by Cara McKenna
“Do you ever feel trapped?”
He had to think about that. What he felt now—tied to this town by the business and his commitment to Duncan, tied to his uncomfortable home life by his promise to Vince . . . Trapped wasn’t quite it. Tethered, maybe, but he’d secured every single one of those knots himself.
“I don’t think I’ve felt trapped since I was about twenty,” he decided aloud. “Since I started looking around Fortuity and realized I was on a track to wind up a nobody, in a no-place town, for the rest of my life. ’Til someday I woke up with a bad back from four decades working in the quarry, forced to retire and spend my days bitching with the other old-timers by the Benji’s jukebox. Sounds fucking cocky, but ever since I was a kid I thought I was too big for this place. Had more exciting shit due to me. I feel like an asshole saying it now.”
“You’re not a nobody here, anyhow. You’re a business owner. You’re going to preserve an important part of Fortuity’s past for when the casino changes everything.”
“Yeah, I hope so. But I also know my fifteen-year-old self would’ve been fucking horrified to hear I never made it out of here.”
“But you did. And like you said, it was your choices that brought you back.”
“Yeah.” And now, at thirty-three, a little older and more sentimental, a little more vulnerable to guilt and regrets, Casey could admit that if he was doomed to lose his marbles in the next ten years, that time was better spent doing right by his mom and building some kind of professional legacy that didn’t have him flirting with a place on the ATF’s dance card.
The fire was mellowing; crackling yellow flames turned quiet and orange, lapping lazily at the pink logs. Beside him, Abilene yawned, and in its wake her gaze went to his tattoo again.
“For what it’s worth, I feel real lucky to have met your brother, and you and Raina and Duncan.”
Again, that was choice, not chance—she’d gone to Vince for help. But it was a nice sentiment, so he didn’t contradict her. “And I feel lucky that I’m in a position to be of use to you.”
“That’s real sweet.”
He squeezed her around the shoulders, just for a second. “I know. Don’t tell anybody I said it.”
She laughed.
“You should get back to bed,” Casey said. “You’ll need whatever sleep you can get tonight.”
And as if on cue, the dreaded noise drifted down from above—a soft, single coo, promising full-blown wailing to follow inside a minute.
“Spoke too soon,” he said, just as Abilene stood.
She paused to look back at him as she slipped her feet into blue flip-flops, smiling shyly. “Thanks for the distraction.”
“Don’t know if I should say you’re welcome, or apologize for letting it get as far as it did.”
“Don’t apologize.”
He nodded.
She pursed her lips, then bent down and kissed his cheek. “Night.”
“Sleep well.”
She smiled a final time, then headed for the stairs, holding up the legs of her pajama bottoms like a kid, to keep the hems off the floor.
Like a kid. So unlike the woman who’d just turned him inside out—and without ever crossing third base. He shoved the thought aside.
Get your head on straight. Tonight was a one-off. A slip of her good sense, probably a need to escape from whatever thoughts she had coursing through her mind regarding what might come once her ex was out.
A dangerous ex, Casey thought, and that child’s father. Sometimes he caught himself nearly getting attached to that baby, and had to pull himself up short. Just because I can change diapers now, and heat formula, and have puke stains on the shoulders of half my shirts, doesn’t make me anything more than a babysitter to that kid.
The only thing he’d earned for sure was James Ware’s anger, should the man find out how close Casey had gotten with his ex and his daughter. He swallowed, collar feeling tight.
Just keep it to yourself. Hope maybe you get nicknamed Uncle Casey, but beyond that, leave it the fuck alone. Quit feeling shit you have no right to feel.
No right, because he was his mother’s son, with a sad fate likely awaiting him. And because he was his father’s son to boot. He wanted to think he’d never turn his back on a commitment as huge as a child, but then again, if he’d been a big enough shit to skip town when his mom had started getting bad . . .
