by Jodi Linton
Fear not allowing me to do anything else, I violently nodded. “Yes, I’m yours.”
He smiled as he roughly swept a piece of hair behind my ear. There was something about his eyes. Something inside them that made me want to shrivel into a ball in the corner and die before this went any further. I knew what happened when a man turned on a woman—I’d seen too many domestics on the job—and I concluded the only way to save myself right now was to play the part of the doting fiancé—at least until I could get out of here.
“I hate that fucking prick. I’m going to rip out his fucking throat for touching you,” he said and sealed his mouth so roughly over mine that I tasted blood. Then he backed off to run his hands up and down my arms. “Tell me you feel the same.”
I looked into his angry green eyes and gulped down the bile rising in my throat. “I missed you,” I said, trying to keep my voice from trembling as a tear fell down my cheek. God, I’d screwed up bad. I knew what he was doing to me wasn’t right no matter what Gunner’d done—what I’d let him do—by kissing me this morning. But damned if guilt wasn’t riding me hard, telling me I deserved this, too.
No matter what I told the other women I’d seen who’d been worked over by their men for both more and less.
And damned if I didn’t now understand why they put up with it and why they didn’t report it.
And I hated myself for it.
The hard line of his mouth faded. He wrapped an arm around my waist and kissed my tear-stained lips and pulled back, smiling. “I love you Laney Briggs,” he said through another kiss.
I tugged at his sweaty blond hair, crushing him to me, and kissed him back. “We’ll all be okay soon,” I said, feeling the lie stick, all hot and seedy, in the back of my throat.
It wasn’t the first lie I’d ever told, but it might’ve been the biggest.
…
Half an hour later, when he’d finished imprinting himself on me by taking me with bruising force right there on the floor, he rolled me with a self-satisfied grunt and rose. I sat up, feeling awkward at my nakedness, and quickly yanked my pants and shirt back on. Nathan stepped into his jeans, shrugged his T-shirt back on, and went into the kitchen. I heard cabinets open and shut, a corkscrew pop, and then the shuffling of bare feet across the floor.
“Would you like a drink?” Nathan asked, passing me a glass of white wine.
I took the glass and stared at him, not recognizing the man standing in front of me. He’d changed since coming back from Houston. My actions hadn’t helped, but this Nathan was an entirely new and frightening beast.
I tried to smile and raised my glass, toasting, “To us.”
Nathan snorted. “Yeah, to us,” he said coldly and downed his wine.
I gulped and finished off mine. “We’re okay, right?” I asked, climbing to my feet.
He turned on his heels, leaving me, then stopped in the doorway. “It would make me feel better if you said you hated that asshole’s guts,” he said.
I wanted to be convinced his hysterical anger and bruising roughness was nothing more than a consequence of the stress boiling over in our relationship. He’d always been such a calm man, never hotheaded or temperamental. That was my role in the relationship.
I slowly lifted my eyes to his face. His upper lip twitched in anticipation at my answer. I needed to get out of here, but there were answers I wanted from him first—answers I might never get if I somehow managed to walk out on him now. If he didn’t manage to lock me up and throw away the key or kill me before I could.
At least this is what I told myself right then—it’ll be all right if I do what he wants—exactly the way thousands of other women had told themselves about their men.
Despising myself for it, I took a second to steady my voice, then said through clenched teeth, “I find the man despicable.”
The boyish grin that always used to settle my nerves when I was hot and bothered—the one I’d never again be able to look at without flinching—returned. “How about I start us some dinner?” Nathan said.
A few minutes later, steaks sizzled over the gas stove as Nathan tossed mushrooms and onions into the frying pan. I pulled out a chair at the table and tried to relax as I watched him plate up the food. This was right, I tried to convince myself. I’d made a lifetime of mistakes and had almost screwed up the one thing that I once thought I’d gotten right.
I was such a liar.
He put two full plates on the table and then took his seat. “Was out at the Wagner’s ranch today.” He looked up at me. “Had an interesting chat with Luke.”
I stopped in the middle of chewing a bite of steak, almost choking on the gristly meat. “Oh, yeah, and what did y’all two chat about?”
