by Cara McKenna
“Bones,” she murmured, looking unnerved. “All this stuff with Alex . . . Is it related to why you lied to your brother? About your mom being sicker than she is?”
He nodded. “My worries are what made me call him home, but what she’s said is the reason I gotta get him to stay. It was a suspicion before—a strong, gut-level one. But it’s real to me now. Real as that cup in your hands.” He nodded to it. “But don’t be trying to have a conversation with Casey about it. Nobody knows about her predictions ’cept me and my neighbor you fetched. And now you.”
“Jeez.”
“Yeah, welcome to the club. Anyhow, if I was my brother, I’d think I sounded as cracked as our mom, obsessing about all this bull. Except one of her first predictions . . . One of them was bad. Real bad. Bad enough it chills my blood, even seven years later. And it would’ve come true if I hadn’t listened to her. After that one, I’ve had no choice but to believe her.”
“What happened?”
Vince shook his head. “Can’t tell you—too personal, for somebody else. But real bad. And my mom knew how it would’ve gone down, to the hour and the spot. And thank fuck I’d learned my lesson and listened to her.”
“Learned your lesson?”
He sipped his coffee, keeping his cowardly gaze on the tabletop. “She predicted my brother leaving town, before that. That was the first time she went all ghost-calm. She told me he’d be leaving town, and when, and in this car he didn’t own. I thought it was just another spell, until he came home in that exact car, then left for good two days later.”
“Wow. Weird.”
He nodded. “It’s fucked as shit, I know. But now I listen when she pulls that nonsense outta the ether.”
“So . . . what does this mean for me? What am I supposed to be doing, exactly?”
“Wish I knew. Maybe you hear something, see something. Something important—some answers to all my questions, it sounds like. Something that’s maybe important to a lot of people, from what she said.”
“And I’m just supposed to stay here? Until who knows when, waiting to see or hear who knows what?”
“That’s the long and the short of it. But in all honesty, I can’t make you stay, and I don’t know what you’ve got waiting for you back home.” His stomach soured at that. “All I can do is ask you nice, and hope you say yes.”
Her pretty face went blank, thoughts dragged off Vince’s crazy troubles and onto her own worries, he imagined. There was a smudge of red dust on her glasses, and he reached across to slip them from her ears, slow enough that she let him. Made his body go hot out of nowhere, like he’d just eased lace panties down her legs. Goddamn. He buffed the lenses on a napkin while she watched. He handed them back and she replaced them, hands shaking faintly.
“What’re you thinking?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“And I don’t know what to tell you, Kim. It’s crazy. There’s nothing I can say that’ll make you believe what I do. You’ve got no reason to.”
“If I did stay, you have any idea how long it would be for?”
“No.”
Kim blew out a long breath, gaze on her mug. “What she said about me . . . about breaking up with someone. That was true. And that’s a big fucking coincidence. So is what she said about the bones. But I don’t know if that’s enough. It’s creepy, but to rearrange my entire life for the next few days or weeks? Or months? I have crap to do, back home. I have to move all my stuff out of my ex’s apartment. Bills to pay. Work to line up.”
“But no more rent, it sounds like?”
She shook her head. “No, but Jesus. I have no idea what to make of any of this—I may as well be making sense of some UFO we spotted this morning. This decision is too weird to wrap my head around, this quick. It’d be easier if you were just threatening me—not that I’m suggesting that’s a better strategy.”
He cracked a smile. “I’m trying real hard not to.”
She frowned down at the menu. “If I did stay—and I’m not saying I am, not at all—where would I stay? How would I pay my rent or my motel bill, and the cost of moving and storing my stuff, back home? The payday for this Sunnyside gig will float me for a while, but not long.”
Vince’s brows rose. She was cracking. She was receptive, maybe even curious. She had to be, to be considering the logistics, and he had to wonder why. Fear, over what his mom had said? Or some genuine desire to help? Some more selfish desire to avoid whatever was waiting for her, back in Oregon?
