Texas Secrets, Lovers' Lies

by Karen Whiddon

  He nodded. “Eat first, then we’ll talk.” Picking up his phone, he began scrolling through his email. Though she tried to stare straight ahead, she could see him out of the corner of her eye. She couldn’t help but watch him, admiring the way a shaft of sunlight turned his hair to molten gold. Did he ever think about her anymore, she wondered before forcing her gaze and her thoughts away. What did it matter, anyway? She was leaving again as soon as Shayna was found.

  “What’ll you have, honey?” Patsy asked, pouring a cup of coffee and placing it in front of her. “My new cook makes a mean Greek omelet.”

  Zoe nodded, wondering how on earth she was going to eat with Brock next to her, giving off pheromones or whatever it was he did to make every cell in her body quiver. Damn the man. She would have thought, after five years, she’d be indifferent to him. Obviously he didn’t have the same problem; when he looked at her she didn’t see the slightest hint of desire in his blue eyes.

  Which was good, she told herself, keeping busy with doctoring her coffee with cream and one packet of artificial sweetener. Exactly how it should be. For Shayna’s sake, they’d have to work together.

  * * *

  Damn. There was no avoiding the woman. She’d even invaded his favorite breakfast spot. To his chagrin, Brock could scarcely choke down the remnants of his food.

  She sat so straight backed she might have had a spine made of steel. He noticed she tried not to look directly at him, instead sneaking sideways glances. Each time she did, he felt as if she’d reached out and caressed him.

  The silence stretched between them, canceling out the background noise of the busy café. He had to fight the urge to drink her in, to study any differences that might have changed her in the past five years, to search for anything about her that still felt the same. After all this time, Zoe shouldn’t have this much power over him.

  “So, tell me, what’s your plan?” he asked despite himself. Though he really didn’t want to know, he had a sense that brave, overconfident Zoe might even put her own life in danger if she thought it could help her friend.

  Her chin lifted, a sure sign that he was right.

  “Like I said, I’m going to try hanging out in the bar and see if I can locate this Mike.”

  “The Hitching Post.”

  “Right. Cristine said she and Shayna were regulars, even though it’s in an area of town most sane people consider dangerous.”

  About to ask why, he stopped himself. The reason seemed obvious. Though he’d known Shayna and Cristine had gone out to have a good time, he hadn’t been aware they were putting themselves in danger.

  Again the guilt, mingled with anger. Then horror, as he realized what Zoe had just said. “You’re going to the bar alone?”

  “Yes, since you clearly didn’t want to go with me. I’m going to do what Shayna did. Get dressed up and pretend to be looking for—”

  “No,” he interrupted, as if he had the right. “Absolutely not.”

  She stared at him, her eyes narrowed, apparently thinking he must have lost his mind. “Um, I wasn’t asking your permission.”

  She had a point. Frustrated, he let his breath out in a puff of air and dragged his hand through his hair. “At least tell me you’re taking Cristine with you.”

  “I’m not.” She gave him an almost apologetic grimace. “I don’t trust her. She may have been Shayna’s last friend, but she didn’t know the Shayna I knew and loved. I’d rather go alone.”

  Alone. The thought of what could happen to a woman like her, alone in a place like that, turned his insides to ice.

  “You can’t,” he said. “You won’t be safe.”

  She took a long drink of her coffee before facing him. “I don’t have a choice. Too much time has passed since Shayna vanished. I’ve got to find out what happened to her.”

  Something in her voice, the slightest quiver, told him she too had begun to entertain the possibility that Shayna was dead. A fist closed around his heart and squeezed.

  “I’ll go with you,” he heard himself offer, aware of the possibility he’d just been played. “That way at least you’ll have someone there to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

  At his words, she went absolutely motionless. So still, he wondered if she was breathing.

  “Look, I—” he began.