And because sure, he’d done better in the past few months, but that didn’t change one important fact—at the end of the day, Casey was every bit the criminal Abilene’s arms-smuggler ex was.
The only difference is, I’ve been smart enough not to get caught.
And he’d better hope to hell that good, God-fearing girl never found out the truth about him.
Chapter 6
Client’s paranoid, major boner for discretion. Wants you. $30K in your stocking if you come out of retirement. Fucking hurry, he’s losing his nerve.
Casey rolled his eyes at the text. He’d forgotten about it until six thirty, while he’d been brushing his teeth. He tossed his cell in his duffel bag, resolving not to reply. “Fucking no means no, Em,” he muttered to the empty den, then pulled on a clean tee and a sweater. He ought to just toss the pay-as-you-go phone in the nearest wood chipper and cut the fucking cord with his old life. All those contacts gone, and no way for any of them to reach him, no temptation to go back to that scene, lucrative or not . . .
Soon. Maybe not just yet, but soon, he thought, remembering that house of Abilene’s, those beauty school classes. No sense burning bridges just yet.
The smell of sausages had woken him, and he headed for the kitchen, finding Jeremiah Church sitting alone at the table, leafing through a newspaper.
“Hey, man.” Casey passed by, reading the headline over his friend’s shoulder. “‘Canola Meal Prices Stagnate, Expected to Dip.’ Wow, fucking riveting shit.”
“I’d mock your business right back, if I had the first clue what it is you do, Case.”
“I’m a bar owner.”
“And before that you were a youth minister¸ I’m sure.”
Casey walked to the coffeemaker. “You seen Abilene yet?”
Miah shook his head. “Think she’s sleeping in.”
“Good.” And you didn’t hear any weird noises coming from the den last night? Nothing that made you worry for the sanctity of your family’s couch? His body roused at the thought and he felt his face warm.
“Ware’s out when, exactly?” Miah asked.
“Ten. High alert starts around noon—he couldn’t get here any quicker than that, if he can even manage to find out where Abilene’s staying. But she’s driving out to Elko with your mom in a bit, anyhow. Baby’s got a checkup.”
“That’s probably best. Keep the girl distracted.”
The girl. Right. Abilene the girl, so impossible to parse with Abilene the woman who’d sexually assaulted Casey last night in the best way. He swallowed, trying to dismiss the memory of her mouth against his, her hand between his thighs. Worst possible day to get distracted, Grossier. He turned his thoughts to her ex and let the anxiety scare some slim measure of his excitement away.
He stirred milk and sugar into his coffee and took a seat opposite Miah, taking note of his friend’s clothes. He was the ranch’s foreman, but he wasn’t dressed in his usual dirty jeans and boots and flannel, prepared to spend the day on horseback. Instead he was sporting gray corduroys and a black button-up—the equivalent of formal wear, around here.
“Way you’re gussied up, I’m guessing you’re stuck showing those environmental people around again.”
Miah rolled his eyes. “Another survey, yeah. Meant I got to sleep in an extra hour, though.”
“What are they after, exactly?” Casey knew only that they showed up wielding clipboards and hard hats, and that they’d been by twice since he’d moved Abilene in.
“Silver State, the casino’s new contracting outfit,” Miah said, “is requiring the town to conduct a
geological survey. They say they’re worried about run-off from the construction messing up our groundwater, things like that. Sounds all conscientious and admirable, but I’ve got my money on them just wanting to cover their asses against any potential lawsuits. After what happened with Virgin River, they’ve got to know the town’s feeling skeptical about the entire project.”
Virgin River Contracting had been the proposed Eclipse resort casino’s first construction company, but they’d turned out to be corrupt. Some higher-ups had tried to keep the accidental death of an illegal worker secret, so they wouldn’t risk the bonuses promised to them by the casino’s development company, for finishing on time. That crime had snowballed, resulting in the death of a sheriff’s deputy—a good friend of Casey’s, once upon a time, in fact—who’d seen too much, and then the sheriff himself, who’d been tangled up in the contractors’ racket.
