by Larissa Ione
“I know.” Logan stood and offered Marcus a hand, which he took. As his buddy lifted him to his feet, Logan added, “And Marcus? Thanks.”
Marcus felt himself choke up a little, heard his dad’s whiskey-soaked, slurred voice calling him a pussy, but he shoved the bastard into the back of his mind where he belonged.
Because for the first time since arriving in Storm, Marcus didn’t feel like a stranger. Even better, he felt like his father was finally, truly gone.
Chapter Nine
Mallory loved libraries. The smell, the quiet, the solitude. Usually the town library was closed on Sundays, but they’d started a summer Sunday reading program for kids, which turned out to be handy.
She’d spent a couple of hours going through ancient microfiche images of old newspapers and had taken a gob of notes on past Founders’ Day events, decorations, booths, foods, games... She was going to be a freaking Founders’ Day historian by the time she was done.
“Mallory?”
She drew a harsh breath at the sound of Luis’s low voice. And there he was, walking toward her table with hesitant steps, his thumbs hooked in his jeans pockets. God, he was adorable, and she hated herself for thinking it.
“I don’t feel like talking,” she said crisply.
“You don’t have to say anything. Just listen.”
“To what?” she snapped, before remembering where she was and lowering her voice. “Listen to you explain why you slept with Lacey?”
He moved closer to the table, and she decided she’d move if he sat down. “I told you, it didn’t happen.”
“Then why is everyone saying it did?” And why was she even bothering?
Maybe because you still love him. Ugh, she was such an idiot.
“Everyone is saying it happened because Lacey isn’t denying it.”
She huffed. “So you’re saying you and Lacey weren’t at the lake.”
He looked down at his hands, and she couldn’t help but wonder what parts of Lacey they’d touched. “We were there. She’s been so torn up about Jacob, and honestly, Mal, I thought she just wanted to talk.”
Mallory laughed. “Seriously? After the way she’s been all over you lately? A blind man could have seen what she wanted.”
“I’m stupid, okay?” He made a pleading gesture with his hands. “I admit it. I mean, looking back at it, yeah, I see it. But at the time... I don’t know, I guess it just felt good to have the attention.”
Anger spun up, raw and hot. She’d showered him with affection. Hell, she’d practically begged him to have sex with her, but he’d acted like she was diseased or something.
“So my attention wasn’t enough? You asshole!”
“No!” He shook his head. “Of course it was enough. I think I just got caught up in the moment. And when she kissed me––”
Mallory slammed her pen down on her notebook hard enough to crack the cap. “I don’t want to hear any more. You leave or I will.”
“Wait.” He gripped the table as if holding it down would keep her there. “Listen to me, Mal. I made a mistake. I think some stupid part of me wanted to see what could happen.”
“And yet, you keep rejecting me.”
“Yeah, and you know why? It’s because I respect you. When we get together, you know, like that”—He licked his lips as if searching for words, and the most adorable blush crept up his neck—“I want it to be right. I want us to be older and smarter so we don’t have regrets. I know that sounds prudish, or dumb, but I don’t care.” His throat worked on a hard swallow, and when he spoke again, his voice was warped with emotion that made her heart squeeze painfully. “With Lacey... God, I’ve always liked her, but she’s not...she’s not you. I realized it at the lake. I stopped Lacey and walked home. I don’t want her. I want you and I’m so sorry for being such an idiot. Can we please go back to the way it was? Even if that means just being friends until I earn back your trust? Maybe we can just start over?”
Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked, determined not to let them fall. “You really hurt me,” she whispered.
“I know.” Those two simple words, spoken with such regret, such misery, touched her more than anything else he’d said so far.
“You promise you won’t do something like that again?” she asked, even though she should know better. Her father had promised things all the time, and he’d never kept his word. Still, she wanted––needed––to believe that people she loved could care enough about her to honor a vow.
Luis nodded so hard he must have given himself a headache. “I swear, Mal. On my parents’ grave.”
