Tough Love: Back to Buckhorn

by Lori Foster

  Seriously, did he not see the dogs? “I brought Maggie and Norwood to visit with Lynn and Tabby.”

  “Lynn’s napping, and Tabby isn’t home yet.” He leered, then reached for her face. Though she tried to lean out of reach, he followed and lightly brushed aside a curl that had half fallen over her eye. In a suggestive tone, he said, “Looks like it’ll just be the two of us.”

  Norwood gave a low growl, and Vanity hurried to quiet him. She didn’t trust Phil with the dogs.

  Maybe she should talk to Lynn or Tabby about that? Or maybe, she decided, she should just mind her own business.

  Maggie joined Norwood in the complaints, but Phil ignored them. Holding out his hand, he said to Vanity, “Come on in.”

  When she didn’t take his hand, he clasped her wrist, tugging.

  She strained away, ready to tell him to dream on. But with the dogs’ leashes in her hands, she couldn’t smack him as she wanted to.

  Then the entry door to the building slammed shut, and she looked down to the foyer to see...Stack looking up.

  His gaze narrowed on her, then shifted to Phil— specifically to Phil’s hand on her wrist.

  Wisely, Phil withdrew with alacrity, then backed into the apartment. “I think I hear Lynn. I’ll tell her you’re here.”

  Hoping to forestall the fireworks, Vanity smiled. “Stack! I was just missing you. How fun that we’re both here.”

  As he climbed the steps, he didn’t look amused.

  In fact, he looked to be considering murder.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IN THE KITCHEN, away from his mother and Vanity, Stack stewed while getting drinks together. Phil, the creep, had wisely taken off.

  When he’d seen him touching Vanity, he’d wanted to rip him apart.

  But then, as his mother often pointed out, he didn’t need another reason to despise Phil. Case in point, the barren kitchen. His sister put in a lot of hours, but most of her pay went for the monthly bills like rent, electric, insurance...

  Clearly it hadn’t gone for food in a while. The cupboards were all but empty. The fridge held beer for Phil, condiments and the remainder of the soup Tabby had made for their mom.

  Okay, so he exaggerated. There was some bologna, iced tea, a bag of carrots. But not much more than that.

  When he heard Vanity laugh, he leaned around the wall and saw both Norwood and Maggie trying to sit on his mother. She smiled and coughed and looked to love it.

  Carrying two glasses of iced tea, Stack came in and told the dogs, “Down.”

  His mother was saying, “They don’t know commands—” but the dogs had already left her to sit on the floor, staring at him as if awaiting further orders.

  He handed a tea to Vanity, then one to his mother before praising the dogs with pets and ear rubs.

  “He’s a wizard,” Vanity whispered loud enough for him to hear. “Probably put a spell or something on those sweet dogs.”

  “And you?” Stack asked while scratching Norwood’s chin. “Did I put a spell on you?”

  His mother watched with interest.

  Vanity just laughed again. “No need.” Then to Lynn, “Look at him! Like he needs a spell. Pfft.”

  It was then that Stack saw his mother conniving. Her shrewd gaze bounced from Vanity to him and back again.

  Oh, shit. That was never good, at least not for him. “Mom—”

  “I know it’s still weeks away, but would you join us for Thanksgiving?”

  Vanity did a double take. As if she thought his mother was talking to him, she watched Stack and waited.

  Stack sighed. “Mom, you know I don’t want to be around—” he censored his language for his mother “—Phil.”

  “You can pull it together long enough for the holiday.” She smiled at Vanity. “So, will you?”

  Confusion lifted Vanity’s brows. “Er...will I what?”

  “Join us.”

  “Oh.” Vanity straightened and glanced at Stack for help, but when he shrugged, she turned back to his mother. “I...”

  Pensive, his mom asked, “Or do you fly home for the holidays?”

  Damn. Stack hadn’t even thought of that. But now that he did, he again hated the thought of her leaving. He might not be ready to get too involved. But he sure as hell wasn’t ready to say goodbye, either.

  “No, I’ll be here,” Vanity said.

