Tough Love: Back to Buckhorn

by Lori Foster

  Lynn smiled at her while petting Norwood and Maggie. “Vanity. What a nice surprise.”

  “Am I intruding?” Pulling back the hood of a snowy-white zip-up, Vanity explained, “I won’t stay.” She pulled off mittens and dragged down the zipper. “I just wanted to drop off a pot of chili I made for you. I figured with as late as Tabby works, you might like it for dinner.”

  Stack set the box on the counter, then lifted the heavy tote bag to the seat of a chair. He started to open it to see what was inside.

  Vanity slapped it shut again, then barred the tote with her body. “That’s not for you.” She kept her hands behind her, sealing the tote.

  Interesting. Especially with the way her breasts pressed against the front of her turquoise top.

  Holding her gaze, he asked, “Why are you cooking for my family?”

  “It seemed the considerate thing to do.”

  That made little sense. Maybe his best course would be to confuse her. Given his own confusion, it seemed fair. “Chili, you said?”

  Suspicious, she studied him askance. “Yes. And fresh cheesy bread. I figured that’d be easy to reheat.” She leaned to see around him, saying to his mom, “I hope you like it.”

  “Love it,” she said. “If I hadn’t just finished the lunch Stack brought me, I’d get a bowlful right now.”

  Vanity beamed at him. “You brought your mother lunch?”

  “Yeah.” He had no idea why that pleased her so much. “Don’t make a big deal of it. She’s my mother, she’s sick, and—”

  “And,” Lynn interjected, “he also brought groceries. The cabinets are now full.” Goading him, she finished with a mushy smile. “I have such a considerate son.”

  “Awww.” Taking the bait, Vanity stroked a hand over his pec. “That is so sweet.”

  Stack rolled his eyes. She did seem obsessed with thinking that of him—and with his mother helping her along in that misconception, he saw no point in trying to deny it. “You told me you had to paint.”

  “I did.” Her cheeks warmed. “It went well this morning.”

  She was hedging about something. Stack reached around her, took the tote and held the chair for her to sit.

  She stared at it, then him.

  Lifting a brow, he waited.

  She conceded with ill grace. “Fine.” Abandoning her protection of the tote bag, she dropped into the seat.

  Stack leaned the cumbersome tote against the counter, giving her a minute to regroup. “The chili smells good.” He lifted out the big pot and set it on the stove, then removed the carefully wrapped loaf of bread.

  “There’s more for us at home. That is...” She darted an embarrassed glance toward his mother. “I mean...”

  Unconcerned, Stack said, “I’m a big boy, Vanity. My mother won’t faint if she knows we’re spending the night together.”

  “Stack!” Vanity looked like she might faint.

  Lynn laughed, then took pity on her and changed the subject. “So on top of your other many talents, you can cook?”

  “I can read a recipe as well as the next person.” She glanced again at the tote bag. “But I’m not really talented. Just...well...”

  It was a unique thing, to see Vanity showing so much uncertainty. In the time he’d known her, and especially since she’d propositioned him, she’d been balls-to-the-wall on everything. She said what she thought without holding back, went after what she wanted, full steam ahead.

  But now, she appeared anxious about the outcome of her visit. Did she seek out his mother because she missed her own? Sure, his mom was great, but he’d never had a date work to befriend her before.

  That is, until Whitney had tried to worm her way back into his life by kissing up to his mom with fake concern. Back when they had been a couple, her interest in his family had been nonexistent, with the obvious exception of fucking Phil. But Stack wasn’t stupid, and neither was his mom. They’d both seen through her ploy.

  Whitney was as transparent as glass, but as usual, he didn’t understand Vanity’s motives, and that made him wary. Being near her always made him hot. And seeing her like this, so eager to please, left his heart full.

  One way or another, Vanity kept him in emotional turmoil.

  Her cheeks colored, and she looked again at the tote bag. “I, ah...”

  “You brought my mother a gift?” Stack asked gently.

  As if the suspense had been killing her, she went limp. “Yes.” Then in a rush to his mother, “It’s just a little thing. Well, I mean, the gesture is little. Clearly the gift is not.” She gestured at the oversize tote. “Not too big either, at least, I hope not. I hadn’t planned it, but then I was inspired, so I just went with it. I don’t expect you to hang it or anything. And if you don’t like it, that’s okay. Seriously. But I thought—”

  “Wow.” Stack couldn’t believe it when he peeked into the tote.

  Vanity went quiet.

  Lifting out the painting, Stack took in the impression of Norwood and Maggie. He had no words. The exact way Norwood’s tongue hung out of his mouth, the way Maggie let one ear droop, the glimmer in their dark eyes, the barely suppressed energy and happiness—she’d captured it all.

  Slowly, he turned it so his mother could see.

  She stared while Vanity chewed her bottom lip.

  Amazingly, tears stung his mother’s eyes.

  Well, what do you know? It took a lot to make his mother well up, and Vanity had done it...with consideration.

  “It’s beautiful.” Hand to her heart, Lynn sighed. “Oh, my, just beautiful.”

  “Really?” Vanity laughed as she blew out a relieved breath. “I’m so glad you like it.”

