Burn It Up

by Cara McKenna

  “No, I really need to talk to somebody.” The van’s driver’s-side door had popped open, and John Dancer emerged.

  Abilene turned in her seat to look. “Not that guy?”

  Casey snapped his head around. “You know him?”

  “He came into the bar once when I was pregnant. He didn’t even buy a drink—he just wanted to talk to Raina. He took a look at my belly and said, ‘Guess this spot’s taken.’ Something gross like that.”

  “One more reason to break his fucking arm,” Casey said, sidling out of the booth.

  Her eyes widened. “Don’t do that. Whoever he is, it’s not worth it.”

  “Not who he is, honey. What he did. I’ll be right back. Don’t watch.”

  Casey strode down the diner’s aisle and pushed the door open, setting its bell jingling. As he rounded the building, he shifted his pistol from the small of his back to his front waistband, at his hip, obscured by his jacket. He didn’t want to use it, and doubted he’d need to, but Dancer was about as predictable as a feral raccoon.

  “Hey,” he shouted, marching toward the van. It took a major effort not to glance to the diner’s window, to see if Abilene’s blue eyes were on the scene.

  Dancer turned lazily, clearly no stranger to getting yelled at. He had a lit cigarette in his mouth and wore aviator sunglasses against the bright winter sun. Casey could see himself approaching in the mirrored lenses.

  “Grossier. What can I do for you this time?”

  “You can hold still while I kick the living shit out of you.”

  Dancer’s eyebrow rose, a dry smile tweaking his lips. “Neither you or your brother ever thanked me for that little favor I did you last summer. Can’t say I appreciate the hostility.” He turned his back to shut the door, seeming not at all intimidated. The crazy were obnoxiously fearless, Casey thought.

  “You tell an ex-con with a shaved head where he could find my bartender?” he demanded.

  Dancer took the cigarette from his lips and blew a jet of clove-stinking smoke to the side. “Ah. Well, that’s not exactly private information, now, is it? More like small-town gossip.”

  That was as good as a yes in Casey’s book. “You get straight with me right now, or I swear to Christ I’ll beat you senseless.” Dancer had an inch or two on him but probably weighed twenty pounds less. Whether he could scrap or not, Casey couldn’t say, but he was only happy to find out.

  “Last time our paths crossed I picked a bullet out of you, Grossier. Patched you up nice. It’d be real ironic if this time you gave me a reason to put one back in you.”

  Casey eyed Dancer’s jacket, one pocket filled with his hand and quite possibly more. He cooled some. In all honesty, he didn’t want Abilene seeing a fight, and though he bet Dancer was bluffing, he sure as shit didn’t want her seeing him get shot in the thigh, or anyplace worse.

  “You got any clue who you were talking to?” Casey demanded.

  “Name he gave me was Ware. We had a little business transaction to settle, now he’s out. He wasn’t a hundred percent pleased with my service, so it seemed prudent to placate the man with a little harmless intel. Customer service and all that.” He took a long draw off the cigarette. “And as all your bones appear to be intact, I don’t quite gather what your beef is with me.”

  “A gunrunner, fresh out of prison, comes to you and asks where to find a girl? And it doesn’t occur to you to lie and say you got no fucking clue? You got any sense of human decency at all?”

  Dancer shrugged and pushed the sunglasses up to his forehead. He exhaled more smoke in Casey’s direction. “I don’t know the girl. I got no loyalty to the girl. I got no loyalty to anyone who doesn’t owe me something I’m hoping they’ll live long enough to deliver, so what the fuck do I care about her?”

  Casey’s blood was pounding in his temples and throat and fists, but he held himself steady. Kept his hands at his sides, well away from the gun. What had he expected, anyhow? An apology? A show of fear? This motherfucker had about two emotions, and neither of them looked a thing like regret.

  “I’m feeling real hurt, here, Grossier,” Dancer said, brows drawn up in a false show. “I mean, I give you medical attention, out of the kindness of my heart—”

  “So my brother would owe you,” Casey corrected.