  Relief clashed with concern. Because there were other things she didn’t say, Stack asked, “You don’t visit your family for Thanksgiving?”

  Busying herself with a drip of condensation rolling down the glass, she shook her head. Silence made the seconds seem like minutes until she said, “I don’t have any family left.”

  Lynn covered her mouth with a hand. “No family at all?”

  Her smile small and wistful, Vanity shook her head. “It’s just me now.”

  Well, hell. How come he didn’t know that already? “Aunts or uncles?” Stack saw the banked melancholy in her eyes. “Cousins?”

  Scooting off the couch to the floor, Vanity let Maggie crawl into her lap. She hugged the dog. “Mom had two sisters who never married and never had kids. Dad was an only child, as was I. They were all together in a private plane when it...crashed.”

  Drawn to her, Stack took the seat she’d vacated and pulled her back to lean against his legs.

  It struck him that it was the same pose as the ad she’d done, minus the ice cream. “I’m sorry.”

  She slowly licked her lips, then glanced up at him. “Mom lived for a little while, but she never came out of her coma. The rest died instantly.” She lifted her shoulders. “That’s how I inherited so much. From all of them.” She blew out a breath. “I’m the only one left.”

  Though she sat there looking strong and stoic, such a tragedy had to have been devastating beyond words. She’d lost her whole family in one fell swoop. Fuck, he wanted to hold her. When he glanced at his mom he saw the same sentiment in her eyes.

  So often, far too often, he took for granted that his mom and Tabby would always be there. Sure, they butted heads. Probably always would. Tabby was a perpetual victim, and his mom a constant enabler. The opposite of Tabby, he was independent enough that he’d never really needed their support. Yet if push came to shove, he knew they’d have his back.

  Maybe it was time for him to rethink his attitude...especially with Vanity.

  Nose scrunched, she turned back to his mother. “I don’t know if Stack told you, but I’m financially set.”

  “I’m sorry,” his mother said, then she blanched. “Oh, I don’t mean I’m sorry that you have means. No, that’s a blessing. I meant, for you to have gone through something like that...”

  “Yes.” She sighed. “My parents were very comfortable. I’d have eventually inherited from them, but I assumed it’d be much later in life, not at twenty-one. I’d never thought about it, not really. They had always ensured I had everything I needed.”

  And yet, Stack thought, that somehow didn’t ring true.

  “With everyone’s estates coming to me, it was overwhelming. So many people, bankers and accountants and financial advisers, all wanted to meet with me.” She swallowed. “And I just wanted to grieve.”

  Stack smoothed her hair, brushed her cheek with his thumb. “So you’ll join us for Thanksgiving.” Now that he was mending fences, he’d definitely be there, and he wanted her with him.

  He almost choked, but he lied, “It’ll be fun.”

  Vanity twisted again to see him, then laughed at his face. “Liar. I bet until this moment, you weren’t even planning on going.”

  His mother did him in. “That would be my fault. I’ve showed far too much favoritism to Tabby. Stack was younger, but easier, and Tabby’s always needed more attention. It was so unfair of me.”r />
  Odd that his mom would bring that up now, in front of Vanity. “That had nothing to do with it.”

  Expression pained, she said, “But you don’t deny I’ve been unfair.”

  Gently, he said, “I’m a grown man, Mom. Not a kid.”

  “But you weren’t always, and I’m sorry.” She didn’t wait for him to respond before saying to Vanity, “Until all that hoopla at the hospital, Stack had vowed never to set eyes on Phil again.”

  “I didn’t vow,” Stack protested. She made him sound as dramatic as Tabby. But he didn’t want to be distracted with Phil’s stupidity right now. He stroked his fingers through Vanity’s hair and said, “I’m going to Thanksgiving dinner with my mom and sister, and you’ve been invited. I’d like for you to go with me. So, what do you say?”

  Encouraging her, his mom added, “It’ll be at my house. I like to cook the meal. It’ll just be Stack, Tabby and Phil, maybe my brother and his wife. Not sure about that yet.” She toyed with the edge of the throw blanket covering her legs. “We lost my husband six years ago, but he did love Thanksgiving.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Vanity glanced at Stack, then back to Lynn. “I didn’t realize. I’m sure you miss him very much.”

