A Bet Worth Making (Grayson County #2)

by Heather Hildenbrand

  Wayne snorted. “You always were a player,” he muttered.

  Casey glared. “You always were a piece of—”

  “Hello, folks,” Helen broke in, joining us easily as if we were all old friends standing around. She smiled and winked at me from underneath the wide brim of a woven white hat. It was adorned with pink roses and so much greenery I wondered at how she held her head upright. “Beautiful Sunday for a picnic, isn’t it?”

  A man I recognized from the bar that night Casey had punched Wayne stood by, holding Helen’s hand in the crook of his elbow. He dipped his head at me.

  “Bobby,” he said. “We met briefly the night of—” He broke off and cast an uncertain look at Wayne.

  “Nice to see you again,” I said to them both.

  “Likewise.” Sharon straightened. “Well, it’s been lovely.” She strode off before I could answer which was just as well. She wouldn’t have liked when I told her she wouldn’t see me again if I could help it.

  “Sorry. Ahem.” John moved to follow her, tipping his hat, and adding, “Don’t be a stranger,” before hurrying off to join Sharon.

  I debated going after her, telling her this was it, she wouldn’t see me again, I’d given it a worthy effort. But in the end, I let them go. My anger was harder to hold onto these days. Mostly, I’d realized life was too short to carry all that bitterness. As I watched her go, the hard edges of my fury evaporated—right along with my need to hear any more of whatever it was she would have said to me. Nothing would change the past, but I was determined to stop letting them disturb my present.

  When I turned back, Wayne remained. Feet planted. Arms crossed.

  He and Casey stared each other down.

  Helen shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. From near the buffet table, a few of the other members of the congregation were starting to stare.

  “Wayne,” someone called in a soft voice.

  He didn’t turn. Casey did. I followed his gaze and found Jenny waving at him from where she sat with Sharon and John. I marveled at how she managed to survive sitting in Sharon’s presence without freezing to death. In fact, she seemed right at home with them. I turned back to Wayne.

  “Your girlfriend’s calling,” I said, fed up with his little stand-off.

  Wayne ignored me and stepped closer to Casey. “Don’t think you got away with that sucker punch the other night,” he said.

  Casey’s arm dropped away from my shoulder and hung loose at his sides.

  “Now, now,” Bobby began, but Casey waved him off.

  “If anyone got off easy here it’s you,” Casey said and his tone was surprisingly light. I tensed, waiting for his temper. For the balled fists and strained fury from the first time they’d faced off. But Casey was cool as a cucumber. “Your girl is one in a million and you treat her like dirt. If that’s how she’s taking it, fine. But you won’t treat mine the same way,” Casey said, his voice low and controlled and deceivingly calm.

  “Your girl,” Wayne repeated in slimy sarcasm, “is a gold-digging tramp just like her momma.”

  Casey hissed in a breath through his teeth but he never got out a reply. I stepped between them, no longer concerned with how Casey was going to respond. Wayne would be lucky to walk away in one piece—and this was all on me.

  “You say one more thing about my mother,” I began.

  I inched closer, sticking my finger in his chest as I went on, lit with rage. My voice was silky sweet and murderously low. “One more. And I promise you, not a single working part will still be attached to your body, but the upside is you won’t have to explain to a single person in this county or the next how you came to be dismembered by a gold-digging tramp, since they’re all here to watch it firsthand.”

  Casey snorted.

  Helen and Bobby didn’t make a sound.

  Wayne looked up, apparently noticing the crowd for the first time. Some part of me felt bad for talking this way in a church yard, but the rest of me, the parts I knew would let me sleep tonight despite my words, damn sure intended to make good on my threat if Wayne called my bluff.

  Wayne scanned the curious faces now watching our exchange with open interest. All other conversation fell silent. Slowly, he turned back to me, rage and regret mixing in his tight expression. “God will judge the guilty,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Then he spun on his heel and stalked away.

