Easy Ride

by Suzanne Ruby

  “That’s great, Kirby. I hope you can be happy for me, too.”

  She shivered again, from the inside out. So he hadn’t called to get back together. All of a sudden, she felt beyond ridiculous.

  “What did you want to tell me?” she asked.

  “I’m getting married,” he said without missing a beat.

  The words landed like a sucker punch to the back.

  “Right, Tim. You said you never wanted to be married, and you proved it. The second time won’t be any different.”

  “I believe it will. Amber is great. I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life, and she and I both want children.”

  Tears welled in Kirby’s eyes as fast and furious as a tsunami, but she refused to let him hear so much as a gulp or sniffle. He’d never been that excited about her, yet he didn’t want anyone else to have her, either. He had never wanted children, although he made her believe otherwise until after the vows. Now, someone wonderful had changed his mind?

  She couldn’t run to the bathroom and grab another towel quick enough. Couldn’t wrap it tightly enough around her to mask the humiliation she felt.

  In a single instant, her ex had set her back, and undid all of the goodness she’d experienced from Adam.

  There had been tender moments with Tim, in the beginning. Passion-filled kisses followed by heated lovemaking sessions, although she didn’t remember them with any intensity. Had time dulled those memories, or were her new memories with Adam that much stronger? Not to mention so much hotter.

  No matter. Her relationship with Tim had ended in the most devastating way. The same way it could easily end with Adam.

  Kirby pressed End Call without so much as a comment or goodbye. Didn’t matter whether Tim thought she was happy or sad, strong or weak. She didn’t care about him or his future. Point was, he’d called after all this time for the sole purpose of reminding her how unwanted she had been, which accomplished nothing except to tear open the old wound with an angry vengeance.

  If only she’d given Adam a fake number, she might avoid another possible heartbreak. She could have, should have, kept it strictly business and stayed focused on the story. What had she been thinking?

  The telephone rang again.

  She recognized all the numbers now, if not the order they appeared on the screen.

  Adam.

  She set down the unanswered phone, went to curl into a fetal position on top of her bed and retreated into the dark emotional chasm in which she’d resided for the past year. In the distance, the new voice mail alert chimed. That didn’t mean she had to play it.

  But the longer she stayed motionless and disconnected, the more it felt as though history was repeating itself. Tim had denied her, physically. Now, his call was making her doubt Adam’s affection, robbing her of pleasure once again.

  Not to mention, if she allowed this to drag her under, she’d screw up a golden career opportunity. Just like before. Because of Tim.

  At that, she bolted upright. She was clear on what needed to be done, and it didn’t involve wallowing in self-pity. Get the damn story.

  And stop questioning any pleasure that comes with it.

  * * *

  ADAM PARKED OFF the main street and hoofed it down the unpaved road to Becker Farms.

  The scene of the crime. Except, the only crimes committed had been those against him, beginning with false accusations of sexual misconduct.

  As if he’d give Madison Kelly a second glance. He hadn’t even been her instructor, for Christ’s sake. He’d never once been alone with her. While Liv had been busy cheating on him, Madison Kelly had been fabricating some private fantasies that played out all too publicly.

  It still perplexed the hell out of him at how Madison had even come up with such claims. How she had mistaken verbal kindness for physical advances. She was the one who flirted with him. Pursued him. Hell, he should have been the one to cry foul.

  Everyone believed her version of the story. Took her side. That was the crappiest part of the whole damn thing.

  Boiling fury pumped through his veins and fueled his steps, but reality stopped him cold. The fence before him wasn’t jumpable. To complicate matters, they’d installed some sort of security gate, complete with camera.

  Fortunately, he knew another way in. Unless they had blocked it after evicting him from the property.

  Adam skirted the perimeter and dodged the camera sweeps until he reached the back of one of the covered arenas and located the gate with the torn wiring.

  The existing tear in the fence allowed him enough room to enter if he held his breath. His newly ripped muscles almost prevented him from slipping through. However, a Houdini-worthy squeeze later, he was in.

  Sweet success.

  Or was it? Donald Becker had incorrectly pinned the theft of some Hermès saddles on Adam, which meant trespassing was probably the dumbest idea he’d ever had. But he needed to see Daisy. The Arabian mare had been on his mind, and she’d long been tattooed over his heart. Still, ink was a poor substitute for the real deal.

  He pulled his Stetson lower on his forehead and kept his head down while walking past the riders who practiced drills in the larger of the two covered arenas. No sign of Becker.

  Adam remained cautiously optimistic. Becker traveled eight months of the year to horse shows and rodeos and auctions, leaving all the responsibility on his lovely wife, Trish. Who knew how she felt about Adam? He had been kicked out so fast, he hadn’t had a chance to talk to her.

  Thankfully, Daisy was in her stall, which had a faint ammonia smell. Urine.

  If he were still here, the stalls would be immaculate, which triggered an unfortunate impulse to kick back against the accusations, once again. Fight for his reputation and his previous life here, rather than running off to the Emerald Coast.

