by Stacy Gail
“I’m good, thanks.” Celia laughed, smoothing her bright peach and white dress as she settled in. “How’s it drive?”
“Like a dream. I can’t wait to get her out on the open road. She might not look like much, but she’s a dragon ready to roar.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Celia grabbed up a menu from behind the napkin dispenser and pored over the selection like her life depended on it. “I wasn’t kidding when I said Coe’s a genius. He might look like a typical grease monkey, but his real money comes from various patents he and his wife have on all his brilliant little doohickeys. He’s not a billionaire like the Brodys, but he’s damn close.”
“Somehow I’m not surprised. At least by that.”
That was enough to snag Celia’s attention away from the list of food she seemed intent on memorizing. “What are you surprised by?”
“Coe’s profound lack of love for all things Brody. It’s the same with a lot of people at The Dive, my boss included, and he’s an Army vet who has integrity and a sense of fairness up the ying-yang. He can’t stand Killian in particular, and all the Brodys in general. Setting aside how I came to be here, the Brody brothers seem to be a pretty normal group of guys, so I’m not sure where the enmity’s coming from.”
Celia opened her mouth to answer, then paused when a waitress zipped by. After giving their orders of half-pound cheeseburgers with bacon and grilled onions, a couple Cokes and an endless basket of crispy fries, she leaned in close, inspiring Dallas to do the same.
“You were just a little kid when you and your parents left Bitterthorn, right?”
Dallas frowned, not sure what that had to do with anything. “Technically speaking, my dad left before us. He took off—and honestly, no one blamed him—and my mom and I went to live with her sister in Houston when I was eight.”
“So being a kid, you probably weren’t aware that the Brody family’s always been influential when it comes to just about everything that happens in this part of the world.”
Dallas felt her brows inch up. “Influential? They don’t seem the type.”
“I’m talking about historically speaking. The latest generation of Brodys aren’t as intent on shaping Bitterthorn into whatever they want it to be, but each and every one of them still has that aura of command that’s been handed down to them through the generations. And you have to admit, they are a pushy bunch. They want something done, they don’t stop until they have it done—either by their own hands, or they push someone to get it done for them. Your being here is a prime example of what the Brody mindset is—get it done, and damn the consequences.”
“You’ve mentioned before that they’re human bulldozers.” Dallas nodded. “I get it.”
“Exactly. It’s nothing personal, it’s just their nature. The thing is, when a bulldozer is also the richest guy in town, people start getting resentful. They start thinking the human bulldozer gets away with it because he’s a spoiled, privileged asshole who thinks he’s entitled to whatever he wants more than everyone else. That’s not the case, though. The Brodys could be penniless, and they’d still be bulldozers. They wouldn’t be the family that settled this wild, inhospitable land in the first place if they were genetically wired to be any other way.”
“They take what they want, when they want, with no apologies,” Dallas said slowly, then smiled her thanks at the waitress, who slid their steaming hot lunch onto the table in front of them. “Yeah, you’re right. My being here is proof of that.”
“But they give just as much as they take when they realize they’ve overstepped. They’re driven, yes, but they’re never deliberately cruel. They don’t have it in them.”
“Makes you wonder what the first Brodys were like, before there were things like towns and laws in this part of the world.” Dallas grabbed up a fry and bit into it, deliciously crunchy and salty on the outside, and piping hot and soft on the inside. Perfect. “Can you imagine what the original Wild West Brody was like? Today’s model is probably tame by comparison.”
“So says the chick who got yoinked by Killian and hauled hundreds of miles from her home while she kicked and screamed the whole way.”
Fair point. “I’m just saying, the veneer of civility probably keeps the Brody brothers from being all-out terrors. But we should never forget that from a genetic standpoint, all that wild caveman swagger is probably still there beneath the surface. Just think what the next generation’s going to be like.”
“I’d like to think that my genetic mix into the Brody gene pool will be just enough to reduce all that bossiness in Ry’s and my future kids.” Lifting the bun off her burger, she looked at the mound of grilled onions and bacon and inhaled deeply, like a sommelier enjoying a wine’s fine bouquet. “Will you look at all that decadent goodness? I’m going to have to starve myself for a day to... to make up for...” Vague anxiety rolled across her expression before she dropped the hamburger bun, darted out of her seat and ran for the bathroom.
“Celia?” Coming half out of her seat, Dallas hesitated, unsure if she should intrude. Then the waitress moved over, looking concerned.
“Is everything all right with your friend?”
“Oh, uh, I’m sure everything’s fine. I’ll just go check on her to be sure.” Dallas gave a quick smile before heading into the bathroom herself. “Celia? Are you—”
The sound of retching came from the nearest stall.
Yikes. Dallas would have guessed food poisoning, but as far as she knew the other woman hadn’t yet taken a bite.
“Oh, man, that was weird.” The toilet flushed and Celia tottered out, looking washed out and in definite need of a nice, soft bed. “I’m so sorry, Dallas. I had no idea that was going to happen. A few minutes ago I was starving. And, weirdly enough, I’m kind of starving now. But I don’t think I can eat what I ordered, which is nuts. I usually love all those grilled onions and bacon on my burger. But for some reason, the smell just really... the smell...” With an alarmed gulp, she wheeled back into the bathroom stall and threw up again.
