Tangled: A New Adult Romance Boxed Set (12 Book Bundle of Billionaires, Bad Boys, and Royalty)

by Lakes, Krista

  The church women backed away, slipping through the doors to the sanctuary.

  Vivian returned to the guest book, smoothing the feather on the plumed pen. “You always were so melodramatic.”

  Stella tugged them forward, through the same doors as the other women. Cushioned pews spread in both directions from the main aisle. Tall, skinny windows with colored glass showed pictures of people in robes, and what Dane assumed was Jesus, always with a circle of yellow on his head.

  At the front was the coffin, gray steel with blue satin. The top part was open, but you couldn’t see inside from the back. Stella moved forward, parting the church women, who whispered together in the aisle.

  As they neared the front, Stella let go of his hand and rushed to the coffin. When he caught up to her, she was smoothing the gray hair off her grandmother’s face.

  “She looks terrible,” Stella said. “I never understand how people can say they look so good.”

  “It’s just something to say,” Dane said.

  “All this makeup. This frozen expression. She’s so cold.” Still, she grasped the fingers curled artfully atop the gray linen dress.

  Dane remembered the flower, and lifted his sports coat to tug the rose from the lapel. “This is from Joe.” He laid the yellow bloom in the casket by Angie’s elbow.

  “She’d like that,” Stella said. “She always helped him with his roses.”

  More people entered the church, waiting patiently in the aisle for Stella to finish.

  Dane squeezed her shoulders. “Where should we sit?”

  Stella turned away from the coffin. “Over there, on the front row.”

  One of the church women approached. “Stella, darling, you can wait in the family parlor. You will walk in with your mother when the service begins.”

  “We’ll stay right here, if you don’t mind, ma’am,” Dane said. Stella relaxed beside him. “Stella wants to stay close.”

  The woman frowned, emphasizing the red lipstick that bled into the wrinkles around her mouth. “Well, all right then.”

  “Mighty obliged.” Dane turned back to Stella.

  “Thank you,” she murmured and laid her head on his shoulder. “I’d rather be here.”

  “I know.”

  Mourners filed forward, glancing at Angie, then finding a seat. This was only Dane’s second funeral. Just his mother’s before. He’d been too young when his grandparents died.

  But really, nothing was the same. There had been no church. No funeral home. They couldn’t afford any of that. Just a few words over her grave at the cemetery. Him and Ryker and a few women whose houses she cleaned before she got too sick.

  Dane vowed not to die impoverished and practically alone. He looked over at Stella, whose head was bowed so he could only see the tufts of her blond hair. Not her, either.

  Organ music began, and Dane turned to marvel at the machine, up high in a section in the back like a balcony. The pipes extended up to the ceiling, and a woman in a robe pumped madly away with hands and feet, her gray hair bobbing. He felt the shudder of Stella next to him, crying now. He was helpless at this point, couldn’t do anything but sit there and let her hold on. He realized too late his jacket was still folded over his arm.

  More people streamed in, stopped by the coffin, and moved to their seats. Dane recognized a few from the shop, but nobody he’d rather avoid appeared—the bartender, the car sales jerks, Darlene, or Bobby Ray’s contingent. He relaxed against the hard back of the pew. He’d make it through this and get Stella home, wherever that might be for her now. They could sort everything else out later.

  A shadow in a window caught his attention. Behind the altar, off to one side, near the back.

  It flashed again, something temporarily blocking the light. Too big for a bird. Dane glanced around, but no one else seemed to notice, focused on the prayer cards, or holding Kleenex.

  He sat a little straighter, focusing in on the window, which was only a few feet wide and maybe two feet tall, but set high.

  The object blocked it again, and this time Dane made out the shape of a head, then a hand pressed against the glass for just a moment. Someone was jumping, trying to peer in.

  He looked down at Stella. Should he tell her? Who would do such a thing? Maybe Bobby Ray was looking for another ploy. He pulled his arm from her. “I’m going to be right back,” he said.

  Stella’s face crumpled, and he hesitated. “I’ll be back before it starts. I promise.”

