by Stacy Finz
“Nope.” Before he could explain that the recent spate of crimes was an anomaly in Nugget, Sophie came over to hug him.
“I heard what happened today. My God, Lucky, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just a lot of craziness.” Lucky introduced Sophie to Noah. “She and Mariah over there”—he pointed across the bar—“own the Ponderosa.”
“Nice to meet you,” Noah said. “Have you known Lucky a long time?”
“We’ve only lived here four years . . . didn’t watch him grow up. But he’s a hometown hero. You won’t have any trouble finding people here who have known him since he was a baby.” Sophie smiled, and Lucky remembered that before coming to Nugget she’d been a big-time marketing executive in the Bay Area. She certainly talked the talk. “Just let us know if you need anything during your stay here. Too bad you had to come at our worst time. Normally this is the safest place you could imagine. That’s why we moved here.”
“I may stop by when things are a little quieter and get some perspective from you about the area,” Noah said.
“Absolutely.” Sophie turned to Lucky. “Any word yet on Katie?”
“Not yet,” he said.
“I know Mariah brought soup over. How’s she feeling?”
“Okay,” Lucky said. “She’s with my mom tonight.”
Sophie took both his hands. “Just know that she’s always in our thoughts.”
“Thank you, Sophie.”
When she left to relieve Mariah, Noah asked, “Who’s Katie?”
“My daughter.”
Noah cocked his head. “Daughter?”
Lucky decided to cut to the chase. “She’s nine. Due to extenuating circumstances”—that’s what his agent told him to say—“I just learned about her a couple of months ago.”
“What kind of extenuating circumstances?”
The man was a reporter, all right. “It’s private, Noah. For my daughter’s sake, her mother and I would like to keep this part of my life out of the press.”
“I don’t know that I can do that,” Noah said. “This is a profile on you. Having a secret daughter will inevitably become part of it.”
“She’s not a secret and you’re welcome to meet her. But we’re not willing to talk about the past.”
“Is she sick?” Noah wanted to know.
“She has acute myeloid leukemia and needs a stem cell transplant. We’re waiting to hear if I’m a match.”
“Jesus,” Noah said. “I’m sorry.” He sounded genuinely sympathetic, but Lucky couldn’t miss the gleam in the reporter’s eye. No doubt he was amped about stumbling onto this new piece of news.
Pete had warned Lucky that the reporter would go nuts for it, riffing off headlines like: CELEBRITY BULL RIDER DONATES BONE MARROW TO SAVE DAUGHTER’S LIFE. Lucky didn’t want to turn his daughter’s illness into a sideshow but knew he couldn’t exactly keep it a secret either.
“When can I meet her?” Noah asked.
“Tomorrow. If you want, I’ll take you over to my mother’s.”
“And your daughter’s mother, what’s your relationship with her like?”
An hour ago, their relationship had been X-rated. Now, he wasn’t sure whether they were still talking to each other. “Good. You can meet her too. She makes custom cowboy boots. Everyone from Merle Haggard to Madison Bumgarner has bought a pair.”
“Really?”
Lucky started to tell Noah more about Tawny when a woman draped herself over his back, covered his eyes with her hands, and said, “Guess who?”
As if he didn’t know.
“Is this her?” Noah asked.
“Who?” Raylene dropped her hands and graced Noah with one of her rodeo-queen smiles.
“This is Raylene Rosser,” Lucky told Noah. “She’s—”
“You must be the Sports Illustrated reporter,” Raylene cut in. “I’m Lucky’s girlfriend.”
“Rosser?” The reporter scratched his head. “Isn’t that the name of the man arrested for the shooting on Lucky’s property?”
“My dad,” Raylene said. “It was self-defense. Gus Clamper tried to kill him.”
Lucky thought they must’ve looked like a bunch of trailer trash to this guy. In the worst way he wanted to call it a night. The problem was, he’d either have to take Raylene home or leave her alone with Noah to yap her head off about Lucky’s private affairs. Neither was an option.
He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t wanted to take Raylene home. The fact that he didn’t now made him feel nostalgic and just a little bit melancholy.