“I could get somebody to put you up,” he said. “You like horses? My best friend’s ranch has some lodging.”
“Maybe . . . But I’m not saying yes, yet. Not until Tuesday morning. That’s when my assignment’s due. That’ll give me a couple days to figure out what the heck I think about all this.”
“When’s your return flight?”
She bit her lip. “I haven’t booked one yet.”
“No? How come?”
She spoke to the tabletop. “I thought I might want to stick around the area once I was done with the job. I’ve been meaning to travel.”
He could read the real reason in her averted gaze. She’d known before she even left, she wasn’t feeling her ex. She’d wanted the time away, the space.
Vince was already caught up in the planning, shocked he wasn’t getting the fight he’d expected. He’d told her she had a choice, but really, if she held the key to finding out what happened to Alex, it was a debate he couldn’t lose. He’d have kept her here somehow, some way just short of kidnapping.
She could stay at Three C . . . The Churches frequently took in guests, be they relatives or fellow ranchers coming to visit. And if Kim was willing to help out, they’d even feed her. As for her expenses in Portland, Vince might be able to kick in for that, which was only fair. His overhead was low, and he had a couple fixed-up bikes in the shop succumbing to barn disease. He could bear to sell them, if it came to that, or call in some outstanding loans from his shadier acquaintances . . .
Only one thing about the idea left him edgy, and he hated himself for the thought. But Kim was single. Miah was single. And Miah probably held a lot more appeal for a woman like Kim than Vince did. He was nicer, way more polite. An all-around gentleman, minus the cattleman’s incidental cologne. And women couldn’t be trusted around a man in chaps.
Shouldn’t matter. You need her here for whatever it is Mom’s seen in her cracked crystal ball. Plus, the two of them had something going on. Something beyond the physical, even. Something primal. He knew it sure as he knew her eyes were blue.
“I’ll talk to my buddy,” he said. “His family’s probably got a nice room open, if you’re willing to help out. Think of it like a free dude ranch vacation. City folks pay out the ass for that rugged shit, right?”
She stared at him, her expression equally incredulous and exhausted. “I haven’t said yes yet.”
“Just getting prepared. At least let me arrange a tour or dinner or something, for tomorrow night. They’re the nicest people you’ll ever meet. Just don’t listen to what they might say about me.”
A glimmer of a smile. The tiniest glimmer.
“I know this has been, like, the strangest day of your life,” he said. “It’s up there on my list, too. Take it easy tonight; finish up your job. Tomorrow I’ll get us an invite to the Churches’ place for dinner. Tell them their son’s best friend needs a big favor.” Add it to his heap of new IOUs.
She looked unconvinced. “Part of me thinks this is insane. That I need to get the fuck out of here. Another thinks . . .”
“Yeah?”
She sighed. “Another part thinks, I’ve never done half the things I’ve wanted to. Traveling, and stumbling into unexpected side trips . . . I’m not the kind of girl that adventures just happen to.”
He smiled. “Maybe we ought to fix that.”
“The thing is . . . you make this all sound so serious.”
“It’s dead serious, sweet— Kim.”
“No one gets that better than me.”
“And how surreal my life suddenly feels?”
“That, I can only imagine. For better or worse, I’ve gotten kinda used to this shit.”
Another sigh, and she dropped forward to lean on her elbows, rubbing her face.
“Think it over. And dinner, tomorrow. Probably late—they work long days.”
“I’ll need a vehicle,” she said, sitting up straight. “A rental’s not sustainable.”
“If Fortuity’s rich in anything, it’s junkers. I’ll find you something from the boneyard, fix it up ASAP. And you and me, we’ll figure out your expenses back home between us.”
“Maybe . . . The cautious, rational side of me is saying, This sounds dangerous. This is crazy. Then there’s this other part, one that can’t get over what your mom knew about me. And another, reminding me that I’ve let my rational and cautious side drive for way too long. So I’m confused. And intrigued, and kinda freaked out.”
