The Charmer in Chaps

by Julia London

  “No,” she said quickly, and pulled him back. “I, ah . . . I’ve got a bad headache,” she said, and winced.

  Luca stared at her, stunned. “Did you seriously just use the I’ve-got-a-headache excuse?”

  “It happens to be true,” she said, and winced again. Not as if she were in pain. As if she felt sorry for him.

  Something inside Luca detached and fell, some piece of him knocking against his organs and sending a shock up his spine. This was so wrong, so off, and he didn’t get it, and he knew instinctively that she was not going to tell him. He felt like an idiot. So he said, “Okay,” and leaned in and kissed her.

  Ella lingered, folding into him, as if she wanted him to kiss her, as if she wanted him to make love to her, and Luca was so flummoxed that he stepped back, downed the water, and without a word, walked out of her house.

  She followed him, and on the porch, she slipped her fingers into his. He clutched her hand as they walked down the steps to his horse, where Buddy was stretched out in the shade the horse provided. Luca racked his brain—had he said anything? Done something to offend her? But finding nothing, he took the head-on approach. “Is there anything you want to tell me, Ella?”

  Her lashes fluttered, and she averted her gaze, looking at the ground. “No, nothing. I’m sorry,” she said, and lifted her gaze to him. “I’m just having an off day.”

  “Is it your period?” he asked, hoping that he wasn’t out of bounds.

  She shook her head and looked at the ground again. “A headache.”

  “Ella,” he said, and dipped down so that he was eye level, forcing her to see him. “You can’t even look at me.”

  “Yes, I can,” she said, but she was looking away. “My head is killing me, Luca. I’m so sorry, but I don’t feel good.”

  He did not believe her. Not for a moment. But he swung up on his horse and leaned down one last time to kiss her. “Call me when you feel better, okay?”

  “I will,” she said, and she looked as if she wanted to cry.

  Luca reined away from her and spurred his horse to a canter.

  He already knew she wouldn’t call. He had rarely been on the receiving end of a breakup, so he was no expert, but this had all the signs of it, and he felt like he would be sick.

  For the first time ever, he wasn’t ready for a relationship to end. And he didn’t have a clue how to stop it.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Ella stood in the very spot Luca had kissed her before he mounted his horse. She watched him ride across the field, wanting to shout at him to come back. Wanting to drop to her knees and confess everything.

  But she didn’t.

  She wrapped her arms around her and went back inside. When she shut the door, Stacy came out of the bedroom. “Was that a booty call?”

  “No.”

  “No!” Stacy laughed with disbelief. “What else do you call it? He rode over here in the middle of the day like the Marlboro man because he wanted to fuck you.”

  Ella winced at her choice of words. “Please don’t say that,” she said. “It’s not like that.”

  Stacy stared at her. “Oh my God, Ella . . . you’re not really falling for his bullshit, are you?”

  “It’s not bullshit—”

  “Sure, you tell yourself it’s not,” Stacy said. “But we both know it is.”

  This was so typically Stacy—every man was a dick. “Why are you doing this?” she suddenly exploded. “Could you for once let me have something without ruining it? Just once, Stacy!”

  Stacy gasped. “Wow,” she said. “So I ruin everything, is that it?”

  Ella groaned. She didn’t want to fight. “I’m sorry—”

  “No, don’t be sorry,” Stacy said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “The truth comes out when we’re pissed. And honestly, I’d rather know the truth from you than have you be another liar in a long line of them,” she said, and marched into the kitchen.

  Ella marched after her. “You want the truth? Okay, here it is—I’m pissed that you have to run it down because I really like Luca, Stacy.” She more than liked him. She thought she might actually love him.

  “I’m not running it down, Ella. I’m giving you a freaking reality check, okay? Because I don’t want you to get hurt! I know you better than anyone else, and I know you keep your heart so guarded because it breaks so easily, and trust me, that guy,” she said, jabbing her finger in the direction of the door, “is going to break your heart.” She reached into the fridge for a soda.

