by Becky McGraw
Heather huffed out a breath. “You better sit down, because this isn’t a short story.”
Fifteen minutes later, Twyla took a drink of soda, because her heart was in her throat. “Ryan’s mother is in the hospital?” she asked, swallowing again. Ryan had a rough childhood. Zack didn’t tell her all of it, but he told her enough. His stepfather liked to use his mother as a punching bag. “What’s wrong with her?”
“I don’t know but he was pretty shook up after he got that call.”
“And now he’s stuck in jail?”
Heather nodded, her face grave, and Twyla’s heart bounced back up to her throat. Ryan was in jail, because of her damned brother, and because he had been beating up the man who had assaulted her. As far as Twyla was concerned, that wasn’t a crime.
In the police’s eyes though, she was sure it was. But he and Heather would have gotten away with it, if her brother hadn’t shown up there and attacked Ryan. Zack needed to stay out of her business too, and she needed to tell him the same thing she’d told her parents.
If she needed them, she would call them. Butt out otherwise.
Twyla glanced at her new television, then back at Heather. “How much is the bail?”
Heather shrugged. “I didn’t stop by the jail, but if that cop was right, Ryan was getting charged with two counts of assault. I tried to tell the bastard cop that Jared had assaulted me, and Ryan had only defended me. I also told him that Zack had attacked Ryan first, he had only been defending himself. His response was that the judge would sort it out.”
Twyla stood and brushed the crumbs off of her shirt. “Let’s go find out what his bail is and figure out how we can scrape it up,” she said calmly. “We need to get his truck out of impound too, because he might have some money in there. I’m not letting him go to Houston by himself either, if he’s upset. That situation isn’t good, and he could wind up in hot water down there too if he goes by himself. Zack said Ryan’s stepdaddy has a restraining order against him.”
“Really? Girl, you just got out of the hospital. You don’t need to be going anywhere. I just came by here to tell you what was going on, since you don’t have a damned phone. I can handle getting them, or at least Ryan, out of jail. I found some pictures that Leon wants.”
“I’m fine. I’ve had worse from falling off my horse during a ride…” Twyla started, but her eyes flew up. “What kind of pictures?”
“Pictures of him and some woman who isn’t his wife doing the nasty. Pictures that Jared has been using to blackmail him for years. It took me a while to find them, but that freezer had lots of other photos in it too. Awful, degrading stuff. Most of the women looked to be drugged or unconscious. They may have even been strippers at his club. I took the ones I wanted and called the police to come and get the rest.”
Anger and fear shot through Twyla, making her knees weak. Those photos could have been of her, if she hadn’t fought him, and succeeded in getting away. That is the bastard who should be locked up in jail. Not Ryan. “Where’s Jared now?”
Heather laughed. “Probably in the hospital wishing he’d never met me or Ryan. He was in bad shape when they hauled his sorry ass off.”
“Good, I hope they arrest him as soon as he opens his eyes. They sure grilled me for information long enough after I was released.”
“Could you tell them anything?”
“No, I can’t remember. The doctor said it was from the drugs he gave me. He said I might remember later, but as of right now, I just remember leaving the bar.”
Heather’s eyes clouded, and she hugged Twyla, then stepped back. “You’re damned lucky you’re a fighter. It could’ve been bad.”
“I know, and I’ll be smarter next time. He told me he was an agent and had a big contract he was thinking of recommending you for. I was trying to help.”
“He’s an agent alright. An agent of evil. I would rather sing in dives for the rest of my life than ever have him on my team.” Heather put her hand on Twyla’s shoulder. “Thanks for the thought, but I’ll make it when I make it. You just stand back and watch.”
“You work so damned hard. You deserve it, and I can’t wait til it happens for you.”
“We both work hard and deserve our successes. Just remember don’t put your dreams on hold for a man. I made that mistake once. If I hadn’t I might already be there.”
“Got it.” Twyla read between the lines of what her friend was saying. Don’t give up her dreams to chase Ryan, or put her life on hold for him. It was a good message, because that’s exactly what Twyla had been doing for ten years. But she was past that stage now. Her dream of doing cowboy mounted shooting was delayed a couple of weeks, but it was going to happen.