His expression hardened. “How you accused him of having something to do with Bosley’s death while killing a couple beers over at Rusty’s. And then that guy beating you up, it’s almost too much.” He nodded and gave me a noncommittal smile. “You don’t need to hide things from me, Laney. I’m here for you. But if I lose the Wagners as clients, I’ll be neutering hunting dogs for the rest of my life to pay the electric bills. I need them.” The tinge of animosity he’d been holding back was clear as a direct threat. “And I need you to quit antagonizing them over things I’m sure they had no part of.”
Well, hell. Why couldn’t that little shit keep his mouth shut? And why hadn’t Nathan just asked me about Luke and my bruised face yesterday at my place after Hank was killed? He must’ve not wanted Gunner to hear how he was in bed with the Wagners, since the Texas Ranger was on a warpath to take down Luke at any cost. I swallowed and washed down the steak with a drink of wine, mustering up the courage to speak. “I didn’t want to upset you,” I said.
He tossed his fork at the table, clanking it against the dinnerware. “I would have come back sooner, Laney.” He glared at me.
I shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Nathan slammed his hands down on the table. “Luke told me a different story,” he snapped. “He told me he saw Gunner pull the guy off you after you’d been punched and kicked.” He gave me a hard look. “I want you to quit this case before I end up calling Dobbs myself to have him take you off it.”
I was livid. Telling me what to do, threatening to call my boss. I was an adult, this was my job, and he was neither my mother nor the boss of me. “It’s not your call.”
Nathan flung his chair back. “Damn it, Laney! Have you taken a look in the mirror lately? You look like shit.” I picked up my plate and pushed back in my chair, then walked over to the kitchen sink. Dinner didn’t look that appetizing anymore. I tossed the food down the drain and flipped on the garbage disposal. I washed my hands and pivoted around, leaning my butt back into the countertop. “I’m working this case straight through to the end, Nathan.”
He picked up his chair and shoved it under the table. “You’re stubborn as hell.” He flung my keys across the table. “I don’t know why I even bother sometimes.”
“I know. And we’ll get through this,” I said.
Nathan looked at me, his eyes void of emotion, and without a word, picked up his brief case and walked out the door.
I snatched the bottle of wine off the table, tucked it under my arm, and bolted for the stairs, locking myself inside Nathan’s bedroom. I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over my head, begging God to forgive me my sins because I was coming to realize my fiancé never would.
…
It was a muggy summer morning, sticky and wet, a perfect day to attend a funeral. I rolled over, and my hand brushed the left side of the bed, cold and untouched. I ambled into the bathroom and stood under the showerhead as the scalding hot water blasted me in the face. I washed my face, scrubbed under my arms, rinsed my hair, and then stepped out. I wrapped a towel tightly at my chest and smeared a hand print across the steamed, fogged mirror.
Gunner will be gone soon I reassured myself, then frowned at my pathetic reflection.
I forced myself into a be
ige blouse, tucked it into a black pencil skirt, shimmied on a pair of nude stockings, and stepped into my black pumps. There. Dressed for Bosley Conrad’s funeral. I’d just finished covering my yellowing bruise with concealer and was painting my lips red when I heard the front door open and close.
“Are you ready?” Nathan called.
“Give me a minute,” I shouted back, wondering where the hell he’d slept last night, then remembering with a shudder how he’d tried to take a fist to me and how it all connected to my ex-boyfriend trampling his boots back into Pistol Rock.
I smacked my lips together, readjusted my ponytail, and rounded the stairs. I was expecting a huge turnout today, even if the mourning was intended for the town’s bastard. There wasn’t much do on a Saturday in Pistol Rock. There would be many blissful weepers in attendance at this wake.
Nathan was waiting for me by the door, dressed in khaki’s, a white long-sleeved polo, and a grey windbreaker. “You look nice,” he said and took my hand.
I smiled, accepting the compliment. “Did you sleep well?”
He slipped my jacket up an arm. “I had some work to finish up, so I stayed at the clinic,” he said and tugged my other sleeve on.
We were good. We were happy. Why else would I be dragging myself through the mud?
