll be there in a jiffy, Peach. Hang on.”
For him, I think I always will.
“I see Grady,” I say softly. “I’ll hang up now. See you soon. And thanks!”
“Don’t even, Peach. Don’t thank me,” he rumbles with an edge. “If anything ever happened to you, I’d...fuck. You know, Tory. I think you know.”
Suddenly I have a whole new reason to freeze up. The intense, ferocious, and adorably choked off way Quinn flipping Faulkner says he cares for me puts the whole car chase to shame.
Holy hell.
I wait until he says bye before hitting the end button and turning into the parking lot.
Then I brace for how obscenely hard I’m going to hug this man, and never, ever let go.
12
We’ve Goat Issues (Faulkner)
The relief that washes over me when my truck crests the hill and I see Tory’s trailer in the Purple Bobcat’s parking lot shreds me.
Son of a bitch.
She’s safe. She’s sound. She’s still in one gorgeous piece.
If the psycho following her had tried to run her off the road, there wouldn’t have been a damn thing I could’ve done.
I’m thankful as hell for small favors, even if it pricks up the hair on the back of my neck.
Somebody knew what they were doing, tailing my girl just enough to shake her up.
Wait.
My girl?
Shit.
I suck in a few gulps of air to anchor my nerves and try to get my head back in the right space.
Clearly, I’m the one who’s shook.
I ain’t thinking straight because it was too fucking close.
This can’t go on.
Can’t and won’t.
My original plan was to head for the dairy farm to check on her, but just as I’d been leaving town, Joyce Selleck called. I’d sent the video Tory took straight to Joyce’s lawyer this morning, after leaving Dean’s place.
I’d gone home then, to put out some feelers on Jean-Paul Delong.
William Selleck’s cheating ass on video—literally—was almost an afterthought.
The lady was mighty pleased with my work, though, and gave me a bigger paycheck than I expected.
Money I intend to split with Tory since those X-rated shots of Mr. Cheater were hers.
I turn into the parking lot, pull up next to Tory’s truck, and throw mine in park.
“Faulk, she’s fine,” Grady tells me under his breath as I race around the front of my truck to the door, pushing past him into the bar.
I have to see for myself.
The instant I see her, I’m glassed.
She’s parked on a barstool, looking drop-dead sexy as ever.
Being scared out of her wits does nothing to sand away her beauty.
I don’t even realize I’m standing there, gawking like a fool, until she pokes her head up and opens those lips I might die to taste again.
“Hey, Quinn,” she says, her smile wobbly. “Sorry for making such a fuss.”
“Don’t,” I growl, stepping forward, rapidly closing the space between us. “Don’t you even dare apologize. Not for doing the right thing.”
And the instant she stands, I can’t tell who ignites first.
All I know is my arms are wrapped around her, pressing tight, hoisting her off her feet as she squeals and locks her arms around my neck.
I want to kiss her so fucking bad.
But seeing how I’m already whacked out of my head and we haven’t even talked about my lips mauling her on the Ferris wheel the first time...I settle.
Settle for pushing her face to my shoulder, stroking her hair, breathing her in, convincing myself she’s okay, dammit.
She’s okay.
One more tight squeeze from her and a sky-blue glance, and I finally set her down.
Tory shakes her head, spilling her auburn curls everywhere.
“It was probably nothing,” she says. “He might even work for the Neuman’s, or maybe he was just going in the same direction as me. I’ve never met them. Uncle Dean set the job up. And the guy thought I was being kinda 'snotty' since he scared me, put me on edge, so—”
“Bullshit. He shouldn’t have followed you like that, whether he was a Neuman worker or not. I’m gonna follow up and find out, don’t you worry,” I say, trying to make her feel better.
The angry, black storm in my gut says there’s no fucking chance it was anything so innocent as a dairy farmer being a jackass on the road.
Still, I don’t want to scare her, freak her out, so I leave her with the slim possibility.
“I got a couple pictures of the truck as it blew past,” Grady says, joining us. “They might be blurry—my phone’s four years old—but maybe we can blow them up so you can get a license plate number or som
ething. I’ll text them to you, Faulk.”