  “No, he’s not,” Ella scoffed.

  “Okay,” Stacy said. “So where is it going with you two? Do you think he’ll actually marry you?”

  “I don’t know!” Ella said angrily. She had not allowed herself to think that far ahead. “You don’t even know him.”

  “I’ve known a dozen Prince Lucas. The music industry is crawling with them. They wine you and dine you, but they only want one thing, and when they get tired of it, they get tired of you. The moment you tell them you don’t know who your parents are, they get tired of you. The moment you tell them about the time your foster dad touched you, or admit that no, you weren’t a cheerleader because you were in juvenile detention, they are through with you.”

  “That’s you, Stacy,” Ella said. “Not me.”

  “Oh, really?” Stacy asked with a withering look. “So have you told him about your mother?” she asked, and brushed past Ella on her way to the living room. She plopped down on the couch. “You’d be doing yourself a huge favor if you forget this high school fantasy and come to Nashville with us.”

  “Are you crazy?” Ella cried. “How do you know you won’t be in jail?” This had been an ongoing theme since Ella had found Stacy in her living room, hiding from the sheriff of Cimarron County. Stacy tried to paint it as the two of them united against the world. Ella kept reminding her that she was the one who had fought the sheriff, taken his gun, and threatened him with it.

  It didn’t matter that the sheriff had tried to rape her. It was Stacy’s word against his.

  “I believe in karma,” Stacy said. “You can be our accountant slash manager. Managers make good money.”

  “I don’t know anything about managing a band,” Ella impatiently reminded her. Stacy seemed to think all she had to do was say she was a manager, and voilà, Ella suddenly possessed knowledge and skills.

  “We don’t know anything about the recording industry either. We’re all learning as we go. Come on, El, what are you going to do here? Live in a house that’s falling down around your ears and pick up more church-lady clients?”

  How was it that every time Stacy talked about Ella’s life, she made it sound so sad? “Stop,” Ella said sharply. “At least I don’t have a sheriff looking for me right now. Maybe don’t worry about me and worry about what you’re going to do with yourself.”

  Stacy’s face suddenly fell. “I know,” she said morosely. “You’re right. I’ve been thinking about what happened, and what to do. But the thing is, no one will believe me. You know they won’t.”

  Ella didn’t want to say it, but she was right—no one would believe Stacy Perry.

  Stacy had told her everything, beginning with how the sheriff’s sexual harassment had escalated. All those weeks Stacy was trying to talk to Ella, and Ella had been avoiding her, Stacy had been fending off his advances. The night Ella had been living a dream in Luca’s loft, Stacy had worked late, trying to make some extra money. The sheriff had stayed after everyone had gone, and when Stacy refused his blatant advances, he’d gotten angry and tried to rape her. But Stacy was a street fighter, and she’d fought back. Somehow, in the struggle, she’d grabbed his gun. And then she’d pointed it at him and threatened to shoot him.

  The sheriff was furious and swore he would lock her up for good. He told her he could easily trump up some theft charges, because everyone aro
und town knew she was stealing.

  “Mariah must have told him,” Stacy had said tearfully. “I can’t believe she ratted me out!”

  The sheriff had mentioned some other things—a bracelet, a pair of shoes, someone’s phone—that Stacy swore on her life to Ella she’d not taken as she’d dabbed at her tears. “I swear it!” she’d said when Ella appeared dubious. “But it doesn’t matter! He’ll make sure there is evidence to support whatever he arrests me for.”

  “Is there anything else?” Ella asked. She’d been trying to assess the damage, to understand how much trouble Stacy really was in—and by extension, herself.

  “No,” Stacy had said, and had buried her face in a pillow and sobbed.

  Over the next two days, as they’d debated what to do, Ella had determined that the biggest problem was the gun. She tried to convince Stacy to turn it in anonymously. “Leave it on the office doorstep,” she said.

