Unforgettable (The Dalton Gang #3)

by Alison Kent

  As it was, he mused, dragging his saddle and blanket from Sunshine’s back, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about this interview business, no matter his sounding all grown-up when he’d agreed to let her question him. He got that she was just doing her job. He also got that having her be the one to tell the Dalton Gang’s story would keep it from turning into some sort of literary lynch mob. Everly at least would be fair, he was sure of that, even with the less-than-positive parts of his past. He just hoped in all her digging she didn’t come across sins he’d forgotten committing.

  They had to be out there. He was certain they were. But he’d been away from Crow Hill almost as long as he’d lived here. Hard to recall everything a man did as a boy, especially a teen boy fascinated with his own dick. And everything in high school had been about his dick. Unless it had been about beer. Combine the two and they made for a volatile combination. They also made for a lot of forgettin’ going on.

  Mostly, though, he was worried about her running across the real trouble he’d got into with Les Upton. Granted, Les had caused the trouble . . . for his daughter, for his wife. For Boone. But Boone and his favorite part of his body had not been innocent in that night’s debacle.

  If he and Everly were to get serious, he’d tell her about it. It was something he’d want her to know. But he would not open up that vein for her newspaper story even should she ask. Those facts had seen enough print back in the day.

  “You want to come to town?” Dax asked, coming out of the tack room and stopping at Sunshine’s stall. Casper had already headed home, the two returning later than expected from the auction. “Arwen’s working tonight so I’m eating at the saloon. Happy to buy you a burger and a beer.”

  Boone had kinda forgotten the other man was still here and huffed in response. “Happy since she owns the place and you buying means no money changing hands, you mean.”

  Dax shrugged. “What can I say. It’s one of the perks of the relationship. The second best, I’m thinking.”

  “Sharing her bed being the first.”

  “I don’t think so.” Dax pushed up on his hat brim before draping his arms over the stall door, moving one foot to the bottom rung, moving it away when it creaked in protest. If they didn’t get a break soon, this barn was going to fall down around them before they could afford to build a new one. “I’d have to put that second, move eating at the saloon down to third. First has to be just knowing she’s there.”

  That had Boone thinking back to what Faith had said about Casper, and relationships being so much more than sex. It wasn’t something he didn’t know, and he’d found himself often wishing he had a woman waiting at home at the end of the day. But until Everly, he hadn’t thought about one specifically beyond having her in his bed. And his thoughts were only traveling along those lines because she’d been there.

  Criminy but this mating shit was complicated.

  “So?” Dax asked again. “Supper?”

  He shook his head. “I’m eating in Fever Tree. At the Rainsong Cafe.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “None of your business.”

  “So you’ve got a date.”

  “I’m meeting Everly Grant. But it’s not a date.”

  “Well, damn, son. Good for you. Now you asking us about her the other day makes sense.”

  “She’s a nice girl.”

  “Nothing wrong with nice girls. Nothing wrong with naughty girls either.”

  “Whether she’s naughty or not, this is just supper,” he said, slipping off Sunshine’s bridle. “She’s going to want to be talking to you, too.”

  “Why would she want to talk to me?”

  “She’s doing a piece for the paper on the Dalton Gang.”

  “Right.” He drew out the word, ended it with a huff, reached up to rub a hand over his forehead. “Arwen said something about that, but why the hell she’d want to write about us . . .”

  “Because her editor asked her to, I guess. I just figured it was better to answer her questions than to have her go asking around about us.”

  “Good thinking,” Dax said. “Heading off the vultures at the pass.”

  That sent him back to something he’d been thinking about. “Don’t you find it strange that we haven’t been called out by anyone from back in the day?”

  “Well, it’s not like we were criminals, exactly. Or felons anyway. I figure we all engaged in some borderline behavior. And maybe if the sheriff had been more on the ball we would’ve done some time. Bad enough having to sleep off all those drunks in a jail cell.”

  A few of Boone’s escapades had been more than borderline. And his folks had pulled more than a few strings, called in more than a few favors to keep him on the outside. He’d locked away most of those crimes, but he’d brought out a few of them over the years, not quite sure what he’d been thinking when he’d shot up the back side of Lasko’s feed store, or left shovelfuls of cow shit to decorate the base of the high school’s hurricane statue.

  And then there was the Upton family, and everything that had gone wrong there. Lucinda had split a long time ago, and he hadn’t seen Penny since coming home. He didn’t know if she was still here. He couldn’t imagine any reason she would be. He was pretty sure he’d seen Les in his wrecker a few times. But just the wrecker. No wreck, like carrion, drawing him.

  Dax was still talking. “Most of what I remember involved daughters of fathers who didn’t have much of a sense of humor. I think Casper got in deep shit a time or two. Mostly I recall the hell we raised together. Like the time we loaded up ol’ Harris Bell’s prize bull in the back of Dave’s trailer and hauled that rank motherfucker to Len Tunstall’s slaughterhouse.”

  Lucky for them, Len Tunstall recognized the Longhorn and called Harris Bell to come pick him up, or else there would’ve been some expensive steaks hitting somebody’s grill. “I think the thing that got me in the most trouble with my folks was slashing Pastor Cuellar’s tires at two a.m. Sunday morning so he couldn’t make the drive to church.”