“Thanks. I’ll send them to the sheriff’s office and the Neuman place, see if they can make anything out.” Not wanting to upset Tory more, I change the subject. “I sent Joyce Selleck’s lawyer the stuff we talked about. They’re both impressed. Don’t think he’ll have a leg to stand on in court. I ain’t no lawyer, but it sounds like North Dakota still recognizes fault in some cases, and this dude definitely didn’t just slip and fall into Rosie’s tits.”
Tory belts out an adorable laugh. I grin because it’s good to see her laughing again after what just went down.
“Damn, Faulk. You really outdid yourself, getting them in such a compromising position,” Grady says, giving a thankful nod. “Joyce already offered me a lifetime of babysitting, but of course I’m not biting and taking advantage. She’s already too good to my girls.”
“Gotta give credit where it’s due—Tory here shot the juiciest stuff at the rodeo,” I say, casting a proud grin her way. “Thank her for making Joyce’s prenup ironclad.”
“Thanks for helping Joyce out, Faulk,” Grady says, turning. “You, too, Tory.”
Her cheeks glow bashful pink.
“No problem.” Nodding, she adds, “Thank you for returning the favor today, Grady. I hope I didn’t cause much trouble for you and your customers.”
“None at all. It’s pretty dead right now before the regulars start rolling in for the evening.” Grady motions to the empty seats. “Why don’t you two stay a while? Beers on the house.”
“I wish I could.” Tory shakes her head. “But I have Owl to worry about and need to get home.”
“I need to get back to town, too,” I tell him. “Rain check, man. Thanks again for your help.”
“Anytime.” Grady slaps my shoulder with his big paw. “You know it.”
He waves at Tory one more time and then heads back behind the bar, doing what Grady does best.
“Are you okay to drive?” I ask her.
“I’m fine. Just embarrassed, really. I’m sure this was a bunch of excitement over nothing.”
And I’m absolutely sure it wasn’t. The pressure is on to tell her the truth.
The whole truth, but not here.
“I’ll follow you to Granny’s. Peace of mind.” I reach for my wallet and pull it out. “Oh yeah, and before I forget...half of this belongs to you.”
“You wrote me a check?” She looks up, confused.
“You did the lion’s share of the work with our little cheater bust at the rodeo. Fair’s fair, and I bet you can use the money. Don’t fight me,” I warn.
“Oh, Quinn, you don’t have to do that. The check or following me home...”
She tries to push the slip of paper back to me, the little minx.
I ain’t having it. Swatting her hand away, I grab it, open her palm, and then close her fist around it.
“But—”
“No buts, Peach. That’s the one thing we’ve got no time for today.” I shift my hand and give the back of her neck a soft squeeze. “I want you to keep it, just like I want to make sure you get home okay.”
Removing my hand, I lead her outside.
Tory follows, prettier than she has any business being under the evening sun. My eyes roam every chance they get as she follows me to my truck.
Once we’re there, I give the door a quick slap. “I’ll be right behind you. You good?”
With a slow, jerky smile, she nods. “Y-yeah. You’re a heck of a guy.”
Wrong.
I’m the whole reason she’s worried about mysterious wolves with sharp teeth chasing her out of the blue.
Still, I keep my mouth shut, flash her another easygoing grin, and climb in the driver’s seat.
She waits till I’m in my truck before getting back in Dean’s rig with Owl and pulling forward. Her trailer rumbles across the parking lot and then onto the highway.
I’m right behind her, and now that I’m no longer on the phone with her, I dial an old FBI contact who can drill deep. He’s got intense resources I don’t have in private security, even though he turned in his badge before I did.
Ever since we were classmates at Quantico, James Nobel left an impression I’ll never forget.
Always the smartest sounding dude in the room, platinum-blond hair like a prince, permanent stick up his ass with...well, everything.
I smile, knowing married life and years of working for Enguard Security out west has softened his assholery. Even so, I’m betting he’s still the sharpest tool in the box.
The call goes direct to his voicemail.
“James, it’s Faulkner. You got that stuff I sent over about Bart Pickett’s files being sealed a few days ago? I need an update, whenever you get a chance. Thanks.”
A sigh leaves me as I follow Tory into town.
I think I’ll always appreciate how the countryside just melts into Dallas like a Mayberry dream. Idyllic Midwestern fields give way to busy people on little streets, kids running along beside their parents with ice cream cones hanging in their hands.