  She leaned away, and he stood, quickly striding back to the foyer. Vivian stood talking to a sheriff by the door, and upon seeing Dane, her eyebrows flew up. He pushed past them and out into the bright morning, quickly rounding the corner of the church to the wall with the window.

  Joe was bent over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily.

  “What are you doing?” Dane asked, helping his boss stand erect.

  Joe leaned against the wall, running a hand over his hair to try and smooth the flyaway strands. “Damn Vivian called the sheriff to keep me out. Thinks I’ll make a ruckus.”

  “Weren’t you going to?”

  “Absolutely.” He turned back to the window, the bottom ledge just above his head. “Should have brought a damn ladder.”

  “There’s no other way in?”

  “Locked up tight. But this window,” he pointed to the latch, “is broken.”

  Dane reached up and pushed on the bottom of the pane. It shifted a little. “It’ll open all right. You sure that’s what you want to do? You’ll land right in front.”

  “Splendid. Now give me a boost.”

  Oh, man. “This is crazy, even for me.”

  “These are the things in life worth being crazy for.”

  “You know what you’re going to say when you get in there?”

  “I’ve known what I was going to say longer than you’ve been pissing in a toilet.”

  Dane spread his legs for stability and linked his fingers. “All right, then. Foot here, count of three. I’ll lift you, you get the window open, second count, I’ll push you through.” He inhaled deeply, rushing out a breath. This was going to hurt like a mother.

  Joe set his mud-caked dress shoe in Dane’s hands. “I’m ready.” He looked up to the window.

  “One, two, THREE!” Dane shoved the old man in the air. “Get your elbows on the ledge.”

  Joe braced himself against the window, taking the pressure off Dane to hold him up. He pushed up the pane with one hand and wriggled partway through.

  “Here you go the rest of the way!” Dane said, and lifted him again. Joe tumbled through, his feet flailing, then disappeared through the window.

  He hoped the old man survived the fall.

  19

  Joe Says His Piece

  ––––––––

  THE whole room gasped as Joe flung himself through a window by the altar, slithering headfirst down the wall and crashing into the acolyte’s bench.

  Stella stood up, clutching her Kleenex, which disintegrated in her fingers. “Joe!”

  Nathan, one of the older members of the congregation, rushed to the front to help Joe stand. “You all right?”

  “I am,” Joe said, straightening his jacket, though he winced when he tried to take a step. “All things considered.”

  Nathan backed away as Vivian and the sheriff hurried up the aisle.

  “Oh, no, you DON’T!” Vivian cried. “Arrest him, Terry.”

  Stella plopped back down on her pew, holding on to the back so she could see behind her. She hated that sheriff. He’d been one of the many men to lounge around the house in Vivian’s glory days.

  The sheriff shook his head slowly. “Viv, now, I can ask him to leave. But I can’t arrest him without the church people pressing charges.”

  Vivian’s face bloomed purple. “Where is the preacher? Or a deacon?”

  “I won’t be pushed aside,” Joe said. He laid his hand on Angie’s casket and looked down at her, losing his composure for a moment
.

  Stella sagged against the seat, wishing for Dane. Why wasn’t he back?

  Vivian rushed back up the aisle, the sheriff trailing. “At least keep HIM out!”

  Stella turned to see the sheriff clutching Dane by the arm, leading him back toward the door.

  She jumped from the pew. “Mother, stop it!” She raced up the aisle and grabbed the sheriff’s arm to stop him.

  “Hello, everyone,” Joe said from the front.

  The sheriff turned, as did Vivian. Stella took the moment to dash to Dane, wrapping her arms around his belly to prevent anyone from separating them. He pulled her in close, shifting to one side so they could see the front.

  Joe tugged a handkerchief from his breast pocket and turned it over in his hands. “I loved Angelica Sutton,” he said. “It wasn’t any secret. She’d been alone a long time. Her husband had been a good man. One of Holly’s finest. I had a lot of respect for him, and back then I had my own Maybelle. We both lost our loves the same year.”

  He looked down at Angie again. “Some people in this town thought it wasn’t right for me to court Angie, even though we both waited for a proper mourning. There wasn’t nothing wrong with how we felt. How I felt.”

