Staying For Good (A Most Likely To Novel Book 2)

by Catherine Bybee

  “She and my adorable little grandbaby are visiting his father.”

  Jo wanted to heave.

  “And Sheryl?”

  “I’m guessing you know she’s at work. Hard to miss her car in the lot as you pass by, Sheriff.”

  Well, at least he had her title right.

  “And how are you doing?” she asked. “Adjusting to civilian life?”

  Ziggy Brown ran both hands through his hair. The muscles across his chest flexed. “I am. I learned a lot on the inside. I have your father to thank for that, you know. He had a hand at putting me away.”

  Jo took an involuntary step back before stopping herself.

  The shift of Ziggy’s eyes said he noticed her hesitation.

  “There’s a whole lot of preaching that happens in prison. Did you know that, JoAnne?”

  “It’s Sheriff Ward, Mr. Brown.”

  He put his hands to his sides. “Of course. I mean no disrespect. It’s just hard, thinking of how you were growing up, running with my daughter. You’re both so grown up now. Willful . . . anyway . . . lots of God-fearing men on the inside. I suppose that’s to be expected.”

  “Are you trying to tell me you found God?”

  “In some ways I do think I have.”

  And in others? she wanted to ask but didn’t. He was full of shit from the snark-filled smile on his face to the way his arm flexed, holding the door.

  The man was attempting to intimidate her.

  “Well, Mr. Brown, I’m here to tell you that Oregon’s Department of Corrections has informed me of your parole conditions. I’ll be in constant contact with your parole officer in Eugene and will accept nothing less than one hundred percent on your part in keeping your nose out of trouble.”

  Ziggy looked her up and down and made more than one hair on her body stand on end. “Is that right?”

  “No wiggle room, Ziggy.” For the first time in their conversation, she used the name he went by.

  He didn’t stop staring. “I’ll be the perfect little ex-con, Sheriff.” He lifted three fingers in the air. “Scout’s honor.”

  With clenched teeth, she took a backward step off the porch.

  It wasn’t until she was back in her car that she took a deep breath.

  Ziggy stood on the porch, grin on his face, as she backed out of the drive. She made a mental note to have Deputy Emery with her on future visits to the Brown home. If there was one person she expected bad things from, it was Ziggy Brown.

  Summer was in full, heated swing in Dallas, complete with humidity that sucked the air out of your lungs the second you left your air-conditioned car. The space between your car and the building you entered was always a challenge.

  Even the dogs sitting on front porches appeared too tired to lift their heads and bark. This time of year always ate at Zoe and had her booking trips to Europe or even somewhere in the tropics where she could at least sit on a beach, sipping an adult beverage or two.

  As she drove around the neighborhood she’d considered moving to just a few months prior, she thought about how she would escape the heat once she had a home to consider and not just an apartment. Affording to travel wouldn’t be the problem, but leaving the responsibility might prove difficult.

  The humidity in Oregon, even on the coast, was nothing like that in Texas. Not to mention how cool the nights would get. She thought of Luke’s backyard and the open window over the sink.

  Yeah . . . that didn’t happen in Dallas in the summer. You turned the AC on and ignored the thermostat for months. There were storms that would blow through, some of them cool enough to open a window, but as soon as the clouds parted, the humidity pushed in.

  Zoe turned a corner and noticed a handful of kids, not more than eight or nine years old, playing on a front lawn.

  A sprinkler connected to a hose was all the entertainment they needed. A dog ran around their heels, barking.

  Would her kids run in the sprinklers? Would they have a dog? How could she get a dog if she couldn’t stand the heat and left the state for weeks on end?

  Where on earth had the thought of kids popped into her head from? She’d be a terrible mother. Lord knew she had an awful example of how to parent a child. Besides, growing up without any family help was no way to live if you didn’t have to.

