Shame the Devil (Portland Devils Book 3)

by Rosalind James

  “I’ll work on it,” he said. “And plan on that senior year in Portland. You’re eighteen at the end of August. We’re going to do this.”

  “We can’t,” she said. “We’ll just make him mad. And there’s my teams.”

  He said, “Don’t worry, Bug. It’s going to work out. I’ve got this.”

  20

  Not Cheaping Out

  Back in the plane again, and they weren’t going anywhere, because when Harlan had hugged Annabelle and she’d headed off in the car again with him staring after her, the pilot had asked, “Where am I taking you?” and Harlan had started a little and answered, “I’m not sure. Hang on a few minutes, OK?”

  The pilot said, “I’ll need some time to file a flight plan.”

  “Yeah,” Harlan said. “Got it. Give me a few.”

  Owen said, once they were back in their leather seats with nobody the wiser about their destination, “You know, one answer would be for everybody to go on home. Just saying.”

  “Yeah, no,” Harlan said. “How sore are you?” he asked Jennifer. “How cold are your toes?”

  “I’m all right,” she said.

  “Now, that’s a lie,” he said.

  “Then why did you ask?”

  He smiled, but only briefly. “Look. I interrupted everybody’s vacation to do this. I can’t help my sister. I want to at least …” He trailed off.

  “Ah,” she said. “You need to feel like you’re doing a good thing.”

  “That’s about it. Since I’m responsible for dumping you on your back about eight times yesterday, making you ski that harder stuff, not to mention the whole bison deal the day before, and then flying you away to freeze your butt off some more in a parking lot and get insulted by my dad—well, yeah, giving you something that might actually be a pleasurable experience would be helpful to my peace of mind. Have I mentioned that it’s my birthday?”

  “It wasn’t my back you dumped me on,” she said, “but OK. Also, you made me drop my bratwurst when you dragged me across the parking lot back there. It was tasty, too.”

  “There, see?” he said, but he was smiling, so that was something.

  “Right,” she said. “Are we set on New Mexico?”

  “New Mexico?” Dyma asked. “What? What are you all talking about?”

  “I’m cold,” Harlan said. “I want to go someplace warm tonight. and Hawaii’s too far.”

  “Hey, gringo,” Owen said. “New Mexico’s the desert.”

  “Yeah,” Harlan said. “That’s the point.”

  Owen sighed. “I bet every one of those resorts you’re thinking about is in the high desert. High desert’s cold in winter. You could look it up. It’ll be about fifteen degrees at night. If you want to be warm, you need to try Houston or something. L.A. Like that.”

  “Yeah,” Harlan said, “because nothing says, ‘Take me away from all this’ like a trip to Houston.”

  “I’m just saying,” Owen said. “Wherever, New Mexico, might be luxurious, but it’s not going to be warm. Just as well fly back to Wyoming. You could rent a motel room with a bathtub and save a whole bunch of money. Or, you know, get all wild and crazy and come back to the ranch for the night. You all could take a bath, and I could get back to work, since cows don’t tend to stop calving just because you need a vacation. You’d have to sleep on the couch, of course, but there’s room for the girls.”

  “Yeah,” Harlan said, “I’m sure that’d be a huge treat for everybody. I’ve been to your home town. The highlight of the trip was the barbershop, or maybe it was pitchforking up all that dirty straw. I can’t decide. If they wanted to see a feed store, though, they’d be all set. The problem with you is, you’ve got no romance in your soul.”

  “I’d love to see the ranch,” Dyma said. “And Grizzly. And hey, Mom. You’d have the right clothes for that. Bonus.”

  Jennifer thought, You are not seeing that ranch. Aloud, she said, “Time out. So for whatever reason, you’re feeling an intense desire to go to a New Mexico spa resort, Harlan. Realizing, of course, that Dyma and I really do have to get home tomorrow.”

  “And that I do, too,” Owen said. “Calving.”

  “I’ll get you all home,” Harlan said. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got this jet.”

  She shouldn’t do this. In no way should she do this. It was a very bad idea. It was also an obscene amount of money. She should say, “Fly us home to Wild Horse, please.” She was going to say that.

