Unforgettable (The Dalton Gang #3)

by Alison Kent

  “They’re rancher celebrities then. However you slice it, Crow Hill wants to know all about where the three have been, what they’ve been doing, what it’s been like to come back to a town that sent them running. And”—Whitey held up a finger— “what they were running from.”

  That wasn’t exactly the story Everly had heard from parties close to the three about their departure. But if that’s what everyone in town was thinking, and saying, such a feature might not be a bad idea. She could dispel the rumors and tell the truth, though she doubted that’s what Whitey had in mind.

  Problem was, how impartial a story could she write with the things she now knew about Boone?—not that any of those particular facts would make it into a profile, but her bias was there, and might show, and she didn’t want anyone knowing what she’d done. If anything, her time with Toby had taught her to keep her private life private.

  “Well, Grant? You think you can get me something on Crow Hill’s three bad boys? Say, we start with Dax Campbell. Talk to his sister . . . She married that Lasko kid, right? And to his old man, if you can get into the mansion on the hill where he’s been holed up since his heart attack. Maybe you can find out what happened to his mother since no one else seems to be able to.”

  Everly put down her foot. “I’ll do the human interest story. But I won’t do it from the Jerry-Springer-dysfunctional-family angle. And it makes much more sense to start with Boone Mitchell. He was the last to leave, the first to come back. His family’s still here, all of them respectable members of the community. Readers will more readily identify with him than with the other two.”

  Whitey’s heavy brow came down as he thought. “You’re saying give them what they know, draw them in, make them comfortable, then introduce the more exotic.”

  “I wouldn’t call Dax or Casper ‘exotic.’ But yes. Serials work best with cliffhangers, and escalating drama, to bring readers back for more.” Plus, she wanted to find out about Boone’s hell-raising past now, not later, after she’d profiled the other two.

  “I like the way you think, Grant.” Her boss waved the fat pen he held between two fingers and chewed on in lieu of a cigar. “I knew putting you on the payroll was the right thing to do.”

  As if he’d had any other applicants willing to take what he called pay. He’d been lucky to get her, and he knew it. And he hadn’t asked questions, which for Whitey was hard to believe.

  She waved him on as he left her office, and promised to get back to him in a day or two with thoughts on an approach for the Dalton Gang piece. In the meantime, the fund-raiser story was waiting, and the keys clicked as her fingers flew.

  Even their masks couldn’t hide the identities of the generous library patrons determined to make up for the county’s recent funding cuts brought on by the region’s economic blight.

  Not that getting back to the fund-raiser story could keep her mind off her morning with Boone. Every time she shifted in her chair, she felt a part of him somewhere, and since he’d let her have her way with her scarves and watched without complaint, she’d let him have his when his eyes had asked for seconds.

  Thanks to arrangements made by library board member Kendall Sheppard, owner of Sheppard’s Books, ticket holders were treated to authentic Western swing music played by local resident Mac Banyon’s band, the L’Amours.

  He’d rolled her over after untying his ankles, covering her body with his, spreading her legs, sliding his hard cock deep. It hadn’t taken him five minutes to recover. She didn’t think he’d even gone soft. And though she’d had absolutely no reason to be fearful, she’d been unable to help the nerves that had come over her, waiting for him to get rough.

  With the dining room of Arwen Poole’s Hellcat Saloon cleared of its tables, attendees, dressed in costumes befitting the Old West theme, enjoyed an evening of good food and plentiful drinks, their boots scooting in lively Texas two-steps across the floor.

  Boone Mitchell was a big man, tall and broad and brick solid. Where Dax and Casper were both lean, their sculpted muscles tight, their builds rangy, Boone had the shoulders of a mountain man, the arms, too, as if he spent his days swinging an ax to fell trees. Or excavating slabs of granite. A picture due as much to his stony silence as the size of his arms and his hands.

  As of this writing, donations totaling $5445 have been made. Those wishing to contribute can contact Shelly Taylor at the First National Bank: staylor@crowhillfnb.com.

