A Home of Her Own

by Brenda Novak

  “I’m nearly forty years old,” he pointed out. “I’m not going to let my family dictate what I do.”

  Gabe seemed to sober. “A man never quits belonging to his family, Mike. Especially out here. Something like this happens to you—” his jaw clenched as he motioned to his chair “—you learn pretty damn fast that everything else is smoke and mirrors. Fame. Money. Success. You realize that life is fleeting and family’s what it’s all about. It’s the only thing that matters.”

  Mike rubbed his neck, feeling guilty for not keeping his distance from Lucky when he knew that associating with her would hurt the people he cared about most. Even that night they’d decorated the tree had been a mistake, because he felt he knew her so much better, liked her so much more.

  When he didn’t immediately capitulate, Gabe maneuvered his chair around the leg of the table and lowered his voice. “You get with Lucky, and it’ll divide this town in two.”

  A woman at the next table offered Gabe a hopeful smile—proof to Mike that plenty of pretty women still found Gabe attractive—but his friend ignored her completely and lowered his voice even more, to keep her from overhearing. “Believe me, Mike, as hot as Lucky is, she’s not worth it. Look what happened to your grandfather. He fell blindly in love and caused a whole lot of heartache for absolutely everyone in his family, including you. You can bet he regretted that heartache later.”

  Mike remembered how bitterly his grandfather had wept not long before he passed away.

  “If Morris were around, I’m sure he’d back me up on this one,” Gabe added.

  “Morris loved Lucky.”

  “I’m sure he did. But she’s not for you.”

  Mike touched the condensation on his glass, telling himself he should just nod and ignore it, but he couldn’t. “What if everyone’s wrong about her?” he asked.

  “In what way?”

  “They think she’s this…materialistic, self-serving woman out to gain advantage in the world any way she can.”

  “Sort of like her mother?” Gabe eased back to his normal distance and lifted his beer.

  “Exactly like her mother.”

  “Six years ago Lucky walked off with a sizeable portion of your inheritance. So I wonder where they got that idea.”

  Mike raised his eyebrows at his friend’s sarcasm. “I’ve survived.”

  “No thanks to her.”

  “You’re sounding like my family.”

  “I’m playing devil’s advocate. You used to agree with them about Red and her children. I’m wondering why you’ve suddenly changed your mind.”

  “I see things a little differently now, that’s all.”

  “Are you telling me Lucky’s sweet and innocent?”

  Mike jammed a hand through his hair. “Not sweet exactly.” He purposely didn’t address the “innocent” part. Until he’d accepted her into his bed, she’d been innocent in at least one way—but he definitely wanted to skip that when talking to Gabe. “She’s angry and resentful.”

  “Sounds pleasant.”

  “Would you feel any differently in her shoes? She’s been ostracized and rejected most of her life. Maybe she’s grown defensive in order to survive.”

  “So now you admire her?”

  Mike didn’t know how to describe his feelings for her. He kept telling himself he didn’t have any, at least none that went very deep. He was simply attracted to her. She was different from other women he knew, tough to read, tougher to reach, sometimes belligerent, often remote. Certainly there were less complicated women to want. But—he thought of that night they’d decorated the tree—she needed him, and he wanted to be there for her.

  God, what was he thinking? He had to be drunk.

  Shoving away from the table, he got up to play some pool before he said something really stupid.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  LUCKY BENT over the bathroom sink so the room would stop spinning, and splashed her heated face. She was feeling a little lightheaded. She wasn’t used to drinking and would probably pay in the morning when she woke up with a bad hangover. But at least she wasn’t pretending to have a good time anymore. The pain and anger of this night were receding; she almost couldn’t remember why she’d been so upset in the first place. Who was Dave Small to make her feel cheap and unworthy? She didn’t need him; she didn’t need anyone. Even the handsome Alex Riley, the cowboy who’d stuck close to her all evening and was waiting at the bar for her to play a game of darts, didn’t really mean anything to her.

