Unforgettable (The Dalton Gang #3)

by Alison Kent

  “Yes, Grumpy. We’re done.”

  “You better hope she didn’t hear you.”

  “Oh, c’mon. You think Momma doesn’t know we talk about men’s—”

  “Criminy, Faith, shut the hell up,” he said, following behind them as Faith took Everly’s arm and steered her through the house. She cast a look over her shoulder, mouthed an apology. Boone just rolled his eyes and shooed her toward her seat in the dining room.

  “Everly, I’m so pleased you could join us today.” Catherine Mitchell leaned to set the gravy boat in the center of the table before taking her chair opposite her husband at the end. “I know we met at the anniversary party, but for all the years you’ve known Faith, you and I should’ve spent more time together by now.”

  “Thank you for including me,” Everly said. “Everything looks and smells wonderful, though I have to admit I’m a bit worse for wear today.”

  “You and me both,” Faith said, the concealer doing nothing to help her look anything other than queasy.

  “Something tells me you two girls got into the same trouble last night.” This from Curtis Mitchell, Boone’s father.

  “‘Trouble’s’ not quite a big enough word,” Casper said, reaching for the bowl of carrots Curtis handed him.

  “And trouble’s going to be exactly what you’re in if you don’t keep your big mouth shut. Especially since this is all your fault.”

  “Faith! That’s no way to talk to Casper,” Catherine said, starting the basket of hot rolls around the table.

  “Yes ma’am,” she said, earning a chuckle from Clay, who sat between Everly and his soon-to-be father, as he scooped up a helping of mashed potatoes.

  Casper reached over to bop him playfully on the head. “And no laughter from the peanut gallery.”

  “Yes sir,” Clay said, adding a slice of pot roast to his plate, his head down, his mouth tight against another laugh.

  Everly took a roll when the basket came by, thinking she could probably handle bread, sparing a glance across the table at Boone whose gaze was all for his food. There wasn’t a hint that he was fighting a grin. Or a scowl to prove that he wasn’t. There was nothing. Much as there’d been nothing earlier on the drive over.

  “Well, now I want to know how all of this,” Curtis said, nodding his head at Everly on his right, at Faith sitting to his wife’s, “is Casper’s fault.”

  “No, Daddy,” Faith said, glaring at Casper. “I’m pretty sure you don’t.”

  But Curtis, letting his grin take over his face, looked from his daughter to her man. “Casper? What did you do now?”

  Everly couldn’t let anyone else take the blame. “It’s more my fault, Mr. Mitchell—”

  “Curtis, please.”

  “Curtis,” she said, then continued. “I was at the house on Mulberry Street Friday night to interview Casper for a story.”

  “A story? On Casper?”

  “I told you about it, Curt.” This from Catherine. “Whitey at the Reporter is having Everly do a human interest piece on our boys,” she said, the word obviously meant to include the absent Dax.

  “That’s right. How’s that all going?”

  Everly added a spoonful of mashed potatoes to her plate, then a bite of roast beef and a carrot. “I’ve talked some to Casper, and I’ll be talking to Dax next week. I’ve tried to talk to Boone but things keep coming up,” she said, the words earning her a grunt, “so I don’t have a lot yet from him. But I’m also talking to some of the townsfolk. I want to tell stories from as many sources as I can.”

  “This piece . . .” Catherine paused, frowning down as she buttered her roll. “It’s not going to be a hatchet job, is it? You’re not planning to make the boys look bad.”

  “It’s not a hatchet job, no.” As to whether or not the boys would look bad . . . She pulled apart her roll, breathed deeply of the warm yeasty smell, decided her stomach was going to be okay. “I’m looking for bits and pieces from the past as well as the present, and even some of what went on with each man during their years away. I want a complete picture. And I’m also hoping to find out more than I know about Tess and Dave Dalton.”

  “Well, Boone can certainly help you with that. As can Catherine and I,” Curt said, pointing with his fork toward his son and then his wife. “The Daltons were one of the first couples we met after moving to Crow Hill. They made sure we settled in and felt right at home.”

