by Tina Leonard
Fallon laughed. “That hair takes hours to achieve. Ivy and Judy have nothing on her. Come on, I’ll introduce you to Griselda.”
The mystical Madame Griselda, whom they’d heard so much of, but never encountered. Winter’s blood raced in spite of the fact that she’d seen many tricksters in her day, and this one would be no different, no doubt. “How do you know her?” she demanded, walking with him.
“Griselda gets to know everyone eventually. I thought I’d heard you gals had already been by to meet her.”
“We came by once, but her tent was closed. They said she was in a private meeting with a State Senator.”
He smirked. “We get lots of those. They seem to be a dime a dozen.”
They stopped in front of Griselda, who put a hand on her hip and glared at them. She wore a long black skirt that puffed above black boots. A long, flowing purple blouse gave her a regal air, and amplified her curves thanks to the gold belt at her waist. Of medium complexion except for those dark, penetrating eyes, it was her red, twisted hair that caught the eye and dominated her delicate face.
“Hello,” Griselda said, and Winter’s breath held. Her voice was melodic and beautiful, like silky honey flowing from a spoon.
“Hi,” Winter said.
“This is Winter,” Fallon said, and then to Winter’s amazement, he kissed Griselda on the cheek. She smiled, and put up a hand that had a small, twisted band of gold on each finger up to stroke his hair, once.
Then she turned her attention back to Winter. “Shall you come inside my tent?”
“I don’t think so,” Winter said, suddenly struck by the strangest sense of foreboding she’d ever had. She wasn’t much for superstition and juju, but this lady was oozing something she’d never encountered before. It was almost as if she radiated a strange sense of power and enticement that made you want to do everything she asked of you.
“Go on,” Fallon said. “I’ll pay for your counseling session.”
“Counseling?” Winter looked at him sharply. “One thing I don’t need is counseling.”
“Everyone needs counseling,” Griselda said, taking her by her hand and drawing her gently inside the tent.
Winter felt all protest leave her. She went docilely with Griselda, surprised that the inside of the tent smelled like honeysuckle—not the dusty, slightly musty tent smell she’d expected. Fresh-cut flowers were on two small tables, and between these two small dark tables were two red velvet antique chairs that looked like they’d been recovered recently. Underneath the chairs was a round carpet reminiscent of an East Indian design, with fringe that splayed out from the edges.
Target brand or maybe even Walmart, circa last week, Winter told herself. Don’t get excited by all the flash. You’ve met dishonest horse traders before. Everybody’s selling schtick—especially if they’re smiling.
Only Griselda had yet to smile at her.
They settled into the chairs. Winter looked around for Fallon, but he’d disappeared like the shadow he always seemed to be. Winter sat back, amused. “So go on. Tell me my fortune.”
“Are you here for a fortune?” Griselda asked.
“Isn’t that what you do? Read my palm and stuff?”
Griselda shrugged. “Not unless you want me to.”
“Then why am I sitting here?”
“Why are you sitting there?” Griselda seemed totally relaxed, but her gaze was piercing. Her eyes were so dark Winter wasn’t sure she had pupils.
“Hell if I know. I ought to go find my friends,” Winter said, moving to the edge of the red velvet chair and preparing to vamoose.
“You want to know if there’s safety in your future,” Griselda said. “You want to know if there’s security.”
“No, ma’am. There’s never been any security for me unless I created it myself. Relying on myself is security.” When you grew up in a verbally abusive home, with yelling and screaming the dark highlight of every day, you learned to depend upon your own wits. Money didn’t buy peace.
“You’re the future face of Hell,” Griselda said, closing her eyes. “You aren’t afraid of anything. Not people, not animals, not even wild bulls.”
Winter blinked. “What’s the point of being ruled by fear?” she said, but Griselda had caught her off guard with the bulls comment.
“You ride horses,” Griselda said. “But your destiny is bulls.”
“So I’m going to run with the bulls in Spain.” Winter got up. “Don’t try to set me up. It’s a great gag. Fallon’s trying to push this whole idea of us being bullfighters. Judy’s trying to push it, too. My team came here to be trick riders, and that’s what we’re going to do.”
Griselda opened her eyes, and stared at Winter. “You can’t fight it forever. Destiny never lets one go.”
“Yeah, well, Destiny can take a hike. See you around.” Winter stalked out, annoyed as hell, gunning straight for Fallon when she saw him at the makeshift bar buying beers. He handed her one when she gained his side. She took the beer, then kicked him a smart one right above his boot shaft.
He laughed, the blow doing little through thick denim and cowhide. “Hear something you didn’t like?”
“Yes. The sound of you setting me up.”
Fallon frowned. “Setting you up for what?”
“Hell if I know. Dumbfuckery of some kind.” Winter hauled off to find her friends.
Fallon caught up to her. “Hey, Steamy. What’s got your panties in a knot?”
Winter stopped. “You folks in Hell never stop plotting. The level of manipulation is high, but it’s ultimately stupid. If you want female bullfighters in this town so bad, why don’t you start your own damn team?” She glared at Fallon. “After all, you’re the one with the ace riding skills. You’d make a great coach if you ever quit being so damn lazy.”