  Her grandfather on Ziggy’s side was long gone, left her grandmother early enough that Ziggy had no memory of the man. Zoe always thought that was part of her dad’s problem. He hadn’t had a male role model and didn’t know how to be a man without using his fists and the testosterone in his veins. Her grandmother moved around enough to have Christmas cards kick back every other year.

  Her mom’s parents were still alive. Divorced . . . but that seemed to be the theme in Zoe’s life when it came to her family. Her grandfather had remarried, but his new wife wanted nothing to do with them, therefore the Brown children never had a relationship with the only grandfather they could ever know.

  Grandma Workman went out of her way to keep in touch with them. She’d send the occasional birthday card and care package for Christmas. Only Grandma Workman lived in San Francisco in a tiny studio apartment. Zoe knew there were times Sheryl hit Grandma up for money, but there wasn’t much to give.

  Once Warring Chef hit the air, Uncle Don, Sheryl’s brother, had sent a letter—the kind that required a stamp—saying he was happy for her. Still, the relationship never moved from there.

  Zoe had a Christmas card uncle and grandmother . . . that was it. No one else to say they were family.

  There weren’t many times in Zoe’s life that she thought about having children of her own. The thought of bringing them into her life with such screwed-up grandparents felt wrong. So Zoe worked on being an independent woman who didn’t need a family to support her for anything.

  Only now, with drama once again nipping at the edges of every day, Zoe leaned on Luke, on Jo and Mel. Miss Gina sent her text messages several times a week, asking how she was holding up. Even Luke’s mom had shown up right before leaving River Bend the last time to give her a hug and tell her she was there to listen if she ever needed to talk.

  She realized she’d been sitting in an idling car watching someone else’s kids while all these forgotten thoughts ran in her head.

  Zoe dialed Anton’s number and waited for him to pick up.

  It went to voice mail.

  “Hi, Anton, it’s Zoe. I’m sorry, but I’m going to suspend my search for a home in Dallas for now. My life is a little complicated to add this to my plate. I’ll let you know if I pick up the search again.” Zoe drove away from the nameless kids playing and didn’t look back.

  “I’m flying to New York in the morning.”

  Luke leaned against the workbench in the garage with the shop phone to his ear. “Are these new plans? I don’t remember you saying you were going.”

  “Spur-of-the-moment plans. I need to see my agent.”

  He liked when she talked business. The confidence in her voice was a nice change from the defeated woman she was when talking about her family. “Sounds important.”

  “It might be. I’m thinking of diversifying.”

  “Which means?”

  “Promise you won’t laugh.”

  “Unless you tell me you’re joining the circus, I won’t laugh.”

  There was enough silence on the line Luke thought she wasn’t going to tell him.

  “I’m . . . ah . . . I’m thinking of writing a book. A cookbook.”

  He grinned. “Why would I laugh at that? I think it’s a perfect idea.”

  “It is, isn’t it? I also thought I would do a series of videos . . . maybe web based, or perhaps an actual made for TV spotlight featuring some of the recipes. I was talking to Felix, and we thought up several different angles to do this big.”

  The excitement in her voice gave his heart a jolt. “So how does this involve your agent?”

  “I talked with her over the phone, and she’s set up a couple of meetings with p
ublishers. I’ve never published anything. Since this is new ground for me, I wanted to see these people face-to-face so I know who I’m dealing with.”

  Luke listened while she told him about one of her contracts where she’d ended up hating the producer and fighting with him every time she was on set.

  “It sounds like you’re taking a smart approach.”

  “There’s no hurry, so why not make sure I can work with these people?”

  “Good plan. I have a hard time wrapping my head around all the decisions you’ve had to make in the last ten years.” It made him even more proud of her when he heard the process she had to go through to “diversify,” as she called it.

  “In the beginning it was easy . . . if it involved a paycheck, I was in. According to Suki and Felix, I can pick and choose now and ask for more.”

  “I’m proud of you, baby.”

  He heard her sigh. “That means a lot, coming from you.”

  “Can I do anything?”