  “I’ve told her a lot about working for Dave,” Boone put in, his gaze coming up to meet hers.

  “Have you told her about playing football?” Catherine asked in a mother-proud tone. “Making the tackle that guaranteed the Hurricanes’ win your junior year when y’all went to State?”

  “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to hear about that,” he said, his attention returning to his pot roast as, Everly swore, his cheeks took on a tinge of pink beneath his tan.

  “Of course I want to hear about it,” she said, because he was so adorably cute when he blushed.

  While his mother told the story, Boone held her gaze, not looking away once, not reacting. The reactions came from everyone sharing the table with them. And the chatter kept Everly from having to comment, or do more than smile, which was extremely difficult considering the only thing she could think about was showering with Boone this morning.

  Sitting as he was at his mother’s Sunday table, wearing clean and pressed blue jeans, a pair of polished boots she’d never seen, and a crisply starched white shirt with mother-of-pearl snaps, it was hard to believe this same man, so courteous to his mother, so respectful of his father, so devoted to his family, and so . . . mannerly, was the same man who’d taken her apart.

  How much he must have missed this company while away for half his life. How had he been able to stand it, knowing he wasn’t here to celebrate birthdays and cheer his father’s football team and wash his mother’s dishes with his sister?

  Had they argued as children? The one washing filling the sink so full that the one rinsing had no room to run water? None of the dishes ever really getting clean because the hated chore was a battle?

  “Everly? You’re awfully quiet,” Boone’s mother said, reaching a hand toward her, her eyes narrowed with concern. “Are you feeling poorly? Could I get you some hot tea?”

  “Oh, Mrs. Mitchell, Catherine, I apologize.” Everly shook her head, smiling at the older woman who was so incredibly lovely and kind. “I didn’t get much sleep last night. Or should I say, I got sleep but since I’d spent the evening with several pitchers of margaritas, it wasn’t the sleep I needed.”

  Curtis chuckled and sliced the side of his fork through a chunk of carrot. “I guess that explains Faith’s looking rather green around the gills.”

  “They had a girls’ night out,” Casper said. “At the bookstore.”

  Another chuckle from Boone’s father. “Huh. Never knew reading books to cause morning-after regret.”

  Everly dropped her gaze to her food, regret the last thing she was feeling. Too bad she couldn’t put a name to what the emotion was. Too bad she couldn’t give this meal and the members of Boone’s family the attention they deserved. Too bad she was so confused about what she and Boone were doing that she’d let Casper get to her.

  Too bad what she’d told Boone in the truck last night while drunk was probably the truest thing she would ever say.

  TWENTY-TWO

  MONDAY AT NOON, Everly reached for her iced tea, sipping while she scanned the notes she’d made while talking to Nora Stokes and her daughter Teri Gregor. Nora’s husband Gavin owned the Blackbird Diner, and Teri, married to a deployed Navy SEAL, had been running the place for them since moving back to Crow Hill. Teri had gone to school with the Dalton Gang, and had spoke kindly of all three—though her reticence to talk about Dax left Everly certain the two had been more than classmates.

  That wouldn’t go into her story, of course. No speculation on her part would. Only stories told by those who’d known them, whether since their return or
in the past, belonged. And for all his talk of wanting a celebrity exposé, she knew what Whitey really wanted was exactly what he would be getting—his fully fleshed-out and as-true-as-she-knew-it-to-be human interest piece.

  Or he would be if she could make sense of all of her notes. She’d recorded her conversation with Teri and Nora, but she’d jotted additional thoughts as they’d talked. She’d done that with everyone she’d spoken to. It was how she worked. And it also meant she needed to get things typed up before she forgot the possible angles the random words and phrases were supposed to help her recall.

  Working on the story while the interview was fresh would also keep her mind off yesterday’s meal with the Mitchells. Thinking back to that disaster would have her running to Boone to apologize. Or else crawling under her covers and staying there. What must he be thinking of her? Why had she insisted on going with him? How in the world was she going to face his parents again?

