by Lucy Connors
“Be careful,” she whispered, but I didn’t even know what that word meant anymore.
“Happy birthday,” Derek said as I turned to go. I grimaced, and he grinned at me. “The office gives me all the birthdays to print in the school paper.”
I groaned. I hated my birthday and always tried to avoid letting anyone know.
We barely made it into the car before I was in Mickey’s arms, kissing him frantically, rediscovering the shape of his mouth and the feel of his lips. He pulled back, breathing hard, and jammed the key in the ignition.
“Let’s drive somewhere,” he said roughly.
I fastened my seat belt and nodded, afraid to say anything and break the moment.
We were at least five miles down the road before he spoke again. “Happy birthday? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I never tell anybody.”
“I’m not just anybody, I hope, or I want to find all those other guys whose tongues have been in your mouth lately and have a little chat with them.”
I think he meant it as a joke, but it came out just a little too rough for me to think he really thought it was funny.
I laughed anyway. “No other guys. Just you.”
“Good. Now, about your birthday?”
He took the turn to head out of town, and I realized he was heading to Lonesome Ridge.
“It’s a yardstick,” I explained reluctantly.
“What?”
I sighed. “A yardstick. Every year, my parents take the opportunity of my birthday to tell me how I’m not measuring up. I got a B. I don’t dress properly. I have bad penmanship. For the past few years, they’ve called me at boarding school to have the yardstick talk. Before that, we’d have it before they allowed me to have any cake.”
There was a little silence, but I caught him glancing over at me.
“That’s seriously fucked up,” he finally said.
“I know. That’s why I’m happy not to remind anybody that it’s my birthday.”
“Your parents kind of know when your birthday is,” he pointed out.
I shrugged. “Once in a while, if I’m very lucky, they forget.”
He held out his hand for mine and then squeezed my fingers in a tactile and unspoken display of support.
“My mom once made me a dinosaur cake. Actually, two of them,” he said. “We had half the neighborhood over for a barbecue and cake and ice cream. I was crazy about those dinosaurs, and I cried when we had to cut into them.”
“How old were you?”
He grinned a little. “Oh, this was last year.”
I groaned and laughed all at once.
“I was four, I think. No, three, because I remember the spots on the dinosaurs’ backs were each in the shape of the number three.”
“Your mom sounds wonderful,” I said wistfully. “My mother never made a cake in her life. She buys them from the bakery and asks for the sugar substitute frosting.”
“That’s pretty terrible.”
I nodded. “Honestly? It tastes like paste. But she’s more worried about the calories than about the flavor.”
“So let her get the sugar-free crap on her own birthday!”
I loved that he sounded so outraged on my behalf. Maybe this would finally be a birthday that I wanted to remember.
Chapter 52
Mickey
Victoria was out the door almost before I’d turned off the car, but I sat there for a minute watching her. She was so beautiful in the moonlight. She shone, almost lit up from within, and her hair gleamed in a pale waterfall around her shoulders.
I wanted her so bad it hurt.
She glanced back at me, serious now, and I climbed out of the car, as helpless to stop myself as a drunk following the smell of moonshine, or as almost any Rhodale man in history chasing the lure of a life of crime. We knew it was wrong, but we justified it to ourselves.
I looked at Victoria shining in the darkness and didn’t have to justify anything. Being with her could never be wrong.
“Happy birthday.” I leaned back on the hood of the car, content to wait for her to come to me.
“I’m seventeen,” she said, and I nodded.
“I figured.”
“I’ll be eighteen in a year.”
“That’s usually how it works.”
“When I’m eighteen, I can leave town,” she said, and my brain finally kicked on.
“You want to leave? Where would you go without a high school degree and with no money?” My voice sounded harsh, but the thought of her leaving me made me a little crazy.
“We could both leave,” she said quietly. “If the feud shows no sign of stopping. Gran would help us out with money, and we could finish school somewhere else. What chance do we have here? We can get out, or we can end up dead. Neither is a good choice, but I know which I’d prefer.”
The idea suddenly appealed to me more than anything I’d ever heard. Get out. Go someplace where being a Rhodale or Whitfield wasn’t any more or less desirable or newsworthy than being a Smith or Jones. I’d always thought college would offer that escape for me, but maybe this was it instead.
“We could take off down the highway in the old farm truck. I have some money saved up,” she said almost wistfully. “We could be free. We could support ourselves, and live our lives away from all this violence and hatred.”
“The wind in your hair, looking for adventure,” I said, almost smiling. I tugged on a strand of her hair. “The American dream of hitting the open road with the most beautiful girl in the world sitting next to me in an old, rusty farm truck.”
For a moment, I could almost picture it. The image was so strong that I leaned into it, wrapped myself in its deceptive promise.
Then reality intruded, knocking me back down to earth.
“But we can’t. I told Ethan I’d work for him if he’d leave you and your family alone.”
