by Meghan March
“Can I at least buy you a beer?” Mitch offers.
Logan glances down at me. “You want to go order some food at the window, and I’ll get us some drinks and find a table?”
I look at the line of people at the food window and the three-deep crowd around the bar. “Sure. What do you want?”
“Cheeseburger. Medium. Everything on it, and a basket of fries.”
“Sure.”
I take one step away from him, but his arm tightens around me. “You forgetting something?”
Confused, I meet his gaze. “No?”
Logan releases his hold and lifts his hand to my chin to tilt it up before pressing a kiss to my lips. His blue eyes flash, and I strongly suspect this is Logan’s way of staking his claim in front of the crowd of people.
“You two are so damn cute together,” Julianne says before she and Mitch slide into the crowd with Logan behind them.
I turn toward the food line, but I can’t help looking over my shoulder. Halfway to the bar, Logan has stopped and is shaking hands with another guy, doing that thing where guys lean back on their heels and talk to each other.
I move sideways a little to get a better look at him, but someone bumps into my shoulder.
“Watch your step.”
Jerking my head up, I open my mouth to apologize, but I snap the words back before they can leave my throat. It’s the blonde who was talking shit about me to her little crew of friends in the aisle at Piggly Wiggly when I first came to town. The one I boldly informed that Logan had already found my clit, my G-spot, and the back of my throat.
“Excuse me?”
“I said you better watch your step, you little city bitch.”
Well, that’s uncalled for and just plain rude. “Maybe you should watch your mouth.” I pitch my suggestion as politely as possible.
“Why? You afraid Logan is going to slide his dick in it and forget you exist? I bet he’d have trouble finding the back of my throat when I can take him all the way down.”
“Seriously? Did you just brag about your deep-throating skills in a bowling alley? Wow.”
Reeling with how to respond, I survey her from head to toe. Bleached-blond hair with a half inch of dark roots desperately needing attention, tight pink shirt that does nothing for her figure, and even tighter black jeans that are riding low and accentuating her muffin top.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Suggest you get those roots taken care of so you can find your own man instead of wishing you could have mine.”
The man in front of me in line, approximately the size of a grizzly bear, turns around with interest at our conversation. “Shit, if this is gonna turn into a catfight, can we take it outside so more people can watch? I’d put my money on you, sweetheart.” He’s looking at me, and his vote of confidence is somehow kind, but the suggestion that we’re actually going to fight is ridiculous.
“Shut up, Stan. I’d whup her ass and rip those extensions right out of her head.”
That actually makes me laugh. “Oh, honey. You’re so misguided that you can’t tell real hair from extensions. Just because you have them doesn’t mean everyone else does. What is it you say down here? Bless your heart?”
“Buuurn, Tricia,” Stan says, doing a fair impression of Ashton Kutcher from his That 70s Show days.
“Shut up, Stan. You stay out of this.”
Stan shakes his head. “Fuck no. This could be better than the real fights. Lemme get some popcorn out of the machine. I’ll be right back. Don’t start without me.”
When Stan lumbers off, I move up in line, hoping I can turn around and Tricia will walk away, but the two other men ahead of me are facing us, watching the exchange. Tricia’s shoulders stiffen, and I have a feeling her pride is on the line.
“Why don’t you just go back to where you came from? Aren’t there ten million men in New York or something?”
I laugh. “Not exactly, and I’m not leaving.”
“You probably slept with every single one of them, and they all know what a skank ho you are now so you had to run a thousand miles away to start over. Women like you are the ones who give all of us a bad name.”
“You might want to stop, because you sound ridiculous.”
She pushes out her tits and crosses her arms under them. “We’ll run you out of town if we have to. Don’t think we won’t.”
I assume she’s talking about her little grocery store posse, but she doesn’t realize that they just make me more determined to stay. “You can try.”
“Boys, are you gonna order or what?”