Finally, it was Noah who said goodbye. Before he trudged across the square to the Lumber Baron, they made a plan to meet at Cecilia’s in the morning.
As soon as Noah left, Raylene ditched the sweet rodeo-queen act. “Why didn’t you call me back? I’ve been looking for you all day.”
“A lot of shit went down today, Raylene. I’ve been busy.”
“Busy with Tawny.”
He wasn’t about to lie to her. “Yeah, I went over there.”
“Great,” she said. “My life’s falling apart and you’re killing time with Thelma Wade.”
His life hadn’t exactly been a party these past few weeks. “What’s wrong?”
“You mean besides the fact that the Rossers may as well be the Manson family around here?” Raylene had always had a flair for overstating things. The Manson family. “Butch is marrying the whore. She’ll be living in my house, sleeping in my bed, and hanging her clothes in my closet.
“I know it pisses you off and makes you jealous when I complain about Butch,” Raylene continued. “But you have to realize what this has done to my self-esteem. She was my best friend, Lucky.”
“Raylene, let’s go sit in my truck.” He had to make her understand. And not in a bar with the jukebox blasting.
He tugged her off of Noah’s stool. Cold air slapped them as they stepped outside and Raylene huddled into Lucky’s side to get warm. He put his arm around her, hoping to feel those familiar stirrings of overwhelming love and lust that she’d always brought out in him. But nothing. Not even so much as that warm feeling that comes over you from being with an old friend.
With his key fob he unlocked his truck’s doors, helped Raylene inside, and started the ignition so he could turn on the heat.
After a long silence, he said, “I’m sorry about your dad and I’m sorry about Butch. I care about you so much, Raylene, but I don’t think we’re meant to be together.”
“Of course we are. You’ve always loved me,” she said, her voice rasping. “You said even when I went to Boulder and didn’t return your calls and married Butch, you still loved me.”
“And I’m thinking now that maybe that wasn’t so healthy. That maybe I’d built us up into something that didn’t exist, because if you’d really loved me, Raylene, you wouldn’t have married Butch. You wouldn’t be bitter about him right now.”
“So you’re getting even with me for marrying Butch?”
He gently grasped her chin in his hand. “Look at me, Raylene. I want nothing but the best for you. You’re important to me and I never want to hurt you, but, honey, this isn’t working.”
“Oh God.” She rested her face in her hands and let out a shrill laugh. “You’re screwing Thelma. This has nothing to do with Butch. How could I have missed it?”
Lucky pried her hands away from her face and tilted his head to make eye contact. “Raylene, be honest here. The last couple of weeks, you and I have been on separate wavelengths. And when Butch came, I told you it was over. You didn’t listen.”
“Because you always come back,” she said, and started to sob. “You always, always come back.”
“That’s the problem, Raylene. I always come back and I just can’t do it anymore.”
She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “You will. You’ll see.” And before Lucky could stop her, Raylene flung the door open and ran.
He watched her jump into her truck and drive away, wondering if he
should follow her to make sure she got home safely. Instead, he rested his head against the steering wheel and took a couple of deep breaths. Then he backed out of the square and went in the opposite direction.
Chapter 18
What do you wear to meet a reporter from Sports Illustrated? That’s what Tawny wanted to know as she searched her closet. She and Lucky were apparently talking again, because he’d called to tell her about the meeting at Cecilia’s and to ask her to come.
But he’d been all business, which was probably for the best. What they’d done last night had only contributed to her feelings for Lucky tenfold, and then to have Raylene text him while they were still in bed . . . well, it was a painful reminder that his heart would always belong to someone else.
Tawny finally settled on the denim dress she liked so much and a pair of favorite boots. In Katie’s bedroom she found the new jeans and matching top Katie had gotten with Lucky at Farm Supply and packed them for her daughter. Tawny knew her little fashionista would want to wear something special.
On her way to Cecilia’s, Tawny stopped at the Gas and Go to fill up her tank. Griffin came out.
“How goes it?” he asked in his typical jovial way. He wore a pair of low-slung cargo pants that looked exceptionally good on him. But Tawny only had eyes for Lucky. And Lucky only had eyes for Raylene.
What a mess.