  And oh, his hands. His fingers. When he’d used his knee to spread her thighs, then pushed two fingers inside . . . She swore it was like being filled with a cock. Except not Boone’s cock. Because his was sized in direct proportion to the rest of his body. And size did matter. No matter the assurances to men that it didn’t, all women knew that to be the truth. And speaking of women . . .

  She finished the first draft of the story, sending a quick email to Whitey that she had to run out but would have the final version to him no later than two. It wasn’t like the Reporter’s deadlines didn’t have plenty of wiggle room. The problem was the wiggling she was doing in her chair. She needed something, or someone, to help get her mind off Boone.

  And she had the perfect two someones in mind.

  * * *

  “NICE PARTY LAST night,” Dax said, riding up and sidestepping Flash to a stop beside Boone as he and Casper climbed down from the cab of the flatbed. The three had finished the morning’s most pressing chores and were ready for lunch.

  Suffering a half-booze, half-sex hangover, Boone and his bad mood didn’t have the patience for Dax and his good one. Especially since Boone had lunch duty this week, meaning the other two would get in some siesta time while he panfried stew meat for sandwiches. “What you remember of it, you mean.”

  “What’s not to remember?” Dax and his horse backed up to give Boone the room he was motioning for. If he couldn’t get to the house to cook, no one would be having lunch. “Beer. More beer. Boobs. More boobs.”

  “Better have been Arwen’s boobs you were looking at,” Casper said. “Not Faith’s.”

  Dax spun around, Flash’s hooves stirring the dirt of the ranch yard into a choking dust. “Of course I was looking at Arwen. But you saying you didn’t get a look at Kendall Sheppard in that feathery saloon-gal getup with her skirt rucked up around her garters? Or Lizzie Nathan decked out in that nearly see-through lace thing like she’d come straight from a brothel?”

  “Can’t say I did,” Casper said. “The sheriff kept me on a tight leash last night. And kept my drink tickets in her cleavage. If there were boobs there other than hers, I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Enough.” Calf nuts on a cracker. Talking about tits was going to have Boone turning around and heading back to town and dragging Everly out of her office to bed. Or at least to the cab of his truck. Where he’d drag her out of that long, lacy top she’d worn to work and suck on her nipples until she screamed.

  Damn but the woman could scream. “We need to be thinking about making it to the end of the year without going completely broke. Not talking about tits. Especially when one of the pairs belongs to my sister.”

  Dax leaned against his saddle horn while the other two set about unloading the truck. “Looking at tits is the spoonful of sugar that makes the medicine of being broke go down.”

  “What, are you Mary fucking Poppins now?” Boone grumbled, pulling on his gloves.

  “Better than being Oscar the Grouch, or whoever you are.” Dax slid from Flash’s back and led the horse toward the barn.

  Casper followed, his hands full of the tools he and Boone had been using to restring a downed section of fence. Boone reached for what was left of the spool of barbed wire, and brought up the rear. He tossed the load beneath the shelves of tools and other hardware that sat just inside the door, then pulled his hat from his head and dried his forehead in the crook of his elbow.

  He looked from Dax, where the other man was pulling the saddle from Flash’s back, to Casper, who was loading a new spool of staples in
to the fencing gun. He couldn’t believe he was asking this, but it was on his mind and would bug him until he got it off. “What do either of you know about Everly Grant?”

  “Arwen’s friend? The reporter?” When Boone nodded, Dax shrugged. “Not much, really. Seems nice. Knows how to dance. But that’s it for me.”

  “Faith went to school with her at UT,” Casper said. “Surprised you didn’t know that.”

  “I did know that,” Boone said.

  Casper looked over as if Boone was wasting his time. “Then why not ask Faith what she knows?”

  “Thought I’d ask you two boobs first.”

  This time the other man’s look was withering. “She was a newsreader in Austin. On one of the major networks. Came to work on the Crow Hill Reporter about four years ago.”

  “I know all of that, too.”

  “Sounds like a hell of a downward career move to me,” Dax said.