“Hey—take it easy this afternoon. You already got your work done, right? Relax, take a deep breath, and I’ll pick you up at five, maybe. Grab a drink, talk this through some more?” Maybe resume what they’d started earlier, before all hell had broken loose.
She slid her fingers under her lenses and rubbed her eyes.
“That a yes?”
“I dunno. Maybe. Swing by at five and we’ll see.”
Abilene caught Vince’s attention from the counter, her questioning look asking if it was okay to come by for their orders. God knew they must look like a couple in the midst of a serious-ass conversation. He beckoned her with a flick of his hand, thinking it was high time for a break. Give Kim some time to digest all this insanity. And some eggs.
Abilene smiled at each of them. “What’ll it be?”
Kim blinked at her menu. “Mexican omelet, please. Wheat toast if you’ve got it.”
Caught by a rare mood for agreeableness, Vince said, “Same.”
“Easy.” Abilene slid their menus into the slot behind the napkins.
“And coffee,” Kim added. “Tons more coffee.”
Indeed. It had been a hell of a morning, and the whiplash Vince was feeling himself went beyond the prediction, beyond its implications, beyond the urgent question of whether or not Kim would stay to play the part his mom had foreseen. It went beyond his own comfort, feeling so . . . woven together with a woman. Whatever that even meant. She had the power to help him, and also the power to walk away and leave him on his own with this shit.
And he couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed somebody so badly, in so goddamn many ways.
Chapter 12
A hiss, then another, as Raina twisted two beers open and slid them across the pockmarked bar. She wiped the bottle sweat on her jeans and tucked the proffered bills in the register, smiling until the old-timers had turned to shuffle toward their usual corner.
She was about to settle back into her paperback when Casey Grossier strode into the barroom, looking pissed to high heaven and walking oddly. The door clattered shut and the old men cast him a passing glance before returning to their cranky gossip.
Raina smiled her greeting, marveling anew at how grown- up he looked. He’d still been a boy at twenty-two, but he’d come back a full-on man. Not as big as Vince, not quite as rough, but still a specimen. As a kid, Casey had spent a lot of time telling tall tales about his mysterious father, the one he swore he didn’t share with Vince. Their actual dad had ditched them around the time Casey would have been starting school. His “real” dad had been a football player, a spy, a fighter pilot—a hundred honorable flavors of absentee that bore no resemblance to a deadbeat.
Weird though; looking at him now, she almost wondered if he wasn’t wrong. He and Vince really didn’t share much aside from big builds and matching surnames.
She loaded a couple glasses into the washer and shut it with her boot. “You still here, huh?”
He threw his hands up. “Looks that way. Don’t ask me why—couldn’t fucking tell you.”
“Are you limping?”
His sigh was a mile long and weighed half a ton. “It is ridiculous how many drinks my brother owes me.”
“Ah. Well, a lot of people in Fortuity share that sentiment.”
He pulled out a stool and sat with a wince. “This goddamn town . . .”
“Amen.”
“Back one fucking day and I’ve got a bullet hole in my leg.”
She blinked at that, then decided she’d probably rather not know. “Usual? Or has your taste changed in the last decade?”
“Bourbon, on the rocks—make the most of these painkillers. And charge my brother when he gets here. He’ll be by after five, he says. Not that I trust his word on anything, right about now.”
“It’s a rare night when he doesn’t grace us with his presence.”
“We’ll see. He’s probably with that woman.”
“Woman? Oh—the blonde with the glasses?” She really hadn’t seen that one panning out.
Casey nodded and she handed him his order.
“Not really Vince’s style,” she said, shelving the bottle. “But the palate gets bored, I suppose.”
“He’s up to something, but every time I want answers, he gets me tanked or shot or chloroformed.”
