Big Mountain Daddy_A Secret Baby Romance

by B. B. Hamel

  Eventually I make up some excuse, and I pay for our drinks. Mitch and I walk out together, and he shakes my hand in the parking lot.

  “Listen, if I don’t hear from you again, good luck out there in the big city, okay?”

  “Thanks, man,” I say. “And good luck with your family.” I grin at him, shaking my head. “Marcie Lane.”

  He grins back. “I know, right?” He waves as he gets into his truck. “See you later, Wyatt.”

  I wave and watch him pull out before getting into my rental.

  I sit there, staring at the Great American. The memory comes to me again, and again I remember what it was like to have Atticus save me, the relief I felt. We hung out all that afternoon, and I got in trouble for being late, but I didn’t care.

  I had a new friend. And soon, he’d become my best friend. We did a lot of things together, were as close as I’ve ever been with a friend.

  And then there’s his sister, Cora. I remember what she was like back then. Shy, but smart, and just starting to get pretty. She’s gorgeous now, absolutely stunning. I want her, fucking badly in fact, but something’s holding me back.

  I should go home. Go back to my life. Forget about Cora, forget about those lips, those breasts, that perfect perky ass. I shouldn’t imagine what it would be like to lick her pussy until her toes curl and sweat drips off her perfect skin. If I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it for the right reason.

  And that’s to find my old friend’s killer. I start up the engine of my car, banishing the thought of Cora in my bed. If I’m going to do something stupid, I’m doing it the right way.

  But as soon as I start driving again, I start thinking about Cora, and I know everything’s already too mixed up to be clean.

  5

  Cora

  I drop the folder down in front of Wyatt and he raises an eyebrow.

  “You came prepared.”

  I slide into the booth across from him. “I’m not messing around,” I say.

  He sighs. “Can we at least order something to eat before we dive in?”

  “Sure,” I say. “I’m not unreasonable.”

  He laughs softly. “I doubt that’s true.”

  I grin at him as he flags the waitress. He orders a Denver omelet and a coffee, and I just ask for toast with jam and a coffee. I’m not much of a breakfast person, and besides, I’m nervous.

  I haven’t felt this nervous in a long time. Sitting across from Wyatt in the Great American shouldn’t be so nerve-wracking, but it really is. I’ve been meticulously taking notes over the last month, ever since Atticus turned up dead, trying to investigate absolutely anything I could find.

  Problem is, I don’t know what’s relevant. I’m not trained in any of this. And whenever I find something I think is important, I call the local PD, and they just brush me off.

  I nudge the folder toward him. “Take a look,” I say.

  He laughs again, shaking his head. “You’re not messing around.”

  “No. I’m really not.” I hesitate a second. “Someone killed my brother.”

  “Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.” He opens up the folder and starts to leaf through it.

  The waitress comes back with coffee. He barely acknowledges her, which I actually like. She’s young and pretty, younger than I am, and she keeps giving him that look. I know what that look means, and while I have no right to feel jealous, I still like that he seems totally oblivious to it.

  He’s totally lost in the papers I gave him. There are some interesting things in there, notes about Atticus’s relationships, clippings from local newspapers, everything I could dredge up from online.

  Wyatt holds up a paper. “Why’s this here?”

  I lean forward. It’s a tweet Atticus sent out two weeks before his death. “Seemed important,” I say.

  “It’s a 2Pac quote,” Wyatt says, slipping it back into the stack, shaking his head. “Look, Cora, there’s a lot of stuff here. Some of it might be important, but most of it…”

  I bite my lip. “I know,” I say.

  “I understand,” he says quickly. “You’re stressed, angry, rightfully so. It’s just, I’m only getting back into this. You need to hold my hand.”

  I take a deep breath. I think about holding his hand, touching his skin, running my hands down the stubble on his cheeks…

  “Okay,” I say. “Where should I start?”

  “Give me a rundown of what happened. At least, whatever you know about.”