Her heart lurched at the gravity in his voice. “Okay,” she said hoarsely. “We can start over. As friends.” She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. “I’m still mad, but I don’t want to lose you. Especially now. Everything is so crazy. I’ve lost my best friend because she tried to steal my boyfriend, my dad fell off the face of the earth, which I couldn’t care less about, but it’s made Dakota crazy, and now Marcus is back. That’s great, but I feel like there’s something simmering beneath the surface with him, and it’s weird. Remember how cocky he used to be? Always joking, except when Dad was around, and then he’d get crazy angry. Now he’s...I don’t know. It’s like the anger is there, but he’s not letting it out, and he could blow at any moment.”
Luis paled. “Does he know what I did?”
She smirked. Let him squirm for a minute. He deserved it, after all. “You mean, is he going to hunt you down and kill you for hurting me?”
“That’s pretty much what I was getting at, yes.”
She should let him continue to sweat, but she was tired of games. Dakota’s games. Lacey’s games. Whatever game her dad was playing. “He knows I’m mad at you, but I don’t think he knows why.”
“Thank God,” he whispered as he sagged down in a chair. “So...how do you feel about him being back?”
“It’s what I’ve wanted for years. But like I said, I’m a little worried, and honestly, I’m terrified that my dad will come home.”
“What do you think would happen if he did?”
“I don’t know, but I promise that nothing good would come of it.” She closed one of the books about Storm’s history she’d been going through. “Family, huh?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, looking down at his lap. “Family.”
“Luis? You okay?”
“I’m not sure.” He lifted his head. “Can I tell you something? You have to promise to keep it to yourself, though.”
She nodded. “What’s it about?”
“It’s about Jacob. And Ginny. I overheard something.” He inhaled, fuel for whatever he was about to say. “Francine and Payton were talking at the hospital, and I heard them talking about some sort of accident Jacob was involved in when he was little. Doctors said he probably wouldn’t be able to have kids.”
She frowned. “But Ginny’s pregnant.”
“Exactly.”
Oh...shit. “Are you...are you saying she’s lying about who the father is?”
He winced, as if someone else voicing it made it real. “No. I mean, maybe. Or maybe she’s embarrassed because she doesn’t know for sure.”
“I don’t know,” Mallory hedged. “Just because Jacob might have been sterile doesn’t mean she doesn’t know who the father is. She wouldn’t have cheated on Jacob. Right?”
He swallowed hard again. “I never told anyone this, but before all of this happened, she’d been acting weird. Over the last year or so, when she came home from college on breaks, she was dressing different. More…mature. And her phone calls seemed secretive. I got a feeling she was seeing someone she didn’t want anyone to know about.”
“Have you asked her about it?”
He shrugged. “I’ve tried. I mean, I gave her the chance to say anything she wanted to me.” He shook his head. “Maybe I’m being paranoid. This wouldn’t be the first time my overactive imagination got the best of me. Remember when I thought I saw a troll
in the Foster’s backyard?”
She stared at him. “You were six.”
“Well, I was twelve when I thought Mr. Coleman was a bank robber on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.”
She laughed. “He does look like that dude in the drawing.”
“Still. I guess if the Salts think it’s a miracle, maybe it is.”
Mallory chewed her lip. “Do you believe in miracles?”
“I don’t know.”
“Me, either.” She leaned closer to him and lowered her voice, even though there was no one nearby. “So if the baby isn’t Jacob’s, whose could it be?”
“I don’t know, but if it isn’t Jacob’s, this town might just live up to its name.”
Chapter Ten
Mondays in Storm were generally quiet...at least, they used to be. It was tourist season, but Marcus still didn’t remember so many people milling about on the streets. A couple of years ago, his mom had mentioned some sort of publicity campaign the town leaders had embarked on, a campaign designed to portray Storm as “a gem in the heart of Hill Country.”