Victoria gasped. “You can’t do that. You’ll go to jail. Your entire future—down the toilet with a huge flushing noise. No. Absolutely not. I won’t let you.”
“It’s bigger than me and my future now, Victoria. There’s a new player involved, and he’s dangerous. He threatened Caro and her kids if we don’t cooperate. I’m sorry, but you can’t stop me on this.” I wasn’t defiant or loud; I was matter-of-fact. I’d do what I had to do to protect Victoria from my half brother and his crazy mother, and now it was even more crucial, since Baron had made an overt threat against my sister and the girls.
And if Baron found out about Victoria . . . Ice closed over my mind, and I almost stopped breathing.
“Well I can at least stop you from thinking about it,” she said, and she stepped closer. “At least for tonight.”
She started to unbutton her shirt.
Chapter 53
Victoria
I was trembling like a racehorse caught in a thunderstorm, but I felt braver than I’d ever been before. It was my birthday, and—just this once—I wanted something all for me. No sugar substitute, no educational toys when all my friends got Little Miss Sparkle Doll.
I wanted Mickey. And if I could help him focus on something—anything—but the horrible dilemma he was facing with his brother’s criminal empire, then that was all for the better. But mostly, this was about me. Just for once, I wanted this moment to be about me, about us, and for the rest of the world to disappear.
He put his hands on me to stop me from unbuttoning any further.
“Are you sure? I don’t want this unless it’s because you want me, not over some screwed-up idea about giving me your body to keep me from helping Ethan.” His voice was hoarse, and he was staring at me like I was a threat to his composure or his sanity.
I knew he wanted me, and the knowledge gave me a feeling of confidence like I’d never known before.
“Forget him. All o
f them. I want tonight to be only about you and me,” I whispered, and he nodded, and then he was kissing me.
It was an unseasonably warm evening, but the winds up on the ridge were cool, and I was shaking with nerves, reaction, and cold. He pulled his jacket off and draped it around me, on top of my sweater, and I started laughing even though my teeth were chattering.
“After how you started off our first date, I would have thought you’d be more eager to get me undressed, instead of covering me up.”
He grinned.
“Trust me to do everything backward. Believe me, though, I have never wanted anything more in my life than to get you undressed,” he said so sincerely that I blushed. “I just want to be absolutely, one thousand percent sure that this is what you want, too.”
“Mickey, shut up and kiss me.”
He did.
When he kissed me, it was like poetry exploding inside my head. Everything else vanished—the feud, our families, our problems—and my world kaleidoscoped down into a swirl of color and sensation. Mickey never stopped touching me, stroking my back and sides and hair, and I touched him, too, daring to explore the hard planes of his chest through his shirt and then reaching up to put my hands in his hair and combing the silky mass with my fingers.
He shuddered, his body shaking, hard, and I was glad it wasn’t just me reacting like that. No matter what experience he’d had before, this was now, and we were here together, and it was more than everything I’d ever wanted.
So much more.
I wanted to give myself to him—I wanted him to give himself to me. For us to explore this emotion between us and to be part of each other, to forget the world, even for just a little while.
“Mickey,” I whispered, and he pulled me even closer.
“Yes,” he said. “Oh, please, yes.”
Chapter 54
Mickey
Suddenly, with Victoria, something that had been fast and furious and all about hormones transformed completely. I wanted to linger, savor, enjoy. I wanted to make sure that she felt every moment and never forgot any of it. I found a couple of emergency blankets in the trunk, neatly folded in the small plastic bin that held roadside flares from Pa and bottled water and power bars from Mom. The tangible proof of how much they cared about me brought me up short, and I pulled Victoria closer and held her so tightly she probably couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to grow up with parents who used her birthday as a yardstick. I’d been so wrong with my stupid stereotypes and preconceived notions about the happy, rich Whitfields.
“Stop,” she said, her voice husky. “Whatever you’re thinking about, it’s making you sad, so you have to stop. Kiss me again.”
“Yes.”
I kissed her and somehow managed to unroll the blankets without ever letting her go. I kissed her and tried to pour every ounce of my feelings for her into my lips and hands, because I knew I’d never find the words. She touched me with shaking fingers, and I touched her. I caressed her silken skin with kisses and suddenly, wildly, wondered if I’d hit my head harder than I thought when I flew off that three-wheeler and this was all a concussion-induced fever dream.
Victoria shivered, and that was too real to be a dream. I covered her body with mine, and looked down into eyes that were so like liquid starlight.
“Please,” she whispered.
I found the condom that had been riding around in my wallet for a while and fumbled it on with hands that weren’t very steady, and then I kissed her again.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t,” she said, and I knew she wasn’t talking about now, or physically, because my heart was afraid of the same thing. I did my best to convince her with kisses instead of words that I’d die before I’d hurt her, until one of us or both of us were gasping to take a breath that wasn’t intermingled with the other’s.