  Lynn smiled. “Yes. Tabby and I might even shed a few tears.”

  “They definitely will. It happens every holiday.” But somehow Stack knew Vanity would understand.

  “Those we’ve lost,” Lynn said, “are especially missed at every holiday.”

  Vanity looked away. “It’s...difficult to plan that far ahead.”

  Stack wondered if she preferred to be alone with her memories. Or maybe she was unsure of where their relationship would go. They were still measuring it in days, not weeks.

  Lynn sat forward. “No one should spend those special times alone.” Looking insanely hopeful, as if Stack had somehow deprived her up to that point, she tacked on, “Join us. Please.”

  Worried, Vanity glanced at Stack. “It’s a family event, and I don’t want to impose.” Lower, like she thought Hawkeye, aka his mother, wouldn’t notice, she added, “That wasn’t our agreement and I’m not sure we...”

  He wanted to say Fuck the agreement, but just then a key sounded in the apartment door, drawing everyone’s attention as it swung open.

  With twisted glee showing plain in his demeanor, Phil stepped in—and the dumbass had Whitney with him.

  His mother gave a quiet gasp.

  Too stunned to be mad, Stack stared at Whitney as he slowly stood, aware of Vanity scrambling out of his way.

  Whitney looked exactly the same, like a brunette bombshell. Thick, dark hair hung past her shoulders and around her hefty rack. Blue eyes, as cold as her heart, zeroed in on him, and she gave a tremulous smile.

  Smirking, Phil put a hand to her lower back, ushering her in. “Look who I found coming to visit you, Lynn. It’s Whitney.”

  Whitney looked thrilled to be interrupting—until she spotted Vanity. Then she drew upon absurd indignation and suspicion, scowling as if Stack had somehow betrayed her.

  Standing, Vanity took it all in, slipped her hand into Stack’s, and said to his mother, “I’d love to join you for Thanksgiving. Thank you for inviting me.”

  * * *

  IT TOOK LESS than two seconds for Vanity to know that Whitney, the voluptuous beauty standing poised before her, was pure trouble. Some women were like that, she knew. They enjoyed causing drama and conflict. No doubt, Whitney was the source of negativity between Phil and Stack.

  And yet f’ing stupid Phil had dragged her in here, now, when Stack was only just reuniting with his family.

  She turned to Stack—seeing six feet, 185 pounds of badass ability. But in that moment, she wanted to defend him.

  Not her place. Not yet anyway.

  Would she let that stop her? Nope.

  Only after she’d hugged up to Stack’s arm did she extend a hand toward the other woman. Putting on her airiest blonde bombshell attitude, she said, “Hi, Whitney. How are you? I’m Vanity.” And yeah, Stack is mine. So eat that.

  Eyes narrowed, Whitney took her hand. It’d be best if Whitney had no clue of her backbone, so Vanity kept the shake deliberately limp.

  That earned her a strange look from Stack.

  “Vanity?” Whitney asked with a mocking surprise. “Odd name.”

  “Yes.” Another demonstrative squeeze to Stack—and another “WTF” look from him. “It’s funny how I got the name. See, my mama says I was a beautiful baby with curly blond hair and big blue eyes, smiling at everyone. She and my aunts decided that I was so cute, vanity would be my vice, so I might as well be named that.”

  Unimpressed, Whitney gave a malicious smile. “And are you?”

  “Cute? I like to think so.” She tipped her head back against Stack. “He certainly thinks so.”

  Playing along, Stack kissed her forehead and said, “Cute doesn’t begin to cover it.”

  Vanity beamed at him. “I’m proud,” she continued to Whitney. “But not narcissistic. Overall my worst fault is that I’m possessive. Very, very possessive.”

  Lynn choked but turned it into a cough that turned into a laugh.

  Using it as an opportunity, Stack freed his arm from Vanity’s grip and snagged up his mother’s tea glass. “I’ll refill your drink.”