  He looked out at Vivian. “I know Angie would want all this settled. For her family to stop living like they do, so mean-hearted.”

  “Well, I never!” Vivian rasped and moved on out the door.

  Stella shifted aside to let her pass. Good riddance.

  “Stella.” Joe was talking to her now, so she turned back to the front. “Don’t let her meanness cause you any more grief. Don’t let her hate soil another love.” He pointed toward Dane. “There’s no reason why she shouldn’t like that feller, or anyone else you take a shine to. Don’t listen to her. I did, and now...” He pressed the handkerchief to his chest. “I’m going to do something I always meant to do.”

  And old Joe started singing, his voice high and wavering, “You are so beautiful.”

  The sheriff backed away, heading in the direction of Vivian, and so Stella let go of Dane. She walked back up to the front of the church and stood on the other side of Grandma’s coffin while he finished his song.

  When he was done, she took his elbow and led him down to the front pew. “You sit with the family,” she said. They waited together for the pastor to come out, to deliver his standard speech about everlasting life and not weeping for the dead.

  Dane sat on the other side of her. Vivian stayed away, and Stella closed her eyes, holding on to this moment, the last time she’d be in the same room as Grandma, and possibly, the last day she’d be in her hometown of Holly, Missouri.

  20

  Packing

  ––––––––

  JANINE tumbled through the door of Dane’s duplex, loaded down with collapsed cardboard boxes and duffel bags. “Okay, I scrounged up everything I could find. You ready for this?”

  Stella pushed herself off the sofa. “Was the house empty?” They had waited for dark, assuming it would be easier to get around town unnoticed.

  “Yes, I checked. Your mom and dad are at your grandmother’s. Half the town is.”

  Dane returned from the kitchen, pressing a glass into Stella’s hand. “Drink this up, and we’ll go get you packed.”

  Stella downed the alcohol. “You stay here, Dane. Janine and I can handle my room.”

  “You sure?” Dane took the glass back and handed Stella his.

  “Yes. In case Vivian comes back. No telling what she might have the sheriff do if you’re there.” She drained the second drink and set it on the crate. “That’s better.”

  She took part of Janine’s load from her. “We’ll be back here in two hours.”

  Dane moved past them to open the door wide. “That’s not much time to put a lifetime in boxes.”

  Stella lurched forward, dragging a duffel bag behind her. “I’ll manage. Not that much I need to take.”

  Dane set the glasses on the floor and picked up the trailing bags. “You going in your grandmother’s car? The Mustang doesn’t have a lot of trunk space.”

  Stella shrugged. “No choice. Another reason to pack light.” The night had cooled considerably, a fierce wind kicking up her hair. She unlatched the trunk and popped it wide. Everything inside was immaculate. Joe had taken good care of the car after replacing the back window.

  She shoved the boxes and bags inside and moved over to let Janine dump hers in. Dane stood off to the side, looking at the moon. She remembered the night she’d asked him to come with her. She still wasn’t clear if he was going along or not. She couldn’t bring herself to ask him directly.

  He stepped forward and laid the last things in the trunk. “We’ll sort this out.” He closed the lid and moved into her, kissing her lightly.

  What did that mean, sort this out? Still, Stella couldn’t bear to ask. “See you in a couple hours.” She jumped in the driver’s seat and cranked up the car, now humming as evenly as if it were new.

  She backed out, watching him stand there in the dirt, barefoot, his white bandage glowing in the moonlight, his face dark. She wondered if she’d ever see him again. For some reason, she had doubts.

  They avoided Angie’s street but could see the crs lined along the curb leading to it. “They’ll be tied up for a while yet,” Janine said.

  “Not sure I’ll get a chance to say good-bye to the place,” Stella said. Surely her mom would go home eventually, and Stella could sneak back in Grandma’s house super late.

  “You going to leave tonight?” Janine asked.

  “Probably.” Stella slowed as they turned onto her street, squinting at the house. “I want as many miles as possible between me and this godforsaken town before dawn.”

