Under the Gun

by Kelsey Browning

  After that run-in with Lady KitKat in the mausoleum, Abby Ruth had realized she had to take charge and make sure she received the medical treatment she needed. And as soon as possible.

  Yes, that ghostly encounter had reduced her pain, but the only thing that would help her beat this cancer was modern science and the support of her friends and family. So there was absolutely no reason she needed to admit to anyone that a ball of light might’ve made a difference. Because that just wasn’t something a Cady would do.

  Still, the decision to move forward had been harder than getting that biopsy done. Funny that going for the lumpectomy, real surgery, hadn’t scared her a bit.

  Jenny reached across the seat and grabbed her hand. “You doing okay, Mom?”

  Radiation seemed different. More invasive and frightening. But she wasn’t about to admit that to her baby girl. “Right as rain.”

  She’d heard they’d tattoo her. Simple blue-gray dots, not much bigger than a freckle, marking the exact spots where the radiation would be targeted.

  If she decided to do it, when this crap was over, she’d turn those marks into something that represented good, not a constant memory of cancer. Bullet holes might be funny. Okay, that would freak people out. Maybe Texas stars? Or a baseball? She had plenty of time to contemplate that over the next couple of weeks.

  They parked in the underground lot reserved for the cancer treatment patients, and sweat pooled under Abby Ruth’s armpits. No deodorant, antiperspirant, or powder on the most nerve-racking day of her life. She felt like she already smelled funky.

  Not a recipe for a close-up pleasant interaction. Hopefully Dr. Dempsey would stay far enough away from her not to notice. Of course, the no-perfume-products was his darned rule. And if he decided she didn’t need more x-rays or another mammogram or what-the-hell-ever, it’d serve him right to have to smell her stinking pits.

  Jenny clung to her hand as they followed the signs into the hospital, the sound of their cowboy boots against the concrete echoing through the parking garage. “You made the right decision, Mom. Thank you for at least agreeing to discuss the radiation before making a final decision.” But Jenny’s shaky voice didn’t reassure Abby Ruth one bit.

  Abby Ruth hitched her chin, giving Jenny’s hand a quick squeeze.

  The big glass doors parted with a muted swish and they entered the hospital only to come face-to-face with a life-size cardboard cutout of none other than Red Jensen. The now retired Houston Astros Hall of Famer was grinning at Abby Ruth with that perfect smile, and she almost choked on her own spit.

  That smile used to make her knees feel like she was trying to spin a hula-hoop around them.

  Why in hell’s blazes was Red’s likeness plopped smack-dab in the middle of this lobby? She blinked and refocused, but the cardboard man was no illusion.

  Thank God it was just a replica. Probably some sports medicine thing.

  Abby Ruth took long purposeful strides toward the elevator, trying to skirt the grinning 2-D ballplayer as if it wasn’t standing there in all its six-foot-four glory, but she couldn’t resist glancing closer.

  Jenny didn’t seem to notice the cardboard Houston Astros player giving them the eye because she chatted on about Grayson’s puppy, Bowzer, and his propensity to chew on clothes and furniture instead of his many toys.

  One step beyond the cutout, and Abby Ruth breathed a sigh of relief.

  Only to have it clog in her chest a second later.

  Because the man who’d just turned the corner and was walking her way was completely three-dimensional. That 2-D cardboard couldn’t compete on any level, because no one could duplicate Red Jensen’s confident stride.

  No. Hell, no. This is not happening, today of all days.

  She squared her shoulders and resisted the urge to take in every inch of him. Had he aged well? Had his skin wrinkled? Was his hair thinning?

  Do not look.

  She laser-focused her gaze on the elevator button and used it like a lighthouse in a hurricane. No wavering. No blinking. No peeking.

  Under her breath, she counted the steps that would take her to those silver doors and out of danger. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Keep moving. One foot in front of the other. Six. Seven. Eight.

  “Abby Ruth Cady?”

  She kept walking, her heart beating so loudly she couldn’t hear her boots click against the tile. Maybe her feet weren’t moving. She couldn’t rightly tell, because a humming whir of energy buzzed through her, blocking out all her other senses.

  “Abby Ruth?” His familiar voice ricocheted through her brain like an old pinball machine. No. They didn’t know each other at all. Not after all these years.

  “Mom!”

  At the sound of Jenny’s voice, Abby Ruth stopped. Hesitated for a two count, then turned.

  And no, she hadn’t imagined the man dressed in a blue sport coat and an orange-and-navy tie. Of course, Astros colors.

  But what made her blood go icy was watching Red cast a lady-killer smile at Jenny. Her Jenny.

  “I never expected to run into Abby Ruth Cady today. What are y’all doing at the hospital?” Red asked.

  “Well, my mo—” Jenny started.

  Abby Ruth cut her off. “Red Jensen. What a surprise.” And although the years were evident—his skin slightly leathery from all of those years in the sun, and shimmering gray streaking through his hair—he was still every bit as handsome as he’d always been.

  “I take it you two know one another from your time covering sports at the newspaper,” Jenny said.

  “Yep,” she rushed out, still edging toward the elevator. “That’s exactly right.”

  “She’s the biggest Houston Astros fan in the world,” Jenny said. Then she lowered her voice so only Abby Ruth could hear. “Even if you did almost sell your favorite jersey.”

  “I seem to remember that.” Red held out his hand to Abby Ruth, but she just stared at it as if he had a knife in it. After a few seconds, he dropped it back to his side. “It’s been a long time.”

  Abby Ruth could smell her own panicked sweat. Even her short hair was wilting against her head. And the weight she’d lost over the past month made jeans droop as if she’d borrowed them from a shaplier girl. Not the impression a woman wanted to make on an old flame.

  “It has been a while.” She forced her words out. Over thirty years. “I haven’t covered a ball game in three years. Young sports journalists come cheap.”

  “I never was a fan of cheap imitations,” Red said, and then there was that smile again. “No one could hold a candle to you. You were one of the best, but retirement suits you. You look good.”

  He must be going blind in his old age, because good wasn’t a word she’d use to describe herself today.

  She glanced over to find Jenny beaming at Red. Lord, she wished now she’d come alone.

  “What are you doing in Atlanta?” Jenny asked Red.

  He turned his attention to Jenny, but he kept glancing toward Abby Ruth as if he were afraid she’d jackrabbit. “I’m the celebrity spokesperson for MS awareness.”

  MS. Those two letters were like hollow-point bullets to Abby Ruth’s heart. Multiple Sclerosis was the debilitating disease that had dominated Red’s family life back when Abby Ruth knew him.

  A disease that had, in some ways, changed her whole life.

  But in response, she simply smiled and nodded. “We’ve got to run. Really nice seeing you.”

  She turned and headed for the elevator. Good Lord, the last thing she needed was Red back in her life. Jenny stood off to one side at the elevator bank, and Red strolled back up to Abby Ruth.

  She stabbed at the button again.

  “Married?” Red asked.

  “Are you talking to me?”

  “Yes, you. Did you get married? Is that what brought you to Georgia?”

  Abby Ruth refused to face him. “No. My truck brought me to Georgia.”

  Red laughed. “Same old quick wit. Sure is good to see you, Ru.�
�� He stepped between her and the doors, forcing her to meet his gaze. “You never said what you’re doing here. Please tell me you aren’t sick.”

  His green eyes mesmerized her for several seconds before she broke away and tapped her watch. “I’m running late.”

  “Dinner?”

  The elevator doors finally opened, and Abby Ruth dove between them, but Red threw his still impressive forearm out to keep it from closing as Jenny stepped inside behind her.

  “Dinner with me tonight. Please. For old time’s sake.”

  “I’d love to. But I’m in a hurry and we’re headed right back to Summer Shoals this afternoon. It was great to see you.”

  “Summer Shoals?”

  Why in the world had she let that slip? Cady, you’re getting sloppy, and sloppy is dangerous.

  Jenny spoke up. “Couple hours southeast of here.”

  “No problem. I have this one last talk here today, then I’ve got nothing to do.”

  Abby Ruth glanced at his left hand, specifically at his ring finger. The band he’d always worn—titanium with Houston Astros blue baseball stitching on it—was no longer there. Could he be divorced? No. Don’t go there. He would’ve never divorced Linda.

  And for Abby Ruth, seeing him again wasn’t a simple stroll down memory lane. It was a walk off a plank into shark-infested waters. Too much time and too many secrets there.

  “I thought maybe you’d heard,” he said, his voice low. “Linda passed away.”

  “I’m so sorry, Red.”

  “It was pneumonia, so not a total surprise.”

  Years ago, Abby Ruth had read enough about the disease to know pneumonia was one of the more common complications of MS. “She was lucky to have you.”

  “I tried to call you. After.”

  A buzzing started in Abby Ruth’s head, but it took her several moments for her to realize it was the elevator’s open-door warning instead of her internal emotional alarm sounding.

  “About dinner,” Red said. “I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  She knew Red Jensen better than anyone, and when he said he wasn’t taking no for an answer, he meant it.

  “I’ll find Summer Shoals and meet you there tomorrow night. I’m just one of them roamin’ chickens these days, so I got nothing but time.” He pushed some buttons on his phone and shoved it into Abby Ruth’s hand. “Give me your number.”

  She let out a breath and glanced over at Jenny, who was watching them with a smile. If she only knew the truth, she wouldn’t be grinning. And any argument from Abby Ruth would make Jenny ask more questions, because this was Red Jensen after all. And he sure did look fine. Better than fine. “Here.” She punched in her phone number and handed it back to him.

  He pressed the button and the sound of a machine gun came blaring from Abby Ruth’s purse. She went for her phone.

  “Don’t bother. It’s just me.” He grinned and gave her a wink. “Making sure it wasn’t the Dial-A-Prayer number. Someone did that to me once.”

  Yeah. That someone had been her.

  He disconnected the call, and her purse went silent. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow evening.” He pulled his hand from the elevator door and stood there smiling as it closed.

  “Mom! Oh, my God. Red Jensen is taking you to dinner. You’ve still got it!”

  “Stop that, Jenny. We worked together. I must’ve interviewed him a hundred times in his career. Got him lots of press, which probably helped him land all those pain reliever and truck commercials. He’s being polite, because at our age being alive is reason enough to meet for a meal.”

  “Oh, please. I think this is a sign you’re going to be fine,” Jenny said, tapping on the elevator wall. “He might be your future knocking.”

  “For Pete’s sake!”

  “Don’t deny it. Come on. Any woman would be happy to go out with him. He’s still as handsome as any movie star his age. I can’t wait to tell Teague we met him.”

  Oh, seeing Red again after all these years was a sign all right, but not the one Jenny had fabricated in that romantic mind of hers. Because at that moment, Abby Ruth was convinced this was likely the worst day in her life.

  After crossing paths with Red and their past taking over her whole brain like a spider wrapping its prey, she was only able to half listen to the doctor. If Red wasn’t distraction enough, no one had warned her that Dr. Dempsey—who was supposed to be the best in his field—was also the best of the best when it came to good looks. With his thick blond hair and a charming smile, he was a messenger of hope today. But all Abby Ruth could think of was that if her secret with Red came out, it might be worse than a bad prognosis.

  Walking out of Dr. Dempsey’s office, Abby Ruth hugged the file folder of information close to her white shirt. I have options. Good news. So why can’t I think about that instead of Red?

  “Mom, I’m scared. Why didn’t you agree to the radiation? You’re going to do it, aren’t you?”

  “You need to quit surfing the internet. All the margins are clear. You heard Doc. It’s my choice. I can do radiation or not and, quite frankly, I’d like to put this all behind me and forget about it.”

  “I know it’s your life, but I need you and Grayson needs you. We all do. Cancer isn’t something you can simply forget about.”

  Lord, that was the truth. In fact, the more people who knew about her situation, the more real it seemed to become. And the more real it became, the more strangled she felt by it all. “Although you seem to think I’m addle-headed, I don’t plan to take risks. I still have plenty of kicking up my heels to do. We’re Cady women, and there are no weenie women in the entire Cady family tree. We meet our problems straight on, and that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

  “What does meeting this head-on mean, Mom?”

  “There are side effects and trade-offs with continued treatments too. I’m still numb from that lumpectomy. I can barely hold my AR-15 without a constant reminder of what I just went through. There are options, but the only person who can pick the right one is me.”

  Chapter 20

  The strain between Marcus and Sera was getting harder and harder for her to take since she’d voiced her concern about him shooting at Summer Haven. Lord, she wondered if that Lady KitKat orb could cure what was ailing her and Marcus these days. He was feeling it too, because he’d made himself less scarce since their outing, or maybe it just seemed that way. Sera got dressed while he snored, rolling over to hug the pillow she’d moved into her spot before she slipped out of bed. He’d been up late last night scribbling furiously in his notepad, definitely in project mode again.

  Sera went downstairs feeling a little like she didn’t belong anywhere right now, and she didn’t like that feeling. Unsettled. That’s what she was feeling, kind of like Abby Ruth and her treatment plans. Just unsettled.

  In the kitchen, Maggie was chopping and dicing the ingredients for potato salad.

  “Need help?” Sera asked.

  “Chop.” Maggie nodded toward a cutting board and celery. “You look like you have something on your mind. Chopping is good for that. And with all this stuff with Abby Ruth hanging over us, we probably could all use a chopping hour. What’s wrong?”

  Sera shot a quick glance toward the ceiling. “You know when Bad Charlie was here?” She grabbed a knife from the magnetic strip on the wall and went to town. “Well, he wasn’t the only stranger in the house.”

  Her eyebrows winging up, Maggie dumped the potatoes into the bowl and started dicing hard-boiled eggs. “What in the world do you mean?”

  Half ashamed of what she was about to say, Sera lowered her voice. “I mean Marcus.”

  Never taking her gaze from Sera, Maggie reached for the bowl, missed it twice and then finally pulled it toward her and gave it a big stir. “You can’t be serious. Sera, he’s your husband.”

  “Not once since we arrived has he let me drive the Maserati.” One of Lil’s cloth napkins beckoned from the counter, and Sera put down the knife and be
gan to fold it. A crease there, a twist here. “He keeps those keys on him all the time, which is suspicious, don’t you think? It’s a rental car for heaven’s sake. And yesterday, he slammed the trunk in some kind of hurry as I walked up.”

  “Sera, you can’t believe he’d do something like that.”

  “When the four of us are investigating, we’ve always looked into everyone who had motive and opportunity. Why should Marcus be any different?”

  “You’re my friend, Sera, and you know I will support you from here to California and back, but I don’t believe Marcus would ever steal to get something.” Maggie laid her hand on Sera’s arm. “He could certainly afford to buy any guns he wanted, and he knows we’re your friends. It doesn’t fit.”

  “That’s what my heart keeps telling me, but he’s hiding something. I need to know what it is.” The napkin now resembled a rabbit that had eaten a garden shot with pesticides. Sera shook it out and started again. “And we owe it to Abby Ruth to turn over every rock to find her guns.”

  Maggie stirred for several minutes, long enough to make the salad into baked potato soup. Finally, she slipped the bowl into the fridge, turned to face Sera, and sighed. “Let’s go look. It might be unlocked, and if not we’ll make a plan B.”

  “I knew you’d help me.” She and Maggie went outside and stood next to the Maserati.

  “This car probably costs as much as what George and I paid for our house.” Maggie tugged on the handle. “It’s locked.”

  “Doesn’t that seem sneaky? It’s a rental.”

  “Probably big city habits is all.”

  “Let’s see if we can find the keys.” Sera headed to the house.

  “Is he a heavy sleeper?” Maggie asked.

  “Very.”

  They tiptoed up the stairs. Marcus was sawing some serious logs. “Has he always snored like that?” Maggie asked.