  But that proverbial horse had already galloped into the sunset. Besides, his grandfather couldn’t stop talking about Destin. Adam hadn’t seen the man so excited about anything in ages.

  “Hey, girl. Remember me?”

  Daisy rubbed her muzzle against his open palm. No reintroduction necessary.

  It was all he could do to choke back the emotion as he retrieved a small apple from his shirt pocket and fed her a treat.

  The bossy steps of the resident Pembroke Welsh corgi flitted around the edge of Adam’s awareness right before Sergeant announced his presence with a gigantic bark.

  Adam turned and scooped him up. The dog’s licking and tail thrashing offered undeniable assurance he hadn’t been forgotten by this little horse herder, either. In fact, he could practically feel the needle prick of another tattoo. This time, in Sergeant’s honor.

  As if the corgi hadn’t drawn enough attention, Adam’s cell phone rang. He hadn’t put it on vibrate because he didn’t want to miss Kirby’s call. He’d almost lost all hope that she’d given him the correct number.

  He set down Sergeant and retrieved his phone while the corgi invisibly lassoed his ankles with nonstop circling.

  His heart did a somersault when he saw the name he’d programmed in.

  “Adam here.”

  “Hey there. It’s Kirby.”

  Damn if a huge grin didn’t spread across his face at the sound of her voice, and a definite heat rushed to his cock. It was as if his entire body was possessed.

  “Thanks for calling me back.”

  Silence. Uh-oh...

  “About dinner tonight...” she said.

  He placed a hand on the stall door and steadied himself against the forthcoming kick in the ego. His somersaulting heart paused, as well.

  Should he let her bow out gracefully, or should he play the only card that could possibly work in this particular situation: the guilt card?

  Then again, what did he have to lose?r />
  My focus. That’s what.

  He didn’t have any business starting up with her when he might not be in town much longer. In fact, he should accept this as a blessing in disguise. Maybe follow up with the job offer instead. Keep his priorities straight, so the universe didn’t get mixed messages. But he couldn’t seem to get her out of his stubborn mind.

  “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about tonight, too. About how I can’t wait to see you, Kirby. And hold you.”

  And kiss you.

  He couldn’t tell whether the subsequent sigh was a good sigh or a stressed one, but his bet was on the latter. Maybe he should give himself a good kick in the ass to go with the boot she was about to administer.

  Instead, he loosened the reins. “But if you can’t come, I understand.”

  “I was going to say, about tonight, is there anything I can bring? A wedge of cheese? A bottle of wine? A Maltese-terrier mix?”

  “A what?”

  “Sorry. I’m fostering a rescue dog and I can’t find anyone to take care of her tonight. She should be fine through dinner, under the watchful eye of my alpha cat. But I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay long enough to break in that toothbrush.”

  Adam exhaled. Had she really been stressing over this? He was crazy about animals. Dogs in particular with cats coming in a close second. He vowed to adopt a pet the minute he got his shit together, which looked like never.

  In fact, part of his brain entertained the idea of stealing Sergeant. If Becker wanted to accuse him of being a thief, he might as well get something out of it.

  “Adam, are you there?”

  If he were honest, he’d have to say his thoughts were all over the place. As far as the dilemma about her rescue-dog situation, the answer was a little too easy.

  “Bring the pup. The cat, too, if you’d like.”

  He proceeded to spell out his address, along with directions, then ended the call.

  This good news meant he’d need to wrap up his clandestine meeting with Daisy and Sergeant, and pick up a steak and a swordfish filet at the market. Maybe some asparagus, too. How hard could that be to grill?

  Oh, and hearts of Romaine. For luck, if nothing else. Better yet, a head of iceberg. All of a sudden, everything seemed possible. At least, right up until the moment he turned to find Donald Becker standing less than ten feet away, arms crossed and flanked by two men in blue.

  Fuck.

  “You’re not supposed to be here, Adam. What are you doing?”

  “I’m visiting Daisy and Sergeant. What does it look like? Feel free to frisk me for any missing saddles.”

  He hadn’t meant to be so sarcastic, but his bravado was overcompensating for his feet, which were shaking in his Lucchese boots. It would be his luck to get arrested and not be there when Kirby arrived.

  If she arrived.

  “Leave now and I won’t press charges for trespassing,” Becker said.

  “You got it. But since I have your undivided attention, please enlighten me as to why you think I stole the saddles.”

  Becker paused, and Adam wondered how much he’d screwed up any defamation case he might have had. His lawyer, Bernard, could be as patient as a saint. But he’d probably drop Adam as a client after this latest stunt.

  “Okay. I’ll tell you why, although I think it’s rather obvious. You were the only one with a key to the restricted part of the tack room.”

  “No one has been inside the vault in the past year?”

  “Not a soul. Not Trish. Not even me until the other day, to take my annual inventory.”

  “Flimsy evidence, if you ask me. Feel free to stop by my house and look around for the missing saddles. It’s the same house where you and Trish stayed for five weeks after that fire destroyed your home. I believe you still have a key. Maybe I’m the one who should take inventory.”

  That said, Adam strode past Becker, looking him directly in the eye the entire time.