  Shooting him a sharp glance, she interrupted. “Thanks, but no. Even though I asked you before, I’ve reconsidered. Shayna went there to...” Flushing bright red, she seemed to suddenly realize to whom she was speaking.

  “To pick up men,” he finished, an answering spark of anger blooming inside him. “I get it.”

  “Then you’ll understand having you with me will kind of defeat the purpose.”

  He thought fast. “Not necessarily. We’re a couple, looking for some fun to spice up our relationship.”

  If anything, her blush deepened. Desire uncoiled inside him, raking him with sharp claws.

  “I don’t think so,” she said faintly. “Look, I appreciate you offering, but I think it’s best if I go alone.”

  Imagining all the things that could happen to a single female in that part of town made his skin crawl. Though she wasn’t his responsibility, wasn’t his anything, he didn’t think he could live with himself if something happened to her. Shayna’s disappearance was bad enough.

  Certainly he didn’t want to analyze that.

  “Look, Zoe. I’m going. You have no choice. I’ll be with you, at your back.”

  “Fine,” she said finally, her tone an enticing combination of grumpy and pleased. “You can come with me, at least one time. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll ask Cristine.”

  Satisfied that she’d seen sense and he wouldn’t have to fight her to keep her safe, he nodded. “When?” he asked.

  “Tonight. I’ll tell people you’re my cousin from out of town.”

  “What time should I pick you up?” he asked, his insides churning as if he and Zoe were going out on a real date. More proof that he was a fool.

  “After dinner,” she said. “Nine?”

  He must have looked surprised, because she smiled.

  “Don’t you remember when we used to go out dancing? Things never got going until around ten.”

  Oh, he remembered. All too well. Just like that, images of them intertwined on the dance floor, sweat-slickened limbs so close, so intimate, they might as well have been making love.

  Christ.

  He looked away, just in case she saw something in his eyes. “All right,” he managed. “I’ll pick you up then.”

  * * *

  She couldn’t decide on a dress. Tossing her fifth pick of the night—a basic black sheath—she cursed under her breath. This was more than bad, it was awful. Since moving to New York, she’d become very decisive and she wasn’t the type to dither over outfits.

  But all of her dresses screamed New York chic rather than small-town biker bar. What the heck should she wear?

  What would Shayna have worn? Pacing in front of the closet, Zoe realized she actually had no idea.

  Before she could talk herself out of it, she retrieved her phone and pulled up Cristine’s number. “Hey, Cristine. Quick question,” she said, hoping to cut off any curiosity from the other woman. “What kind of outfits did Shayna wear when the two of you went out partying?”

  Slow in responding, Cristine sounded as if she’d just gotten out of bed. Knowing what she now knew, Zoe considered that a very real possibility.

  “I... Why?” Cristine asked. “Did you find something of hers?”

  “No. I was just curious,” Zoe lied. “Did she wear jeans and heels or something more dressy?”

  “It depends. If we were just out for a good time, not trying to pick anyone up, we wore Miss Me jeans and high-heeled boots. But if we had an itch, y
ou know, and really wanted to get laid, we’d slut it up.”

  “Slut it up,” Zoe repeated, inwardly cringing.

  “Yeah.” Cristine giggled. “Low cut, short shirt, as sexy as we could make it. Shayna loved to wear corsets with a tiny, black leather mini.”

  “Ok, thanks.” Zoe hung up. She glanced at her watch. She had time to drive to Mesquite to go shopping. One of the shops in Town East Mall used to sell things like corsets and leather miniskirts.

  It wasn’t until a few hours later, as she viewed herself in the full-length mirror, that she realized she’d have to face Brock dressed like she had sex for sale.

  Her entire body flushed at the thought. Ever since he’d picked her up at the airport, she’d been trying like heck to ignore the sparks that had always arced between them. Foolishly, she’d imagined the passage of time might have erased this pure and powerful desire.

  Not so. Briefly, she allowed herself to entertain the fantasy of giving in, letting the passion carry her away. They were both adults, both able to give and receive pleasure.