Nathan kissed my head and pulled me into his side. “Can we forget the fight, Laney?” he asked, tipping my chin upward so I’d meet his eyes. “I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”
I looked at him, badly wanting to believe that last night had been an aberration, that it would never happen again, that the real Nathan was back and standing before me. “No need to apologize.”
“Thank you,” he said, pulling open the front door.
We stepped outside when the phone started to ring, stopping us in our tracks. He stalked back inside, ripped the cordless off the wall, and handed it to me.
“Laney, it’s Dobbs,” he hollered in that voice that made everything he did an emergency. “We need to stop by the elementary before Bosley’s funeral. Boomer’s passed out drunk on the merry go round.”
…
The sky was a dismal gray, the air balmy but thick with the promise of an impending thunderstorm. I wanted nothing more than to haul Boomer’s ass into the back of the pickup and buck it over to the funeral. I was anticipating the closing of the casket and calling the rotten event a done deal.
I leaned into the window and watched the road fly by. Ten minutes later, we drove up to Bluebonnet Elementary. Nathan backed the pickup to the curb and stepped out, leaving the engine still running. The wind flapped at his grey windbreaker, and his blond hair whirled about his face. He tugged at the khaki’s around his waist, took a step forward, and sloshed his Ropers into a muddy puddle, then opened my door. I stepped out, tightly wrapped my trench coat up under my chin, and took his hand.
Nathan hooked an arm around my waist, smothered me into his side, and ushered us over to the chain link fence. I unlatched the gate and placed a heel on the dead lawn of the school playground. It didn’t take long to find Boomer. He was flopped back on a rusting merry go round singing the blues. His short sleeve Nirvana shirt pulled at his beer gut. There was an empty bottle of Jack stuck in the mud right next to his bare left foot. The chilly wind bit at my nose as I bent down next to him.
“Boomer,” I whispered, tapping his boney knee.
Drool leaked down his chin. He grumbled and tossed his head to the right, then slit an eye open, looking back at me.
“Laney, I knew you would come for me,” Boomer mumbled, grappling for the metal bar while trying to pull himself up.
Nathan moved in front of me and reached out a hand. “Here, let me help you with that,” he said, grabbing Boomer by the wrist.
Boomer stumbled to his feet and managed to send me a droopy smile before falling flat on his face. He snickered and wobbled back to his feet. “Sorry, must have had more than I thought.”
I narrowed my eyes at him and swung my hands on my hips. “Come on, Boomer. For crying out loud, today’s Bosley’s funeral.”
Boomer shrugged, tossing his arms out at his side.
“Give me a break, Laney. Can’t a guy have the right to clear his head sometimes?”
I was crabby, and if he didn’t back off, I might find it necessary to kick his wobbly legs out from underneath him. It wasn’t like the louse didn’t have it coming. I wagged a finger in his bloated face and said, “You need to get your act together, Boomer Copley. Do you ever think of anything but that goddamn whiskey?”
Boomer stared at me in shock.
Nathan pulled at my arm. “Laney, ease up a little.”
I ripped my arm out of his hand and spun around, glaring back at my fiancé. “He’s drunk, again. And unless he shapes up, he’ll die drunk, too.”
“However true that is, get into it some other time. I’m cold, and we’re late for the funeral,” Nathan stated and started walking back to the truck. “Are y’all coming?” he hollered over his shoulder at us.
…
The double gargoyles rose above the hill as Nathan drove down the dirt path leading into Crestview Cemetery. Long rows of weather-beaten tombstones sprawled the treeless space. A few plots were still fresh and adorned with baby’s breath wreaths. To the left of the chapel hung the weeping willow that Gunner had carved our names into when my Aunt Faye had passed. He’d sworn that day to never leave my side.
While I waited next to my door for Nathan, I glanced around the grounds, finally stumbling across Gunner slouched against the trunk underneath our willow tree. His black cowboy hat hung low, hiding his dangerous brown eyes. I found myself staring at him, daring him to take notice. It wasn’t automatic, but eventually, his eyes locked in on mine. He casually lifted his chin at me, then winked before sauntering inside the chapel.