Twyla had a couple of weeks now though to help Ryan with whatever problem he had with his mother to pay him back for defending her. After that they’d be even, and Twyla was coming back here to resume her new life without Ryan Easter.
“Ryan came to my defense, now it’s my turn to help him. I can’t dance or shoot right now anyway,” she said with a laugh. “If I stay here and stare at the walls, I’ll go nuts.”
Maybe those two weeks would give her time to say goodbye too. Something she hadn’t done when she left the rodeo, and him. That was the adult thing to do. Bury the hatchet, and leave without regrets. Twyla thought she could do that now that her initial anger was gone.
Yeah, she was mad at him again, because he told her parents, but in reality Ryan had done her a favor. Ryan had given her the opportunity to publicly claim her new life. If anyone didn’t like what she was doing with that life, then it was too damned bad. From here on out, Twyla would do what she pleased and hold her chin up while she did it.
Helping Ryan would also give her the chance to prove to him she was a grown woman capable of helping him for a change. Maybe he’d finally realize she didn’t need him watching over her shoulder, or bailing her out when she fell into a mess. She was up to her knees in one now, and she was doing fine. She was just fine. Without any of them.
She was the one bailing him out for a change, and it felt damned good.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Holy hell, girl. You were amazing in there,” Twyla said, almost bouncing on the seat with excitement as she recounted the thirty-five-hundred bucks Heather had gotten from Leon. He had waffled, hedged and even tried to threaten to fire her if she didn’t give him the photos. But she’d sat there in his office cool-as-a-cucumber calm, and waited him out. It had paid off.
Heather shrugged, but even in the dim interior of the truck, Twyla saw the satisfied little smile that curved her friends lips. “I know what buttons to push, and how Leon works.”
“Well you pushed those buttons like a pro! We have enough money to get Ryan’s truck out and post his bail.”
“Yeah, if Leon’s wife got a hold of those photos, she’d have cleaned that safe out for him. What we asked for was a pittance compared to what Layla would’ve done. But we didn’t get enough to bail both of them out. I didn’t want to push my luck.”
“Zack can rot in there, or my parents can bail him out. I don’t really care. Maybe it’ll teach him a lesson.” Twyla did care, she cared a lot. But Zack did need a lesson about getting in her business. Maybe from here on out, he’d mind his own.
Heather pulled into the driveway of the impound lot and stopped in front of the brick building. They’d pushed the envelope on getting here. The place was closing in five minutes. If she didn’t hurry she’d miss the window to get Ryan out of jail tonight too. Twyla leaned across the seat and kissed Heather’s cheek. “Thanks for everything, Heather.”
“Good luck,” Heather said, then gave her a penetrating stare. “Remember what I said, girl.”
“I will,” Twyla said with a sigh. Twyla just hoped that seeing Ryan again, especially if he was beat up and hurting over the situation with his mother, didn’t make her get weak and female. Fall in love with him again. She could not afford to do that.
Ryan didn’t love
her, and she’d be setting herself up for more of the hurt he’d dished out to her for ten years. They’d made love, but there hadn’t been anything warm and fuzzy about it. There was just heat. Incredible heat. Twyla would remember it always, but she had come to the conclusion that isn’t what she wanted from a man.
She was a tough tomboy cowgirl, but she wanted those soft feelings that came with being in love too. The same feelings she’d nurtured for Ryan for so many years. Giddy, girly and completely feminine, because she knew her man thought she was the best thing since sliced bread. Adult feelings that came from mutual respect, and didn’t get lost in her man trying to protect her from living her life the way she wanted to live it.
Twyla had come to the conclusion that Ryan was incapable of that kind of love. He would never be that man, and she wasn’t accepting less than adult love. It was a crying damned shame, but the truth about him nonetheless.
Stiffening her shoulders and her resolve, Twyla stuffed the money into the paper sack Heather had gotten at the Cowgirl. With a confident smile, she opened the door. “I’ll call and let you know what happens.”