The Rushes had financed most of it, of course—part of the senator’s promise to bring tourism to the town if the good folk of Storm helped get him reelected.
Whatever the senator’s motivation, the campaign had clearly worked, and Marcus had to weave his way down Main Street without getting knocked over by tourists coming in and out of the shops and taking pictures of the historical buildings.
He turned down Pecan Street, then peeked through the huge window of the Prost Pharmacy. He hoped to catch a glimpse of Brittany, but she wasn’t there. He hadn’t seen her since the barbecue, but then, after leaving Murphy’s he’d gone straight home to lick his Logan-inflicted wounds as his brain tried to process everything Dillon had said.
Thankfully, Mallory hadn’t been home and his mom had been busy in the backyard, so he hadn’t had to explain why he looked like he’d, well, gotten into a brawl. This morning they’d both noticed his split lip, which he’d brushed off with a lighthearted, “It’s nothing. Just me and Logan messing around.”
His aching ribs and wrenched shoulder disagreed on the it’s nothing part, and they protested even more as he stepped off the curb and crossed the street. Whiny bastards.
A sheriff’s car came up the street, and he cursed under his breath, figuring he was in for a jaywalking citation. When the vehicle eased next to him, he wasn’t sure if the fact that Dillon was driving was a good thing or a bad one.
“Hey, Marcus,” Dillon said as he propped his arm on the edge of the rolled-down window.
Marcus nodded. “Dillon.” Now what? Marcus had left Murphy’s last night without going back inside, so he’d kind of left things unfinished. And awkward.
Dillon pushed his sunglasses up on his head and met Marcus’s gaze. “We should probably talk. About yesterday.”
“’S’okay,” Marcus said. “There’s nothing to talk about. You helped my mom, and I’m grateful.”
“So you aren’t pissed?”
“Not at you.” He glanced up the street at the family of five on bikes, laughing at the balloons tied to their handlebars, which bopped them on their heads as they peddled. He didn’t have memories like that, but when and if he ever had kids, he’d make sure they would.
“Are you going to tell her?” Dillon asked, his own gaze focused on the family.
Marcus blew out a long breath, unsure how to answer that. He hated secrets. Hated lies. He’d had way too much of that growing up, and it had eaten away at him. But he also knew that some secrets––and people––were best kept buried.
“I think,” he said slowly, “that it’s your call. But I won’t lie if she asks me about it.”
The hard set of Dillon’s jaw and shoulders relaxed as his relief became apparent. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” Marcus watched the other man for a moment. “Is there something going on between you and my mom?”
Dillon jerked as if Marcus had zapped him with a cattle prod. “No. Of course not. I’ve known her for a long time, and I care about her.”
Uh-huh. Marcus was pretty sure there was more to it than that. He found himself hoping it was more than that. She deserved someone decent. Someone who could protect her.
“I’m glad you’re there for her,” Marcus said. “Like I said, I’m grateful.”
Dillon extended his hand through the open window. “You’re a good man, Marcus. Your mom and sisters are lucky to have you.”
They clasped hands in a firm shake. “That,” he said wryly, “is yet to be determined.”
“Just keep your nose clean.” Dillon winked. “And unbloodied. Logan is still bitching about your right hook.”
Marcus grinned. “Awesome. Because I’m still feeling his uppercut. But don’t tell him that.”
Laughing, Dillon settled his sunglasses over his eyes again. “Take care. And stop jaywalking.” He took off, leaving Marcus with a wave and a good-natured reprimand.
A welcome breeze picked up as he turned onto Third Street, where he stopped at the sports shop to buy a basketball. The hoop still hanging from the garage had been one of his favorite stress-relievers as a kid, and he figured that sinking a few shots into it might do him some good. Weird how his old habits were calling to him when he’d done everything he could in Montana to avoid doing anything he’d done here in Texas.
As he stepped out of the shop, he ran smack into Brittany.