  “I think I should dump it in that lake behind your house,” Stacy argued.

  Ella instantly thought of Luca and how he’d talked about the delicate ecosystem in that spring. “Great, and when you’re gone and they find it, they charge me?”

  “You’ll be long gone,” Stacy had said.

  “No, Stacy, I won’t!” Ella had shouted at her. “This is my house. I’m not leaving it.”

  “Why are you so married to this house?” Stacy demanded. “Because it’s not much of one, Ella. It’s like you’re clinging to an empty box, some place to hide yourself from the world. It’s basically just another wall, don’t you get it? Come with me to Nashville. Start fresh.”

  “I am clinging to it because it is mine, Stacy. No one can move me to another foster home. I belong to this house, and it belongs to me.”

  Their arguing had bled into today, and it had only gotten worse. Stacy had begged Ella to pick up a prepaid cell phone for her. Ella had finally given in. Stacy had called Wells, the guitar player in her band. Wells reported that a sheriff’s deputy had pounded on his door this morning asking if he knew where she was. “He said they’ve got an arrest warrant,” Wells said.

  “No, they don’t,” Stacy had scoffed, but had pulled a face of sheer panic to Ella.

  She ended the call, tossed the phone into her purse, and said, “I have to get out of here. I’m going nuts.”

  “Could you get a lawyer?” Ella asked. “Tell him or her what happened?”

  “I hardly have enough money to move, Ella. How am I going to pay for a lawyer? Anyway, I’m not missing my chance to go to Nashville.”

  It was as if she thought if she made it in Nashville, all would be forgotten. “You can’t run from this, Stacy.”

  “Like hell I can’t,” Stacy had muttered. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I was defending my—” She suddenly paused and slapped a hand to the window, peering out. “Oh my God,” she said. “Oh my God!”

  “What?” Ella ran to the window to look out and saw what had Stacy hyperventilating next to her. A sheriff’s patrol car was coming down the road to her house. She and Stacy turned stunned gazes to each other. Then Stacy ran into the bedroom and shut the door.

  Ella tried to calm her heart. She walked in a tight circle, shaking her hands, taking deep breaths. Pretend it’s drama class. The shut of the patrol car door made her jump.

  “You’re in a play. You’re acting. Act!” It was a trick she’d taught her teenage self—never let them know how you really feel.

  She heard the footfall on the steps, the creak of the porch under a man’s weight. And then the inevitable knock on the door. Ella’s heart was beating so hard that she was certain he would be able to see it leaping out of her chest. She took several deep breaths, then went to the door and opened it. She said nothing but stared at the sheriff through her screen door.

  “Hello,” he said, and cupped his hand around his eyes, leaned forward, and peered in. “Ella Kendall, right?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “You have a couple of minutes, Miss Kendall?” he asked congenially.

  “I really don’t,” she said, and looked at her watch. “I have to get to work.”

  “Do you? Because I swung by the Magnolia and they said you weren’t on the schedule.”

  She wanted to kick herself. “I’m also an accountant.”

  The sheriff gave her an oily little smile, yanked her screen door open, and stepped inside, almost knocking her over as he pushed past her. “By all means, come in,” she said wryly.

  “I’m looking for a friend of yours,” he said, as he looked around her cluttered living room.

  Ella saw Stacy’s purse on the chair. Her purse was on the kitchen table. Her palms turned damp. “Who?”

  “Stacy Perry,” he said, watching her closely.

  Ella furrowed her brow. She shook her head. “I haven’t seen her in weeks.”

  “Have you talked to her?”

  “Nope.” Ella slipped her hands into the pocket of her dress and hoped he couldn’t see her shaking. She felt like a quivering mass of gelatin.

  “You sure about that?” He hooked his thumbs into his gun belt and glanced around the room, his eyes lingering here and there.

  “Yes.”

  “Not even a phone call? A text? I thought you two were friends.” He looked at her again.