He stared at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, youngster.”
“Youngster?” She laughed. “You’re six years older than me.”
“Yeah, well, show some respect for your elders. And cool off a little. Jesus. What did Griselda say, anyway?”
“Just a lot of nonsense about bulls. It was all stupid as hell.”
“And you think I’m behind it?”
“Yes. You two are quite close, apparently.”
He stopped her, his touch not repulsive at all, Winter noted. “Hey, we’re not close like that.”
“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Don’t play games with my life. It’s lowdown and not funny.” She hated being gamed. She’d hated having parents that were always trying to press her into their idea of what constituted proper living while they were colossal fuck-ups. “I’m going into the ‘tonk. You can go to Hell.”
“I’m in Hell. Look, I’m sorry if Griselda annoyed you—“
“You annoy me.”
“Listen, Sassafras. It was just supposed to be a little fun and games. Harmless.” He gazed at her. “I wouldn’t have introduced you if I’d thought it was going to upset you. But trust me, I don’t have any dog in the fight around here. I don’t care what you, or your team, does. I just like to watch you ride. There aren’t many trick riders around. I learned everything I know from some Mexican-Indians south of the border. It’s interesting to see other people do it.” He took a deep breath. “I especially like it when you stand on your horse and pick off targets with your bow and arrow. You’ve got a helluva an eye.”
She frowned at him, stunned by the compliment. “What’s your fricking problem? Why aren’t you gazing down Harper’s blouse or something?”
“This town talks too much. It makes stuff up when it runs out of stuff to say.”
He headed into the ‘tonk, leaving her standing there, staring after him. “Whatever,” she muttered.
She went inside, looking for Cassidy and Micaela.
What she found instead was an irritated Ivy, glaring at her.
“You three are going to have to leave,” Ivy said. “And leave fast.”
Chapter Eight
Harper walked inside the Honky-tonk, scouting her team, knowing in her heart she’d find them here. They hadn’t been at the Bungalow when she’d returned from Declan’s, so looking for her curfew-breakers here wasn’t a stretch of the imagination. That had been Judy’s warning, of course—that she couldn’t handle her team. Declan didn’t seem to agree with that, but neither was he completely on her side.
The two of them never seemed to be on the same side. It was unfortunate, because she’d had a crush on him since the day she’d met him, all that hunky, Steady-Eddie stuff calling to the woman in her who’d been deserted by a man who didn’t want his own son. But it wasn’t enough: She couldn’t let herself fall for someone just to fill in a gap in her life. She had to sort out her own dreams, follow the path.
And right now, the path was here in Ivy’s Honky-tonk, the siren song that called everyone to its wild entertainments eventually. And sure enough, there was Cassidy in a corner, dancing with a hot cowboy Harper didn’t know, his hands gently rubbing her hips in hypnotic fashion as he drew her dress up to thigh-level. Micaela was talking to a tall handsome stranger as she sat on a stool at the bar. The stranger was glued to Micaela, entranced by the innocent expression her pixie face presented. There was a lot in Micaela that was innocent and sweet—but there was an awful lot that wasn’t, too. She was one tough cookie. Harper wasn’t worried about her for the moment; if the stranger tried more than Micaela wanted, Micaela would bean him with a bottle and he’d hit the floor.
She was more worried about Winter, whom she hadn’t located yet. Harper’s pulse raced a little. She well remembered the trouble that could find one at Ivy’s, and she’d be happy if all that happened was a little random kissing.
“Boo,” Declan said, and Harper started.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Looking for trouble, same as you.”
Her pulse raced now for an entirely different reason. He’d changed into casual jeans, a dark long-sleeved western shirt, and looked good enough to eat. “It’s good to know I didn’t stay late enough at your house to keep you from the real fun.”
He shrugged. “When the cat’s away, I guess.”
She raised a brow. “I am not your cat. And your mouse can play all it likes.”
Declan seemed to find that amusing. “All right. Let me know when you’re ready to set the proper trap. I’ll warn my mouse.”
“Not likely the mouse has anything to worry about.” That, of course, was pride talking and nothing more.
He glanced around. “So where’s the team?”
“How do you know they’re here?”
“My brother mentioned it.”
“Fallon? I thought this was exactly the kind of place he’d lure them.”
Declan gazed down at her. “You’ll have to ask him that question. Me? I’m just here to give some little drunk gals a ride home.”
“Drunk gals?” She looked at Micaela and Cassidy. “I can give my team a ride, thanks.” Neither one of the team looked all that inebriated to her.
“Glad you’re on top of things. I’m going to keep looking for trouble. Goodnight, Harper.”
Declan left, parting the crowd of clinging dancers until he made it to the bar. He asked a question of a smoky, sultry bar girl/dancer, and then made his way back to an area she knew was where things happened which gave Ivy’s place its ill repute.
Winter couldn’t be back there. There were secret places in Ivy’s Honky-tonk where the “real” fun could be had—or so the rumor mill claimed.
She couldn’t bear to think that Winter might be making that kind of mistake.
She also didn’t want to think that Declan had just gone to find exactly that kind of fun Ivy supposedly specialized in.