  But no. Regretfully, she knew this would never be possible. She didn’t believe he’d ever be able to forgive her. So how to deal with this? Again she surveyed her mirror image. Outwardly, she appeared cool and calm, but inside the buzzing of her nerves made her feel faint and dizzy.

  He’d offered to accompany her. Nothing more, nothing less. And he was right—it wouldn’t be smart to go alone.

  But with Brock, of all people? Pressing her palms to her overheated cheeks, she moaned.

  She hadn’t expected to still want him. But every time they were together, she positively ached to touch him, to feel his corded muscles under her hands. She longed to press herself against him, body to body, and match the heat of his arousal with her own.

  In the five years since she’d left him, she’d made many changes to her life, as had he. But this desire that arced between them had remained, like coals glowing from a banked fire, just waiting for the right moment to burst into flame. If she allowed it to, she had no doubt she’d be the one badly burned this time.

  Shayna. She’d come here for Shayna, not to go stirring up ghosts from her past.

  Finally, arriving home with barely ten minutes before Brock was supposed to pick her up, Zoe got dressed. The little black minidress did exactly what she’d needed it to do.

  She chose a pair of dangling silver earrings and a matching cuff bracelet, as well as her tallest pair of stiletto heels. Surveying herself one final time in the mirror, she shied away from picturing Brock’s reaction.

  She halfway wanted to wrap up in a blanket to shield herself from his gaze, but she shook off that feeling and straightened her shoulders. Zoe Onella had never been a quitter and she wasn’t about to start now.

  * * *

  He knew better. Brock shook his head, completely disgusted with himself. Yet he couldn’t keep from imagining what she’d wear—or what she wouldn’t wear. He wondered if she knew what kind of dive they were going to. The place had been bad enough fifteen years ago. Now, it was worse. He’d actually visited the Hitching Post a time or two in his falling-down-drunk days.

  He was pretty sure enough time had gone by that no one would recognize him. And so what if they did? It might actually work out to their advantage if he fit in.

  Pulling up in front of the Bells’ at nine sharp, he sat for a moment in the parked car, willing his pulse to slow. He wasn’t sure he was up for a lengthy conversation with Mama Bell.

  To his relief, just as he was about to get out, the front door opened and Zoe emerged.

  His first impression was one of reprieve. She wore a long, gingham dress that appeared to be three sizes too big, held around her by a large and ugly belt. Then, as she approached the truck and he realized she’d put on the outfit over something else, he laughed out loud.

  “What?” She gave him a cross look as she gathered the long skirt in one hand and climbed in. “You don’t like my clothes?”

  Instead of answering, he simply shook his head.

  “I had to put something on to cover up my minidress,” she explained with a sheepish smile. “Mama Bell would’ve had a fit if she saw me go out dressed like a...tramp, to use her words.”

  He couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, you’re certainly not, dressed like that.”

  “Oh, but I am.” Smiling, she lowered one elastic shoulder to reveal something sleeveless, black and extremely tight underneath.

  Just like that, his pulse sped up. “Oh” was all he could think to say.

  While he drove, she began the arduous process of removing her granny dress, wiggling and squirming with her seat belt still in place. Trying not to sneak glimpses of her was as hopeless as attempting not to breathe. He could no more manage it than he could control his growing arousal.

  He tried like hell to think of something else, anything else, but the rustling fabric and her soft murmurs of frustration didn’t help things. If she turned her head and glanced at him, she couldn’t help but notice.

  Gripping the steering wheel, he cursed under his breath. They’d be at the bar in twenty minutes. He had to get himself back to normal by then or he wouldn’t be able to get out of the truck.

  Somehow, by the time they pulled into the parking lot across the street from the Hitching Post, he’d managed to regain control of his libido.

  The area surprised him. As he parked in the well-lit lot, he saw that part of town had apparently been undergoing a renovation. Gone were the boarded-up windows and prostitutes lingering under dirty streetlights.

  Even the Hitching Post looked totally different. The formerly faded storefront had been redone with new lumber and fresh paint. Rows of gleaming motorcycles were parked in a well-lit lot off to the side.

  “Wow.” Zoe echoed his thoughts. “It actually looks like a respectable bar.”

  He nodded. They walked up to the front door side by side.

  It turned out the interior didn’t match the exterior. Once they crossed the threshold, they might have been stepping back into the previous version of the place.

  The air inside the dimly lit bar was heavy with cigarette smoke, mingled with the acrid scents of sweat and alcohol. In the back, men leaned over pool tables, intent on their games. Country music wailed on the jukebox.

  Just like that, he was back in another time and place. Where he’d found solace in the bottom of a bottle.

  His mouth went dry. Damn, he wanted a drink. But this was an old and familiar battle, one he faced on a regular basis. He could handle this.

  Looking around, he took a deep breath. Staying close behind Zoe, Brock couldn’t help noticing that every single man in the place watched with avid interest as Zoe sauntered up to the bar. She might as well have been naked, the way they undressed her with their eyes.

  The hair on the back of his neck rose as he worked to stifle the low growl that rose in his throat.

  Clenching his fists, he slid onto the stool next to her. It took a major effort of willpower not to throw his arm across her shoulders, thereby claiming her as his.

  As it was, several of the men continued to leer at her, their calculating looks as intimate as if she was alone.

  “Stop looking at them like you want to kill them,” she murmured, and leaned close enough that her warm breath tickled his ear. “I’m here for one reason only.”

  He nodded, the buzzing in his ears subsiding somewhat as he remembered. Shayna. They’d come here for clues about Shayna.

  And Zoe wasn’t his. She hadn’t been, not for a long time.

  At that moment, the strength of the temptation to order a drink made him sway.

  “What’ll it be?” the bartender asked, gazing only at Zoe.

  “Two beers,” she said, smiling flirtatiously at the bearded man. “Bud Lights.”

&n
bsp; “Club soda for me,” Brock said, but the bartender had already turned away to fetch the drinks.

  “No beer?” Zoe asked, surprised.

  “No.” Trying to appear casual, he shrugged. “I don’t drink.”

  “Since when?”

  He shrugged again, giving her a look to try to tell her not to make a big deal out of it.

  “Here you go.” The bartender set two cold bottles in front of them.

  Brock stared at his. He reached out and traced the sweat running down the brown bottle with a shaky finger, before sliding it over to Zoe. “You can have this.”

  She stared, her gaze searching his face. He broke the look first, signaling to the bartender and asking for a club soda. It was a good thing he’d stopped in at TJ’s the other night. It had been his first time in a bar atmosphere in a long time and had proved to him that he could handle it.

  Which meant he could also handle this.

  His club soda appeared in front of him. He gave a grateful nod and took a fortifying sip.

  Zoe continued to watch him, the compassionate look in her soft brown eyes not doing him any good at all.

  “Go ahead,” he told her, working to unclench his teeth. “Work the room. I’ll keep an eye on you from here. Let me know if you have any trouble.”

  “I’m going to the restroom.” She flashed him a reluctant grin. “You sound like you’re my pimp or something.”

  Before he could respond, she slid off the stool and headed to the ladies’ room. Brock couldn’t tear his gaze away from her cute little backside, along with most of the other patrons.

  After she’d disappeared inside, he pulled up a picture of Shayna on his phone and motioned the bartender over. “Have you seen her?”

  The other man laughed. “Oh yeah, though she hasn’t been around in a while. That’s Shayna. She’s a regular here.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?” Brock asked.

  “I don’t know.” The bartender thought for a second. “It’s maybe been a couple of days, maybe a week.” He squinted down the length of the long bar. “She left with Mike there.”