  Vanity watched him stride to the kitchen. You can run, but you can’t hide. She was onto him now. No, she didn’t know the details. Had Whitney cheated on him with Phil? Betrayed Stack in some other way?

  She wouldn’t pry. When he was ready, he’d tell her. She hoped.

  In the meantime, she’d do her best to behave.

  “Where’s Tabby?” Lynn asked. “Shouldn’t she have been home by now?”

  Very disinterested, Phil rolled one shoulder. “She’s working overtime and then hitting up the grocery store. Past due, by the way. There’s nothing here to eat.”

  Vanity tipped her head at him. “You don’t grocery shop?”

  The direct challenge—given nicely—threw him. “Tabby likes to do it.”

  “After working overtime. Wow, she’s like superwoman. I bet that’s intimidating at times, being with someone so strong.” She smiled after delivering that barb.

  It took Phil a bit to come up with a reply, and then, sounding like a petulant boy, he snapped, “Tabby knows I’m strong, too. She always says we’re a good match.”

  Ignoring that was the worst insult she could give, so that’s what Vanity did. Eyeing the other woman, who still hovered near the door, she said, “Whitney, did you want to come in?”

  Lynn smiled at Vanity. “You’re a very good hostess. I don’t know where my manners have gone.”

  “You’ve always been a wonderful hostess,” Whitney gushed, while casting a mean look Vanity’s way.

  As Whitney stepped farther into the room, the dogs moved to greet her. “No, go. Git.” Whitney swatted at them on her way to sit by Lynn.

  “I’ll close them in the bathroom,” Phil offered.

  “No,” Vanity said, not bothering to hide her temper. “You won’t.” She held out a hand, and the dogs returned to plop down by her feet. “It’s all right, babies,” she told them. “Not everyone likes dogs.” Because not everyone has a heart.

  Phil stood there glaring at her—and again Vanity ignored him while listening to Whitney coo and gush—oh-so-falsely—over Lynn. Had Stack been in love with that vile woman? Did he love her still? She couldn’t see it; it took little time in Whitney’s presence to know she wasn’t a nice person.

  Yet Phil had brought her here for a reason, that much was plain. Did he expect Stack to weaken in Whitney’s presence?

  Vanity figured she should probably come up with a plan. She was good at plans, at creating them and following through. It’s what she
’d done when Carl passed, when she’d lost her family, and when her best friend left California and moved to Ohio.

  What she’d done when she decided she wanted Stack.

  If you thought things through, there was usually a way to make your goals happen. Plan. Carry through. Voilà—success.

  She glanced toward the kitchen and saw Stack, his back to the room, his cell phone to his ear. The conversation was low, so she didn’t know who he’d called, but she did know not to intrude.

  Whitney, apparently, didn’t.

  Standing, she told Lynn, “I’ll just go see what’s keeping Stack.” Then to Vanity, “Stay put. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Really?” Vanity said, all sarcastic sugar. “Thank you. I’ll treasure this moment of respite.”

  Confusion had Whitney searching the room for an ally, but Phil was nowhere around, and Lynn just smiled at her. Without another word, Whitney hustled away. Vanity watched as the woman approached Stack, as her hand went to his back—as Stack stepped out of her reach.

  Whispering, Lynn said, “Ignore her. Stack is smarter than that.”

  Vanity nodded. She hoped so, but when it came to easy conquests, men could be ridiculous.

  Lynn patted the seat beside her, so Vanity joined her on the sofa. So did the dogs. And unlike Whitney, she and Lynn enjoyed their company.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” Vanity asked, then clarified, “Other than a drink, because no way am I walking into that kitchen.”

  “Pride,” Lynn said with a grin. “I love it. And I like you. A lot. You say you’re wealthy...?”

  “Yes.” It still embarrassed her a little to explain how easily, and how awfully, the money had come to her. She hadn’t earned it. And she had no one special to share it with.

  “You don’t act like someone who is rich.”

  Her dislike of stereotypes made it impossible for Vanity to keep the protests to herself. “Have you known many wealthy people?”

  Lynn shrugged. “No. But I listen to the news, and I see how they’re portrayed in movies.”