  It was bad enough to throw up in one’s own home, but to get sick in front of Boone’s parents had made it a thousand times worse. He’d been so sweet to hold back her hair, getting in Faith’s way when she’d tried. He’d brought her water, and a cold rag, and given her regrets to his parents so she didn’t have to see them again. Then he’d taken her home, tucked her in, sat with her until she’d fallen asleep.

  She’d woke hours later alone, more water and more aspirin on her bedside table, a clean bowl and pop-top can of chicken noodle soup waiting with a sleeve of saltines next to her microwave, along with another bottle of water. She’d stood there wrapped in the worn chenille robe she’d owned since high school, her hair, her face, everything about her a mess, stared at the note he’d left that simply said Eat. Drink. Feel better. and cried.

  Enough. Work first. Fixing things with Boone later. If there was anything left to fix. If her wanting to be with him instead of staying home hadn’t ruined the best thing to ever happen to her.

  Why hadn’t she just stayed home?

  She’d just tucked her notebook and pen into her purse, when a man appeared in her peripheral vision and stopped beside her. “I hear you’re looking for dirt on the Dalton Gang. Boone Mitchell in particular.”

  It took a second for the words to register, but then her head came up, her heart thumping. “I’m sorry. Who are you?” she asked, even though she knew. The monogrammed patch on his shirt told her, though the nastiness in his tone, and the specific mention of Boone, had been her first clue.

  “Les Upton.” The man who’d spoken, his nearly bald pate as greasy as the long strands of combed-over hair, spread out his hands on the table, supporting himself as he took the seat across from her. He was tall, gaunt, nearly skeletal, though his ropy forearms spoke the truth of his strength. “I run a towing service and garage out past Fever Tree. Lived here all my life. Know things you might like hearing about the three members of the Dalton Gang. My girl Penny went to school with them.”

  She wanted to tell him she hadn’t asked him to sit, or invited him to join her, or even said, yes, she was looking for dirt on Boone. But some sort of anticipation in his expression told her she wanted to hear him out. And it wasn’t the thought of Whitey Simmons canning her if she didn’t.

  Neither was it knowing what she already did about what had happened between this man and Boone. She didn’t need to hear his side of that particular story. Boone had told her plenty, yet her professional curiosity kicked in and she heard herself saying, “I’m not exactly looking for dirt, Mr. Upton. I’m gathering background for a story I’m writing for the Crow Hill Reporter. A human interest piece.”

  “I know who you are. I know what you’re doing, and who you’re doing it for.” He leaned forward, bringing with him the smell of diesel fuel and grease. “I also imagine all you’re getting from folks is a whitewashed version of what went on around here back in the day.”

  So, this man, one she hadn’t met during her four years in Crow Hill, was going to give her what no one else could? Or what no one else so far had? Or was it that he was going to give her what no one else wanted to, because whatever crimes the boys—Boone in particular—had committed weren’t ones he’d learned to laugh about with time?

  She changed her mind. She didn’t want to hear anything he had to say. “Actually, I know about your run-in with Boone. He told me about it himself.”

  “Run-in, huh. Is that what he’s calling it?”

  “No, that was my word.”

  “And what words did he use? Huh? Did he tell you about the drugs he sold? The money he made supplying weed to the kids at school? You ever wonder why he didn’t go to college, considering how smart he was, and the schools that wanted him to play ball ready to pay his way?”

  She wanted to shake off what he was saying. She didn’t believe a word of it. She knew Boone, the man he was, the family he’d come from. Knew, too, the trouble he’d caused, the pranks he’d played, the sins he’d committed. His choosing to not attend school had nothing to do with drugs.

  Why was she still sitting here listening to him? “Mr. Upton—”

  Les leaned closer. “Did he tell you he got my Penny pregnant?”

  Everly’s gaze whipped up, her heart ricocheting like a pinball in her chest.