“I’ll be waiting with baited breath,” Heather said sarcastically, with a roll of her eyes. Twyla hopped down, and was just closing the door when Heather spoke again. “Tell Ryan I said to get his head out of his ass and do something about it.”
“What?” she asked.
“Give Ryan a message for me…tell him I said to get his head out of his ass and do something about it. That’s all.” Heather repeated with a secretive smile. “Oh, and here’s his cell phone.” She leaned over to toss it across the seat.
Twyla was confused, but smiled back as she reached for the phone. “Thanks, and I will,” she said with a laugh. “Anyone ever told you you’re a weird chick?”
“I’ve heard it plenty,” Heather replied with another laugh. “Now get your ass out of my truck. I have things to do tonight.”
Twyla shook her head and shut the door. She shoved the phone into the pocket of her jean shorts, as she walked to the front door. Her eyes fell on the neon sign on the door that said Open and breathed a sigh of relief, as she twisted the knob. She walked up to the counter, and turned her face when a musty old wall unit blew smoke-tinged air into her face. She fumbled for the bell on the counter and hit it several times.
A dirty-looking older man walked through the doorway. “Yeah?” he said his eyes immediately fixing on her breasts. They slid down to her waist, which was the only other part of her body visible above the counter, and she felt like his eyes left a mud trail on her body.
“Eyes up here mister,” she said with a wave of her hand in his line of vision. “I need to get a truck out. It’s big and black. You picked it up from in front of the hospital earlier today.”
“Is it your truck?” he asked and his words whistled through the gap left by his missing front teeth.
“No, it’s, um, my boyfriend’s truck. He’s, ah, in the hospital and can’t come get to it. He sent me to pick it up.”
“Sorry, lady. Owner has to pick it up and pay the fines, and my bill.”
“I have the money to pay the fines,” Twyla replied, her fist clenching on the brown paper sack in her hand, making it crinkle.
“Can’t do that. Has to be the owner,” he said gruffly, turning his back to walk through the doorway to leave her standing there.
“Wait!” she shouted and he turned back. Channeling the negotiation skills she’d seen Heather use earlier, Twyla pasted on what she hoped was a sexy smile. “How bout I give you double your fee, if you just let me have the truck?”
“Can’t do that,” he said, but Twyla saw the interest in his eyes.
“Triple?” she offered, counting up in her mind what that was likely to be. He hadn’t given her a price yet, so she dared not go any higher until she found out. She still needed enough to bail Ryan out of jail.
“Pay me a thousand dollars, and I’ll forget it was ever here.”
“Not doing that,” Twyla replied, turning toward the door.
“Five hundred,” he countered, when she grabbed the door knob.
“Four hundred,” she volleyed, without turning around.
“Four-fifty.”
That’s the amount she had in mind for triple his fee. It must be more though, if he was settling for that to let her walk out of here with the truck. Forget it was here meant he’d just wipe out any record of it to cover his ass. Unless Ryan reported it stolen, which he wouldn’t, this man was off the hook, and she had transportation to get to the jail.
It sounded like a bargain to her, and it would save time. Her other option was getting a cab to the jail, then bringing Ryan back here to get his truck. That would be cheaper, and evidently legal, but definitely not more efficient, since the jail was forty-five minutes away.
Twyla released the door knob and sifted through the money in the bag to count out the right amount, then twisted it closed and walked back to the counter. She slapped it down on the counter. “Keys first, please.”
The way they were doing business was illegal, and Twyla wasn’t taking the chance of this man trying to scam her. He could take the money, and then just walk to the back. She wouldn’t be able to call the police, because the only crime committed was her trying to buy Ryan’s truck.
He studied her a minute, then turned toward the doorway. “Only truck I picked up today, so I guess I know which one you mean,” he grumbled as he disappeared through the doorway. He reappeared with the keys in his hand and slammed them down on the counter.