  “I love it, and I know exactly where to hang it.”

  Vanity glanced at him, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about his wide smile.

  “I know the dogs aren’t really yours,” she explained. “But it’s clear you love them and they love you—”

  “If Tabby would give them to me,” Lynn swore, “I’d keep them.” She stared at the painting. “This is the next best thing.”

  Stack had no idea how Vanity had completed the painting so quickly, but he liked his mother’s reaction. When she left her seat and went to Vanity, taking her hands and drawing her up, Vanity freely accepted her embrace.

  “Thank you, Vanity. Thank you so much.”

  Vanity squeezed her back. “You’re very, very welcome.”

  Stack met his mother’s gaze and saw happiness along with the same emotional uproar he often felt.

  Vanity had that effect on people.

  Feeling the need to remove himself from the disturbing overload, Stack set the painting aside. “I need to get going.”

  His announcement separated the women, but they both continued to smile.

  Looking happier than he’d ever seen her, Vanity said, “This was fun. I’m so glad I stopped by.”

  His mother laughed. Stack had the same reaction. How could Vanity consider so much imposition on her life fun? She not only babysat his sister’s dogs, dragging them around with her nearly everywhere she went, but now she was cooking for them, and bearing gifts, as well.

  “I want to go home now, just so I can get the painting hung on the wall.”

  “Not yet,” Stack cautioned. “You promised to stay put a few more days.” He carried the painting to the room his mother used. When he returned, Vanity was bundled back up in her hoodie.

  “I need to get scooting, too.” She picked up the leashes and called the dogs to her.

  “You’re coming to the rec center?” Stack asked her. After her impromptu visit, he wanted her more than ever.

  “Yes, but I have to get Norwood and Maggie back to my place first.” She hooked the leashes to each dog’s collar, th
en allowed them to go to his mother for goodbyes.

  When his mother stood, Stack took the leashes from Vanity. “We can walk out together.”

  Lynn stopped them with a hand to Vanity’s arm. “Will you visit again?”

  “I’d love to.” As if they were old friends, Vanity said, “I’ll call you tomorrow to see what works.”

  “Thank you.” His mother shot him a look. “Since Stack won’t let me go home and Tabby works all the time, I’ll enjoy the company.”

  Holding up his arms, Stack asked, “What am I? Chopped liver?”

  “You’re wonderful, that’s what you are. Now come here.” She hugged him close, then made him bend down so she could kiss his cheek. Being sly while trying to act innocent, she said, “Maybe the two of you could visit together next time?”

  Vanity busied herself unnecessarily with the dogs.

  Shaking his head, Stack told Vanity, “Subtlety is not her strong suit.”

  “No,” Lynn agreed. “It’s not. So, what do you say?”

  He turned to Vanity. “You free?”

  She looked surprised, then more than willing.

  Now if he could just keep her in that frame of mind.

  “I’d love to visit again, thank you. My schedule is a little nuts tomorrow, so how about Stack and I see what we can work out, then one of us will let you know.”

  Just like an official couple, Stack thought. “Well, Mom? Does that work for you?”

  “It’s perfect.”

  It took them a few more minutes to finally get out the door. Each day the weather got more bitter, and now a strong wind whistled through the barren trees.

  Stack watched her walk, enjoying her long stride and the sway of her hips. “How is it a California surfer girl isn’t shivering in this weather?”

  She glanced at him with bright eyes and a wide smile. “I love it. It’s so different from what I’m used to.” Hands in her hoodie pockets, she watched as he let the dogs sniff a tree; Norwood chose to piddle on it.

  “My parents were well traveled. We used to go everywhere. By high school, though, I usually chose to stay behind. It got too disruptive trying to keep up with my studies from abroad.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  Whenever she discussed money, she wrinkled her nose—as she did now. “Dad hired private tutors. That was never a problem.”

  Stack was eternally grateful that she hadn’t been with them when the private plane had crashed. It made his stomach feel like lead to even consider it.

  They reached her car and she opened the back door. When the dogs immediately jumped in, she praised them. “Such good puppies.”

  “They’re learning.”

  “They do really well with consistent instruction.” She closed the door, then leaned back on it. “I used to love the travel, but I hated missing my friends.”

  Stack tucked aside a long tendril of silky hair that kept blowing past her face. “I bet you made friends everywhere you went.”

  “I was shier when I was young.”

  He gave her a “yeah, right” look.

  Laughing, she ducked her head. “Okay, so I’ve never really been shy. Maybe stuck-up was a better word.”

  “I’m not buying that either.” He kept his fingers at her cheek, enjoying the smoothness of her skin, how she leaned into his touch.

  “My parents insulated me from a lot.”

  “They were protective?” He hoped so. Vanity deserved to be well loved, and guarded.

  “With some things. Like, I’d meet their business associates’ kids, but they were different from me. The people I wanted to hang with, the guys I thought were interesting, they barred from getting anywhere near me.”

  “What type of guys?”

  A grin teased over her mouth, twitching her lips as she tried to suppress it, then finally breaking free. Laughing, she admitted, “Musicians. Artists. A few athletes.” She looked at his mouth, then moved against him. “Those guys were nothing like you. If my parents were alive, they’d like you.”