  “What about Dane?”

  Stella slammed the car into park. “I don’t know. I’m afraid to ask.”

  “He wasn’t packing anything.”

  Stella opened the door. “I noticed.”

  The living room sat empty and dark, so rare. Stella couldn’t imagine a time when her father wasn’t propped in his recliner, TV flickering, even when she stumbled in at all hours. She didn’t think he’d gone to his own bed in years. He definitely hadn’t worked in a decade, after an oil-rig injury left him with a permanent limp.

  They dragged the bags and boxes to Stella’s room and dumped them on the floor. “There’s some packing tape in the drawer by the kitchen sink,” Stella said. “We can get these boxes back in shape.”

  Janine headed out, and Stella surveyed her room. She’d never see it again, of that she was sure. Bon Jovi posters hung at odd angles, remnants of her teen years. Dried flowers hung upside-down from a corkboard. Pictures, love notes, a calendar from 1982 still sitting on December, a gift from Grandma.

  Stella sat on the pink bedspread, not sure where to start, heavy with emotion, and angry at the sentimental notion that she might miss the place. She shot back up, heading to the closet, jerking the clothes she wanted off the hangers and tossing them on the bed.

  Janine returned with the tape and began assembling the boxes. “You’ll need something to cushion anything breakable.”

  “We can layer the clothes in with the fragile stuff,” Stella said. She wrapped each bottle of perfume in a shirt and placed them gently in a box. A drawer full of socks covered those, and she nestled her favorite lamp, pink with white crystals, into the socks and panties. She topped that box with her pillow, squished it down, and Janine sealed the box with tape.

  “One down,” Stella said, shoving it near the door.

  “What about yearbooks?” Janine held up a shiny red one, from their senior year.

  “Not interested,” Stella said.

  “This?” Janine held up a family picture from when Stella was three. “You’ve kept it out all this time.”

  Stella took it, looking at herself, tiny, sprigs of white ponytails sticking straight out, happy as a lamb. And her sister Marjorie, gangly and shy, a hand on Stella’s shoulder. Even Vivian
seemed softer, grinning, no scowl, her arm tucked around her husband’s, who didn’t smile, but still, amusement crinkled around his eyes, before the accident, and the rehab, and Vivian’s indiscretions.

  Stella tossed it on the bed. “Vivian can have it.” She reached onto the shelf, a picture of her and Janine. “But I’ll take this one.” Then one of Grandma Angie with Stella and Marjorie. “And this one.” Stella wrapped them in nightgowns and tucked them inside a red duffel bag.

  They worked silently and quickly, Stella making a pile on the floor of things to take, and Janine dutifully filling the bags and cartons. Stella realized how little of her old life she wanted with her. “I think we’re done,” she said an hour later. Her room didn’t look all that different, just more bare spaces on the flat surfaces.

  “You ought to take some sheets,” Janine said. “And dishes. You don’t want to have to rebuy everything when you get where you’re going.”

  “I don’t want anything from here.” Stella pushed one of the bigger boxes down the hall. “Maybe some things from Grandma’s.”

  Janine dragged a suitcase behind her. “Might could have used some boys.”

  “We can do it.” Stella kicked the door open, and the two of them together lifted the heaviest box, containing her stereo, into the trunk.

  Headlights turned down their street, and they froze, waiting to see who it might be. The car slowed as it approached. “Your parents?” Janine asked.

  The blinkers signaled a turn, but the car passed their driveway and pulled in next door. “The Grubers,” Stella said. “Let’s go in.”

  They hustled back inside, shutting the door. “Will she call your mother?” Janine asked.

  “Probably,” Stella said. “Let’s hurry.”

  They ran to Stella’s room, frantic now, and snatched up duffel bags and smaller boxes. As they darted back outside, car lights moved down the streets, turning corners, passing other blocks. “They have to be leaving Angie’s,” Janine said. “Nothing else is going on tonight.”

  “Crap, crap, crap,” Stella said. “Move faster.”

  Back in her room, Stella assessed what was left. The Mustang wouldn’t hold much more, plus Dane might have something. She hoped.