“Let’s go back to your lot, and make sure they fit,” Twyla suggested. The man rolled his eyes, but swept the keys up in his beefy fist, and walked around the counter. He opened the door for her and Twyla walked through with the greenbacks clutched in her hand.
Since she’d been around Heather more, Twyla felt like she was getting a grip on being smarter about the way she did things, handled people. Even though her friends approach was don’t trust anyone, so far it was serving her as well as it did Heather.
The lot was dark, and the cars packed in tight, but she saw Ryan’s truck at the back, parked crossways taking up two spots. At least it was backed in so she’d be able to get the monstrosity out easier. Why that man needed such a big truck she didn’t know. He was a bronc rider, so he didn’t have a trailer to haul. The only thing he hauled was his ass and gear from venue to venue. Twyla knew firsthand that Ryan wasn’t compensating for shortcomings in another area, like all the cowgirls on the circuit joked about men who drove big trucks.
That thought brought heat to her cheeks, and a throb to other areas of her body. It was starting already, and she hadn’t even gotten to the jail to see him again. Between here and the jail, Twyla needed to get a grip on herself and the excitement at seeing him that tickled her insides. If she didn’t, she was in for a long haul for the next two weeks.
They stopped beside the truck, and he inserted the keys, leaving them hanging there while he pulled open the door. He stepped back and held out his hand, palm up, with a long-suffering look on his lined face. Twyla slapped the bills into his hand and smiled. “Nice doing business with you,” she said jerking the keys out of the door.
With a shake of his head, the man turned and walked back toward the office. Twyla hopped up into the truck, and inserted the keys feeling a sense of victory she hadn’t felt in a long time. But then she went to crank the truck, looked down and saw the stick shift. She had forgotten Ryan’s truck was a stick. How the hell could she have forgotten? Twyla hadn’t ever driven it for that reason. She’d only ever driven her beat up old automatic truck.
“Dammit!” she cursed and slammed her back against the seat to huff out a breath. What the hell was she going to do now? The truck was too damned big to wing it and try. She knew she’d end up in a ditch, or stalled in the middle of the road with someone plowing into the rear end. If that happened, she’d never get to the jail in time.
Her eyes darted back to the office. She’d
bet that old geezer would know how to drive a stick. If she could get to Ryan, he could drop the man back off here, or they could pay for a cab ride for him back here. But Twyla knew he wasn’t going to do it for free, or for the fifty bucks she had in spare change in the bag. Getting Ryan out would take twenty-five-hundred dollars even. The person they’d talk to on the phone said so.
What did she have that she could bargain with to get him to agree to help her? The vision of his eyes tracking down her body flitted into her head. Her arm was busted, her lip was busted, and her cheek was bruised, but he sure hadn’t seemed to mind when he was eating her up with his eyes earlier. She couldn’t dance at the Cowgirl in the shape she was in, but she could sure dance for him. She just hoped he’d go for it. Twyla grabbed the handle, and then hopped down. She stopped to stuff the sack of money behind the seat then locked the door.
With purposeful strides, Twyla walked to the backdoor, and knocked loudly. She reached down to unbutton the top two buttons of her shirt to show more of her miracle cleavage, hoping it would perform a miracle and this man would agree to her proposition. He didn’t open the door, so she knocked again, pounded her fist on the door.
The door opened, and he stuck his head outside. “What do you want now?”
“You ever heard of the Crazy Cowgirl?”
“No, but I do know when I’m looking at one,” he said with a shake of his head. She saw his eyes track down her body to her toes again, before he dragged them back up to her breasts. That bra had been worth every penny she spent on it, Twyla thought, arching her back a little to give him a better look.
“Yeah, I am crazy. Because I forgot that damned truck is standard, and I don’t know how to drive it. I have a proposition for you, mister. I’m a dancer at the Crazy Cowgirl, and would give you a dance you’ll never forget, if you agree to no touching, and that you’ll drive me to the jailhouse when I’m done.”
He snorted, and his eyes heated. “You’re a stripper?”
“No, I’m a dancer, and I won’t be shucking my clothes,” she clarified, amazed that she had forgotten that one important fact.