“Good,” she said. “How’s business?”
“Can’t complain. Katie doing okay?”
“So far, so good.” Tawny took the nozzle off the pump, but Griffin stepped in and did it for her. “Anything new with you?” She was subtly trying to ask about Lina. Everyone knew he mooned after the police chief’s sister.
“I sold another place at Sierra Heights. A family from Livermore.”
“As a vacation home?” Tawny couldn’t imagine buying one of Griff’s big fancy houses and only using it a few weekends a year. It seemed rather extravagant.
“Yep. I don’t get a lot of full-timers. I heard about the big bust at Lucky’s. That must’ve sucked for him.”
Tawny nodded. “He’s trying to find a new construction company to finish the work. He’s way behind schedule.”
“He talk to Pat Donnelly?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Everyone in this town swears by him,” Griffin said. “Hey, we’re doing another bowling party next weekend. You in?”
“It’ll depend on Katie.” Tawny would like to go, though. It would get her mind off Lucky.
Griffin finished pumping her gas and hung the hose back up. “Take it easy, Tawny.” He ruffled her hair. “We’re all thinking about you.”
“Thanks, Griff.”
She got back in her Jeep, nosed out onto Main Street, and parked in the cul-de-sac at Cecilia’s. Lucky’s truck was in the driveway. As always, the house smelled good, like homemade food and lemon polish.
“You hungry, mija?” Cecilia enveloped her in a hug. The first thing Tawny noticed was that Cecilia had on her boots.
“Hi, Mommy.” Katie sat at the kitchen table eating pancakes with Lucky and a man Tawny had never seen before. She assumed he was the reporter.
Tawny held up a bag. “I brought you one of the new outfits you got with your dad.”
Katie gasped, like the little drama queen she was. “Thank you.”
“This is Pete, my agent,” Lucky said, letting his gaze linger on Tawny’s dress. Maybe she hadn’t dressed up enough.
“Hi, Tawny. Nice to meet you.” Pete stood up and shook Tawny’s hand.
He was handsome and not what she expected from a professional bull rider’s agent. No boots, no hat. He kind of reminded her of John Kennedy Jr., like he belonged on a sailboat in New England. Not that she’d ever been to New England, or even sailing, for that matter. But she’d seen pictures.
“Nice to meet you too,” she said.
Cecilia refilled Pete’s coffee cup and set a place for Tawny. Katie excused herself from the table to change.
“Pete surprised me and flew in this morning,” Lucky said. “He’s worried Noah Lansing will think we’re a bunch of inbred hicks unless he coaches us on how to talk right.”
Pete seemed to be trying to hold on to his patience. “That’s a load of crap, Lucky. What I have is a very legitimate fear that a drug bust and murder will ruin your public image, lose you sponsors, and spoil what up until now would’ve been a perfect PBR legacy. You said no to the crisis manager I wanted to bring in, so here I am, Lucky, trying to do damage control and save what’s left of your career.”
Tawny swallowed hard, knowing that out of politeness Pete had left out Lucky’s illegitimate nine-year-old daughter. His fans, country-conservative, family-values kinds of folks, could probably deal with the fact that he’d had Katie out of wedlock. But they would skewer him for not taking care of his daughter for all these years. And that was on her and only her.
“What would you like us to say?” she asked Pete, who gave her a wan smile.
“It would help Lucky a lot if you would tell the reporter that you kept Katie from him all these years.”
“She’s not telling him shit about that,” Lucky interrupted. “It’s none of his goddamn business.”
“Lucky.” Cecilia hushed him. “Katie is in the next room.”
Pete lowered his voice, turned to address Tawny as if they were having a private conversation, and continued. “The reporter will want to know why you kept Katie a secret from Lucky. You can’t tell him about the rape allegation, Tawny. You tell him that, game over. Perhaps you say something like you weren’t sure that he was Katie’s fath—”
Lucky jumped up from the table and grabbed Pete’s collar. “What the hell is the matter with you?”
Tawny pulled Lucky off Pete. “Stop. He’s trying to help you.”
“By asking the mother of my daughter to tell a reporter she’s a tramp?”
“That’s not what he’s saying, Lucky.”