It’s innocence itself, an oasis in a world full of lethal shitheels like the Pickett brothers and their corrosive drugs.
In the blink of an eye, I wonder what it’d be like to take Tory Three Names on a real date around here.
Not the kind where we wind up sharing burgers or giving into animal urges on a Ferris wheel we don’t talk about again.
More like the kind where it’s just us, easy conversation, and a lazy afternoon.
The kind where I’d have her hand in mine, and we’d browse the little shops, chit-chat with the locals, feed the ducks in the park, and then stop for a stolen kiss or two in the evening’s orange glow.
The kind where those greedy kisses wouldn’t stop with awkward second-guessing, but they’d lead us straight home, out of our clothes, into a frolicking flesh heap equal parts sugar and spice.
Yeah, fuck.
Silly as it sounds, I’d like that a lot.
I’d like to be with her, even if I know full well it’d only be temporary.
This morning, when I’d logged into the cloud she’d sent me with the Selleck stuff, I’d taken a few minutes to look at some of the other videos she had saved.
I’m normally not a snoop, but curiosity caught me by the balls.
Soon I was staring at Tory on the stage, dancing her heart out, graceful as a swan.
Everything Dean said was dead-on.
She’s one hell of a dancer.
Her style ain’t exactly the traditional ballet with tutus and old-timey shoes I pictured. It felt more like a blend of modern and traditional moves and music stitched together in harmony.
Energetic. Beautiful. Indescribably elegant.
I’m no artsty-fartsy guy, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
Never watched a ballet before, but the videos of her dancing were pure perfection as she moved, whirling in tight form, making her body an instrument of the music, arms and legs like spinning silks in the air.
Not a single missed step or stumble.
Dean described it perfectly when he said it was like watching a butterfly take flight.
Damn right it was.
In fact, if I hadn’t already sent out feelers about that Jean-Paul De-asshole, I’m not sure I’d want anything to do with keeping her away from home after watching those videos. They spoke loud and clear.
Tory needs to return to Chicago and her dreams.
Whether she dances with his outfit or another, she belongs on the stage.
Those videos showed her talent, her soul, how she’s in her glory while she’s moving like an angel, bathed in soft music and basking in bright lights.
It feels like it barely takes a few minutes before we arrive at Granny’s house.
Tory climbs out of the truck with Owl hot on her heels.
“Home safe and sound,” she says, more flippant than she appears as we meet near the front of my truck. �
��You’re free to get back to better things, I’m sure.”
The worry lines on her face are proof I haven’t been the only one thinking hard about a lot of things the whole way here.
They’ll ease, I’m sure, but it makes my blood go molten to think about her scared. I’d heard it in her voice on the phone during the chase.
Hell, she’d probably heard a little fear in mine, too.
“I, uh, better get Owl a drink of water. It’s hot out here.” She folds her hands in front of her.
The glance she throws me behind those long lashes tells me the prick from the Neuman place ain’t the only thing on her mind. I can also sense this isn’t the place or time to gab about us—for lack of a better two-letter word with infinite awkwardness.
So I manage a smile. “What time will the infamous eggplant parm be served tonight?”
“You don’t have to eat supper with us.” She shakes her head.
“Wrong, Peach. If I don’t, Granny Coffey will hunt me down like a rabid dog.”
The grimace she makes is not only cute, it tells me she knows I’m totally right.
“Six o’clock. Does that work?” she asks.
“Sure. I’ll be back with an appetite.”
“Thanks, and thanks again for...” She shrugs, meeting my eyes. “For everything.”
“It’s what I do.”
With a parting wink, I walk around my truck and get in, lingering till she’s inside before starting the engine and backing out.
Bearing gifts, I knock on Granny’s door a few hours later.
As usual, it’s Granny herself who answers the door.
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down,” she says, nodding at my full hands. “Time to face the music, punk.”
“Eggplant has a theme song? News to me,” I say with a grin.
Granny isn’t the least bit amused at my shitty joke till I hand her the wine bottle. A large one with a California label.
Her eyes light up.
“That’s for the trouble I’ve caused. Should help the medicine go down easier,” I say, then hold up the purple flowers in my other hand. “These are for the cook, something to match the stuff she’s preparing.” Finally, I pull out the big rawhide bone tucked under my arm. “And this is for your boy on four legs.”