  She liked it that way, she decided. She couldn’t get hurt if she didn’t care.

  Leaning closer to the mirror, she studied the glassy eyes staring back at her. She was fine. Aloof. Anonymous. Indifferent. She could tolerate Dundee; she was just as tough as everyone else in these parts. Tougher, because she’d been through so much. Yet the fleeting memory of Mike standing next to his father at the hardware store still stung, so she quickly banished it.

  “See? That was easy,” she told her reflection. Then she staggered out—and nearly hit herself with the door.

  “Whoops.” She laughed at her own clumsiness, but her smile disappeared when a man yanked her into the dark hall, causing her to smack her head on the pay phone.

  “Ow,” she complained. “What’s—”

  “What kind of proof?” Whoever held her pinned between the phone and the wall smelled of alcohol and stale sweat.

  Lucky blinked and tried to distinguish the face swimming above her own. She couldn’t make out the specific features, but judging by the man’s size, it had to be Smalley.

  “What?” she replied in confusion.

  “My father wants to know what you have.”

  “So he sent his own son to find out the dirty details? Doesn’t he care about your opinion of him?”

  “I don’t give a damn if he slept with your mama. You think that’s news to us? Well, it ain’t. He’s a man, and a man has needs. It’s that simple.”

  “What about your mother’s needs?” she asked dryly, beginning to sober.

  “It’s nothing against my mother. And I’m not gonna let you make it something, either. A man’s private business is a man’s private business.”

  “Your father’s a public figure, which changes the rules a bit.” Lucky tried to jerk away, but he had too strong a grasp on her arm and seemed to be enjoying the way his jagged fingernails bit into her flesh.

  Revealing wide-spaced, plaque-covered teeth that made her wonder how his wife ever kissed him, he grinned. “My father has an impeccable reputation, and that’s how it’s going to stay. It’s nothing that he slept with Red. Hell, everyone slept with her, even me and my brother. A whore’s a whore.”

  Remembering the journal entry labeled “Graduation Night,” which included Jon and Smalley’s names, brought bile to the back of Lucky’s throat. She knew she was nothing like her mother, that she and Red had never understood each other, but that fact was never more apparent than at this moment. “Let go of me, you idiot.”

  Grabbing her by the hair, Smalley banged her head against the pay phone—harder this time, so the dim light above them began to swirl and his voice ebbed in and out. “If you think I’m going to let a whore’s daughter ruin my daddy’s career, you’ve got another think comin’, sweetheart.”

  Lucky’s knees buckled and she began to sag.

  “Just remember—you’d better mind your p’s and q’s, little Miss Lucky, or your luck’s gonna run out.”

  With that he let her go and she slid down the wall.

  BOOT HEELS THUDDING on wooden boards cut through the fog in Lucky’s brain, and a swaying sensation nearly made her sick. But that wasn’t all that seemed strange. The music of the Honky Tonk was drifting away from her, along with its heat, leaving her cold and shivery and wondering why she felt so weightless.

  Opening her eyes, she saw that she was no longer even in the Honky Tonk. She was being carried across the porch and through the gravel lot by none other than Mike Hill.

&nb
sp; When had he come out of his corner to get her? What had happened?

  Wincing at the pain that seemed to be keeping time with his footsteps, she squirmed so he’d let her down.

  “Hold still before I drop you,” he said, his tone gruff.

  Lucky stopped moving, but not because he commanded it. She’d realized almost instantly that she didn’t have the strength to stand yet and didn’t want to crumple to the ground in front of him. The cold, starlit sky spun around her, and nausea rose and fell in her stomach like great waves.

  “What happened?” She let her head fall back against him because it suddenly seemed too heavy for her neck.

  “Nothing too earth-shattering,” he responded, his voice rumbling through his chest. “From what I can tell, you got drunk and passed out and have a nasty bump to prove it. When you went to the rest room, you never came back. I nearly stepped on you when I went to see why.”