  “Right.” I take a sip of coffee. He watches me while I talk, his eyes never wavering from my face.

  “Atticus’s body was found in an alleyway behind an old gas station a few blocks from here. Nobody knows how long he was there, but I don’t think it was too long. I was the one that identified his body, and he didn’t seem too…” I trail off, not able to say it.

  “Decomposed,” Wyatt says for me. “Got it.”

  “He was shot,” I say quickly hurrying on. “Shot and stabbed a bunch of times, I’m not sure how many. He still had his wallet and all the money in it tucked into his jeans. They also found drugs on him, a small amount of heroin.” I finish speaking and look at him.

  “Okay,” he says. “That’s good.”

  “That’s good? That’s nothing. I mean, I know basically nothing.”

  “There’s actually a lot in there.” Before he can explain, our food comes out. He picks at his eggs and I nibble at my toast.

  We eat in silence for a few minutes, and I keep glancing up at him. I don’t know what he’s thinking, but I can tell he’s concentrating on something. He’s sipping his coffee, eating his eggs, almost with purpose. I suddenly realize that I barely know this man anymore, that the kid he used to be is totally gone now.

  And the girl he used to know is totally gone, too. I’m a new person as well. I can’t really deny it. Sometimes I wish I were still the same naïve girl I was when I was younger, but having a brother like Atticus forces you to grow up quickly.

  Although of course it wasn’t always like that. Atticus protected me when I was young, took care of me when he could. I tried to do the same for him, but I couldn’t, not really at least. I gave him money sometimes, which was probably a mistake, and I even checked him into one of his many stints in rehab. I posted bail once, checked him out of the hospital once, and even cleaned up the puke from a night of bad detox.

  But he never learned, and so I grew hard, harder than I wanted. Now here we are, my brother dead, and his old friend sitting across from me.

  “We need to find some people,” Wyatt says finally. “Do you know his ex-girlfriend?”

  I nod. “Of course. Kristi.”

  “Right. We should find her first.”

  “I’ve been trying,” I admit. “I think I know where she might be, but I’m not sure. She skipped town right after Atticus was found.”

  He nods. “That could be good. Might indicate guilt.” He hesitates for a second. “And then there’s the issue of the gang.”

  I bite my cheek. “The Niners.”

  He sighs. “You didn’t tell me about them.”

  “No,” I admit. “I didn’t know it was relevant.”

  “It’s very, very relevant. Was Kristi involved with them?”

  “I think so,” I say. “But I’m not really sure.”

  “Okay, we can find that out.”

  I stare at him for a little bit while he eats, not touching my food anymore. “So does this mean…”

  He shakes his head and meets my gaze. “No, it doesn’t,” he says.

  “Do you need…” I hesitate a second. “Do you need money?”

  His eyes narrow like I just insulted him. “No,” he says curtly.

  “Okay,” I say, nodding. “I understand.”

  He sighs, softening a little bit. “No, you don’t. Listen, I’m not supposed to get involved here, okay? I’m supposed to get back to work on Monday back in Chicago. It’s Friday morning now, which means we have just a few days before I h
ave to head back, okay?”

  “Okay,” I say. “I guess that’s better than nothing.”

  He winces. “Don’t make me feel bad, Cora. I have a life.”

  “I know you do.”

  I watch him for a second. I don’t want to say anything and risk this delicate moment. Truth is, I need his help, but we both know just a few days isn’t going to cut it. We need weeks, but I don’t know how that’s possible.

  I don’t think I can really ask him to put his life on hold for me. I’ve been toying with that idea. Part of me has been justifying it by telling myself that he was Atticus’s friend, so he somehow owes Atticus, but that’s absurd. They haven’t been close in years, not since high school. Wyatt doesn’t even know the guy Atticus turned into after they graduated.

  Wyatt ran off to the big city and his fancy college, leaving us all behind here. Things changed, he definitely changed. I know I did.