She pulled me to her, and I tried my best to be slow and gentle, and for a little while the world started spinning backward, and then the stars collided above us as she said my name, over and over, and I said hers. When we were done, she curled closer to me, and I wrapped my arms and legs around her, protecting her from the wind and the future.
“I thought I’d feel different,” she whispered.
“Do you?” I knew I did. Something indefinable in my life had changed, maybe for all time.
“I do, but not how I expected. I feel . . . so close to you, like you’ve climbed inside my heart.”
“You climbed inside mine a long time ago, Victoria. I love you.”
She hid her face against my chest. “I can’t say it right now—the emotion is too huge. I can’t—”
“It’s okay. I understand.” I wasn’t sure if I did, but I instinctively knew that I didn’t have to understand everything about this moment. It was enough to be part of it.
We got dressed and went to sit in the car and out of the wind, still holding hands, content to look out at the view.
Eventually, she looked at her phone. “It’s nearly midnight, Mickey. I need to get home. I can’t cause Gran to worry.”
I nodded and then kissed her again, giving her the goodbye kiss I’d never feel comfortable giving her in her driveway.
We headed back down the hill forever changed, forever marked by what we’d shared.
“Maybe we should rename it,” she said.
“Rename what?”
“The ridge. It doesn’t feel lonesome anymore.”
We spent the drive to her place trying out sillier and sillier names while we held hands against the cold reality waiting for us, but when I drove up her driveway, Victoria turned serious.
“Everyone will be back tomorrow. My parents, Buddy—everyone but Pete and Melinda. Her rehab will be at least ninety days, total.”
I understood what she was saying. “Things will be different.”
“Everything will be different.”
I rounded the gentle curve in her driveway and had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting the truck some idiot had parked in the middle of the road.
“What the hell?”
“Mickey, look!” She pointed, and I saw shadows darting around the corner of the barn.
My stomach dropped into my boots. If this was Ethan causing problems for the Whitfields, I was going to hurt him for real this time. He’d promised me he’d take care of this, and like a fool I’d believed him.
I slammed the car in park and opened the door.
“Mickey, no! We need to call 911!”
“Stay here. I mean it this time, okay? We don’t know who that is or how dangerous they are.”
“Which is why you shouldn’t go over there, either,” she said, clutching at my arm.
But I didn’t have a choice. If this was about Anna Mae “sending a message,” the authorities would never get here in time. I couldn’t sit by and let my family cause Victoria more heartache, especially not if they were going to hurt her beloved horses. Not ever, but especially not tonight of all nights.
“Stay here,” I repeated. “Lock the door after me.”
I headed toward the barn running.
• • •
I ran into the dark barn and almost tripped over the unconscious man in the aisle between the horse stalls. That was my first clue that something was really wrong. He didn’t seem to be bleeding, and when I checked, he was still breathing, so they must have just knocked him out. Up close, he looked familiar. He’d been in on the search. His name was Gus, maybe?
I reached for my phone, but decided against it. Victoria was calling 911; I was better off focusing on the situation at hand.
“What the hell are you doing here?” It was Jeb’s voice, but all I could see was his shadow.
He moved into the aisle from one of the stalls, and he was holding a gun, but at least it wa
s pointed down and not up at me. I realized I’d left Jeb’s other gun in the car, because I’d never even thought about the fact that I had it. Some criminal mastermind. And I’d thought I’d beat Ethan at his own game? I wasn’t even smarter than Jeb.
“I could ask you the same question.” My eyes were adjusting to the dark. I watched as probably a half-dozen thugs moved around, tying lead ropes on horses. Oh, no. They were stealing Victoria’s horses. She was going to lose her mind. “Ethan gave me his word.”
“Ethan isn’t here, and he doesn’t know about this. Anyway, he doesn’t get to make choices like that, and his word isn’t worth much when it goes up against what Anna Mae wants,” he said, and though I could barely see his face, I could hear the sullenness in his voice. “She wanted to set fire to the barn. I convinced her we’d take a couple of horses instead.”
“So his word is worthless, and you’re just the flunky.”
Jeb laughed bitterly. “You’re just figuring that out?”
I wanted to shake some sense into his thick skull. “You can’t keep dancing to their fiddles, Jeb. They’re going to get you killed.”
“Yeah, maybe. But I’m all out of options. Now get the hell out of my way.”
Chapter 55
Victoria
I called 911 and stammered out the details they asked for, but I couldn’t stay on the line. I had to go after Mickey. He’d been gone too long. If the intruders weren’t his brothers and their thugs, then he was in big trouble. Of course, if it was Ethan and Jeb, he might be in bigger trouble.
This damn feud. Would Ethan mess with our horses out of Rhodale-Whitfield spite? Even after Mickey had agreed to work with him? Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe this was a random coincidence.
Except I’d never believed in random coincidences.
I looked around for something to use to defend myself, but there were no handy baseball bats in the backseat. I reached under the seat, almost on a whim, and my hand felt cold, hard metal. Jeb’s pistol. Mickey still had it.