Okay, now she definitely didn’t want to know what the Grossiers had been up to in lieu of confession that morning.
The door swung in behind Casey, and as though the evening wasn’t shaping up strange enough, it was that man again.
Mr. Vodka and Tonic, No Ice.
Christ, what a prick.
But a gorgeous prick. Tall as Miah, maybe even Vince, but worlds different from either of them. Fair, with light ash brown hair and a smooth jaw, slim hips in tailored pants. Those irises like quartz. A goddamn vest tonight, even, same chocolate brown as his slacks, over a crisp, dove gray shirt. He wore a tie, unlike his previous visit, but no jacket. Was that some rule of his? Never quite complete the set?
“Evening,” Raina said as he approached.
“Indeed it is.” He stood between two empty stools, sliding out his wallet and ignoring Casey’s sidelong scrutiny. There was a leather document case tucked under his arm. “Vodka and tonic, please.”
“Absolut,” she said, grabbing the bottle. “And no filthy peasant ice.”
His next words were sweet, but his smile was so dry, it was a wonder his lips didn’t come away chapped. “Is it safe to assume there’s a correlation between your denying an admonished man’s sincere apology and securing superior tips?”
“Dude,” Casey cut in wearily, “leave the fancy-fuck words outside. Let the rest of us drink without subtitles.”
The stranger lifted the glass Raina set before him, as though toasting Casey’s irritation. He’d slid a ten across the bar, and he headed for a table before Raina could hand him his change. Prick or not, the man was profitable.
Raina had met successful men before—well-dressed ones who tipped outrageously. She’d gone in search of them when she’d run off to Vegas, in fact, and the hunting grounds had been fertile. But this man was missing one thing those others had possessed. Not his clothes, not his grooming, not his looks or his pretension. It was the volume of him, or rather, the lack thereof. All those others had been roosters. Like Vince Grossier in designer clothes, they strutted and crowed, waving their entitlement around like flags. This guy was different. Smooth and silent, not seeming at all hungry for attention. A snake. Made Raina wonder which would win in a fight—a snake or a rooster.
Made her curious exactly who this guy was, slithering around her coop.
Casey got off his stool and came behind the bar, rummaging in the cupboards where the little packs of pretzels and chips and peanuts were kept. He’d worked odd hours at Benji’s for a couple years before he’d skipped town. For better or worse, everything was pretty much where it
had always been. Raina hadn’t been able to bring herself to mess with anything her dad had instituted.
“Make yourself at home there, Case. What’ve you been up to the last nine years, anyhow?”
“This and that.” His mumbling was obscured by the crinkling of bags. “We used to have Cheez-Its in here . . .”
Raina turned to study the stranger again, standing with his back to the bar, eyes on his gleaming phone.
As Casey stood, prize in hand, she asked him, “You remember how to tend bar, right?”
“What?”
She whipped the towel off her shoulder and onto his and gave his butt a slap.
His blue eyes widened. “I haven’t bartended in ten years.”
“It’ll come back to you.” She grabbed herself a longneck from the fridge, twisting it open. “Two minutes. It’s all bottles and pitchers with this crowd, anyway. Easiest gig in the world.”
“What are you—” He caught the cap she tossed him.
“Right back.” She rounded the end of the counter.
“What the fuck? I just got a bullet tweezed out of my leg.”
“And all you Grossiers are a pain in my ass.”
“Where are you going? And for how long?”
“I’ll be right here. Just stealing a page out of your brother’s book,” she said quietly from the other side of the bar, drumming the wood with her fingers. “Bit of outsider infiltration.” She winked.
“You fucking people . . .”
“Two minutes.”
“I’m keeping my tips,” he warned.
“Only fair. Undo a few buttons—works wonders for me.”
Muttered swears serenaded her back as Raina locked her sights on the stranger.
The guy was standing at a high top, scrolling through lines of tiny text on his screen. Raina sidled up and set her beer beside his V and T.