Declan’s comment about giving drunk gals a ride home warned her that he could very well be talking about her team. Why would Fallon want to protect her riders by calling Declan to spirit them away from the Honky-tonk? Why wouldn’t he just call her?
Anyway, Cassidy and Micaela weren’t drunk. They weren’t exactly engaged in innocent conversation with those hunks, but—Harper stared at the empty spots where her team had been.
They were gone. Vanished.
Maybe they’d spotted her. More likely they’d been warned she was on the premises. Or they’d headed out with the fellows with the fast hands.
Surely they wouldn’t abandon Winter, though. She’d been here long enough to know that Winter wasn’t in the washroom. And she hadn’t been in the tent outside—that was the first place Harper had checked.
This was the passage Declan had disappeared into before with Crystal. A sinking feeling inside her told her that he’d gone to rescue Winter, spirit her away before Harper caught her.
There was only one way to find out: She had to enter the sanctum beyond the red doors marked Private. A team of bouncers stood at the door, their expressions stern and forbidding. They looked like something from a bodybuilding competition. Beyond the lightly-smoky haze from the lights and the occasional smoke of something that smelled barely legal, the passage looked like any random hallway to ensure a patron’s entering would remain private—and the bouncers were there to make certain no one gained the paradise without invitation.
“Excuse me,” she said to one of the bouncers. He was a tall, dark, burly fellow, with muscly arms that looked like tires. Tires or no, she was going past him somehow.
His name tag read Dark Demon. When he didn’t reply to her, just stared at her silently, she said, “You’re new here, aren’t you?”
Mr. Demon raised a brow. “Not new enough to fall for whatever trick you’re about to try.”
Harper stood her ground. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me if you’d seen three young—“
“No,” the bouncer said, “I have not.”
She glanced at his two equally-burly companions. “Would they happen to know—“
“No.”
Okay. She could kick him in the shins and run like hell past the red door, see how far she got. Maybe she could try bribery—but word was that Ivy paid damn well. He wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his job.
Dark Demon gave her a slight smile. “I wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t what?”
“See if you can make it past me. Or offer me sex.”
Harper raised a brow. “I want to know if a member of my team is behind that passage you’re guarding like a gargoyle.”
“Like a what?”
“An ugly monster that supposedly scares off spirits. Usually spouts water from its mouth.”
He pointed to his tag. “Dark Demon. Not Dark Monster.”
“I get it. Demon, goes with Hell, Texas, all very fine and good. I want you to go back in your tunnel and tell Winter Baxter the clock has struck midnight and it’s time to get her glass boots home.”
“Is there a problem?”
Ivy appeared at her elbow, silent as a whisper.
Harper eyed the sexy, vampish woman who was smiling cat-like, pleased with herself. “You know there’s a problem. I want my team off this premises.”
“They’re big girls. Legal age and all that.” Ivy glanced around. “I don’t see your team.”
Declan joined them, slinging a casual arm over Ivy’s shoulders. Harper blinked, surprised by the friendly contact. One might even believe the two of them were closer than just friends.
“I’m going,” Declan said to Ivy. “Good to see you again, Ivy. Always a pleasure.”
“It certainly is,” Ivy cooed. She smoothly indicated Harper. “Take her with you, Declan. She’s casting bad karma in my Honky-tonk.”
Declan looked at Harper. “Are you casting bad karma, beautiful?”
She stepped back, not liking him very much at the moment, with his arm over Ivy’s shoulders. “Don’t call me that. Either help me find my team, or make these gargoyles let me pass.”
Ivy laughed. “What do you want to do back there?” She indicated the red doors. “There�
�s nothing there but some offices.”
“Then why are they standing here?” Harper demanded. Ivy was lying, covering for the fact that her team had disappeared into the passageway. Harper knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt. What she didn’t know was why Declan was in on the ruse, pretending like he didn’t know anything—when he clearly did. “Why are they guarding this door like it’s the gates to Hell?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but since you asked, protecting this establishment is what they’re here for. My safe is back there. I wouldn’t dream of leaving my employees’ earnings without excellent oversight until I can get their money deposited.”
“I didn’t realize you had a heart of gold.” Harper sent a meaningful glare to Declan—the traitor—and left. She’d check the parking lot for Winter’s truck, and if it was still here, she was calling the sheriff. Steel could come straighten Ivy out.
“Slow down a bit, beautiful.”
Declan’s voice made her walk stubbornly faster.
He caught her wrist, slowing her until she pulled away from him.
“Harper, wait.”
He’d caught her again, and now held her until she stopped. Turned to face him. “What?”
“I’ll walk you to your truck.”
“I don’t need an escort.” She gave him a look that felt like it could have melted iron, wishing she didn’t find him so darn attractive and compelling. Even, yes, when it felt like he was working against her. “I don’t think I realized you and Ivy were so close.”
“Hell is a small town. It’s best for everyone to get along.”
“No one gets along in Hell, at least not when they come from opposite sides of that dividing line.” She pointed to the road in front of the Honky-tonk. “So don’t give me that. You’re on the other side of the line, but it clearly isn’t stopping you from enjoying the fruit of temptation on this side.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were jealous,” he said, his voice teasing.