“The hell it isn’t.” Lucky launched himself at Pete again and Tawny had to get in the middle.
Cecilia stood there, slack-jawed. “Ay Dios.”
There was a knock on the door and everyone went stock-still. Pete looked at his watch.
“I’ll get it,” Cecilia finally said.
Tawny went in search of Katie, hoping that Lucky wouldn’t kill Pete in her absence. Katie, oblivious to the scene in the kitchen, stood in Cecilia’s master bathroom, curling her hair in the mirror.
“Look at pretty you,” Tawny told her.
“Can I put on some of your makeup?”
“No.” Tawny kissed Katie on the cheek. “You’re too pretty for makeup. Let’s go out and say hi to the reporter.”
Unlike Pete, Noah Lansing wore jeans and boots. The jeans were a little too crisp and the boots hadn’t been broken in yet. But he clearly tried to look the part.
“This is my daughter, Katie, and her mama, Tawny.” Lucky immediately pulled them into the fold.
“Nice to meet you,” Noah said, gracing Katie with a nice smile. Tawny thought he seemed pleasant enough.
Cecilia served him a plate of pancakes, and for a while they made small talk about Nugget, the brisk weather, and Lucky’s ninety-point rides. Cecilia gave Noah a tour of the house, bragging about how Lucky had bought it for her. Pete nodded at Lucky, the message clear: He liked the way Cecilia handled herself.
Katie, bored with the grown-up conversation, disappeared into Cecilia’s room to watch TV. Cecilia strolled back into the kitchen with Noah, who scribbled something in a notebook and grabbed the chair next to Tawny at the table.
“Lucky says you make boots. You make those?” He pointed at hers and she told him she had. “How long have you and Lucky known each other?”
“Since elementary school,” Tawny said, and laughed.
“Really? So were you guys childhood sweethearts?”
“No,” Tawny said. “I was super shy. Even in the fourth grade, Lucky was big man on campus.”
Noah chuckled
, clearly thinking the whole growing-up-in-a-small-town thing was a real hoot. “The woman I met last night . . . Lucky’s girlfriend. . . Jolene, I think her name was. Did she go to school with the both of you, too?”
“Raylene,” Tawny corrected, her heart sinking. Lucky hadn’t even waited a full twenty-four hours after leaving Tawny’s bed to run back to Raylene. Tawny tried to catch Lucky’s eye, but he wouldn’t even look at her. “Yep, she went to school with us too. She was Lucky’s childhood sweetheart.”
“No kidding?” Noah turned his attention to Lucky. “Have you been together all this time?”
Looking more uncomfortable than Tawny had ever seen him, Lucky said, “After high school, Raylene and I went our separate ways.” But they were back together now.
“How did you two”—Noah shifted his hand between Tawny and Lucky—“get together?”
Tawny knew the question was intended as a tactful way for Noah to inquire about Katie. Unless Lucky was dating Giselle Bündchen, Sports Illustrated couldn’t care less about Lucky’s hometown love life.
The room went silent and finally Pete stepped in. “Noah, because of Katie we’d like to steer away from—”
“I’m okay with talking about it.” Before Lucky could stop her, Tawny told Noah, “Ten years ago, before Lucky left Nugget to go on the circuit, we had a fling. I didn’t know I was pregnant until after he left. It was at that point that I made the decision not to tell him. Not until Katie got sick and needed a donor for a stem cell match did I change my mind.”
“Why didn’t you want to tell him?” Noah asked.
“I was an eighteen-year-old girl. And although Lucky and I had known each other forever, we weren’t in a relationship. My father was dying and I’d dropped out of school to take care of him. Katie was the only thing I had.” She tried with difficulty to make eye contact. “I didn’t want to share. And I knew that a man like Lucky would want joint custody. So I kept his paternity a secret. It was selfish and horrible and . . .”
“That’s enough,” Lucky told Tawny and faced off with the reporter. “You put any of that in the story and we’re done. No more interview.”
Pete stood up from the table. “Noah, is there a way we can work around this part of the story? Lucky and Tawny are good people . . . good parents, trying to protect their gravely ill daughter.”