Inside, a musty odor filled the dense air. The mint green carpet looked like it had been thrown up all over the foyer, along with the twelve dozen birthworts placed in every flipping corner. I made my way over to the knotty pine table in the center of the room and flipped the guest book open—one name was scribbled inside, Selma Martinez, Bosley’s maid. I jotted my name down and went to find a seat.
Pistol Rock’s elders had packed the back rows, oxygen tanks in hand. Boomer was lounged back, snoring away next to old man Wexler, who was hacking up a lung. I spotted Nathan sliding into a pew three rows back from the casket and walked down the aisle to join him. Scooting in next to him, I tried my damnedest not to gawk at Gunner’s toned, muscled arms slung across the back of a pew.
“This outta be entertaining,” Nathan said, startling me, “All these fools paying their respects to that murdering motherfucker.”
“Nathan,” I gasped.
“Laney, come on. We all know Bosley killed Pacey.”
“Like hell we do.”
Nathan shrugged, relaxing his arm across my shoulders. “Whatever,” he said, brushing me off by turning to watch Hilda Dixon tune the organ.
For a man who’d chosen every opportunity to flaunt his wealth, Bosley Conrad’s funeral was a pathetic testament to the former depth of his pocketbook. A simple, black coffin housed his corpse with a single bouquet of yellow roses placed on top. Sadly, no one was shedding a tear for the coldhearted bastard. They were here for the “show”, such as it might be.
I was fiddling with the hem of my skirt when Reverend Daniels approached the podium and cleared his throat. The last time I’d seen the reverend was when he’d caught me skinny dipping with Gunner in the baptismal. Effectively, that little incident had cost me the part of the Virgin Mary in the church Christmas pageant when I was fifteen.
“Welcome, everyone.” Reverend Daniels opened his hymnal. “Please turn to hymn number one hundred and ten,” he said and waved us all to our feet.
We all obeyed like sheep flocking to the shepherd and began to sing in numerous off key notes. I could hear my mother’s voice, screeching from the front as she strained her tonsils, and everybody else’s
ears, with the horrible sounds excreted from her lungs. I looked three rows forward. Her newly dyed, canary yellow hair bounced up and down as she sang.
Reverend Daniels wrapped up the hymn and began the ceremony. “I know how all y’all enjoyed Bosley’s company,” he stated, not sounding particularly convincing.
There were a few sniffles, but mostly the tiny chapel was filled with a cold silence. I caught Gunner staring at me from across the room. He slipped me a wink then cut his eyes over at Nathan, who returned Gunner’s glare with a scowl. “Would anyone like to pay their respects by saying a few words?” Reverend Daniels asked.
We all looked around at each other, and I couldn’t help but wonder if one of these fine citizens was the one who’d sent that van out to kill Bosley. I saw Luke Wagner stand up in the back and look like he might want to say something, but thought better of it when Miss Steven’s shot him a devil-eyed glare. Instead of re-seating himself, Luke shrugged and left. The cop instincts that I was only beginning to develop crawled with unease at the sight of him, but I figured that might also be due to our history together rather than the three murders and the assault on my person that I needed to finish investigating.
Nodding with satisfaction over her triumph, Miss Steven’s turned her glare on Reverend Daniels. “Are you done now? ’Cause some of us have better ways to fill up our day,” she barked.
Clearly, she addressed the feelings of most the funeral guests because, as though on cue, hymnals began to crash to the floor and people shuffled erect or scooted their butts out of the narrow pews.
I held Nathan’s hand as he ushered me into the foyer. Gunner was two strides behind us, making my hair stand on end.
“I’ve got to go speak with Mr. Michaels,” Nathan said, letting go of my hand. “It’ll only be a second.” He pecked my cheek and left my side, heading back inside the chapel.
I weaved through the crowd and perched next to the food and beverage table, picking up a shortbread cookie and snipping off a piece. Glancing around, I smiled when I saw Gunner getting caught in the crosshairs of our sixty-year-old school nurse’s long-winded chats. She had him barricaded at the wall and was taking every chance she got to rub his tattoo poking out from underneath the rolled-up sleeve of his black suit jacket. I snickered under my breath and grabbed two more cookies, then moseyed over to Dobbs, who’d distanced himself from the general hubbub in the far corner of the room.