  I stared after him, wondering how the hell he could possibly condone bringing God into the mix. Casey’s hand tugged at my elbow until I reluctantly turned away from my retreating cousin.

  “Damn—I mean dang,” he said hastily, glancing at Helen and Bobby. “I thought you were going to deck him.” His voice held a note of awe.

  “So did I,” Bobby murmured.

  Laughter bubbled up and escaped, releasing my adrenaline and what was left of my temper. I threw my head back and laughed, enjoying the relief it brought.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “I was definitely going to deck him,” I said. “I wonder how the church would have felt about that one.”

  “I don’t know how church feels but I am inclined to kiss the sh—mess out of you right now.” He took my face in his hands and kissed the tip of my nose lightly.

  Helen laughed. “Come on, Bobby. We better find a seat and leave them alone while they get right with the Lord.”

  I laughed at that but Casey’s expression was mock solemnity. “What? You don’t think kissing is spiritual?”

  I shook my head and let him silence me with his mouth. A few people behind us whistled. Something full rose in my chest, and I had to work to get a deep breath around the pressure it left behind. My eyes filled with tears that had nothing to do with Wayne or any of the awful things he’d said.

  “What’s that look for?” Casey asked, gaze searching mine in the summer sunlight.

  “For you,” I told him, reaching onto my toes to kiss him again. “It’s only for you.”

  And I intended to mean it for long after summer ended. Maybe, like with my own parents, love would find a way.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Casey

  Metal clanked against metal as I tossed another bolt onto the pile forming. I stepped back to survey my progress—and wipe my forehead with the rag hanging off the disassembled dirt bike handlebars.

  This damned shed did not ventilate well.

  I took another swig of water—the last of it I’d brought with me out here—and got back to work, knowing I didn’t have much time left before Frank and Dean would begin to wonder where I’d snuck off to. I could have chosen a better day than Monday, our busiest of the week, but I couldn’t afford to waste the opportunity. Goose was sitting parked outside the barn at Heritage Plantation and while she ran fine today, it was a well-known fact where that tractor went, I wasn’t usually far behind.

  I heard a noise outside the shed and whirled—but a quick glance out the grimy window of the small shed revealed a squirrel tearing across the space between trees. It darted up the trunk of the closest Spruce and disappeared into its boughs.

  I went back to work tightening what was needed and discarding anything that wasn’t. If Summer was right, I didn’t have long before Dean would come clean this place out. Admitting my secret hobby to Dean wasn’t something I was ready to do yet.

  Fucking A it was hot in here.

  I glanced toward the door longingly, but I didn’t dare open it and alert anyone close enough to see it.

  With effort and more than a little sweat, I managed to reattach the handlebars to the steering stem. The tires were flat but they were attached, at least. When I’d tightened everything enough, I grunted and heaved and finally managed to roll the bike free of the half-carcasses of the other bikes and random parts still covering the wood floor.

  With both hands on the grips, I pushed at the door with the toe of my boot until it wedged free. The moment the door swung open behind me, I felt the whoosh of fresh air. Still hot, sti
ll sticky and humid, but it was refreshing compared to the stale air inside. I leaned into my steps, rolling the bike with me as I went, and managed to load it into the trailer I’d hooked up to the four-wheeler I’d brought with me out here after my lunch break.

  I’d been waiting for an opportunity like this for days. Today had been the first chance I’d gotten with all the others out doing something else.

  I loaded and secured the bike with ratchet straps and then doubled back to the shed. After a quick once-over, I locked the doors and pocketed the tiny key. At this rate, it was going to take me weeks—or I’d have to start playing hooky more often if I wanted to clean it all out in time.

  “You buy something new?”

  My head whipped up and I stopped short. Damn. Busted.

  “Hey, Frank,” I said warily, forcing my shoulders to relax.

  My anxiety was ridiculous. It’s not like he still held power over my decisions. Then why in the hell did I feel like I’d just gotten caught sneaking out after curfew?