  He was talking too fast. “I passed out?”

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “Considering I’ve never passed out before in my life, yes.”

  “That’s what happens when you drink too much.”

  “I never drink too much.”

  “You did tonight.”

  She thought about that for a moment. “But am I supposed to have a hangover while I’m still drunk?”

  “I don’t think alcohol agrees with you.”

  “It agreed with me just fine until—” Suddenly, the memory of Smalley leaning over her, his hand squeezing her upper arm, came back.

  “Until what?” he said, his breathing growing slightly labored as they neared his SUV.

  “Never mind. Put me down. I’m fine. My car’s not far. I can make my own way home from here.”

  He braced her against his Escalade while digging in his pocket.

  “Mike?” she said when he made no move to release her.

  “You can’t drive.” He came up with his keys and popped the locks.

  “Then leave me here if I’m so drunk. I’ll go inside and get a cup of coffee, sit awhile until I sober up.” And try to avoid Smalley and his brother and father….

  Mike managed to get the door open, then pushed her into the passenger seat of his SUV.

  The interior smelled like aftershave and leather. She was tempted to close her eyes and lie back on the seat. But she remembered all too vividly what had happened the last time she’d let him take care of her—and how carefully he’d kept his distance since then.

  Would you want to spend more time with me if I wasn’t Red’s daughter?…Yes.

  Which meant the opposite was also true.

  “If you’re not careful, you could be seen with me,” she warned as he fastened her seat belt. “And we wouldn’t want that. Other people might figure you sort of like me. You could lose head-honcho status in the We Hate Lucky fan club.”

  He grimaced at her sarcasm. “You’re not a pleasant person when you’re drunk.”

  “That’s pretty funny, since it doesn’t seem to make any difference whether I’m pleasant or not,” she said, but her head hurt too much to laugh—or even to angle her face to observe his response.

  He hesitated as if he wanted to say something else. She glanced up expectantly despite the pain, but he simply clenched his jaw and slammed the door.

  “What about my car?” she asked when he climbed behind the wheel.

  “What about it?”

  “I can’t leave it here.”

  “Why not?”

  “People will think I’m sleeping around, that…that…Well, they’d never believe I went home with you, but they’ll think I went home with someone.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “And considering what they already think, that matters to you?”

  “Of course it matters.”

  “Why? In the past you reveled in your bad reputation.”

  “I only let people think what they want to think,” she grumbled. “The fact that there’s no real basis for their beliefs makes them look like idiots.”

  He started the car, backed out and turned onto Main Street. “So you’re laughing at us?”

  “Laughing?” she said incredulously. “I haven’t been laughing at all.”

  The seriousness of her answer somehow changed the mood in the Escalade and gave Lucky the impression that she might be giving away too much. “I’ll finish this conversation when I’m sober.”

  “Is that why you waited?”

  “For what?”

  “You held on to your virginity until you were twenty-four just so you could snicker behind everyone’s back?”

  She’d hung on to her virginity for so long to prove to herself that she wasn’t anything like her mother. But she couldn’t explain that to Mike. It was a complex issue she wasn’t sure she understood herself. She’d just needed to wait.

  For the right man, a voice in her head whispered.

  She tried to block it out. “Maybe,” she said. Propping her chin on her fist, she stared out the window as the businesses flew by, all closed and dark now.

  “And is that why you came to my room that night at my place? To show me what an idiot I’ve been?”

  She scowled. “No.”

  “Then why?”

  The alcohol she’d had earlier was starting to do its job again now that she was getting warm. Despite the incident with Smalley, a peaceful serenity stole through her body. She was tired; she wanted to sleep. But the best part of this euphoric state was that she didn’t have to think about Garth Holbrook, Dave Small and his “boys,” the Caldwells, or even the approach of Christmas.

  “Lucky?”

  “What?” she murmured, struggling to keep her eyes open.

  “Tell me why you came to my room the night of the storm.”