“Well,” Dallas said after several moments, as a suspicion began to surface. “I know you’re not feeling great, but isn’t it kind of awesome we were just talking about this? The next generation of Brodys, I mean?”
“Huh?” Looking even worse than she did a few minutes ago, Celia staggered out of the stall, went to the sink and bent over the basin to wash her mouth out. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m not sure I know for a fact what I’m talking about, but I’ve got a pretty good hunch.”
“Dallas, what—”
“Is it possible you’re pregnant?”
“What? No. No, I... Wait.” Straightening, Celia stared off into space while counting on her fingers. As Dallas watched, her dark eyes went huge. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh?”
“I totally skipped this month.” She gulped in some air as she turned and caught Dallas’s hands in a death grip. “I could be pregnant.”
“You could be pregnant.” A little squeal escaped her when Celia began to grin in such a dazed and loopy way it looked like she’d been hit on the head with a goofy stick. “You need to make sure, though. Do you think you could eat?”
“God, no. Though I’m starving all over again.”
“Let’s order something else for you, like soup and saltine crackers or an English muffin, and then we can decide what to do. Do you have a doctor?”
“I do, and she’s just across the square at old Doc Benson’s place, so I can see her right after I get something on my stomach. Please don’t tell Killian about any of this,” she added, squeezing her fingers. “I don’t want to jinx it. For all I know, this is nothing more than the onset of some twenty-four hour stomach bug.”
“I plan on taking my new wheels out for a road test before heading into work at The Dive, so I’m not even going to be back at the ranch until late tonight,” Dallas said, then laughed when Celia hugged her. “I promise, if there’s anything exciting to report, you
’re going to be the one to do it. All I’m going to do is stay out of the way and out of trouble.”
“Famous last words,” Celia laughed.
Chapter Nine
“I don’t want to hear about your back problems, Gus. Next time you can’t do what I’m paying you to do, let me know about it before it’s almost three in the goddamn morning.” With that, Killian hit a button on the truck’s steering wheel to end the call, his eyes glued to the side of the road. After calling Gus to get a report on how Dallas’s night had gone—only to find out Gus had abandoned his babysitting job in favor of knocking himself out on muscle relaxers—he’d hightailed it to The Dive. Unfortunately it was now well after two in the morning, The Dive was closed, and no one was in sight. For the first time since she’d started working there, Dallas had no eyes on her, and he had no idea where she was.
This was a small town, yeah. But bad shit could happen to anyone, anywhere. Sure, she knew self-defense, and she’d definitely put his thumb out of commission for several weeks with her quick moves, but he’d still managed to drag her into his truck. And what if she’d been approached by more than one man? The guy Killian had thrown into The Dive’s parking lot had been with a drinking buddy. Maybe they’d come back looking for revenge.
Where the hell was Dallas?
She was a beautiful woman, his brain pounded at him relentlessly while the knot in his stomach tightened. Even if she wasn’t the kind of shocking beauty that stopped traffic, men would still fall over themselves trying to get her attention. She was smart. Funny. Spicy.
Irresistible.
If some bastard had set their sights on her, there wouldn’t be a place on this earth that fucker could hide. Killian would find him, and when he did...
The truck bounced as he turned off of smooth pavement and onto dirt track, driving through Green Rock Ranch’s wrought iron and malachite arch while the truck’s headlights carved through the night. He hadn’t seen her on the drive to the bar, and he sure as hell hadn’t seen her on the way back. He only hoped to God Manny gave her a lift home...
An unfamiliar car was parked in front of the main house, and for a moment all he could do was stare at it while the truck rolled to a stop. Then his attention bounced to the house. Like the beat-up clunker sitting in front of the verandah steps, the house was quiet as only a house can be in the wee hours of the morning. There wasn’t a light on anywhere that he could see from this angle, not even a porch light. It was as if everyone was...
In bed.
Rage roared through him in such a vast wave it was a wonder the world didn’t drown in it. The strength of it carried him out of the truck and up the verandah steps without him even being conscious of it. The front door was locked, but with a jangle of keys he passed that flimsy barrier like it was nothing before stalking straight for Dallas’s rooms. A faint light under the door and a shadow moving across it told him all he needed to know. Without a qualm, he threw open the door.
“Where is he?” He was almost deaf to her shriek, and he barely registered the sight of Dallas unhooking her bra while she stood next to the dresser in partially undone jeans. Wildly he cast about the room for the soon-to-be dead man who was enjoying her goddamn striptease. “Where the fuck is he?”
“Who?” With frantic movements she redid her bra before grabbing up a discarded T-shirt from the bed. She held it in front of her like a shield even as she whirled around to glare at him with such ferocity she looked almost unrecognizable. “Who the hell are you talking about? How dare you barge into my room—”
“Oh, I fucking dare. And just as soon as I find the asshole who drove you home, I’m going to dare to beat him to death.” With that, he flipped the twin mattress up so that it slid off the frame and onto the floor. “So he’s not under there, huh? Okay, let’s see if the fucking coward’s hiding in the closet.”