The two men standing between the food window and me are watching us like idiots, so I take my turn and step between them. I don’t need to deal with bad roots and an even worse attitude tonight. I’m here with Logan, and life is good.
“I’ve got an order to place. Two cheeseburgers, medium, with everything on them, and a giant basket of fries.”
The girl, who doesn’t look any older than sixteen, scribbles it down wide-eyed. She definitely caught at least part of the exchange with Blondie McRoots. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“That’s all. Thank you so much.”
She gives me a total and I slide the cash toward her. “Keep the change.”
“Thank you.” She hands me a red plastic number with a smile. “We’ll bring it out when it’s ready.”
I thank her again and turn more carefully this time. Sure enough, Tricia and the two guys are still standing there, waiting for who knows what, and Stan is hurrying back with a basket of popcorn, shoving a handful in his mouth with nearly every step.
“You girls ready to take this outside? We’ve already got takers for bets!”
I give him a pointed look. “I think you’re mistaken. I don’t fight in bowling alley parking lots, or any other parking lots, for that matter.”
Tricia’s face twists into an angry mask. “You’re too good for that, huh? I should’ve figured, what with you being a cuntbag who won’t be able to keep her man.”
I cross my arms, the red plastic number gripped tightly between my fingers. “You’re really gonna go there? Just throwing out the C-word? Are bar fights something you do for fun on the weekends?”
“Slut,” she spits at me.
I look up at the ceiling like maybe it’ll stop me from doing something I’ll regret. Like that has ever worked. I send a quick little ditty up to the big man anyway.
Dear Lord, please stop me from knocking out this girl’s teeth because I’ll probably have to buy her veneers, and I’ll be pissed because her teeth will look better than mine. Amen.
Sucking in a deep breath, I meet Tricia’s hate-filled gaze again.
“You’re just a piece of ass to him. When he’s done, he’ll send you crawling home on your knees, although that’s probably how you’re used to spending your time.”
Damn, she’s really trying to piss me off, and now . . . she’s succeeding. My temper flares, and the crowd around us grows.
“You must think you need to save face in a big way right now, because you’ve got no skin in this game, Tricia. Seriously, back off. I don’t give a shit what you say to me—”
“I bet you’d give a shit if Logan Brantley buried himself balls-deep in Emmy Harris’s ass. You’re just a warm-up for what he really wants.”
That’s it. I’m done playing nice.
“Go fuck yourself, or better yet, go fuck your inbred hick brother.”
Her mouth drops open, and I must have hit a nerve because she launches herself at me with a battle cry.
“Don’t you dare talk about my brother. My mama didn’t know!”
The words don’t even compute in my head—beyond what in the ever-loving fuck—before her fist flies toward my face.
Pain from the glancing blow shoots through my cheekbone as I stumble backward, knocked off my feet. Another stab of pain screams up my spine as my tailbone connects with the hard floor of the bowling alley.
&nbs
p; All of a sudden, Tricia is on top of me, and I hear Stan yelling, “Girl fight! Live at Pints and Pins!” in his best impression of that Buffer guy who’s always getting people ready to rumble.
I raise my hands, trying to protect my face, wishing I’d joined the jujitsu craze at my gym a few years ago. Tricia tries to slap me, but I throw my elbow up to block. And damn, she’s a hell of a lot heavier than she looks because she’s like dead weight on top of me.
Everyone’s yelling, and I’m just trying to cover up—until she reaches for my brand-new necklace.
Oh, fuck no, bitch. That’s my Swarovski splurge. I grab her wrist and twist it until she screams, and someone lifts her off me.
“Did you see what she did? That bitch! She assaulted me.” Tricia’s screech cuts through the rising sound of the crowd around us.
Someone touches my shoulder, and I lash out before I hear Logan’s deep drawl.
“Whoa, Bruce. It’s me. You okay?” Logan’s face is a picture of fury.
I start to nod, but pain coming from my cheek and my ass and the back of my head brings tears to my eyes. Dammit, I will not cry in front of these people.