  She felt her eyes close and once again remembered seeing him kiss Lindsey Carpenter in the barn. That memory was like a favorite dog-eared book—she never tired of it. And now she had her own chapter in that book, which was infinitely more enjoyable than any fantasy could ever be….

  “Why’d you come to my room?” he prodded gently, his voice coaxing, curious.

  Finally, she turned to him and let a nostalgic smile curve her lips. “Because I’d dreamed of making love with you for years,” she said wistfully. “It wouldn’t have been the same with anyone else.”

  Surprise lit his face.

  God, had she said that out loud?

  “I didn’t mean it,” she said quickly, alarm chasing away the contentment filling her only moments earlier. “Quit harassing me. I’m drunk. I don’t know what I’m saying. I’ve always hated you, and your family, and everyone in this town. I…I’m leaving soon and that night doesn’t matter. I just waited, okay? I don’t know why. So don’t think otherwise.”

  A frown settled on his face, but he did nothing to reveal his thoughts, and when he pulled into her drive, she couldn’t scramble out of his SUV fast enough.

  “Wait a second,” he said.

  “What?”

  “You didn’t tell Dave about the journal, did you?”

  She didn’t answer right away.

  “Lucky?”

  “No.” Not technically, she added silently.

  “Good. Give me your keys. In the morning I’ll have Fernando help me retrieve your car.”

  She dug in her purse and handed him the keys, then ran for the house.

  MIKE WANTED TO FOLLOW Lucky inside. Only Gabe’s voice, telling him he’d divide the town if he ever allowed himself to get involved with her, kept him behind the wheel and eventually motivated him to turn around and head home. Gabe was right. His family mattered.

  But Lucky was starting to matter, too. At least to him. So much so that he hadn’t thought twice about leaving his guests behind for Gabe to bring home. Or about the extra trouble of getting Lucky’s car from the Honky Tonk come morning. When he’d found her lying on the dirty floor in that dim hallway, he’d thought she was hurt. He’d seen her talking to Dave Small earlier and wondered if she’d tol
d him about the journal. His heart had begun to jackhammer against his ribs, and his throat had constricted until he could hardly swallow. He’d felt a surge of relief when he realized she was only drunk. But he couldn’t leave her to her own devices. He was afraid she’d get behind the wheel and possibly kill herself, or let the handsome cowboy she’d been dancing with take her home.

  He felt another trickle of jealousy.

  He should never have helped her during the storm; he should never have gone to the motel or bought her a silly Christmas tree. Somehow she’d claimed a piece of his heart, and damned if he knew how to get it back.

  I’d dreamed of making love with you for years….

  Something quick and powerful had passed between them when she’d made that admission. She’d looked up as if she was shocked she’d let the words escape, and he’d seen a soul-deep hunger in her eyes. Before he could react, the shield of belligerence and indifference Lucky used to keep others at a distance had snapped back into place and she’d begun to vehemently deny what she’d already stated so clearly. But Mike was beginning to understand. The harshness of her words—her whole belligerent attitude, really—concealed a vulnerability she didn’t want him or anyone else to know she possessed.

  She wasn’t what his family believed. But he knew they’d already made up their minds about her and would never be willing to see her any differently. Hell, they’d probably hate her even if he could prove she was a saint.

  With a sigh, he pulled up in front of his house and cut the engine.

  He felt a growing suspicion that Lucky was a deep, loyal, generous woman. He was becoming more convinced of that every day. But this time, being right wasn’t going to matter.

  LUCKY WOKE with a headache, a reluctance to remember last night, and a sickening surprise on her front porch. Someone had stuck a crudely made sign that said, Go Away Bitch, in a dog pile and placed it just outside her front door. She was sure one of the Smalls had left it, but the negative sentiments they expressed seemed to hit her harder than usual. Maybe that was because it was only three days before Christmas, a time supposedly dedicated to loving and giving. And she knew the Smalls weren’t the only ones who wished her gone. No one wanted her here, not even Mike.