  “Huh, yeah. Who would’ve thought he’d ride to First Baptist on horseback?”

  The memory had Boone grinning. “I saw him when he got there. His suit coat was flapping behind him like some wild west gunslinger’s. And boy was he giving me the evil eye. Of the pastor variety.”

  “Your fault for not being too sick to get up and go to church.”

  “More like I had parents who wouldn’t let me get away with faking it.”

  “I always thought Casper and I lucked out by not having our folks up in all our business. But you were the lucky one, dude. I just didn’t realize it at the time.”

  Lucky wasn’t even the half of it, yet he’d screwed that pooch so many times it was amazing he hadn’t ended up in boot camp. “Hard to feel lucky when your parents drive you to school, and then stay because they both work there.”

  “Guess it does kinda take Big Brother to the extreme. But everyone loved your folks.”

  “Not sure that made it any better. Half the time I wasn’t sure if kids trying to make friends were more interested in scoring points with the coach. Or getting off the counselor’s shit list.”

  “Or if they were after your sister.”

  “Some of that, too.”

  “I figure sooner or later something from back then will show up and raise more hell than we ever did. But I’m sure not going to go out of my way looking for it.”

  “No need to go looking. More of a need to be ready.”

  “Shit. Who’s ever ready for their past to blow up in their face?”

  Boone had a feeling Dax was right. He could hang out at the ranch, spend twenty out of twenty-four hours a day working, avoid town as much as he could, save for Sunday supper with the folks. It would never be enough. If his crimes were going to come packing for a showdown, there was little he could do to stop it.

  “Speaking of crimes blowing up, you hear anything from Penny Upton since you got back?”

  Boone found himself smili
ng, though not at the question. This was why he and Dax had been such good friends. Always on the same wavelength. Often reading each other’s minds. “That was her father’s crime. Not mine. I was just the unlucky bastard who Les caught with his pants down. Could’ve been half a dozen other guys.”

  “It was more than your pants being down. It was your dick being—”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know where my dick was. Just happy I got out of there with it. The way Les was swinging, I wasn’t sure fortune was going to be on my side.”

  Dax bit off a nasty curse. “Sure wasn’t on Lucinda’s. Even with you stepping between her face and her old man’s fists, she took a brutal beating.”

  “Penny’s wasn’t much better. If the sheriff hadn’t gotten there when he did, I’m not sure Les wouldn’t have killed the both of them. And me, too.”

  “So?” Dax asked. “Have you seen her?”

  “Penny?” Boone shook his head. “Haven’t even heard if she’s still living in Crow Hill, but then I don’t get out much. Kinda hard to imagine she’d stay. She wouldn’t have had a lot of reason to. Especially with her father having come back here after his incarceration. Though why the hell he did that . . .”

  “A father who tried to beat her to death, and very nearly did kill her mother.” Another bunch of spewed cusswords. “Wonder where Lucinda ended up.”

  “Far, far away is my guess.”

  “Well, hate to say it, but this time I’m happy you took one for the team and it wasn’t the whole gang who found out what Les Upton was capable of.” Dax pushed off the stall, resettled his hat. “I’d thought about taking Penny for a ride a lot of times, but am damn glad that never came to pass.”

  “I bet you are,” Boone said without admitting that was one fuck he’d take back if he could.

  “I’m gonna head on to town,” Dax said with a slap to the stall’s slats. “See if I can talk Arwen into taking a dinner break instead of making me eat by myself.”

  “Suck it up, man. I eat by myself most every night, and it hasn’t killed me yet.”

  “Just keep the eyes in the back of your head open. Make sure Les Upton doesn’t try to finish what he started.”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” Boone said, pulling out his pocketknife and the apple he’d grabbed earlier from the fridge, and slicing off a hunk for Sunshine as Dax left. Then slicing off a hunk for himself, hoping it would hold him until he could get to the restaurant.

  He was goddamn starving.

  ELEVEN

  “I’M STUFFED,” EVERLY said, pushing away her plate and half-eaten New York strip. The Rainsong Cafe was known for nearly family-sized servings, and that included their steaks. “If I had a dog, I’d take the rest of this home.”

  “I have two dogs,” Boone said. “Three when Clay brings Kevin over. I’ll be happy to take it.”

  The man was incredibly transparent. And exceptionally breathtaking tonight, his long hair brushed back from his face, the ends catching in his collar. He smelled like soap and fresh air, and he made her hungry. “Why do I think the dogs will never see it?”

  “Because they won’t,” he said, gesturing toward her plate with his fork. “I can eat that for breakfast tomorrow with a couple of tortillas and eggs.”

  “Then you’re welcome to it,” she said, wondering how close to true the rumors ran that the Dalton Ranch was verging on bankruptcy. She hated thinking this man, so honorable and so proud, might be going without things he needed—food, fuel, equipment, clothing. Making do with the barest necessities, spending on only what was essential, rich with land and the freedom of working for himself, but living below what amounted to poverty level.