  “And I help your little business partner find those pesky old bones and clear his good name.” He meant Duncan. And true, Duncan had said he wouldn’t have gotten to the bottom of last year’s drama without John Dancer’s advice. “Now this is my thanks? I share a bit of innocent information—about a girl I got no obligations to, to a man who’d pistol-whip me as soon as ask twice—and I get your ass up in my face, demanding what, exactly? An apology?”

  “You got some fucking nerve on you.”

  “Your girl—your employee, or your fuck, or whatever she is to you—she okay? Did he hurt her?”

  Casey didn’t reply, fuming inside. Guy had a point. Had something bad happened to Abilene as a result of all this, he’d have more than adequate cause to break Dancer’s teeth. But as things seemed to be turning out okay, he’d only look like a psycho if he got violent. He stepped back a pace.

  “I’m fucking watching you,” he said, jabbing a finger in Dancer’s direction.

  A smile. “I’ll be sure to wear my good panties, then.”

  “Fuck yourself, Dancer.”

  “Somebody has to.” He turned his attention to his cigarette, killing it with a long suck, then grinding the butt under his heel. That done, he turned his back on Casey and headed to the rear of his van.

  Casey returned to the diner fuming. The bells jangled violently, pulling him up short. He cooled himself, hand seeking his lighter in his pocket, fingering the smooth corners, seeking calm. No doubt everyone in here had heard his shout and watched that interaction, and he felt their eyes on him now.

  Casey rarely showed his anger. He didn’t feel angry all that often, in fact, and didn’t like the sensation. If an emotion was going to leave him feeling out of control, let it be euphoria or excitement or lust. Shame enveloped him in a breath. His dad had hit Casey and Vince when they’d been little. Not a lot, and never too hard, though there’d been a couple times when their old man’s hand had risen, open palm, knuckles out, only to get lowered again with a slow, purposeful effort. Casey shoved his own anger down, resenting this sensation. Resenting anything he found inside himself that painted him as his father’s son.

  As he walked between the booths and counter, he heard somebody tell their friend, “I really thought he was gonna deck that pervert.”

  By the time Casey reached Abilene, he was calmer, though he knew his cheeks and nose were red and condemning. He slid in behind the table, shifting his gun around as discreetly as he could.

  Abilene’s lips were a flat, white line, and she watched him as he sat.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “Just had some things to say.” He doubted she’d heard anything they’d said apart from the first shout.

  “What’d he do to you?”

  “He’s the one who told your ex where to find you. Sort of. Who told him to come after me, anyhow.”

  “Oh.” Her gaze went to the back lot, but Dancer was gone. “That’s crummy, but I suppose plenty of people could have done the same. It’s not exactly a secret that I work for you. Or that we’re close,” she added softly, turning to free the baby’s head from her tiny hood. “Anybody from Benji’s could’ve told him as much.”

  “That may be true, but trust me—that asshole still needed telling off.”

  She shot him a look for the swear.

  “Sorry. I’m angry.”

  “I can tell . . . I’ve only seen you this angry once before.”

  He frowned. He didn’t ever want her to see him this way. “When?”

  “Last fall, when some of the rednecks were giving Duncan a hard time in the bar.”

  “Oh, right.” Casey considered that, a tiny bit relieved. In that sense, he had his dad beat. T
om Grossier would snap if you annoyed him. Casey saved his rage up for when somebody disrespected or threatened his friends.

  As that realization dawned, he felt the anger lift for good. And just in time—their food arrived then. He didn’t want those emotions here with him. Didn’t want them infecting the little bubble that he and Abilene inhabited here and now. He didn’t want to be like his old man or like James Ware or any other hard, angry man. He didn’t want to be how his brother had been, before Kim had shown up, so emotionally constipated he had to get into fistfights to vent himself. He didn’t want to be the kind of man that Fortuity demanded its boys become.

  But he also had to admit, it had been way easier this past decade. Way, way easier when you didn’t have any commitments, nothing and no one you felt protective enough toward to tap into these macho bullshit lava rivers that flowed in men’s bodies, just waiting to erupt when a big enough fissure formed.

