Silver-Tongued Devil (Portland Devils Book 1)

by Rosalind James

  Their hostess, Michelle Schaefer, detached herself from a group standing near that opening to the deck. A group that included not only Steve Sawyer and his parents, but his wife Ingrid, too. And Ingrid’s best friend and fellow cheerleader, Melody Farnsworth, with her mother, Candy, and her father, Rob.

  The contractors, the realtors, and the banker. Of course they were all here, and more of them, too, out on the deck. The mayor would be out there, Dakota was willing to bet. Steve’s uncle. Plus everybody else who was anybody in Wild Horse. It was no surprise that they socialized, but it didn’t matter. Dakota wasn’t the hired help, she wasn’t in high school, and she was Blake’s date. She was a guest.

  She saw the exact moment when Michelle recognized her. The pause in her step, the falter in her smile. “Blake,” she said, coming up to him and reaching out a hand. “I’m so glad you could make it. And Dakota.” Another warm handshake, a less sincere smile. “What a nice surprise. Don’t you look beautiful. Doesn’t she, Don?”

  “She sure does,” her husband said, and he actually sounded like he meant it. “I made a fool of myself back there, didn’t even recognize her. Happens to me all the time with you younger folks, friends of Beth’s. I keep expecting all of you to still have your hair in pigtails.”

  “Well, I’m not in overalls now,” Dakota said, liking him better all the time. “You’re forgiven.”

  “That’s right,” he said. “Taken over your dad’s painting business, haven’t you?”

  “With Evan O’Donnell,” she said, and saw Michelle’s smile slip again. She’d always wondered whether Beth’s parents had been behind her breakup with Evan. Looked like it was true.

  “How’s your dad doing these days?” Don asked.

  “Her stepfather, honey,” Michelle said.

  “He’s not doing so great,” Blake said, saving Dakota from the minefield that this whole conversation had become. “Hurting a lot. That was a bad accident. I hate to say that I only just found out it happened on one of my jobs.”

  “Well, anybody who’s got any kind of business knows that accidents happen, no matter how careful everybody is,” Don said. “But hey. Come on over and say hi to some people. And here’s the liquor, finally.” A young woman, who’d been circulating with a tray filled with glasses of red and white wine, was approaching. “Or there’s beer in the fridge if you’d rather.”

  Dakota took a glass of white wine, since the one way this evening could get trickier would be if she spilled red wine all over herself. Blake grabbed a red, and Don was ushering them across the room and straight into the shark tank. She whispered to Blake, “You didn’t tell them you were bringing me.”

  “She said to bring somebody if I liked,” he murmured back. “And I said I’d do that.”

  That was all they had time for, because they’d reached the others. Don was making jovial introductions, saying, “But you all know Dakota Savage, of course.”

  Blake was shaking hands all around, and Melody and Ingrid were smiling those insincere mean-girl smiles. Melody said, “You look fantastic, Dakota. I almost didn’t recognize you. What a gorgeous dress. It really shows off your figure.”

  “Thank you,” Dakota said, feeling as fake as a three-dollar bill and about as welcome. “Yours is beautiful, too.” It was a deep blue jersey knit with a low, draped front, and Melody was wearing a gold necklace and small diamond studs in her ears. All of her, in fact, looked rich and gorgeous and like the real thing.

  “I wish I had your skin,” Ingrid said, giving a flick to her perfectly straight, naturally platinum hair, then taking a ladylike sip at her wine. “I bet you hardly have to wear makeup. You’re so exotic, you can get away with it.”

  “That’s all the Indian in her, honey,” Steve said. He reached out a hand for Dakota’s, and before she realized what he was doing, leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She stiffened, and then she felt Blake’s arm coming around her waist, pulling her back even as Steve stepped back himself. Steve went on, “You gotta love the melting pot, don’t you, Orbison, when it turns out like that?”

  Blake’s arm tightened around Dakota. “Not sure what you’re talking about,” he said levelly. “If you’re saying that Dakota’s beautiful, I’ve already noticed that and told her so. But then, that’s because she’s my date. Where I come from, you don’t talk about a lady’s looks in front of her. That’s not how we do it down South. Guess I’m not used to Idaho manners yet.”