“Jesus, you’re crazy.” As he moved to fling open the bi-fold closet door hard enough to rip it partially off its track, she scrambled into the T-shirt. “You have no right to enter this room without my permission, do you hear me? You don’t own me, or this space.”
“I own this whole fucking house and everything in it, so that includes you.” He rifled through the few items hanging in the closet, furious when he got all the way to the end. Damn it. “Where is he?”
“In your head, you unbelievable madman. If my staying in your house makes you forget how to respect a person’s privacy, then I am fucking gone, do you hear me? The first foster home I had was run by a disgusting, sweaty pedo-perv who barged into my room or the bathroom whenever I was in there, but there’s no fucking way I’ll put up with that behavior now. I refuse to live in fear of some damn lunatic slamming into my personal space to scream at me and throw furniture around.”
“You’ll live how I tell you to live and stay where I tell you to stay,” he raged, not even hearing the words coming out of either of their mouths. He was too focused on the shaft of ice that went through him at the mention of her leaving. “Get it through your head that I’m the one in charge here. Now, where the fuck is he?”
Instead of cowering at the explosive sound of his bellow, she instead stomped an angry foot. “Who?”
“The cocksucker who owns that car out front. Who the fuck are you getting on your back for?”
Her sharply indrawn breath echoed in his ears. Then, without another word, she went to the dresser and pulled out a folded piece of paper. With her eyes filled with a vicious light that could have set the world on fire, she unfolded the paper and slapped it into the center of his chest.
“What the hell is this?”
She didn’t answer, just shoved again at his chest, this time hard enough to knock him back a step. That brought his hand up to snag up the paper, where he took half a second to scan it. Then, slowly, the words began to sink in through the rage blanketing his brain.
Title.
Ownership.
Ford Thunderbird.
Dallas J. Faircloth.
Oh, shit.
On the upside, no man had to be chased away.
On the downside...
Like a switch being thrown, the madness that had gripped him drained away, only to be replaced by a wave of something he wasn’t familiar with.
Shame.
“Dallas, I—”
SMACK.
The sting of her hand connecting with his face went to war with the ringing in his ear. Damn. She packed more of a punch than some men he knew. Then again, she had better cause to hit him than just about anyone he’d ever offended.
He only wished she could hit him harder. He fucking deserved it.
Clearing his throat, he tried again. “I—”
SMACK.
Okay.
The other cheek needed that, if only to even things out.
“Get. Out.” The words were soft, but they vibrated with the towering fury he could see burning out of control in her eyes. “Now.”
“I was completely out of li—”
This time she didn’t hit him. She plucked the car title out of his hand, tossed it aside and planted both hands into his chest to shove him back toward the door.
Shit, she really was stronger than she looked.
She gave him another mighty push, and he almost lost his footing as he crossed the threshold. By the time he got his feet back under him, she’d slammed the door with such force he suspected it might be embedded into the doorjamb. Then he heard a loud squeak followed by dragging sounds across the wooden floor.
She was moving something heavy. Probably the dresser.
Right in front of the door.
“You don’t have to do that.” He went to the door and braced himself on either side of it, gripping the doorframe so he wouldn’t go for the knob and make things worse. “Dallas, you don’t have—”
The door thudded with the impact of the heavy piece of furniture going up flush against it.
Goddamn it.
“I never thought I’d have to pull this t
rick again. Blocking a bedroom door.” Her voice was muffled, out of breath. Shaken. He hoped to God it was with anger, and not despair or worse, fear. “Always thought my life would be different when I was a grown-up. Guess I was wrong. When you have no respect for a person, why would you respect their privacy? Answer—you wouldn’t.”
He rested his brow against the door and cursed himself roundly. “Respect’s got nothing to do with what just happened.”
He couldn’t blame her for the scorn-filled laugh. “Yeah. You can say that again.”
“Dallas—”
“Just shut the hell up and leave me alone, Brody. I’m going to try to talk myself into changing my clothes without doing it in the closet the way I used to when I was a kid trapped in that first foster home. After all, the closet door’s busted, so trying to comfort myself with that added sliver of privacy is pretty pointless.”
He winced. “You have my word I won’t barge in again.”
“I’ve already made sure that you won’t, so go home, Brody. Just... go.”
And there it was, the one thing he’d dreaded hearing most of all—tears. Her voice was so thick with them, it cracked.
He was such a fucked-up bastard.
“You’re right. I haven’t shown you the respect you deserve.” He pressed a hand flat against the door, wishing in a hopeless kind of way that he could reach her instead. “From day one, I haven’t done anything right when it comes to you. That’s changing, as of now, and I’m going to prove that I respect everything about you. That’s a promise.”
He waited, but only silence answered him.
No surprise there.
With a rough sigh he turned and made his way to his truck. But his mind stayed on Dallas and refused to leave.
“You were right.” Celia’s happy voice came through the phone like audible sunshine, and just hearing it lifted Dallas’s bottom-of-the-barrel spirits. “I’m nine weeks pregnant, according to the doctor. I can’t believe I didn’t figure it out for myself.”