  Ella’s heart was racing ahead of her thoughts. “She’s been calling, but I haven’t picked up.”

  “Why not?”

  Ella could feel the panic growing in her, slowly clawing its way up her throat. Any moment now, she would be choking with it. “I’m pretty mad at her right now, to be honest. I don’t want to talk to her. Why are you looking for her?”

  “Why are you mad at her?” he countered.

  Ella sized him up. “She doesn’t like my boyfriend.”

  He gave her that snakish smile again. “Who, Luca Prince?”

  How did he know that? Ella did not move. She refused to give him any more than he already knew.

  “I’d really like to talk to her. I don’t like people stealing in Cimarron County, Ms. Kendall.”

  “Stealing!”

  “You heard me.” The sheriff moved closer to where she was standing. He was a big man and a rapist, and he was looming over her. “You know what I hate worse?”

  Ella shook her head.

  “Someone who helps a person like that.”

  How she managed to keep her composure, Ella couldn’t say. But she responded, “You and me both, sir,” as if they’d both appeared at her house riding the same high horse.

  The sheriff’s eyes took on a sheen she didn’t like, and his gaze drifted slowly down her body. “You like Luca?”

  That caught her off guard, and her mask slipped. “What?”

  The sheriff smirked. “I’d be careful if I were you. I wouldn’t want him to hear anything bad about you. Anything that might cause him to push you off the gravy train.”

  The swell of indignation in her was so swift she had to quickly swallow it down to keep from punching him in the mouth. “And what would that be?” she asked as casually as she could.

  “Like . . . you’re harboring a fugitive from the law.”

  “Except that I’m not harboring a fugitive.”

  “Well, if that’s true, you won’t mind if I have a look around, will you?” he said.

  “I mind your being in my house at all, sir. I’ve done nothing wrong and I don’t like the insinuations. Don’t you need a warrant or something to come in here?”

  “Don’t get uppity, Ella,” he said smoothly. “I’ve been looking at some records, and you and Miss Stacy have been in trouble more than once.”

  She stilled. “I haven’t been in any trouble.”

  “Not you? Then why is your name on the incident report at the Dollar Store?”

  This was exactly what Ella had tried to m
ake Stacy understand. She had not been arrested, only because they found no merchandise on her. But she was guilty by association. She narrowed her gaze and said, “Are you talking about something that happened thirteen years ago? I’m sorry, sheriff, but unless you have a warrant or whatever, I need you to go. I have to go to work.”

  He chuckled as if she amused him. “Okay, Ella. I’ll come back when I have that warrant. In the meantime, I’ll be watching every little thing you do. I’ll see you at the Magnolia Bar and Grill.” He smiled and looked around her living room again, his gaze lingering on the closed bedroom door, and then sauntered out.

  Ella was shaking so badly that she could hardly lock the door behind him. She grabbed the windowsill to keep from collapsing and watched him drive away. When she was certain he wasn’t going to turn around, she shouted, “Okay!”

  Stacy quietly opened the bedroom door. “We have to get out of here,” she said.

  “No, you have to get out of here,” Ella countered. She picked up Stacy’s purse from the floor and pushed it against her. “I’m not going to jail for you, Stacy. Get someone to come pick you up.”

  “Who? And how?”

  “He knows you’re here!” Ella exploded, her arms flailing as she pointed at the door.

  “No he doesn’t—he’s too stupid.”

  Ella gaped at her. Stacy lived every day as if she were a fugitive. She didn’t take life seriously; she just flitted about, expecting that everything would work out like she wanted. She was always criticizing Ella, telling her that she had this giant wall around her, and maybe she did, but at least Ella took her life seriously.

  It had been only a couple of days ago she’d had that magical, beautiful evening with Luca. She had never felt that alive in her life. Like she mattered to someone. Like she could be normal for once in her life. And here was Stacy, ready to bring it all crashing down around her. “I don’t know how you do it, Stacy, but I want you out.”