  “Is that new?” Frank pointed to the peeling yellow fender of the dirt bike I’d just loaded. “I don’t remember it.”

  “Yeah, I … new,” I said, my words coming out disjointed like my thoughts.

  Frank zeroed in like a fucking hawk. “Did you plan to use Dean’s shed for it?” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the house. “There’s plenty more room down at the barns.”

  “Nah. Trying to clean out all my junk and get it moved back to my own space,” I said.

  Frank shot a look at the dirt bike loaded up and his brow rose. “Doesn’t look like junk to me.”

  “Selling this one,” I said like it was no big deal.

  Frank grunted and then tapped a finger against the metal. “Is that a custom exhaust?”

  I shrugged.

  “And the airbox—that’s not something I’ve seen,” he said, bending low to squint closer at the bike.

  “Yeah, I tinkered with it…”

  Frank straightened, understanding dawning. “You made this? Yourself? To sell?” His brows scrunched tighter and I could practically see the wheels turning.

  Dammit. And here it was. After all this time of keeping it a secret. Omitting and outright lying were not the same in my book (regardless of what Jordan said) and I wasn’t sure why, but I realized I didn’t want to do either anymore.

  “Casey?” Frank stepped closer, concern drawing his brows into a single crooked line. Lines appeared over his weathered cheeks and forehead. “What’s going on?”

  “The thing is, it’s new because … I built it,” I said.

  “Wow, I had no idea you could do that.” Frank looked over at the bike again, closer than before, as if seeing it for the first time.

  I scratched the back of my neck, wishing I’d taken some time to figure out how to spill all this. But all I could picture was Jordan. And what she would say if she were here. Direct—that girl never beat around the bush.

  I took a deep breath. “I’ve built lots of them, actually.”

  Frank straightened. “Building dirt bikes is a hobby then? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Not a hobby. A business,” I said, wincing at how strangely legit it sounded to call it that. But it was true. I’d earned too much to call it a hobby any longer. “I took a motorcycle mechanics course when I was in Philly.” I hesitated and then blurted it all, “They offered it on scholarship and I spent a year doing nights to complete it all at once. Graduated top of my class actually. I’ve been fiddling with custom built dirt bikes ever since.”

  I stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans and waited.

  Frank rocked back on his heels and stared at me, clearly shocked. I couldn’t blame him. Nothing that had just come out of my mouth was “typical Casey.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me … Shit, Case.” His shock transformed fast to irritation. “You should have told me.”

  I sighed. “I know. Sorry.”

  “Did you think I’d begrudge you this or—?”

  “No. I didn’t want to let you down or rock the boat or, I don’t know.” I threw up my hands. “I was scared, all right? The plan was for me to come back here and help you and Dean. You’re my family. I didn’t want to use up your money for school and then come back and leave you high and dry at the shop or the farm.”

  “That money was left by your parents and you know it.” Frank pointed a finger at me. “School fees ain’t got nothing to do with this. And it’s not about what I think—it’s about what you’re scared of in yourself. This thing is already a business, you say?”

  I nodded.

  “And it’s making you money?”

  “Some,” I said with a shrug.

  “And it’s what you want to do?”

  I nodded again, unsure what to even say. I’d seen the disappointment in his eyes earlier but now, his expression was lit with something else that made me just as nervous. It was the same gleam he always got when he was working one of his schemes. Like the day he’d moved Jordan in.

  “Good, then you’re fired.”

  “What the hell?” I demanded but Frank cut me off, shaking his head.

  “Effective immediately, you’re no longer employed at the shop in town or on this farm. You have any more bikes in that shed?”

  I struggled to find my voice. “A couple of beaters. Frames. Spare parts … You can’t just fire me.”

  “Can and did. You can leave all that in there for now.”

  “But Dean’s cleaning it out for his tiller,” I said.

  “I’ll handle Dean. If I were you, I’d think more about going downtown to see Harriet and incorporate yourself or whatever it is.”