  He slid his hand inside her hood, cupping the back of her head. “What about you, Vanity? You like me?”

  As he drew her closer, she tipped her face up to his, meeting him halfway. “I like you a lot.”

  “Good to know.” He kissed her, but kept it light.

  Patting his chest, Vanity said, “I have to go.” One more kiss. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Right. At the rec center, with all the men she admired around her.

  But after that, she’d be all his. He drew a breath and nodded. “Drive carefully.”

  Stepping back, he watched her buckle up and then drive away. Thinking about all the different things he’d do with her tonight, he headed for his own car. He opened the door and was about to get in, but something—some unknown, anomalous threat—stirred the hairs on the back of his neck. He looked around, seeing all the long shadows and feeling a shift in the air.

  Given the clouds, it had gotten dark early.

  Eyes narrowed, Stack searched the surrounding area. He was still trying to decide if he should forget it and get in the car or go with his gut, when he heard the rushing footsteps behind him.

  He turned—and dodged a fist aimed at his face.

  Reacting on autopilot, he threw his own punch and connected solidly with a muscled gut. The big bruiser back-stepped but didn’t go down.

  Instincts prickling, Stack turned again and blocked a small wooden bat with his forearm.

  Two of them! Son of a bitch.

  Seething, he looked around fast but didn’t spot anyone else. No words were spoken. Hoping his mother would remain oblivious, he didn’t call out.

  The men glared at him, their intent obvious. He smiled back with eagerness.

  He didn’t think this was a robbery. They didn’t want his wallet or his car.

  They wanted to physically attack. Why?

  He ignored the pain in his arm where he’d blocked the bat, grateful that the blow hadn’t landed on his temple, where it had been aimed.

  Grateful, too, that Vanity had left before they showed up.

  He took stock, rolled his shoulder, decided his arm was fine, and nodded. “Let’s go, boys. I don’t have all night.”

  The big guy charged in first. Stack kicked him in the face. The jeans were restrictive, but he wore his cowboy boots, and the shit-kickers were perfect for removing a few teeth and destroying a nose.

  The bastard stumbled back, a hand to his face as he teetered and fell, splaying blood everywhere.

  Stack regained his stance in time to brace for the full-body impact of the other man. They went down hard to the cold pavement, Stack on his back. But he had a slick ground game and knew how to land, how to roll into a submission, and in no time he’d locked up the other fucker so tight the dude couldn’t move. Arm around his attacker’s throat in a rear choke, deep under his chin, Stack squeezed while hooking the other man’s legs with his own. He stretched him out, heard him gurgle, and then felt him go limp.

  Knowing he wouldn’t stay out long, Stack shoved the body aside, did a quick frisk checking for weapons, then regained his feet. The first man was trying to slink away, his zigzagging walk leaving a bloody trail behind him on the dark street. Several of his teeth remained on the ground.

  “Not another step,” Stack said, already advancing on him in case he was packing. It’d be a hell of a lot easier to disarm him at close range than be a sitting duck yards away.

  The man panicked and tried to run, but it took a mere jog for Stack to catch him and trip him up.

  Sprawled on the ground, the man tried to curse around his injuries. Stack divided his attention between both of the men. “Why?”

  The dude shook his head. “Don’t know.”

 
“What the fuck does that mean?”

  Half sitting, the guy dug a meaty fist into his front pocket and pulled out cash. He flung it on the ground. “Fifty bucks to bust you up a little. Thought it would be easy.”

  Well, hell. “No, not easy at all.”

  “No,” the bloodied man agreed.

  “Who paid you?”

  Glaring, he repeated, “Don’t know.”

  Stack quickly weighed his options, then withdrew his second phone. He couldn’t call Cannon. Hell, Cannon was probably still in bed with Yvette, round the clock if he had to guess, celebrating love and marriage in the best way—physically, sexually.

  He dialed Armie instead.

  In the middle of the chaos, he smiled, imagining Vanity’s reaction if she knew he’d used, as she called it, the bat signal.

  Before the first ring finished going through, Armie answered with, “What’s up?”

  Flexing his shoulders, trying to relieve the strain, Stack explained. He and Armie agreed on how to handle things. Armie was busy—apparently doing his own physical celebration with a couple of groupies—and once Stack assured him he didn’t need to personally show up, he promised to send backup ASAP.

  Finishing the call, Stack returned the phone to his pocket.

  The guy on the ground propped his elbows on his knees and let his head drop forward. “Cops?”

  “Naw. Worse.”

  His head lifted. “Worse?”

  The second guy finally came to. He lumbered to his feet, took one look at Stack with the other man, then turned tail and ran.

  “Why’s he allowed to get away and I’m not?”

  Smirking, Stack looked back at his quarry. “He won’t get far.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed, and given the blood on his face and swollen lips and jaw, he looked pretty hideous. “You just became my snitch, bitch.” Registering the shock gave Stack little satisfaction, but it was better than no satisfaction at all. “You’re going to tell me who your chickenshit friend is, and you’re going to help me find the asshole who hired you.”

  “I told you I don’t know.”