by Dylann Crush
“What are you talking about?”
Dwight shrugged. “Charlie said your dad’s gonna close the place. That means my friends would be out of a job and I’d be out of a place to hang out.”
This was a whole new level of crazy. “What did you do? Slip something in my drink last night?”
Dwight jabbed his pointer finger at Beck’s nose. “Bingo! You really are a hotshot, ain’t ya?”
Beck struggled against the zip tie tethering his wrist to the bed rail. “Screw you, asshole. Get me out of here right now. There’s been a misunderstanding. I need to talk to her.”
“Yeah, and next you’ll try to sell me an island off the coast of Kansas. I knew you’d be a fast talker.” Dwight wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m onto you, and you ain’t gonna talk me into anything. Now settle down. We’ve still got about”—he checked his watch—“three hours until I figure it’s safe to let you loose.”
“But I’ve got to get to Charlie and tell her she was right. The only way to keep my dad from getting the Rose is for me to get on that float.”
“Nice try. That’s a bunch of mumbo jumbo.”
“I’m not lying. There’s a loophole in the will. My dad will fight to the end to get control. Charlie would lose everything. Go ask Hill if you don’t believe me.”
Dwight leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He stared at Beck for what felt like a long time. “You’re not bullshittin’ me?”
“I swear.”
“Swear on something I can believe you about.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno. Your mama’s grave.”
“She’s alive.”
“Then pick someone else. You got another relative who’s passed?”
“Just my grandfather.” The man he’d come to know and respect more than the father who’d raised him.
Dwight stood. “I don’t know. You never even met him. This doesn’t feel right to me.”
“How about I swear on the Rose? My love for Charlie?”
“Nah. I’m still not so sure you’re not trying to pull a fast one.”
Beck tried to calm down enough to put himself in Dwight’s boots for a split second. Any longer than that and he feared his head might explode. The guy loved beer, cars, and women. “I swear I’m telling the truth. If not, let my copy of this year’s Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue get drowned by a leaky keg of Lone Star beer while my Porsche gets trampled by a stampede of longhorns.”
Dwight ripped his hat off his head and held it over his heart. “Dear Lord. I’m no fan of yours, but even I would never wish something like that on my worst enemy.”
“So you believe me now?”
“Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice. You really have a Porsche?”
“Yes. Untie me?” Beck pulled his hand away from the bed rail so Dwight could cut him free.
“Will you let me drive it someday?”
“Sure. If I ever bring it to Texas, I’ll let you drive it, okay?” Like that would ever happen. If Charlie didn’t run him out of town, he’d have to trade in his Porsche for a truck. Or at least some big-ass SUV.
“Hmpf.” Dwight flipped a knife out and sliced through the zip tie, and a few moments later, Beck rubbed his wrist. When the feeling finally returned, he stood up and grabbed Dwight by the scruff of his T-shirt. He pushed him against the wall, lifting him up so his feet dangled six inches off the floor.
“Hey, put me down! I let you go. You can’t beat me up.”
Beck gritted his teeth and drew back a fist, wanting nothing more than to slam it into Dwight’s jaw. “You idiot. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Where’s my phone?”
Dwight shielded his face with his hands. “I tossed it in the trash can at the diner. I’m sorry. I was trying to help Charlie. You don’t deserve a woman like her.”
Dammit. He loosened his grip on Dwight’s shirt, letting him slide down the wall until his feet hit concrete again. “That’s one thing you’re right about. She deserves a hell of a lot better than me. Where’s your phone?”
Dwight handed him an ancient flip phone.
Beck messed with it, trying to get a signal. “Battery’s low. Do you have a charger?”
“Nope. And I let the air out of the truck tires so if you got loose, you couldn’t go very far. We can try hitching from the road.”
“Not enough time. The parade’s going to start soon.” Beck took the stairs two at a time and emerged in the middle of a field of tall grass. “Where are we?”