  She wiped her napkin over her mouth, then laid it on the edge of her plate. “This is my treat, by the way. A business expense. Since it seems the only way we’ll ever get this interview done is for me to ask you my questions in public.”

  He grunted at that, though it had been his idea. “You didn’t ask me much of anything tonight.”

  She hadn’t, even though she’d learned a lot about him by enjoying his conversation and his company. “I guess that means we’ll have to do this again.”

  His gaze came up from his plate to meet hers. “Your expense account have pockets that deep?”

  She laughed, toyed with her napkin’s selvage. “I don’t think Whitey even looks at what I turn in.”

  That earned her another grunt. “That’s because he doesn’t want to rock the boat. He knows he’s lucky to have a big city pro on his staff of amateurs.”

  “I wouldn’t call them ‘amateurs.’ Everyone there does their job well.” Smoothing her fingers over wrinkles in the napkin, she thought about the last four years. “It’s just a different mindset. What counts as breaking news has a local flavor. Like Henry Lasko retiring and giving the feed store to Darcy and Josh. There’s less interest in what’s going on in Hollywood, or Washington, except as it affects beef and oil. If the residents want to know about the monetary crisis in Greece, for example, or the unemployment rate in Iceland, they’ll get that from the national news.”

  He held up a finger, finished chewing before he spoke. “But if they want to know which Dalton Gang member used the back side of Lasko’s for shotgun practice, they’ll look in the archived pages of the Reporter.”

  “Exactly.” She waited a handful of seconds, filing away that bit of Dalton Gang history, then asked, “So? Who did shoot up the back side of the feed store?”

  His laugh was boisterous and full of secrets and like tires on gravel. “That’ll cost you another dinner. Unless one of the boys spills first.”

  The boys. All three of the men used the term. As did Arwen and Faith. She wasn’t sure if it spoke to the connection they’d made as young teens, or the Peter Pan attitude they often displayed. “Here’s what I find most interesting, and this after living here four years and going to school with Faith, and hearing about your escapades to the point where I couldn’t wait to meet all of you.”

  “That so?” he asked, his dark brows lifting, and the sweep of his lashes made even darker by the contrast of his starched white shirt.

  “Yeah,” she said, nodding, then going on before the look in his eyes had her losing her train of thought. “Your three backgrounds are so disparate, yet none of that played into your friendship.”

  “Why would it?” he asked, getting back to his food as she crossed her legs and watched him.

  She enjoyed watching him. His purposeful economy of movement. His thoughtful use of the space around him. The flex of his muscles that brought to mind the ones she couldn’t see. His thighs. His pectorals. His abs that tightened into sharp relief when he came.

  She closed her eyes, breathed away her arousal, looked at him again. “Dax came from one of the most influential families in Crow Hill, but had next to nothing in the way of parenting, or so I’ve gathered from what others have said. Casper had no money at all, and no parenting either, except what he got from your folks. You had the most all-American, middle-class upbringing of the three of you.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “No one would ever guess, from how close you are, that you didn’t grow up next door to each other on the same block. But take the gang out of Crow Hill, and it’s less likely you’d have run in the same circles, even if you’d all gone to the same school.”

  “You forget we all played football. And we all worked for Tess and Dave. We’re different in as many ways as we’re similar. Trust me.”

  “Yes, but weren’t you friends even before all of that? The football and the ranching?”

  “Dax and I were. We started kindergarten together. Casper didn’t move here until seventh grade, but he fit right in.”

  “Because of football?”

  “Because he was a misfit.” He gave her a loose shrug. “We all were in our own way.”

  Now she was really curious. “I get Casper. I even get Dax. But you?”

  “Don’t let the all-American, mi
ddle-class upbringing fool you,” he said, his grin twisted.

  She thought back to what Whitey had said when he’d assigned her the story. That of the three Dalton Gang members, Boone had been in more trouble than the others. And she was weighing her options for questioning him about the specifics when he reached across the table for her hand.

  “What’s this scar?” he asked, holding her by the wrist and rubbing his thumb along the line of white flesh lighter than the skin of her inner arm and the width of a belt buckle’s prong.

  She knew that because it had been the prong from Toby’s belt buckle that had split open her skin. He’d been sitting on her chest, his cock in her mouth, her wrists and ankles bound much like she’d bound Boone’s, only Toby had preferred leather to silk. And he’d been angry because he’d been unable to come while she sucked him. Her fault, of course. She hadn’t used her tongue in exactly the way he’d liked, going too slow when he’d wanted fast, speeding up when he’d wanted her to slow down.

  While she’d been rubbing the circulation back into her wrists after he’d released her, having jacked off all over her face, he’d reached for the belt on the floor. She’d been lucky he’d waited until then, swinging when she could defend herself rather than whipping her while she was flat on her back and bound. She suppressed a shudder at the thought of the damage he could’ve done. And his attack had come out of nowhere, unprovoked, unwarranted.

  No. She refused to dwell there. She’d made it out of that night with only a single scar to show for it. She didn’t count the ones she couldn’t see.

  But she wasn’t going to say any of that to Boone. “I slipped on a melted ice cube and fell in my kitchen several years ago. I reached for the stove but grabbed the door. It came open and I hit the edge when I went down.”