  I groaned. “Frank, I can’t just quit and open up a business.”

  “Why not?”

  “Startups cost money. Overhead—”

  “I told you years ago. You have all that money left from your dad. A cushion plenty big to get going with this—”

  I put a hand up to stop him, irritated at how well he was taking all this. “Now, just slow down for a minute.”

  “Not happening, kid.” Frank shifted, planting his feet, but the gleam remained. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for you to come at me with something like this?” He went on before I could form an answer, “Granted I didn’t know it would be dirt bikes but I can’t say as I’m surprised either. Dammit, Case, I just want you to find something you love and go for it. I don’t care if it’s cars, tractors, or dirt bikes.” He grinned and added, “Or a girl—even if she is a Yank.”

  “I didn’t say anything about—”

  “I’ve waited a long time for you to take charge and make a life for yourself. And if a boot in the ass is what it takes to make you do it, I’m happy that boot can be mine. So, you’re fired. The question is what will you do next?”

  Frank’s brows rose in silent challenge. Once again, Jordan’s face flashed in my mind. Her brilliant smile framed by sun-kissed blonde hair—and a “give ’em hell” look in her blue eyes.

  What would I do next? I could practically hear her asking me the same question. It only took me a split second to know the answer.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Jordan

  The garage doors were flung wide when I pulled up at home. Sunlight slanted hard against growing shadows where the trees seemed to creep closer in the late afternoon sun. I parked Casey’s old pickup and climbed out, moving slow after what had been a long day.

  We’d tested the new water line today only to discover faulty piping over the future den. Water had leaked badly and we’d all rushed to try and save the new subfloor underneath it—without much luck. The knees in my jeans were still damp from the frantic crawling around I’d done.

  My shoulders ached as I rounded the truck, but I perked up at the sight of Casey hunched over on an upturned bucket in the garage.

  Stripped down to nothing but worn jeans; streaks of grease or dirt or whatever the hell it was on his shoul
der and neck sparked dirty thoughts. I smiled to myself as he looked up.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey yourself, slick.” He eyed me up and down and raised a brow. “You lose a squirt gun fight?”

  “Close.” I sauntered over and planted myself in his lap, satisfied at the loud clank I heard when his wrench fell from his hand and clattered to the ground.

  He caught me, a firm grip on my waist, and I landed a quick kiss on his mouth. He tasted like sweat and summer and motor oil. It was the hottest combination yet. Briefly, I considered stripping us both down right here for a quickie before dinner.

  I chuckled as I realized a lot had changed in a few short weeks.

  “What are you thinking about?” Casey asked, nipping at my mouth again, eyes narrowed. “You look naughty.”

  I grinned.

  He held a finger up. “Before you distract me to the point of nakedness, I have news.” He nudged me until we were both on our feet.

  I took in his slight frown. “Is everything okay?”

  “I think so,” he said, but it sounded like a question and only made me more curious. “The thing is, I got fired.”

  “What?” I stared back at him, dumbfounded. Of all the things… “How can you get fired if you work for your family?”

  “Well, that’s tricky. I was bringing this one home,” he said, gesturing to the weathered dirt bike beside me. “And Frank came up and one thing led to another and…”

  My eyes widened. “You told him about your business idea? That’s great! What did he say?”

  Casey scratched behind his ear. “Like I said, I got fired.”

  I shook my head. “You’re not making any sense. Why would he—?”

  “Apparently you aren’t the only one who thinks I’ve been holding back too long on doing something with my life. Frank thinks he’s helping me by clearing my schedule.”

  I hesitated at the bite in his words. This was supposed to be a good thing, but I couldn’t tell if Casey was pissed or in shock.

  “Don’t be scared,” I said. He started to argue but I closed the distance between us and laid my finger over his lips. “You can do this, Casey. You’re smart and talented and creative and you are a master at building dirt bikes. You can do this. I believe it. Frank does too. The only one we’re waiting on is you.”