  The very air seemed to still, like the moments before a summer cloudburst. Then Bill Sawyer, Steve’s father, said, with a smile on his lips but his eyes cold as chips of blue ice, “You got one thing right. You don’t know everything about Idaho yet. Or maybe you just don’t know everything about Wild Horse. You might want to look around before you leap. I’m sure a man who’s done that well in business knows to do his research before he makes an investment.”

  Dakota could feel Blake stiffen even through her own tension. She’d never know what he would have said, though, because Don got there first. “Isn’t that the truth, Bill. And I’m sure glad Blake did do all that research. The resort’s looking better than anything Coeur d’Alene has to offer, far as I’m concerned, and it isn’t even open yet. Exclusive, and that’s what you want. Everything’s more valuable when it’s harder to get. Candy found Blake about the best house on the lake, too, and he was smart enough to snap that sucker up. Because that whistling sound you hear?” He spiraled a dramatic finger skyward. “That’s the air resistance from all our property values shooting straight through the roof. Before you know it, I’m going to be losing my head from the excitement and getting wild and crazy with Beth’s inheritance. Good thing I’ve got Michelle to keep me from getting too carried away.”

  “How is Beth?” Melody asked. “I’ve always looked up to her so much. So pretty, and so smart, too. She was always such a lady even in high school, wasn’t she, Ingrid? That’s the kind of person I admire.”

  “She’s great,” Don said. “Just great. Up for partner at her firm next year, in fact. Works too hard, of course, but then, don’t we all? I’m going to steal Blake and Dakota away, though. Got some more people out here I want him to meet.”

  With that, he slapped a hand on Blake’s shoulder and was ushering them outside onto the deck. Dakota wanted to make an excuse and run to the bathroom, check her appearance, and maybe hide out for a few minutes. Or the entire evening. On the other hand, she didn’t want to give Melody and Ingrid the satisfaction. She wasn’t even going to think about Steve.

  For the next fifteen minutes, she smiled and sipped her wine and answered when somebody addressed her, and Blake’s hand barely left her waist. He talked about the Devils’ chances for next season, listened to a long critique of the team’s offensive line as if he were getting new information, and generally acted like he was having a good time. And eventually, when Dakota felt like her face had frozen solid, Blake said, “I’m going to check out the view. I see a fishing spot that’s calling my name. Come on, Dakota.” And she went with him with a gratitude she wouldn’t have thought possible.

  When they were standing, elbows on the deck railing, looking out across the water toward Blake’s house on the opposite shoreline, he asked quietly, “You OK?”

  “Oh. Sure.” Her wine was gone, unfortunately. It hadn’t helped much anyway. “I hope dinner’s not too much longer, though.”

  “Yeah. Cocktail hour can be a killer.” Michelle was heading their way, and Blake took Dakota’s elbow and said, “Come on. Over here.” He led her around the corner, to an alcove in the jigsaw pattern that was the Schaefer deck, and said, “I really should have done more research about where I invested, except that I suppose you get rotten apples in every barrel.”

  “Even in football teams, I hear,” she said. “This isn’t anything new. Don’t worry about me.”

  “You’re plenty tough. Not the first time I’ve noticed that.”

  He was looking at her too closely, and she wished she could be confiden
t that her expression wasn’t slipping. She lifted her chin and said, “Maybe so. It’s all that Indian in me.”

  He smiled, but he didn’t look happy. Which was when they heard the voices.

  “Oh. My. God. I can’t believe he brought her. It’s like a slap in your face.” The voice belonged to a young woman, and Dakota could already guess who.

  “I know,” another voice said. “I’m so mad at Steve right now, too. He knows how much I hate to even see her face. And to see him kissing her like that, it’s like it’s happening all over again. Did you see how she looked when he said that about the Indian, though?”

  Ingrid’s giggle was answered by Melody, who said, “I warned Blake about her. That’s what gets me. Men can be so stupid. I guess it’s like Bill said, right? You do your research before making an investment, except sometimes, when you have money to throw away. You know, you go to Nordstrom for the investment pieces, but you buy the trashy stuff at Target. You’ll use it once and toss it, but it was cute, and who cares if it gets stained?”

  Ingrid gasped, then giggled again. “You are so bad, Melody. I swear. And I know I should just get over it, but when I see her dressing up like that, sticking her butt out like she does, and I see Steve ready to go after it again…”

  “Well,” Melody said, “if you won’t give it up… some girls do.”

  Another gasp, and Dakota realized her fists were clenched, her nails digging into her palms. Nails she’d had manicured just for tonight in nude polish that she’d hoped would send the same tasteful message as her dress. A message she was never, ever going to get across in Wild Horse. The hot blood had risen to her head, and she was breathing hard. Wanting to be anywhere but here. Wanting to erase the past twenty minutes, to rewind the clock and have told Blake instead, “Oh, sorry, I’m busy Friday. How about Saturday?” It would have been the easiest thing in the world. A thing that Melody Farnsworth and Ingrid Sawyer had been born knowing, and that Dakota never seemed to learn.

  She hadn’t dared to look at Blake. Now, though, he was moving. Not away from the homecoming queen and her princess, the head cheerleader and her minion, but toward them. Straight around the corner of the building.

  Dakota followed him. Well, she had to. He was holding her hand.

  The expressions on Melody and Ingrid’s faces as Blake nearly charged into them were nearly comical to behold. Identical O’s of surprise on painted mouths, false eyelashes making their eyes look even rounder.

  “Oh, excuse me,” Blake said. “I was looking for some ladies.” His voice didn’t have one bit of its usual warmth, and when Dakota looked at his face, it was cold. Hard. Game face, she thought, and shivered. Out of embarrassment, and anger, and too many other things.

  “For who?” Melody asked, clearly confused.

  “Somebody told me,” Blake said, “that there’d be ladies here. But I seem to have brought the only one. Do you kiss your mama with that mouth?”

  She gasped. “You wish.”

  “I wish what? I’ve got what I wished for. You know, in football, we call that thing you do trash talk. I don’t talk much trash myself, because it’s always seemed to me that the person who looks trashy is the one doing the talking.”

  “What?” There were two spots of red on Ingrid’s porcelain cheeks. “I’m trash? Melody and me? Ask Dakota who’s trashy. Ask your girlfriend if she remembers who tried to steal my boyfriend. Ask her who else she got, or who got her. I have a feeling you might be surprised.”

  Half of Dakota wanted to run. The other half, though, had cowered for way too long in this town. She was done. “I didn’t steal your boyfriend,” she told Ingrid. “And if we’re asking here, why don’t you ask yourself why you married a rapist, and why you’re still making excuses for him? Ask yourself what that makes you.”

  Ingrid’s mouth was opening, then closing, but Melody had no such problem. “You little bitch,” she hissed at Dakota. “You were trash then. You’re trash now, and everybody in this house knows it. Everybody’s laughing at you. Why don’t you get the hint?”

  Blake’s arm was around Dakota again. “There’s that word again,” he said. “You know what? I wanted to take my lady out someplace special tonight, show her something as beautiful as she is. I thought this was it, but it turns out not. This is what I call a downright ugly view.”

  To Dakota’s horror, Michelle Schaefer, alerted by some hostess-vibe to the catastrophe on her deck, had somehow come to join them. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said. “Does everybody have a drink?”

  Blake addressed himself to her. “It’s real rude of me to show up and then take off, ma’am, but to tell you the truth, my stomach’s upset. Something not sitting right, making me sick. I’m afraid Dakota and I can’t stick around for dinner after all.”

  “Oh, no.” Michelle looked rattled for once, her gaze darting among the four of them. No doubt seeing Dakota’s blazing eyes and the steam coming out of her ears, Melody all but hopping up and down on her toes, and Ingrid with her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”

  Blake was already shepherding Dakota back into the house. “I sure don’t want to cause a scene,” he said over his shoulder. “We’ll try it again sometime. Small group, so my stomach can handle it. It’s a little sensitive.”