“Sully’s place. I guess he put this bomb shelter in back in the ’50s. I thought it’d be a good place to hide you.”
“Remind me later to kick your ass. Now, which way’s the house, and how far away is it?”
Dwight shielded his eyes with his hand and scanned the field. Looked the same in every direction except for a path of beaten-down brush off to the right.
“That way. Follow me.” The grass parted and swallowed Dwight as he moved off to the left. Not wanting to lose him, Beck jogged to catch up. If they could get to Sully’s, maybe he could reach the parade in time. He just needed a little bit of luck.
“No, that way.” Dwight swung ninety degrees to the left.
Make that a lot of luck.
* * *
Charlie eased her foot onto the brake. “There?”
Darby motioned her to back up another couple of inches. “Got it.”
Finally. With the float firmly attached to the hitch on the back of Charlie’s dually, all they had to do was drive into town and join the parade lineup. The Rose was almost safe.
Darby hopped into the passenger seat. “Who’s that?”
A trio of shiny, black SUVs came to a synchronized stop, blocking their exit from the parking lot. A couple guys in suits emerged from the lead vehicle. The same men who’d come with the appraiser trying to take measurements and pictures.
“Oh no. They work for Beck’s dad.” All the air squeezed out of her lungs as a head of silver hair emerged from the back seat. “No, no, no.” Charlie’s hands shook as she slid her sunglasses over her eyes.
“Honey, who is that?”
“Beck’s dad. Sully’s son.”
“What’s he doing here?” Darby bounced on the seat next to her. “Do you think he’s looking for Beck?”
Charlie forced herself to take in a breath. “I don’t know. But whatever he wants, it can’t be good.”
“Do you want me to go talk to him?”
Charlie nodded toward Dickwad Number One. “Too late. I think he’s heading this way.”
At that moment, her phone rang. Dwight. Where was he? She hit the speaker button.
“Charlie?” Beck’s voice exploded into the cab of the small truck.
“Beck, is that you?”
The man rapped on the driver side window.
“I’m on…way. Don’t…to anyone.” Static crackled through the line.
“You’re breaking up. I can’t hear you.” She glanced at the man at her window. He motioned for her to roll it down.
“You going to open it?” Darby leaned forward.
“Beck? You there?”
“We need to talk.” Hell yeah they needed to talk. “Be there…as possible. Do not…my dad. Trust me…”
“What’s he saying?” Hands shaking, Charlie tilted the phone toward Darby.
“I don’t know. Sounds like he said don’t do something about his dad. What are you going to do?”
“Beck?” Charlie tried again.
The mountain at her window made a move to grab the door handle. She slammed her elbow onto the lock, preventing him from opening it. His mouth morphed into a menacing frown, and he pointed at the window.
“Open the window,” Darby said.
Charlie cranked the handle and lowered the window an in
ch. “Yes?”
“Ms. Walker?” The question came out in a burst, like machine-gun fire.
Darby practically climbed over Charlie’s lap. “Who’s askin’?”
“Mr. Holiday wants to have a word.” He motioned Beck’s father over.
“Charlie. Is my dad there?” Finally, Beck’s voice came through.
She didn’t respond. Beckett Sullivan Holiday Jr. approached the truck. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten.
Panic bubbled up from her gut to her throat like the foam from a bad keg. She tried to move her hands from the steering wheel, but they wouldn’t budge.
Holiday reached the window. “Ms. Walker, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Her limbs turned to jelly. “Wish I could say the same, Mr. Holiday.”
He chuckled, the noise grating against her nerves like a jackhammer on steroids. “You and I need to talk. Beck’s decided he doesn’t want to go through with our little deal. There’s nothing worse than a son who turns his back on his father, wouldn’t you agree?”
“What’s he talking about, Charlie?” Darby nudged her in the side.
Charlie ignored her. “That’s ironic, seeing as how you only want the Rose so you can turn your back on your own father and shut it down.”