  As suspected, Becker looked down at his feet.

  Asshole.

  Adam bypassed the cops, but braced himself for the cold slap of handcuffs nonetheless.

  The hardest part was walking past Daisy and leaving Sergeant behind, knowing he would never be back.

  As he walked off the property, he wanted more than ever to live an improved version of his old life. A version where he called the shots. Wild Indigo made Becker’s place look like a dump. He could visualize himself there now, which made it even more imperative that he get the job and get the hell out of Texas.

  Except for one minor problem. He couldn’t visualize saying goodbye to Kirby.

  * * *

  KIRBY SKIPPED LUNCH ALTOGETHER. She didn’t even trust saltines to stay down at this point.

  Was she really going through with this? And had she made Baby an accomplice in her questionable judgment? She still needed useable footage of the club. Any illegal activity had to be outed. And she didn’t want to raise suspicion by booking time with him now, much less with someone else. That could present a huge problem.

  But Adam’s voice alone had both soothed and aroused her. She’d also made the mistake of slipping back into her yoga pants and jersey, which still smelled faintly of vanilla and pine.

  In the end, her longing body convinced her hesitant mind that she could do this. Besides, a more relaxed setting might encourage more openness. Adam had information. He said it himself.

  The stories those sofas could tell...

  At least one truth was obvious. She couldn’t base the rest of her life on what had happened with her abusive, screwed-up ex-husband. In fact, she felt rather sorry for his fiancée.

  “Better her than me.”

  Even saying it out loud made it easier for her to breathe, because it was the truth, which was exactly why she wanted to be a reporter. Tim’s call still served as a reminder to let her head take the lead, because her heart was a terrible fact-checker.

  She was able to do that at work. Why, then, was the truth so hard to accept when it came to her personal life?

  She closed her eyes and tried to look at this situation with Adam objectively, as she would a news story. With each subsequent revelation, easier breaths followed.

  Truth. Adam wasn’t Tim.

  Truth. She would be spending the night with Adam tonight.

  Truth. He wasn’t going to reject her.

  At least, not so soon.

  “Shut up!” she screamed at her stubborn inner voice, which sucked the optimism right out of her every time. So much for being objective.

  Someone knocked on the door, interrupting her process of overthinking.

  Had she yelled that loudly? If so, how could the neighbors be on her doorstep so soon? She looked out the peephole, then flung open the door.

  “I didn’t say anything, I promise,” Reese said.

  “You heard me?”

  “Uh. Yeah. Me and all the folks at the Starbucks on the corner. Are you alone?”

  “Alone with my thoughts. Call 911.”

  “No need. I’m here to save you.” Reese held up a bag of Puppy Chow.

  “I bought some this morning, but thanks.”

  Kirby hefted the bag from Reese anyway. All thirty pounds of it, which could only mean one thing.

  “No leads on a forever home?”

  Not that it would happen so quickly. Could take weeks, if ever, even when the creature was as adorable and well-behaved as Baby.

  “Not yet. There’s something else I need to discuss with you.” Reese made herself comfortable on the couch.

  “If this is a Häagen-Dazs discussion, I don’t have any.” Kirby tried to conceal her smile but did a lousy job of it.

  “Obviously I’m not the only one with something to share. Please tell me that satisfied smirk
of yours has nothing to do with the guy you met at The Deep.”

  “Well, aren’t you a bucket of ice water.”

  “Tell me you did not sleep with him.”

  Kirby bit the inside of her cheek, then retreated to the kitchen and retrieved two cans of Fresca from the fridge.

  Lady simply watched from her perch.

  “I did not sleep with him.” She handed one of the cans to Reese but remained standing.

  “What a relief.”

  “Why? You’re the one who said I should go for it.”

  “I know. But I suggested it before I talked to Becky directly. You know, the friend of the friend who tipped me off about the place?”

  “I know. And multiple thanks to all of you for the lead.”

  “You’ll thank me more for what I’m about to tell you. Those guys aren’t just bad boys. They’re actually bad.”

  “Isn’t that the point of my investigation?”

  “I suppose. But apparently some of them are pretty high-pressure. As in, desperate-car-salesman level. At least one of them can’t even get a job selling used cars because of his criminal record.”

  Kirby took a long sip of the cold soda to wash down what Reese had force-fed her, then dropped onto the sofa.

  “Is your friend implying that women have been raped, and that one or more of the guys have been convicted?” The whole concept made her bones ache, straight down to the marrow. That would take her investigation to a whole other level.

  “No, not that. Becky is hot and heavy with her club guy. He practically bragged about his felony conviction, laundering money for the Mafia up in New York State. Yet, she keeps going there to see him. I seriously question her taste in men and her judgment in general.”

  “Did she mention his name or moniker?”

  “I’m pretty sure I heard her say ‘John.’”

  “That’s not my guy’s name. Not even close.”

  Yet, some major red flags had been raised. Kirby hadn’t even thought to ask for his last name so she could check public records, which was an odd error in judgment—both professionally and personally. But she hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly.