Operation Ginger Avenger

by Heather Rainier

  Troy said, “If you were broken, Bella wouldn’t be thriving, growing, and as happy as she is. You’re hurt, honey, and you have a right to how you feel. You’re a good mother, a beautiful woman, and you deserve to be happy. Listen, we’re not trying to put you on the spot here. We know you’ve needed time. We just didn’t want you to be blindsided by that video.”

  Tank nodded in agreement. “And we want you to know Mom acted on her own.”

  “Don’t be mad at your mom. Any woman watching that video would agree that she’s pretty fabulous for talking about her sons like that and that she has a good heart. She’s just matchmaking like mothers do. Thank you for being the ones to show it to me, in private. I appreciate your concern.”

  “That’s not all, honey.”

  “There’s more?”

  “Yeah. Grace called us and asked for help with a…little project. It’s for a good cause and could potentially help a lot of people.”

  “That sounds like a good thing. What is it?”

  When they’d explained it to her, it was all she could do to stand from the bench. The weight that had been lifted from her shoulders by her visit to Emma felt like it’d increased a hundredfold. There was no way she could compete and no reason she should feel hurt or jealous. But she did. It was too much, but she didn’t have any right to complain.

  “You don’t need my permission, guys. Grace is a sweet lady, and I think you should help her. I need to get to the pharmacy.” She wrapped her arms around herself and stepped out of their reach.

  “Please wait,” Troy pleaded, his eyes narrowed with concern. For her. It annoyed her that she even merited that emotion. “We agreed to do it, only because it’s a charitable cause. It doesn’t mean anything would come of it.”

  “Maybe something should. Any woman would be so lucky to have you. You should check that e-mail account your mom set up. Just...just know that I’m your friend and that’ll never change. I-I gotta go.”

  “Don’t—” Troy said as he made to follow her. He firmed his lips, and the furrow deepened between his brows. “I’m not giving up, Jess.”

  “You should. I’m broken.” Hell, I’m even shaped a bit like Humpty-Dumpty in his pre-swan-dive form.

  “Not from where we’re standing, honey,” Tank called. “You’re perfect.”

  She scoffed as she pushed the glass door open and walked out of the medical building into the blinding sunshine. It was a simply gorgeous day. Too bad the weather couldn’t reach the storm raging inside her. She loved Grace, but right in that moment? She wanted to sock the blonde a good one.

  The tears she’d thought she’d overcome earlier finally caught up with her. It was terribly rude of her to just walk away from them like that, but she was partly relieved that they hadn’t followed her out to her car. She didn’t want them to see her blubbering like a baby.

  On the way to the pharmacy, a song about a T-shirt played on the radio, something upbeat by Thomas Rhett. She sang along, even though the happy, sexy tune did nothing to alleviate the dullness of her mood.

  Should she be so emotionally flat after hearing that Tank and Troy had committed to serve as participants in a bachelor auction, where women would be tripping over themselves to bid on them? If there were ever two guys she could love, it would be Tank and Troy. Why then had the news left her with such a feeling of ambivalence? She knew she should care. She did care, at least enough to want to flee. But pervading it all was an overwhelming sense of numbness.

  “God, I am broken, aren’t I?” she muttered to herself as she pulled into the parking lot of the locally owned pharmacy. “Well, surely the day can’t get much worse.”

  Normally, all her prescriptions were filled by the local branch of a chain pharmacy, but the medication Emma had prescribed needed to be compounded especially for her, and they didn’t do that. So there she sat in her car, looking into the uninviting interior of the pharmacy that had been around probably since the nineteen-sixties.

  The wood floor creaked as she walked in, and a bell sounded on the door as it swung closed. Aisles filled with braces, canes, and a limited inventory of over-the-counter medicines stretched across the front of the store. An overgrown ivy plant languished in a windowsill dotted with dead flies and the faint scent of dust and mustiness made her nose tickle.

  She’d wanted to start the medicated cream Emma had prescribed for her immediately. Otherwise, she would’ve submitted the prescription to an online compounding pharmacy, like Emma had recommended. She could hear voices in the back of the pharmacy behind the tall counter. After standing at the customer service counter for a couple minutes, she finally rang the bell.

  Footsteps padded over the creaking floorboards, and a woman came down the two steps to stand behind the counter, her hands shoved into the pockets of her white coat. “Can I help you?” Judging by her tone it wasn’t possible to be less enthused about the possibility of actually helping Jessica, but she needed the prescription and to be on her way.

  She slid the prescription across the counter, determined to be positive and upbeat. Like Emma sometimes told her, Fake it ’til you make it! “Hi, I need to have this filled.”

  “You mean you need it compounded,” the woman corrected her, frowning at the prescription.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  The woman smacked her lips together and squinted at the writing. “Testosterone? This is for you? You know what this is used for?” She lifted her gaze to Jessica, and her brow arched a bit.

  Jessica kept her expression neutral. “Yes. Dr. Rivers told me your pharmacy does compounding work.”

  The woman, whose nametag said “Pharmacy Tech,” let out a long sigh and smacked her lips again. “Yeah, but it could take awhile, and you have to pay for it—in full—in advance. And it’ll probably be expensive. You’re sure you know what this is for? This is for you?” There was a slight curl to her lip as she looked up at Jessica.

  “Yes. And yes. Maybe I should talk to the pharmacist.”

  “He’s busy. Lemme get a price.”

  A whispered conversation occurred in the back between her and another woman and then “Pharmacy Tech” returned. “He’s gone for the day, so this won’t be ready until probably next week. And it’s going to set you back seventy-five dollars plus tax. I doubt your insurance will cover it.”

  Shiiit! She took a deep breath. How much was too much to pay to feel sexy again? Tank and Troy came to mind as “Pharmacy Tech” stared at her as if she was a bug to be stomped on.

  Taking out her wallet, she delved into her mad money. “I’ll take it.”

  After the transaction was complete, the woman asked for her phone number and wrote it down on the prescription. “They’ll call you when it’s ready,” she said as she walked back up the stairs and out of sight, without tacking on a half-hearted “thank you” or “have a good day” or “bite my ass.”

  Rubbing her temples as she walked out the door, Jessica muttered to herself. “I should’ve had Emma order it online like she offered.” Even with the delay, at least she wouldn’t have to put up with the attitude. And why did the tech have to look at Jessica as if she was a sexual deviant? Emma said lots of women used testosterone cream. Maybe “Pharmacy Tech” saw the T-word and thought Jessica was gearing up for a sex change. It was a small town. Who knew?

  Next stop was picking up the little punkin-head.

  “Mama!” Bella screeched as she ran to Jessica when she peeked inside the playroom Bella was currently assigned to. All the garbage that kept her from feeling normal faded into the background. This little growing girl, with dark red-brown curls just like hers and a face that was an almost exact replica of her own baby pictures, was the reason she kept going. Her entire world. She’d handle just about anything for her baby girl.

  Chapter Three

  “I heard you the first time,” Brian Dornan muttered as he rubbed his palm against the rivet on the side pocket of his faded jeans. Good manners told him to offer the man a beer as a courtesy
but he couldn’t bring himself to do other than to stand in the doorway, blocking entry.

  He’d looked forward to watching the evening news while he heated up his frozen skillet meal and then enjoying a well-earned beer afterward in front of the television. He hadn’t even emptied his lunch box before the solid thud of a heavy fist on his front door had echoed through his home. The person on the other side of the door had chased all thoughts of relaxation from his mind quickly enough.

  “I owe him, you understand,” the visitor said as he twirled a large coin between the fingers of his right hand over and over, as if he were having an easy chat with a friend.

  “You already said that. This is a family matter, and you don’t need to be getting involved with it.”

  “So you said earlier. He told me you’d say that, you know, that it’s a family matter, and he agrees. I respect handling things within the family. It keeps people clear on where they stand. But he wants it handled, so if you feel you can’t do it, I need to know so I can handle the matter.”

  “I need time. Work has been busy, and it will take time to get away long enough to see to it.”

  “I heard him talk about you, cabron. He said you were loyal, that family came first with you...and with him. I get it about work. How about I check in with you...in a bit.” The stranger cleared his throat, and the painful sounding rasp drew Brian’s attention to the speaker’s neck. He wondered if the scar he saw there was from an attempted hanging or if someone had unsuccessfully garroted him. “It’s impolite to stare.”

  Brian waved a finger at his own throat. “That happen to you while you were...you know...in there?” He knew terrible things had happened to Trevor at the last place he’d been imprisoned. He didn’t know this person well enough to say if he’d deserved his scars, but he thought maybe Trevor had. His father had always called him an evil son of a bitch and Brian had grown up without any doubt.

  “Business still gets handled no matter what side of the bars you’re on.” The unspoken statement hovered in the air as he fingered the scars, and his grin revealed crooked, yellowed teeth. A wave of cold washed over Brian as he envisioned meeting this visitor in a dark alley, and he rubbed at the goose flesh on his arm, hoping the guy didn’t notice how he affected him.

  “Like you said, it’s family business, and I know where Trevor stands.”

  The visitor just nodded. “He said you haven’t been at home the last several times he’s called you. That was the other reason he wanted me to come see you after I got out. To make sure you were still around, you know, making sure you hadn’t met with a bad end.”

  The implied threat was made all the scarier by the mild tone he used. Waves of cold zipped up Brian’s spine, making him think of the blade of a knife dragged over skin. “No, I’m fine. I’ve just been working a lot, picking up extra hours while things are busy.” He wished like hell that this evil-looking son of a bitch would finish saying his piece and leave. Maybe it had been rude to not offer him entry to his home, to take a load off or have a beer, but he didn’t want the man in his home. He also didn’t want him reporting to Trevor about how things were in his home—the home he’d created after Trevor had been recaptured and more securely imprisoned.

  The bastard should’ve stayed where he was put the first time. He’d still be minus his balls, thanks to another inmate, but at least he’d only be serving time for the one offense.

  That one was enough, whispered his better angel. You are so much better off without him.

  He quieted his mind from long practice. It was a close-kept secret that his mother still visited him from beyond the grave from time to time. Her memory was sacred, too precious to indulge in in the malevolent visitor’s presence.

  The stranger chuckled, a creaking sound, as he continued smoothly winding the fifty-cent piece between his long fingers and then waved at his temple with the other hand. “Dornan told me that you get all up in your head. It’s cool, man. I got things of my own to do anyways. I’ll come by the next time I’m in town, to see if you did what you promised.”

  “I never promised Trevor anything, that’s the thing.” Brian took a deeper breath as the stranger turned and stepped off the porch.

  “Not according to him, cabron. Maybe you should pick up your phone next time it rings.”

  That caller ID was money well spent, the feminine voice whispered in his ear, stronger now that it was a ghost than it had ever been allowed to be in life.

  I’m trying to buy us time.

  My smart boy.

  Brian nodded and attempted a chuckle of his own. “Yeah, I guess so. I’ll talk to him and figure out what he wants. No worries. I’ll let him know you visited like you promised him you would. What’s your name, by the way?”

  “People call me Four Bits,” he said, an evil grin crossing his lips as he held the coin up in explanation. “An old-timer I knew from my earlier days called me that, and it stuck.”

  “Oh, I see. Can...can I offer you something for the road? A soda or a beer?”

  “Nah,” Four Bits said, not even looking back at him as he stalked across the gravel to his motorcycle, all the while still winding that fifty-cent piece in and out between his fingers before flipping it to the other hand. The movement, showcasing the equal dexterity of his other hand, was both mesmerizing and somehow threatening in and of itself. “I got places to be and things to...” He flipped the coin in the air and caught it and slapped it in the top of his hand. He looked down at it and grinned and then turned those empty dark eyes back to Brian. “Do. I’ll be back, man.”

  The roar of the bike as the creep started it covered Brian’s reply. “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Leaning against the closed door, he looked around at the tidy interior of his mobile home, nothing like the squalor he’d endured along with his sweet mother when he was growing up.

  “Damn it, Jessica, answer your phone, or I’m going to have to come out there. Neither of us wants that.” He looked down at his phone, reluctant to try her number again. He didn’t blame her for refusing to take his calls. He’d figured on waiting a while longer before reaching out again. He tried to imagine Four Bits being the type who forgot a promise.

  He dialed her number and then hung up when the call kicked over to voicemail.

  Chapter Four

  Troy Burnett put his feet up on the living room coffee table in the house he shared with Tank. It’d been a long day, but he was still wired up. Sometimes it was hard for him to settle down and stop moving, stop thinking. Time in the military, being hyper-alert and aware, and his own hyperactive mind and body did that to him. He surfed through the satellite channels on the big flat screen hanging on the wall and took the first sharp sip from a Negra Modelo. There was nothing on he was interested in watching, and he welcomed the distraction when his cellphone began ringing.

  “Burnett.”

  “Honey, it’s me.” Maryetta’s voice held a strident note of worry. “I just got off the phone with Tank. I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize that Jessica was still in the picture. You hadn’t said anything about her in so long, and I just thought I’d help out a bit. At the very least I thought the video might make your social lives a little more…well…lively.” Her musical giggle made him smile.

  “It’s okay, Mom. We know you had good intentions. In a few years we’ll look back and laugh. Heck, I already have a copy saved on my cloud for posterity’s sake.”

  “If I had Jessica’s number I’d call her myself and tell her how sorry I am. Does she know about the video?”

  “Yes, we showed it to her earlier today. She’s okay with it. Or at least she understands.”

  “Okay with it?” Her reply had a disgruntled tone. “You are grade-A prime beefcake— both of you. Either of you—oh, whatever! Is she okay? Is little Bella okay?”

  Maryetta had made friends with Lydia on one of her visits and had figured out all on her own that Lydia shared a committed ménage relationship with both Carlisle brothers and had made the correct e
xtrapolation when she’d noticed the way they’d mooned over Jessica on a visit to the Dancing Pony. Maryetta had told Tank and Troy that she was a woman of the world and she could see the sense in such a relationship, as well as the complications. She reminded them that any woman would be lucky to catch either, or both, of her boys. She just wanted their happiness...and eventually some grandbabies to spoil.

  Troy and Tank had never shared Jessica’s story with Maryetta because they knew Jessica wanted to keep her history private for her sake, as well as Bella’s. “She’s fine, and Bella’s growing like weed. Jessica’s just busy and not feeling so hot lately.”

  “Motherhood will sap your strength, especially chasing a little one. I can take the video down…”

  “I’m not sure how much it’d help. I’ve seen it copied and shared on Facebook several times already today. We haven’t replied to any of the e-mails or private messages we’ve gotten.”

  “Were there a bunch?”

  “A few,” he hedged. Try three hundred. Someone had also created a fan page for them on Facebook, and it already had ten thousand “likes.” What was next—a website?

  “Okay, well, that doesn’t sound so bad. Just let them sit until you’ve had time to think about what to do or until Jessica comes around to the fact that you’re the best men around. I love you, Troy. You be a good boy now.”

  “Of course, Mom. I’m still your favorite, right?”

  “You’re my favorite Troy, how’s that?”

  “That’ll do,” he said with a chuckle as she made a kissie noise in the phone.

  “Bye-bye now, sugar.”

  The phone screen hadn’t even dimmed before it rang again. Sighing, he took another swig of his beer. “Burnett.”

  “Hi, Troy, it’s me, Grace. I wanted to thank you for agreeing to help with the fundraiser auction and let you know we’re having a planning meeting at the ranch next month. I’ll have to get back to you with the exact date and time, but I wondered if you would let Tank know and hopefully both of you can come. And like I told Tank earlier, it’s just supposed to be a fun, no-strings-attached bachelor auction, and all either of you is obligated for is an evening out, a meal, and gentlemanly companionship. The boys’ ranch and all the other charities are going to be so grateful for your participation. I hope everything is going well—oh boy. Listen, I’ve got to let you go because Grant just woke up from his nap and he sounds cranky. I hope he’s not coming down with something. It was really nice talking to you. Bye!”