  Fucking feelings, he thought, registering a rare and uneasy kinship with his brother and father. He turned his focus to his French fries, feeling hard and soft and completely bare-ass naked. Unarmed, even with the barrel of his pistol warm at his back.

  Chapter 16

  Drama at the diner notwithstanding, that afternoon was the most pleasant and relaxed time Abilene had passed in ages. After a stop at the drugstore, they drove around the county for an hour, taking in the landscape.

  Even after only a week of being sequestered, she’d managed to forget how vast this place was. The sky seemed endlessly high, the badlands infinite. Freedom was nearly hers once more—not from the obligations of work and motherhood, but in simple ways. The ability to move as she pleased through town, and soon, the convenience of her own car.

  Not that she’d be all that glad for these little trips with Casey to end.

  Still, she’d get to work with him at the bar again, the place where their flirtation had blossomed to begin with, and soon after, their friendship. She might look naive, but she wasn’t dumb. She knew that every time they messed around, every time they spoke as they had in the car on the way to the diner, she was falling for him. It was dangerous, but so, so easy. More natural than any other crush she’d gotten tangled in. Her curiosity mounted by the day to know exactly what Casey had done to earn his record, and what he’d been up to since then, that he seemed unwilling to come clean about, even to his closest friends. If she was indeed falling, she ought to know. If you fell with your eyes wide-open, you at least knew what was waiting for you at the bottom. And who knew—maybe whatever he’d done hadn’t even been all that bad. Something forgivable.

  Though in this situation, with Casey having made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t available for anything serious, it was more than she could ask of him. Even if she did uncover his past—whether it was nowhere near as bad as she feared, or unspeakably awful—it didn’t matter. It wasn’t down to her to decide to make this real. He’d told her straight up, it couldn’t ever be.

  And maybe that’s a blessing in itself. It wasn’t as though Abilene was eager to share her own secrets. She shivered, watching the sun sink low over the mountains.

  “Let’s head back,” she said. “I’d like to help Christine with dinner.”

  “Sure.” Casey eased them onto the quiet highway’s shoulder, then swung east. “Nice to get out for a change?”

  “It was perfect. The most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks.”

  He smiled, eyes on the road. “I can tell.” He faltered on the final word, attention dropping to his lap for a second. Abilene caught it, then—the muffled hum of a buzzing phone.

  “Pull over if you need to.”

  “Nah, it’s okay. Your ex has your number now, so it’s probably not him. And I’m expecting a call, but it can wait until we’re back.”

  Her thoughts immediately flashed to that conversation he’d had the night they’d first messed around. If “I told you no—now fuck off” could be counted as conversation, that was.

  “A call from who?” she asked.

  “Duncan.” Though his answer came just a beat too late for her to believe it, she let it go. But he surprised her.

  “Sorry. That was a lie. I’m not waiting on a call from Duncan. But it’s weird and personal and too much to explain just now.”

  “Okay. Thanks for being honest, at least.”

  He cast her a moment’s glance. “Sure. I’ve been trying to be better about that.”

  “So have I.” It could be way easier to choose lies over the truth, but in the long run, looking back at how she’d handled things with James . . . The truth was scarier in the moment, but that discomfort passed quicker than the anxiety that came with going the coward’s route.

  “No more lying, no more cussing,” Casey said, as they reached downtown Fortuity.

  “Pretty ambitious New Year’s resolutions.”

  “More like new life resolutions . . . You know, before I came home, I had it really good. Or maybe not good, but easy. I worked as much as I wanted to, spent all my money on myself, had loads of free time, virtually no obligations.”

  “Sounds like heaven.”

  “I thought it was.”

  She looked at him. “Thought?”

  “Yeah. I mean, looking back, what did I really have? Who was I, to anybody? I had casual friendships—people I’d meet for drinks a few times a week, and poker nights and shit. I had girlfriends, but no relationships that were going anyplace. I was living like a twenty-year-old. Like a spoiled one, who didn’t even have to work hard to get by. I thought I had it made. Had it all figured out, but then when I moved back, it was kind of a punch in the guts, realizing how easy it was to say good-bye.”

  “To friends?”