  “Yeah, I think there’s a story there, but it’s not one Faith’s shared,” Casper said, using the barrel of the gun to count the boxes of staples left on the shelf.

  Boone had been thinking the same thing since Everly had told him. Moving from a major network in Austin to the Crow Hill Reporter didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Either Everly had wanted out of Austin, or had wanted in to Crow Hill, and Boone couldn’t see but one of those situations being the case.

  “Why the interest in Everly?” Casper asked. “Especially since you know everything we do.”

  “No reason,” Boone said, and shrugged. “She said she was covering the fund-raiser for the Reporter. Just made me curious and all.”

  At that, Dax coughed a mumbled bullshit into his hand.

  “What was that?”

  “Maybe you’re curious because she had to bring you back to the saloon to pick up your truck this morning.”

  Shit. “Who told you that?”

  “I live with Arwen, dude. Her cottage is right there on the same block.”

  Boone shoved his hat back on his head. “You were already saddled up when I got here. You couldn’t have seen who might’ve brought me back for my truck.”

  “I didn’t,” Dax said, leading Flash into his stall. “But I did see her load your drunk ass into her SUV last night. And since your truck was still there when I was pouring my coffee . . .”

  Busted. “I don’t even remember that happening. I woke up and smelled pancakes and coffee, and had no clue whose bed I was in. Alone,” he hurried to add before the other two started in. “I slept there. She slept on the couch. She went to work. I came here.” So what if he left out all the stuff in between involving clean sheets and silk scarves?

  “You thinking of hitting that?”

  He glared at Dax. “If I was thinking of doing anything, I wouldn’t call it ‘hitting.’ And I damn sure wouldn’t tell you.”

  “I had to put up with you giving me hell about Arwen. I figure turnabout is fair play.”

  Turnabout and fair play. The same words that had gone through Boone’s mind this morning while watching Everly strip. “I never gave you hell about Arwen.”

  “You gave me hell about Faith.”

  “Faith’s my sister,” Boone said to Casper. “And you were the worst possible match I could see her making.”

  “That could better be past tense, bro,” Casper said, clicking the fencing gun’s trigger. “Otherwise I’m gonna have to staple your balls to your thigh.”

  Boone felt his balls drawing tight at the sound. “Yeah, well, you keep doing reckless shit like putting your hand through truck windows, I might change my mind. We’re already short on money, short on supplies, short on time to do what needs to get done. And now we’re short half a man. Faith may be willing to put up with you being stupid, but I’m not. Don’t let it happen again.”

  Casper straightened. “Are you threatening me?”

  “It is what it is,” Boone said, his ire rising. “The two of you are showing up later and later each morning, and half the time there’s still a shitload of work to be done when you call it a day.”

  “I’m thinking what’s wrong here, more than me and Casper getting laid regularly,” Dax said, “is that you’re not.”

  “Fuck that. And fuck you. This isn’t about who’s getting laid. It’s about who’s putting in more time on the ranch. Who’s shouldering more of the workload. Who cares the most whether or not we save Tess and Dave’s ranch.”

  “Uh-uh. Don’t even start in with that shit,” Dax said, latching the stall door before heading for the tack room. “You’re not the only one who cares about saving what Tess and Dave left us.”

  “Well it’s sure feeling like it these days. Like you’ve both found the life you want with your ladies, and the ranch is taking a backseat.”

  “Family always comes first, Boone,” Casper said, finally putting the fencing gun where it belonged, and Boone breathing easier because of it. “You being the only one here to grow up in a functioning family should know that.”

  And maybe that was it. He was still thinking of his boys as family, and they’d both moved on. Dax was making his own life with Arwen, and Casper was doing the same with Faith and with Clay. All of that left Boone the one with extra time and nothing to do. Why that was suddenly giving him hell when he’d been fine being on his own up till now . . .

  “I’m gonna head to the house, scrounge up lunch. Should be done in about fifteen,” he said, slapping his gloves against his thigh before shoving them in his back pocket.