  “Have you ever published a cookbook?”

  He laughed. “I haven’t even used a cookbook.”

  Zoe joined his mirth. “How is everything there?”

  It had only been a week since she’d left. “Quiet.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s good.”

  “Me either. Jo’s watching . . . everyone is listening. Have you talked with your sister or Zane?”

  “I left a message for Zane, he didn’t call back. Have you seen them?”

  He considered keeping the conversation he’d had with Zane to himself. Instead, he gave Zoe the CliffsNotes version, even though he knew it would hurt her.

  “Seems like everyone in that house forgot what a scumbag the man is.”

  “It won’t be long before you can tell them all you told them so.”

  “That isn’t what I want.”

  Luke switched the phone to his other ear. “I know it isn’t. So tell me about New York. Is it like everyone says it is?”

  “New York is crazy . . .”

  There was a lift to her voice with the change of subject.

  By the time he got off the phone, he made her promise to call him at the end of her day when she was in New York to tell him all about the experience so he could live it with her.

  He turned back to the car he was working on with a smile.

  The trailer was too fucking quiet.

  After seventeen years of noise . . . grown men crying, yelling, grunting as they jacked off or moaning as they violated their bunkmates . . . the quiet was killing him.

  Sheryl was at that nothing job at the diner, and Zanya and her brat were gone when his wife worked.

  Ziggy was making up for lost time between Sheryl’s legs, even though she complained about being sore after the first week he’d been back. She knew better than to argue, a lesson he’d taught her before the kids were born.

  Ziggy had gone out of his way sweet-talkin’ her when he was on the inside.

  He had no choice. Intimidation wasn’t an option when she could walk away.

  He liked having the upper hand, having control. That control was slowly coming back. It was different this time. A quiet control that didn’t require him to move too many muscles to gain.

  The four walls of his piece of crap home were starting to fold in on him. What the hell did he do with his time seventeen years ago? The guys he ran with used to live in Waterville. One skirted alongside Ziggy in maximum lockup for a good five years, and his other buddy moved north into Montana or some nowhere place.

  Ziggy turned up the volume on the TV. Damn wife didn’t pay for cable so all he had was fucking soap operas and talk shows all day long. The noise from those shows wasn’t enough to fill his head.

  What he needed was an occupation.

  And that didn’t mean work.

  No one in River Bend would hire him to pick up dog shit, and Waterville . . . yeah, best stay clear of that town. He had a healthy fear of going back to jail. After he was transferred to maximum, he realized where he’d gone wrong.

  Ziggy Brown wouldn’t be holding up any mini-marts again. Seventeen years of his life gone for a fucking mini-mart.

  Laughter from the other inmates at his weak crime caused many fights. He showed them often how strong he was. Part of the reason he’d been moved around inside the system.

  Then he met Axel.

  Axel shared the same temper and power behind his fists. They’d fought once, both ended up in their version of the hole for a week, then walked side by side for the better part of ten years. Axel had shown Ziggy how to control his words and actions to appear more calm than he was. It made parole hearings more agreeable, kept the other inmates on their toes . . . and eventually gave Ziggy the ability to leave.

  Axel wasn’t up to leave for another two years, maybe less.

  They’d get together . . . share a few drinks. Consider their options. Ziggy knew he couldn’t stay in River Bend. Damn town watched him like he was a fish swimming in a bowl. Especially little JoAnne Ward. It took all his effort not to laugh at that bitch when he saw her. Nose up in the air, hand on her gun.

  Laughable.

  Completely laughable.

  Yet every time he heard a car go by, a glance out the window showed the taillights of a squad car. Thanks to his uppity daughter, who he clearly didn’t teach enough lessons to growing up, the only law in River Bend was watching.

  While he wasn’t scared of the little girl the town called Sheriff, Sheryl and the rest of them were.

  Damn, it was quiet.