  “You know how I met your brother?” he asks me suddenly. “It was right out there. He chased off some older kids that were picking on me.”

  That makes me smile. “Sounds like Atticus. He was always picking up strays.”

  He gives me a look. “I wasn’t a stray.”

  “Sure, you weren’t. Honestly, I can’t imagine anyone picking on you.” I look down at his chest, his muscular arms, his broad shoulders.

  He grins at me. “I wasn’t always so big, you know. I was actually pretty scrawny back then.”

  “Good thing Atticus was there to save you.”

  “Good thing,” he agrees, and sighs again. He leans back, drinking his coffee. “I’ll help you, okay? But you have to promise me something.”

  “What?” I cock my head, staring into his handsome eyes.

  “You have to let me do my thing. If I do start investigating, you can’t tag along.”

  “Absolutely not,” I say, leaning back myself, mirroring his posture. “I’m coming with you.”

  He shakes his head. “Too dangerous.”

  “Wyatt. This is my investigation. You try and do it without me and I’ll just go behind your back.”

  He sets his jaw, watching me carefully. “I had a feeling you’d say that,” he says finally. “You know how much of a pain in the ass you are?”

  “You don’t know the start of it,” I say, cracking out into a grin.

  Wyatt sighs, gets out his wallet, and tosses some cash down on the table. He knocks back his coffee and stands up.

  “Where are you going?” I ask him, eyes wide, suddenly afraid that he’s walking out on me.

  He motions for me to get up. “We only have a few days, right?”

  I quickly finish my coffee and stand. “We’re starting now?”

  “Might as well. You know where that ex-girlfriend might be?”

  “I have a guess,” I say.

  “Okay.” He gives me a look and suddenly breaks out into a grin. “You’re trouble, Cora Lewis.”

  I can’t help but grin back. “I hope so.”

  I follow him out to his car and together, we drive off toward the next town over.

  6

  Wyatt

  Mason River butts up against another hick town called Hold Spring. I don’t know who names these places, since there’s no Mason River in Mason River, and I don’t think there’s a spring anywhere in Hold Spring, but it doesn’t matter.

  I glance over at Cora as I head down an empty back road. I have the sudden urge to reach out and touch her thigh, put my hand on her knee, pull her closer across the console. I know that’s just stupid as hell, but I can’t help myself.

  I should be trying to stay neutral. That’s what a good investigator does. I need to watch for clues, follow the leads until the end, not get all wrapped up with the sister of the dead guy. That’s the biggest mistake I could possibly make.

  But hell, I’m already wrapped up in this. The dead guy is an old friend, and his sister, well… Cora’s fucking gorgeous. And she’s trouble, sure as anything else.

  We follow her phone’s GPS across the town, through a little central lane, past some farms, and soon the town turns even seedier. Ahead, there’s a trailer park, and we’re going straight into it.

  I slow down as we slide down the narrow street. Trailers press up close on either side, some of them kept pretty nice, some of them falling apart.

  “Which one?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head. “No numbers.”

  I groan. “Typical. This is easier in the city.”

  “Are you gonna complain the whole time you’re here?” She gives me the side eye.

  I grin back at her. “Not my fault you’re a bunch of hicks.”

  “You were born and raised here, remember.”

  “Oh, I remember. Can’t forget.”

  She rolls her eyes as I pull off the side of the road and park the car in an empty lot where a trailer used to be. I kill the engine and Cora look at me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m getting out,” I say.

  “Why?”

  “No numbers,” I answer. “So now we do this the old-fashioned way.”

  I step out of the car and Cora follows me. I walk down a narrow lane and up to the front door of the first trailer I see.

  Cora follows me, uncertainly. I’ve done this a million times, though it never gets easy. I hate randomly knocking on doors, flashing my badge, asking for information. Places like this are particularly difficult. Trailer parks aren’t close-knit communities, but people here typically don’t like cops, not at all. I have my gun on me, and my badge, but I want to avoid using either of them. Still, there are gangs in this area, and lots of blind corners. I can’t help but feel a little exposed.