  He didn’t stop, either. He took Dakota right out of the house, strode around to the passenger side of the car, pulled the door open for her, and slammed it after her. Then he jockeyed forward and back to get out of the tight spot, swung around the drive, and was on the road. All without another word.

  Blake controlled himself. That was the guy he was. Which was why he had to get out. Right now. Watching Dakota standing so tall, refusing to let anybody take her down, when he was the one who’d taken her into that lion’s den… it was killing him.

  He pulled out of the Schaefers’ driveway, watched for the next turnoff, and took it. He put the SUV into Park, rolled his shoulders once, and told Dakota, “Right. Two choices. I’ll take you out to Heart of the Lake for dinner, or we can pick something up and go out on the boat, let the lake carry the ugly away. It’s up to you.”

  She said, “Boat, please.” Still holding it together.

  “You sure? Because you’re beautiful, and I’d purely love to show the rest of this godforsaken town that I’m the guy with you.”

  “Ah,” she said, all her dryness back again. “But would we actually get to eat, or would you call somebody out again?”

  “Well,” he admitted, “there’s that.” His hand was fisting right now, in fact. He relaxed it with a deliberate effort.

  “If it’s my choice,” she said, “I choose the boat. I need some… peace.”

  “Right.” He pulled out his phone, dialed, and waited. “Hey,” he told the woman who answered. “This is Blake Orbison. I’d like to pick up some food. Uh… hang on.” He held the phone away from his ear and asked Dakota, “Fish? Or what?”

  “Fish is good,” she said.

  Blake put the phone to his ear again. “Thanks for waiting.” He closed his eyes and recalled the menu. Advantage of all those years memorizing a playbook. “I’d like a couple orders of salmon, an order of scallops, and asparagus for two people. And a bottle of the best white wine you’ve got, whatever goes with that food. Chardonnay, I guess. And there’s a hundred dollars for you and another hundred for the cook if that’s ready for me in fifteen minutes.”

  He hung up, and Dakota said, “Whoa.”

  “Money works for some things.” He put the car back in gear and headed toward town. “I’m going to wait to ask until you get into some of that peace, but I’ll just say—what a snake pit.”

  “I was thinking a shark tank,” she said. He looked across at her, and she smiled. He’d have sworn she’d felt sliced into little pieces back there, but she was smiling now.

  He tried to think of something else to talk about, but his patented line of charm seemed to have deserted him, and Dakota didn’t seem to mind, so he shut up. When he got to Main
Street, he pulled into the bank lot and said, “Hold on. ATM.”

  “Oh, man,” she said. “You mean you don’t carry a wad of large bills at all times? I’m strangely disappointed.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, well, so am I. Just close your eyes for a minute so you don’t notice me doing this. We’ll pretend I’m suave.”

  That helped, and when he got to the Heart of the Lake, his food was waiting, even though the place was jumping. He told the hostess, “You’re saving my life here. You don’t know how much,” handed over his credit card, and peeled off ten twenties.

  “Happy to help,” the woman said. “And the cook says, ‘Any time.’”

  Finally, he was walking down the pier, unlocking the gate to the marina, stepping onto the boat, and putting a hand out for Dakota, who was carrying the wine. She asked, “Should I take my shoes off? For the deck?”

  “Only if you want to. They look real good, but you look just as good barefoot. Whatever you want. This one’s for you.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes dark and searching, then said, “You mean that.”

  Something twisted hard in his chest. “Yeah, baby. I do.”

  “I’m going to take my shoes off, then,” she said. “Because my feet hurt.” She smiled at him, which lit up her face in that way her smile always did, and there was that twist again. It might have been his heart.

  He took her through the salon and dumped the food on the galley island, and she looked around at the mushroom-colored leather of banquettes and couch, the profusion of rich, polished teak, and said, “I’m seriously impressed.”

  “Bring that wine up to the flying bridge,” he said, pulling out a couple wineglasses and a corkscrew, “and we’ll get out of here.” He took off his own boots and socks. “Barefoot style.”