  “She didn’t keep it, of course,” he said, his mouth twisted, his whiskers gray and dirty, his eyes like bottomless black holes. “Penny never could be bothered with anything where there wasn’t something in it for her. Now if the kid had belonged to Dax Campbell, that would’ve been a different story. But the Mitchells didn’t have enough money—”

  Without thinking, Everly reached across the table and slapped the rest of his words into silence. Her palm stung, sweat blossomed at her nape. Her stomach clenched as nausea rose. Les took several long seconds to turn back to her, to rub at the bright red print she’d left on his face. And then he slid out of the booth and got to his feet.

  But he didn’t walk away. He dug his keys from his coveralls pocket, then used the end of one to pick dirt from beneath a nail, moving to the next, wiping the grime on his thigh, finally lifting his gaze to hers and saying, “I guess he didn’t mention it. Feel free to ask him what he said to Penny when he found out.”

  Everly’s hands were shaking when she reached for her glass of iced tea, and she held on tight to keep from spilling the contents, even while thinking of tossing it all into Upton’s face. She came close, but was saved from that particular embarrassment by an unexpected white knight.

  “Let’s go, Upton,” Greg Barrett said, stepping between Everly and the other man and putting a hand on his shoulder to push him away. “I don’t think the lady’s in the mood for any more of your company.”

  “You don’t know what the lady wants—”

  “Actually, I do. Her handprint on your face is telling me.” Greg pushed harder. “And Trevon Greene in the kitchen is more than ready to escort you to your truck if you can’t get there under your own steam. You remember Trevon. Crow Hill High defensive end. Six-four. Two-ninety.”

  Upton turned, shrugging off Greg’s hand as he did, sauntering down the length of the diner as if taking his time proved he was leaving because he wanted to, not because of Greg’s threats.

  Everly didn’t even realize he’d left the building until Greg took the seat across from her, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? Do you need me to call the sheriff?”

  “I’m fine, thank you. He wasn’t particularly pleasant, but he didn’t hurt me. He didn’t even really frighten me. It was just the things he was saying . . .” She smiled when Greg reached across and squeezed her wrist. “I appreciate your getting rid of him. I didn’t want to make more of a scene than I already had, but he was about to get a free glass of iced tea somewhere he probably wouldn’t have wanted it.”

  “That man’s a nuisance,” he said as he let her go. “I’m all for freezing his balls off.”

  That wasn’t exactly how she would’ve put it, but it did make her laugh. “Again
. Thank you.”

  “Again. You’re welcome. Highlight of my day. Highlight of my month, to tell you the truth. I don’t get out much.”

  “You and me both.” Upton’s slow-moving tow truck crept past her window, taunting her. She took a sip of her tea, her stomach almost too tight for the little bit she swallowed, then to get her mind off what had just happened, she reached for the closest distraction. “Could I ask you a few questions while you’re here?”

  “Sure. I guess so.”

  “It’s for a story I’m doing,” she said, digging for her notebook and pen. “So it’s not just random.”

  “What’s the story?”

  “It’s a human interest piece on the Dalton Gang.”

  He arched a brow. “And you want the bastard half brother’s take on things?”

  “Do you mind?” she asked, flipping open her notebook.

  “Why not.” He leaned back in the booth, spread out his arms along the banquette. “Not sure what I can tell you since I don’t know Mitchell at all, can’t discuss my relationship with Casper, and Dax and I barely manage to exchange hellos in passing.”

  She’d take what she could get. “Has it been hard? With everyone knowing you’re Wallace Campbell’s son?”

  He shrugged. “I came here expecting it to be hard.”

  “But you were here for quite a while before anyone knew the truth.”

  “It was bound to come out. Secrets always do.”

  The supposed secret of Boone getting Penny Upton pregnant hadn’t. In the four years Everly had lived here, she hadn’t heard a bit of speculation. Then again, she hadn’t heard anything about Boone having to testify at Les Upton’s trial until hearing it from him. Some secrets, it seemed, didn’t have to come out. Which didn’t explain why it was getting so hard to live with hers . . .

  “You and Darcy though. You’ve become friends?”

  He nodded toward the empty page of her notebook. “You sure this is for your story?”

  Smart man, Greg Barrett. “Part of the hook is the Dalton Gang’s return, and what brings people to Crow Hill.”