“Shit. You’re not okay.”
“I’m fine.” I sniffle and bite my lip. “It just hurts a little. She’s heavier than she looks.”
Another person crouches down next to me. Nicole. “And she’s already had three Jack and Cokes and was talking shit about you before you got here. I swear, the chip on her shoulder hasn’t shrunk since high school. You want me to go kick her ass for you, since Logan here is too good of a guy to ever lay a hand on a woman?”
Logan growls something, but my head is pounding too loudly for me to make out his alpha-speak right now.
“I just want to go home.”
“Y’all get back to your seats. Nothing to see here,” Ben croaks out as he shuffles toward us, leaning on his cane. “Shit, please tell me she didn’t hurt you. If you sue me, I’ll lose everything.”
Logan helps me to my feet, and I face the old man.
“It’s not your fault. I should’ve walked away.”
When he holds out a white bag, I stare at it, unmoving.
“I don’t have frozen peas or a steak, but here’s some frozen tater tots you can hold on your face for a little bit. Shit, you can even keep ’em for a snack later if you want. On me.”
I would have said nothing could make me laugh at that moment, but Ben proves me wrong.
My entire body shakes, and Logan stiffens, pulling me against his chest in a hug. “Baby, don’t cry. I’m so fucking sorry I brought you here tonight.”
But I can’t help it. It bursts from my lips and I laugh so hard, tears run down my face.
Chapter 16
Logan
It takes every bit of restraint in my body not to send Nicole after Tricia. That woman has started more fights in this town than the rest of the females put together, I swear. And for some reason, when I came back after I left the corps, she was one who set her sights on me, right along with Emmy Harris and the others.
I know it’s because she’s goddamned miserable, sorting and delivering mail after her husband got promoted at the furniture factory and then left town with his secretary. Tricia used to be a stay-at-home mom before, and now she looks real hard at any man who can give her back the lifestyle she lost. But that doesn’t mean she gets a free pass to take a swing at my woman, and regardless of everything I know, I don’t have an ounce of sympathy for her situation anymore.
When I heard the yelling, I knew in my gut Banner was probably involved. I’ve made her a target in this town, and I have to find some way to reset the situation or I’ll never be able to talk her into staying long term. That’s right, Logan Brantley, Gold Haven’s King of No Commitment, wants to settle down, and I’ll be goddamned if I’ll let some small-minded assholes get in the way. There are plenty of kind folks here, and that’s who Banner needs to be around. Not the spiteful and bitter ones like Tricia.
I push open the door and we step outside into the parking lot. Banner pauses, so I do as well.
“Something wrong, Bruce?”
She looks fucking adorable with the bag of frozen tater tots pressed to her face. I swear, no one else could manage to look beautiful right now except Banner.
“I’m sorry. She said some stuff. I said some stuff. Her stuff was way worse than mine, though. I could’ve gotten downright nasty, but I was holding myself back because I don’t want to make you look bad for being with me. I didn’t have a clue her brother was really inbred. Seriously. What are the odds?”
I wrap a hand around each of her shoulders. “You could never make me look bad. Never. If not knowing who my dad is, and having my ma OD in her own living room hasn’t stopped me from making a living in this town, there’s nothing you could do. So don’t ever worry about it.”
She lowers the tater tots from her face. “I love you, Logan. But I think I just complicate your life.”
I open my mouth to respond that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, and she’s the best complication I’ve ever had in my life, but two slamming car doors interrupt.
“Well, well. Looks like we missed the real entertainment,” Rusty Mills says as gravel crunches under his boots. But that’s not what surprises me; it’s the woman following him.
Emmy Harris.
Jesus, she could at least have found a better substitute for me than some guy who’s going to try to drain her of all her cash, because everyone knows he’s living on disability for an injury he doesn’t even have.
Banner tries to tuck the tater tots out of sight, but she’s not quick enough.
“Oh no, what happened? Did you fall?” Emmy asks.