  “Boone, wait,” Dax called from behind him, but he was in no frame of mind to spill more of his guts. All he’d wanted was to see what the other two might know about Everly. Not find out he wasn’t imagining the winds of change blowing over the ranch and the life he’d returned to.

  Whether the Dalton Gang survived the storm remained to be seen.

  SIX

  “THE FUND-RAISER WAS amazing,” Faith said, sliding into the chair at the corner table she shared weekly with Everly and Arwen for lunch. “I’m so glad Ken-dall convinced the rest of the library’s board members to hold it here.”

  “It was an Old West masquerade ball.” Arwen reached for her tea glass and sipped, giving Faith a shrug. “The saloon made the most sense. Though Kendall getting the board to vote on the theme before booking the venue helped.”

  “It also made sense because the country club would’ve cost more, leaving less for the library.” Faith signaled their server for her usual French fries and Coke. “I would’ve loved to have used the Mulberry Street house, but it’s such a pain, hauling food and drinks across town, and Casper grumbling the entire time about his personal space being invaded.”

  “It’s called catering, Faith. We hauled the food and drinks for your parents’ anniversary party. We could’ve done it again. But, yeah. It was easier this way,” Arwen said, picking a cucumber slice from her salad and biting it in half. “Oh, did I tell you . . .”

  Holding a wedge of her club sandwich in both hands as she chewed on the bite she’d taken, Everly let the rest of what the other women were saying slide in one ear and out the other. She wasn’t really hungry, but it was either keep her mouth full of food or risk blurting out something about her morning with Boone.

  She wanted to tell them everything. She’d loved watching Faith fall for Casper and Arwen for Dax. But Boone was Faith’s brother, and she could hardly talk about his body, or his hands, or how he kissed, when the other woman had known him since she was in diapers.

  And besides. Everly wasn’t falling for Boone. They’d had sex. She’d like to have it again, but who knew if that would happen.

  So, yeah. Her thinking lunch with the girls would get her mind off her morning hadn’t turned out like she’d hoped, because no matter the talk of the library and the house on Mulberry Street and last night’s fund-raiser, her mind was on the scarves she’d never again be able to wear as accessories.

  “Everly?”

  “Hmm?” She looked up at her table mates. Both women were star
ing as if she’d been talking with her mouth full. Which she hoped wasn’t the case, considering her thoughts of the last few minutes.

  “You’ve been staring off into space since I got here,” Faith said.

  “I had a busy morning,” she said, sitting straight as she returned her sandwich half to her plate. She needed to tell them. Their men were involved. And talking about it would at least keep her from blurting out the truth about what she’d done with Boone. “Whitey gave me a new assignment earlier. A human interest story.”

  “Yeah?” Faith asked, stirring her straw through her ice. “Someone in Crow Hill that interesting?”

  “Three someones, actually.” And . . . here we go. “He wants me to do a profile on the Dalton Gang.”

  “What?” That question, loud enough to turn heads, came from Faith.

  “Why?” And that one, less loud than it was sharp, came from Arwen.

  Everly picked up her sandwich again. “He said their return has been the talk of the town for months, so it’s time to give readers something more than speculation.” Whitey hadn’t said any of that, of course. But she wasn’t about to tell her two friends her boss wanted her to dig for dirt on the three men. All who were friends of her friends, if not more.

  “What sort of slant are you giving the story?” Arwen asked, going where Everly had feared.

  She shook her head. “I haven’t decided. I mean, I just got the assignment. But I do think Crow Hill needs to see the men as they are now, and stop expecting the sort of trouble they caused as boys.”

  Faith’s order of French fries arrived then, and she reached across the table for the ketchup, saying, “I’m not sure I like this idea,” as she squirted a pool on her plate.

  “It’s for the Reporter, Faith. Not the National Enquirer. And it’s me doing the story. I think you know me. Both of you,” she added, turning to Arwen.

  “I do,” Faith said. “But there’s a lot you don’t know about Casper. I’m sure it’s the same for Dax.”