“In theory it’s a good thing,” Miah said, “regardless of the motivation. Though it kills me to be spending my morning chaperoning them around when the last thing I want is for that casino to even go through. How many people have lost their lives now, yet we’re still willing to welcome the goddamn thing? Welcome it to come through and rip this whole town to pieces, and for what? Some tax breaks? A load of menial service jobs built on tricking people out of their hard-earned money? Jobs that probably won’t pay well enough to even keep the struggling locals in town once the property values get bloated out of all reason.”
Miah wasn’t alone in his thinking there. Plenty of people in Fortuity hoped the casino wouldn’t get built—Casey’s brother being one of the louder voices in that camp. Casey was undecided. A part of him would always resent the casino; a childhood friend would still be alive if not for that project. But on an impersonal level, he wasn’t afraid of change, and the competition to the bar didn’t scare him. Bring on the tourists, in fact. He was alone in his ambivalence among his friends, though. The rest of them liked their town the way it was.
“A club meeting’s been called for tomorrow, early,” Miah said. “Six a.m.”
Casey dropped out of his thoughts and back down onto the hard wooden bench. “Goddamn.”
“I know. But it’s the only time your brother and I can swing it. If you’re gonna feel bad for someone, make it whoever’s stuck closing the bar tonight.”
“True.” And what a fucking way to kick off the day, Casey thought, getting Miah in the same room with Raina and Duncan. Miah had dated Raina a while back, and the guy was still struggling to get over the fact that she was now in love with a man he took for an entitled, pompous prick. So they weren’t the best of friends, no.
“Consolation is, my mom promised to make pancakes.”
“What a butch-ass load of bikers we are,” Casey said. “Fucking homemade pancakes and everything. What’s the meeting about?”
“Scheduling, mainly, making sure there’s always somebody here with Abilene while this Ware situation unfolds. Plus I got a couple agenda items of my own. Nothing dramatic, just stuff to keep an eye out for.”
Casey grabbed a fork from a small pile of cutlery and stabbed himself a sausage link from a dwindling platter. “Well, I’m gonna open the bar this afternoon after Abilene heads to Elko, so I’ll tell whoever’s around about the early wake-up call.” No doubt Miah would prefer to avoid calling his ex and her lover.
“Sounds good.”
An urge tugged at Casey, an impulse to ask Miah if he thought that he and Abilene messing around had been just as bad an idea as he suspected it was.
Or do I secretly want to hear him tell me to go for it? He had to wonder. That was just his dick talking, surely.
In either case, Miah might not be the right man for the job. He still regarded Casey as his best friend’s obnoxious little brother in some ways. Easy for him to judge, when he’d been born into a respectable business, his path all laid out in front of him. Casey tried to imagine Jeremiah Church, future Three C patriarch and Prince of Fortuity, ever messing around with one of his employees, and decided, no, this was not the friend to confide in.
Duncan, however . . . Perfect as the guy might look, he’d fucked up his fair share of stuff. Plus he was discreet. Casey resolved to ask him when he went into town later. One thing was for sure: He could use some perspective.
• • •
James Ware shifted from foot to foot, waiting for the official at the discharge desk to return with his bin, all the shit he’d had on him when he’d been incarcerated back in July.
Eight months sounded like nothing compared to his first stint—five years—yet he felt way out of practice at this whole free-man thing. His jeans felt weird on his legs, heavy and stiff after all this time in orange scrubs and sweats. His belt felt strange, like the contraband it would have been only two hours ago.
He was tired and amped up, punchy from sitting through the release spiel and listening to his PO tell him about all the fees he’d accrued and when exactly they were due. He just wanted to get outside and to know that if he started walking, he could just keep on going.
Within reason, anyhow. Fucking parole.
Still, he was lucky he’d only been given a year, and served the minimum in the end. Amazing what a half-decent lawyer could get you.