“Looks like your girl lost a fight, Brantley.”
The door to the bowling alley bursts open behind us and Stan comes out, yellow streaks on his shirt from the popcorn seasoning. “Did I miss it?”
“Go back inside, Stan.”
“But they threw Tricia out for fighting, and I figure she’s waiting in the parking lot to jump y’all like she tried with . . .” He trails off when he sees Emmy. “Uh, I guess I don’t have to tell you what happened, Emmy.”
Emmy’s face turns red. “That woman is a menace. If I wasn’t carrying that day, who knows what she would’ve tried to do to me.”
I look from Emmy to Stan and back. “Are you saying that Tricia came after you too?”
“You didn’t know? Shit, dude. I thought I was the last to find out everything in this town. Apparently not.”
Fuck, now guilt is creeping in because apparently that crazy chick has gone after two women connected with me. “Anything else I need to know, Stan? Emmy? Because, what the fuck?”
Emmy hugs her purse tighter to her side. “I took care of myself.” She shoots a look at Banner. “I didn’t need any rumors spreading around town about me. I have a business to run and a reputation to uphold. Besides, smart girls in the country carry guns.”
Banner stiffens beside me and puts a hand on my arm. “I guess you’re going to have to teach me how to shoot, Logan. Because apparently I’m not well enough equipped to live here and deal with Kentucky women without one.”
I hate that she has to say something like that. I’m also more than a little concerned about the idea of Banner carrying a gun.
Rusty’s grating laugh rings out, and I want to knock that fucker down a few notches. “Who knew you could find a high-class bitch who’d fit in with us poor country folk so well.”
When he says the word bitch, everything in me goes still.
“You better shut your mouth, Rusty, or I’ll gladly shut it for you.”
The man, who doesn’t have balls nearly as big as he pretends, shuts up quick.
“We’re just here to watch the fights.”
“So maybe you should get on inside and do that. Let’s get out of here.” I wrap an arm around Banner, who now apparently doesn’t care who sees her holding tater tots to her face, and we head toward
my truck.
Once inside, I hear another engine start. It’s not until I’m backing out of the full parking lot that I see headlights flip on at the end of the row.
It’s Tricia’s old Buick.
Chapter 17
Logan
“Did you hear about that reporter who checked into the Sleep Over this morning? I was over at Home Cookin’ for some grub before I came in, and word is that there really is some national news chick here to investigate this whole meth story. Wonder if there’ll be more coming?”
Jock leans against Lonnie’s Camaro that we’ve stopped working on because Lonnie won’t approve the estimated repairs. Apparently he doesn’t have the cash to float the project like he thought he did when he dropped it off, but he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to pick it up either.
The reporter story Jock is feeding me is definitely news.
“Is that right?”
Jock sips his coffee and nods. “Heard she’s real cute too. Maybe she’ll come over here to do some interviews, and we can get a look at her.”
I cross over to the toolbox to grab a different size socket, and turn back to him. “We don’t have time for interviews. We’ve gotta get Boone Thrasher’s car in perfect condition in less than two weeks, or I’m going to lose the biggest opportunity I’ve ever had.”
His expression cowed, Jock lowers his mug. “I’m just making conversation, man. I thought it was interesting. I heard that Chief Timmons is actually trying to figure some shit out now instead of sitting around with his thumb up his ass.”
My irritation slides away at his explanation, because it’s the truth. “You’re right, but I’m starting to feel this deadline breathing down my neck, and now Mrs. Borst isn’t answering her phone so I can get an update on the interior panels and upholstery. We gotta have this car ready for paint by next week.”
He nods. “I know, Logan. We’ll get it done. We’re all puttin’ in the time.” He pauses as he walks to his workbench to set down his mug. “Isn’t Mrs. Borst cousins with Tricia Houseman’s ma? Because the other thing I heard at Home Cookin’ this morning was about the little scuffle that Tricia and your woman got into on Saturday. Think there’s any connection there?”