  “To friends, and my ex, my apartment, the city. Everything. It’s like that life had been one big hotel room, and all I had to do was leave my keys and check out, and it was already halfway forgotten by the time I crossed the state line.”

  “And so what’s changed?”

  “Commitments, I guess. Having any, and also realizing I’m capable of keeping them. Responsibilities to the bar, and Duncan. To my brother and my mom. To you, now.”

  “That’s just about over, hopefully.”

  He answered after a pause, voice softer, a touch nervous. “I hope you don’t think I’m just going to back away, now that things with your ex are getting ironed out.” He glanced at her.

  “I dunno. But you’ve put your life on hold for us this past week, and even before that, you helped out way more than you could probably afford to, time-wise.” She shrugged. The entire conversation had her feeling upended, if pleasantly. She’d never heard him talk this way—so candidly, about such personal things, and for the second time that day. Something had changed last night, with the sex. She’d felt it herself, and now she could tell it was true for Casey, as well. She worked hard to hide the confusing, warm glow it left her feeling. “I wouldn’t blame you at all if we went back to mostly seeing each other at the bar,” she said. “You have a new life, like you said. You can’t spend all your time trying to help me get mine in order.”

  “I like helping you,” he said with another, more nervous glance. “I like that you rely on me.” He nearly mumbled it, then added, “I’m not used to people relying on me. It’s how I should have been for my mom, when I was younger, but I was too scared. And it’s still scary, but it feels good, too. I don’t know that I’d trade it for anything I had in my old life, when I think about it.”

  “Not even a few hours’ sleep?” she teased. Between the bar and his family and her and Mercy, it seemed a wonder he ever got a chance to shower or feed himself. “I bet you’re working harder than Miah, these days. New mothers’ hours, practically.”

  “I’ll sleep in a week or two, once you and your ex have some kind of routine in place, and he goes a nice long time not fucking anything up.”

  She let the swear pass. “I’ll sleep better myself, then.”

  The lights of the ranch appeared in the darkening
distance. Before them, the first stars peppered the horizon; in the side mirror, the sun had fallen below the tip of the western peaks, painting the sky deep aqua and indigo. She was sad for this ride to end, but eager for the warmth and smells of the kitchen. For the fireplace, later, and for whatever might happen at bedtime. Whatever might happen in her bed, with Casey.

  He was glancing at his phone the second he’d slammed his door, and she told him to go ahead and deal with it. Don and Christine were both around, and she felt infinitely safer now, two conversations into her revised relationship with James. She fed the baby, then joined Christine in getting dinner organized. It’d be an hour or more before they actually sat down and ate, and she joined the elder Churches in watching the evening news.

  Dinner was pleasant, though Miah was missing, still out finishing his workday. He didn’t turn up until late, after his parents had retired upstairs. Abilene and Casey and the snoozing baby were cluttering up the couch in the den, the TV on low.

  “Hey. Just me,” Miah called after the front door clicked shut.

  Abilene returned the greeting as loudly as she dared.

  Casey sat up straight, looking bleary, like he’d nodded off.

  “Miah’s back,” she told him.

  “Oh. Good.” He got to his feet with a groan, sounding beat. “Now he’s here, I could stand a change of clothes.” With James now in the picture and seeming harmless enough, Casey probably didn’t need to stick as close to her as he did, but she wasn’t complaining. She missed his nearness when he grabbed his duffel and headed for the bathroom.

  She looked to the clock on the mantel as Miah appeared in the den. “Wow, it’s after eleven. That was one long workday.” And he was up by five most mornings. “I hope you get to sleep in tomorrow.”

  “I don’t even know what that means.” He gave the baby’s head a soft sweep of his fingertips, then sank onto the love seat and propped his socked feet on the thick wooden slab of a coffee table. “And I finished work around seven, actually. I swung by the bar, after. Just for a beer. Where’s Case?”

  “Changing.” And Miah wasn’t going to get away with slipping in that little detail about the bar, undetected. Surely it would be Raina and Duncan on duty tonight. She was surprised he’d want to face the two of them, together. Plus he was doing something he rarely did—avoiding eye contact, staring blankly at the television.