  I glance back at Cora and take a breath. I have to calm down. Cora’s with me, and I can’t risk her safety.

  An old woman answers the door. “What?” she croaks.

  “Ma’am, I’m looking for a trailer owned by a woman named Nancy. She’s got a daughter named Kristi, you know them?”

  “Hell, no,” the lady croaks. “Who the fuck are you?”

  “Wyatt,” I say. “That’s Cora.”

  “Well, Wyatt and Cora, you two can fuck off.” She slams the door.

  I step down and start walking.

  “Is that normal?” Cora asks.

  “Yep,” I say. “That was actually good. She said she didn’t know.”

  “Which means?”

  “Means they probably don’t live in this little clump.” I nod ahead. “We’ll try up there.”

  Cora frowns. “So this is what it’s like to be a cop?”

  “Yep,” I say, grinning at her. “You knock on doors and people tell you to fuck off until finally someone gives you something worthwhile. It’s not fun and it’s not pretty, but it works.”

  Cora chews her lip for a second. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  “You harden up,” I say. I pull her closer to me, laughing. “You’ll harden up too, you little softie.”

  She grins at me and pushes me away. “Whatever. Come on, I’ll knock at this one.”

  “Look at you, itching to get your feet wet.” I laugh again as I follow her.

  We knock on at least twenty doors before we finally get a hit. It’s a young kid, maybe ten years old with straw yellow hair cut in a bowl around his brow. He blinks and points across the street.

  “Nancy lives there,” he says. “Why you wanna know?”

  “Thanks, kid.”

  We turn away from him and head across the street. The kid lingers in the doorway until someone from the inside, probably his mother, yells for him to shut the damn door.

  Cora frowns at me, and I try to smile reassuringly. None of this is new to me, though I haven’t gone door to door like this since I was in a uniform. Now that I’m a detective, I don’t need to knock all day long, but it’s not like I’m above it or some shit like that. You just have to follow certain rules, especially in a place like the police department, where things are very strict
and regimented.

  The trailer we’re headed to is a little rundown, though not any more than any other trailer in the park. I take a look around the side and back, but I don’t see anything worth noting. Cora hovers around the front, looking a little uncomfortable.

  “Are you sure this is right?” she asks me.

  I shrug. “Who knows?”

  “There aren’t any cars around.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “True, but that doesn’t mean nobody’s home. Will you recognize her?”

  She nods. “I know Kristi. I’ve met her once or twice.”

  “Good. I want you to knock.”

  She hesitates. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’m worried she’ll just try and run if she sees me.” I grin at her. “Turns out, I look like a cop.”

  She laughs softly. “I guess you do.” She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “I’ll be right here with you.”

  I follow Cora’s lead up to the front door. I have my hand on my gun, though I try to be subtle about it. I probably don’t need to be so paranoid, but with Cora here I’m not taking any chances.

  Cora knocks, and we wait. There’s no sound from the inside at first, so she knocks again, this time louder.

  I hear some movement. Cora glances back at me and knocks again.

  “What?” someone yells from the inside, a woman’s voice.

  “Ma’am, this is Cora Lewis,” she calls out. “I’m looking for Kristi.”

  More silence, but this time I can hear something in there. People whispering to each other, sounding nervous. And then someone says loudly, “Oh, fuck it, just answer the damn door.”

  A younger woman pulls open the door and peers out at us through the screen. Cora blinks at her and smiles, but the woman doesn’t smile back.

  “Hi, Kristi,” Cora says to her.

  I get a good look at Kristi. She look strung out, with brunette hair streaked by blonde and bags under her eyes like she hasn’t been sleeping much. She’s wearing a gray hoodie with sparkles on the front and she has a cigarette dangling in her fingers.