The shock that registered on Holiday’s face was either authentic or Academy Award worthy. “Did he tell you that?”
“You hinted at it yourself, that night at dinner.”
“Oh, Charlie. You must have misunderstood. We’ve got to keep Beck from getting on that float. If he does, he’s going to sell the Rose out from under us. We’ll both lose.”
“Charlie?” Beck yelled through the phone. “He’s lying. Get out of there. Trust me.”
“I can’t do this.” Charlie’s gaze flew from the phone to Darby to Holiday.
“That’s right, Charlie. Don’t give him what he wants.” The smug smirk on Mr. Holiday’s face sent a jolt of adrenaline through her. Her foot stomped on the gas, and her fingers came back to life. She gripped the steering wheel, swerving to avoid the trio of SUVs, and charged over a flower bed by the curb. The sheriff’s prize rosebushes flattened under the tires, and the float bounced from side to side, sending wads of tissue paper scattering in their wake.
“Yeehaw!” Darby wrapped her fingers around the handle above her head. “You go, girl.”
A glance in the rearview mirror showed Mr. Holiday racing back to the SUV. Based on what she knew about the man, the sleight wouldn’t sit well with him. That meant she needed a plan C. It wouldn’t take him long to set his posse in pursuit.
“Beck?” The phone had fallen to the floor during their escape.
Darby picked it up. “He’s not there. Must have lost him. Who do you believe? Beck or his dad?”
“I can only handle one crisis at a time.” Think, Charlie, think. “Where’s Waylon this morning?”
“What?”
“My brother…your husband. Is he at home?”
“Yeah. He’s getting the kids ready. They’re going to meet us at the lineup.”
Charlie’s mind spun through possible delay tactics. “Call him, will you?”
“Sure. What are you thinking?” Darby punched in the number.
“Tell him to open the gate from the east pasture to the west. We’ll drive by in ten minutes.”
“You think that’s going to work?”
“You got a better idea?”
Darby spoke into the phone and relayed Charlie’s instructions. “Done.”
Charlie reached a hand over and squeezed Darby’s arm. “Thanks. Will you keep trying Dwight’s number? I need to talk to Beck.”
“You bet. What about the goons?”
“We need to lead ’em around some back roads until Waylon has a chance to set up.”
“And here they come.” Darby whipped her head around, and Charlie checked the rearview mirror.
Having the fourteen-foot float dangling off the back of her dually would make it easy for them to catch up. She increased her speed. Hopefully the damn thing would stay attached. It wouldn’t go over very well if they showed up for the parade without a float.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Beck yanked the tarp off the monstrosity filling Sully’s garage. Dust motes filled the air.
Dwight bent over coughing. “How long has this thing been sitting out here?”
“I don’t know. Do you think it runs?” Beck examined the antique tractor with a skeptical eye. The body shone with a new paint job. But had Sully rebuilt the engine?
“Let’s fire it up. See what we have to deal with.” Dwight flipped his baseball cap around backward and bent over the engine.
Beck climbed onto the metal seat and turned the key. The engine sputtered and spun out.
“Again.” Dwight adjusted something.
Back and forth they went, Beck twisting the key and Dwight shouting instructions. Ten minutes later, Dwight’s hands were black from a mixture of oil and grease, and the tractor hummed, the engine running smoother than most of the cars Beck had been in over the past month.
“You did it.” He stood and climbed down from the seat.
Dwight wiped his hands on a rag he’d found on Sully’s workbench. “It’s my superpower. Give me something with wheels and an engine, and I can make it do anything I want. Now if I only had that special touch with the women.”
“No kidding. Me, too. You ready to take it out on the open road?” Assuming Dwight’s fix would hold, they still had to make it into town to get to Charlie.
“Yeah. Hey, I wanna come clean about something.”
“Can it wait?” Now was the time for pushing the tractor to max speed, not heartfelt dude-to-dude confessions.