  Ziggy scratched his nuts and looked at the clock. He needed to fuck . . . well, he needed a drink, but there wasn’t any alcohol in the trailer. His parole officer set him up with the right people to reinstate his drivers license, all dependent on a drug free cup full of urine.

  Once he could drive, he’d work his way into Eugene and fill up.

  For now, he was no better off than he had been in jail. Yeah, he could leave the house, but go where and do what?

  Just a few more steps and he’d have all the real freedom he needed.

  He looked out the window. Where the hell was his wife?

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Zoe wore a little black power dress, Jimmy Choos on her feet, and a smile on her face. The view from Bar SixtyFive in Rockefeller Center was out of this world. The martini wasn’t bad either.

  “You’re making the right decision,” Suki said.

  “I haven’t made one yet.”

  “You’re picking between three publishers for the book and have two producers who want to wine and dine you to follow you around with cameras. I’d say you can’t make a bad decision. This is all about your gut at this point.”

  “I want to hear what your literary agent friends say about each publisher. And I do mean everything. Especially the bad stuff. Adversity will happen, how they handle it is going to determine if we can have a good working relationship.”

  “You’re too young to be so wise, Zoe.”

  “I’m older than my years.” Last week she felt like she was sixty. “I want to do this right. Let’s keep my income the same, or better, without my time at Nahana.”

  “You’re going to have to travel a little more.”

  She nodded. “I can do that.”

  Suki sat back, crossed her legs, and sipped her drink. “So what is all this about, anyway? Are you tired of Texas?”

  Zoe looked out the window. “I think I’ve outgrown Texas.”

  “So where do you think you’ll land?”

  Her mind went straight to Luke’s house. “Where do successful chefs end up?”

  “That depends. Some own their own restaurants in big cities. Some go home to open up a niche boutique setting or teach. I don’t see you teaching quite yet.”

  “Not without a camera. God, I sound like a diva.”

  “You’re amazing in front of the lens. No need to be shy about it.”

  “There are a lot of chefs on the TV.”

  “And you’re o
ne of them . . . and you’re not going anywhere. Tell me what your goals are, and I’ll see what I can do to make them happen.”

  “I told you. I want to stop the daily meal planning and weekend shifts at Nahana.”

  “What about opening your own place?”

  “I don’t know about that. Not yet.”

  “Someday?”

  Zoe pictured River Bend. “I wouldn’t know where. I think I need to land somewhere and have it feel like home before I can dedicate that kind of time and money.”

  “Yeah, but shouldn’t you plan for the probability of it? If the cookbook takes off and the vignettes on film fill your time, you’ll be pulling in some serious money.”

  Zoe couldn’t help but like that thought. “I’ll deal with how to spend the money once I’m making it.”

  Suki lifted her drink and sat forward. “To making it.”

  Zoe clinked her glass. When her gaze moved back out the window, she wondered if Luke would like the view.

  Zoe skipped having Luke pick her up at the airport. She needed a car on this trip, so renting one in Eugene and driving into River Bend was a much better option. She rented an SUV so she had room to pack it with whatever, whoever. The whoever started with Felix.

  The man traveled like people had in the twenties. From the fedora that covered his bald spot to his loafers, the fancy, pinstriped slacks and button-up shirt, Felix was always ready to find the love of his life. Sorry to say he wasn’t going to find him in River Bend.

  His suitcase matched the size of hers, and she was staying longer.

  “I like this better already,” he said as he climbed into the passenger seat.

  “This is Eugene.”

  “The weather, darling. The weather.”

  “Let’s hope this holds out. I’d hate for Mel’s wedding to get rained on.” Zoe slid behind the wheel and parted ways with the parking lot.

  “Tell me again . . . how far is the lot for our crew from the bed-and-breakfast?”

  Zoe had arranged space for the crew trailers on Grayson’s farm, which sat between town and Miss Gina’s. There weren’t enough rooms at the inn to house all of them, she told him, “. . . but there is room for the production trailer on-site.”