The female officer appeared with the beige Rubbermaid and dropped it unceremoniously before him on the desk. He gathered his wallet, his phone, pager, sunglasses, keys. A half-eaten Snickers bar. He held it up. “Really?”
The officer smiled. “Your property, Mr. Free Man. Enjoy it.”
With that, James headed down the corridor and out the penitentiary’s front door. One of the guards on duty gave him a curt nod. He didn’t return it.
He followed a sign to the visitors’ lot, where an old black Ram pickup awaited him—his own wheels. There was dust all over the paint and scrub grass in the wheel wells, which told him Angie’s deadbeat boyfriend had probably taken the poor thing off road. No fucking shock.
The door swung out and his sister jumped down.
“Ange,” James offered.
“Big brother,” she countered, and tossed herself around his middle. The heartfelt act would last all of a minute before they both remembered they couldn’t stand each other. Wasn’t as though she’d visited, apart from Christmas. Neither had their mom, come to that.
She stepped away. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks. You look good.” She looked like hell—too skinny in baggy jeans that used to fit different, and her brassy blond hair had black roots all the way to her ears. She looked like she was using again, but that was a fight for another day. And besides, she hadn’t sold his truck out from under him. That was good enough for the benefit of the doubt on such a day as this.
“Where’m I dropping you?” he asked, climbing into the driver’s seat.
“Richie’s.”
Figures. Fucking waster lived forty miles away in the wrong direction, but hey, Angie had shown up, after all. On time, even. More than he’d expected of her.
“Same place? Down near Ely?”
“Yeah.”
“Right.” He adjusted the seat and mirror and started the engine. Goddamn but it felt good to have his hands around this wheel again.
“You staying to visit?” Angie asked.
“No. Got business to take care of.”
“Your first day out?”
“Overdue.”
“Whereabouts?”
“Up north.”
“You’d better stop and see Mom, or she’ll never fucking shut up about it.”
“Soon. But not today,” he said, turning them onto the bleached-out desert highway.
Not today. Because yeah, he had business to take care of. Serious fucking business.
A debt to collect.
And tomorrow, an old girlfriend to track down.
Chapter 7
Casey barely saw Abilene before it was time to head to the bar, to his mingled relief and disappointment. Relief, as he had no clue how to handle her, af
ter last night. Disappointment, because he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to see her. Look at her. Study her, and try to parse the girl he’d thought he knew and the woman who’d turned him inside out on that couch.
She stayed in her room until nearly eleven—sleeping, he hoped, or avoiding him after last night’s little collision, he suspected—and with Christine puttering around, they got no chance to acknowledge any of it. He watched the baby while she showered and got ready for her doctor’s appointment, and then the women were off. Abilene took the baby and thanked him with a smile, and he watched her head out with something odd and uncomfortable tensing his chest.
When he got to the bar, Duncan was already downstairs, hovering around the contractors.
“Hey,” Casey called, locking the dead bolt at his back.
“Ah, you’re early.”
“Yeah, I was just killing some time, actually.”
“Killing time, on such an auspicious day as this?”
“Abilene’s safely off to Elko for the afternoon, so I can put the worrying off for a while yet. Can we talk a minute?” Casey asked, planting his elbows on the counter.
“Sure.” Duncan strolled behind the bar, grabbed a stack of papers off the register and came to stand opposite Casey, frowning at the pages.
“Dunc, something happened last night.”
His gray eyes grew wide and he set the papers down. “Not Ware?”
Casey shook his head. “No, he’s only been out a couple hours now.”
“So what, then?”
He blew out a long breath. “Abilene came on to me.”
Duncan’s posture relaxed. “Christ, you had me worried. Were you drunk?”
“No, and that’s the fucked-up thing about it.”
“How does being sober make it worse, precisely?”
“Because now we can’t blame it on alcohol.”
Duncan crossed his arms and leaned into the post at the corner of the bar. “I take it you succumbed to this pass, then?”