“Nah. I need to get it off my chest.” Dwight scuffed the toe of his boot on the concrete floor.
“Go on. We need to get out of here.”
“You know I had it bad for Charlie there for a while.”
Was he kidding? “Okay, Captain Obvious. Let’s go.”
“Not yet.” Dwight wrapped a greasy hand around Beck’s arm, leaving a black handprint. “Oh, sorry, bro.”
“Just hurry. So you like Charlie. I got it.”
“I did like Charlie. She never felt the same way. I thought if I could run you out of town, I’d have a better chance with her.”
“With Charlie?” Pulling the info out of him was like extracting an overdue payment from a bankrupt investor.
“Yeah. So I overloaded the circuit that time. When the power went out. You remember?”
“I forgive you. No harm done, okay?”
Dwight glanced to the side and tucked his thumbs in his pockets. “That’s not all. The bad keg of beer? I did that, too. And switched the order for the paint from pink to white. Just wanted to scare you off.”
An overwhelming renewed desire to kick Dwight’s ass across Conroe County hit him. He suppressed the urge to grab the man in a headlock.
“I’m sorry. I wanted things to stay the same. For Charlie to be happy. I suppose if she can’t be happy with me, then, well, I guess you’re the next best thing.”
Beck didn’t want to dwell on the fact that Dwight somehow thought Beck was the second-best choice. The man had balls, that was for sure. “No hard feelings, okay?”
Dwight caught him in a half hug. “Thanks, man. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“I’m going to take you up on that right now.”
“Huh?”
Beck scrambled onto the puttering tractor. “Get your ass in the driver’s seat, and get me to Holiday. I have no idea how to drive this thing.”
* * *
The truck careened around a hairpin turn.
“Did we lose the float?” Charlie gripped the wheel and aimed for the center of the road.
“Still back the
re.” Darby spun around in her seat. “I see Waylon. Almost clear.”
Charlie focused on Waylon. When they passed the gate, he’d swing it across the road. Hopefully the hinges hadn’t rusted out. They hadn’t had a need for it since they’d started grazing the herd on the other side of the property. But once upon a time, her dad had gated off this stretch of private dirt road that ran through their property to keep the cows contained. With some luck, it would come in handy today.
The truck blazed past, and Charlie caught a glimpse of Waylon pushing the gate into place.
“You did it.” Darby clapped her hands together.
“We did it. What’s he doing now?”
The three black SUVs had stopped at the gate, but Waylon ran behind them, holding something long in his hands.
“Oh my God. He’s got those spike strips he took from Cash.”
“Why in the world does he have spike strips?” Charlie didn’t slow down to wait for the outcome. The more distance she put between her and Mr. Holiday, the better.
“Somebody at the high school was driving over the football field. Waylon borrowed them and set them out so they could catch the kids. I guess he still had them in the garage.”
“Remind me to give my brother an open tab at the Rose. For life.”
Charlie kept an eye on the rearview mirror all the way into town. Waylon’s tactic must have worked. No black SUV rammed them from behind, and there was no sign of Beck’s dad when they reached the start of the parade route. The flatbed trailer they’d built the float on had taken a bit of a beating, and they’d left a trail of pink tissue paper halfway across the county. But there were still a few minutes before the parade began, so they had plenty of time to make repairs.
Darby climbed out of the truck and got to work stuffing fresh pink-tissue-paper roses into the holes in the chicken wire. Charlie shielded her eyes from the sun and scanned the makeshift parking lot for Shep. She’d left him in charge of getting Baby Back to the parade. Charlie hadn’t wanted to drag Holiday’s Sweetest Swine along all day, not in her delicate condition, while they made final preparations.
A loud rumbling made her turn around. An antique pink tractor came chugging down the middle of the road. Sully’s. He’d painted it pink and used it to pull the parade float. She hadn’t been able to get it started earlier this summer and hadn’t bothered to ask Dwight to take a look. It was easier to use her truck. Faster, too.