“Oh, ah, hey,” she said, clearly flustered. The blush in her cheeks matched her glossy, full lips, which he suddenly wanted to taste. Badly.
“Hey.” He took in her white denim shorts that showed off a lot of long, toned leg, and her short-sleeved navy blouse that made the blue of her eyes even more intense and revealed a hint of cleavage. Stunning. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m headed over to the town square. The Founders’ Day planning committee is trying to figure out where to set up a few things.” She gestured toward Fourth Street. “I had to park in like, Del Rio.”
He laughed. “Yeah, me, too. Practically on the other side of the Rio Grande.” He paused, spinning ideas in his head to keep her with him for a little while. When he saw a kid sitting on a bench with a sundae, a plan clicked into place. “Are you in a hurry?”
“No, why?”
“Wanna get some ice cream? I’m buying.”
Reaching up, she tucked her hair behind one ear, revealing sapphire and diamond earrings that probably cost more than his car. They looked great on her, but he figured she’d look better in his Impala, which, incidentally, was the same color as her eyes. “I’d like that.”
They started walking down the street, his palms growing clammy even as his heart soared, and he wondered if Brittany was as suddenly, inexplicably nervous as he was. This was crazy. He knew his way around women, knew how to charm them, put them at ease, and all the while, he was usually as cool as ice. But Brittany...this was different. Something about her made his insides jangle.
“So, are you settling in okay?”
“Yeah. Things are starting to feel familiar again. Your grandma even glared at me when she drove past a few minutes ago, just like she did when I was in high school.”
She tripped––over her own feet, apparently––and his hand snapped out to catch her arm. Her skin was hot and smooth, and damn if he didn’t feel an electric spark work its way up his own arm.
“Sorry,” she blurted. “I...uh...clumsy.” She shot him a contrite look that made him feel bad for joking around. “Look, I need to apologize for my grandmother. What she said at the barbecue. I don’t think she realizes how she comes across sometimes.”
That was a load of steaming bullshit. Everything Marylee said and did was deliberate and carefully considered, and she was very well aware of how her words would impact their target. Brittany probably knew it, too, but he didn’t blame her for wanting to give her grandma the benefit of the doubt and preserve the good Rush name. Marcus was all too familiar with the lies pe
ople told to protect the family.
As they crossed Third Street––at a crosswalk––he realized he was still holding her arm, and he reluctantly let go. “It’s okay. You aren’t responsible for anything she says.”
She gave him a grateful smile. “You know, I hear that the Johnsons need help on the ranch.”
“And you thought of me?” That was sweet. But he didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was going back to Montana. Ian was counting on him, and he owed that man everything. Including his life.
But his mom and sisters needed him too, and the idea of leaving Storm––of leaving Brittany––was starting to give him heartburn. Maybe Brit would visit him there. Or he could come back to Storm every couple of months. He stepped onto the curb and nearly squashed the remains of someone’s mushy old ice cream cone.
“Of course I thought of you,” she said. “You did say you’re a cow whisperer.”
He laughed. “I am uniquely talented.”
“Mmm.” A devilish glint lit her gaze. “I’ll bet you have a lot of talents.” It was cute how she blushed even when she was trying to be flirty.
He waggled his brows. “More than you can possibly imagine.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said in a low, husky voice that made him picture her tangled up in sheets after a long night of sex. “I have a great imagination.”
So did he, and right now it was running away with all kinds of scenarios that involved him and her in various states of undress and rumpled sheets.
“Well, imagine what kind of ice cream you want because we’re here.” A bell jingled as he opened the door to the shop, and after waiting for a family with six kids to order, Brittany got a scoop of triple chocolate, and he went for caramel vanilla swirl.
There was no place to sit, so they took their cones outside.
“So what’s college like?” he asked as they crossed the street again, this time heading back in the direction of the sports shop and town square.
“It’s about what I expected.” She licked her cone, and damn if that didn’t make his jeans feel a little tighter. “A big party punctuated by odd moments of learning.”