  She said, “Give me ten minutes.”

  It took her about three of those minutes to say, “Taos looks good. It’s pretty, and there’s a smaller resort that seems nice, where you wouldn’t be as exposed to the public. El Monte Sagrado.” Upon which, Harlan jumped up and headed to the cockpit to give the pilot the itinerary.

  When he got back, she was still working on the phone.

  “Too late,” he said. “It’s decided.”

  “No,” she said. “I’m checking out available rooms.”

  He held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

  “I told you,” she said, hanging on to it. “It’s my job.”

  “Nope. You’re going to cheap out on me. I can see it in you. That look right there,” he said when she smiled, and his charm was irresistible. “That’s the cheaping-out look. Your part’s done. Give it to me.”

  She sighed and handed the phone over. “What we should be doing is having a conversation about your sister and your dad. I could be helping, at least.”

  “You are helping,” he said, not looking up from the phone. “Keep on doing that. Hang on. I need some privacy for this conversation.”

  “If you’re reserving the honeymoon suite,” she said, “that’s a no.”

  “Aw,” he said. “You’re no fun.” And she had to laugh.

  After that, he went into the back of the plane, and she couldn’t hear him. Which was, yes, all very exciting, and nothing like her life.

  And a truly terrible example for her daughter. Who wasn’t even doing her homework.

  She wasn’t even surprised by the black Suburban at the other end of the trip—she’d discovered who bought up all the black ones—or the discreet-but-fabulous entrance to the resort, an adobe-colored, timbered-pueblo place set in immaculate grounds that looked lush even in winter, all of it surrounded by mountains glowing purple in the late-afternoon light.

  It wasn’t that she didn’t know places like this existed. She booked them all the time for Blake. It was just that she’d never expected to see one in person. Unfortunately, she was so tired and sore by this point, all she wanted was to flop onto a bed.

  Harlan had been right. The second day was the worst, and the afternoon of a second day you’d spent either sitting in a vehicle or standing out in the freezing cold was the worst of the worst.

  If you were whisked away on a private jet for a fabulous overnight by an All-Pro NFL wide receiver—and, yes, she’d looked him up during the flight, feeling like a stalker while he’d lounged opposite her, staring out the window at nothing with a frown on his face and one booted foot stuck out straight in front of him, like he was worrying again—well, anyway, if that was the kind of evening you were looking forward to, surely you shouldn’t mostly be thinking about how your upper back and shoulders ached all the way across and up into your neck, your thighs were so stiff that you were more or less tottering along, you couldn’t shift position without wincing at the pain in your abs, and you couldn’t tell whether it was the bruising or the muscle soreness that made your butt hurt so much. She climbed out of the SUV with the aid of Harlan’s hand and stifled a groan, and he kept his hand around hers and said, “Not doing so good?”

  “I’m fine. Never mind. Also, I looked you up on the flight. I’m just telling you, so you know. Honesty’s important.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Not before this? Am I losing my curb appeal, or what?”

  “Don’t joke about it. I’m serious. What are they thinking, publishing your contracts like tha
t for everybody to see? And since they do, why the heck aren’t you being more careful about stalkers, or … or kidnappers? What if this was my big plan, throwing myself and Dyma in your path? Yours and Owen’s, I mean?”

  “That’s some plan,” he said, his blue eyes alight with amusement, “risking Death by Bison for, what? A night with me? Not that I doubt my ability to show you a real good time, but I’m not sure it’d be worth dying for. Also, I feel compelled to point out that you didn’t even take advantage of the opportunity. That’s quite the long game you’re playing.”

  “You’re taking me to a resort,” she pointed out.

  “I sure am. Pretty excited about it, too. And I’ve been doing this job almost ten years now. More like twenty-five, if you count when I started. I’m fairly sure I know the ropes by now, stalkers and all.”

  What? Did he really feel like he’d been working at this that long? Not just playing, but working? And how much did that have to do with the town? And his dad?

  She was thinking about it, because she was a helper. It was what she did. And then she wasn’t, because he still had her hand and was heading into a cozy lobby that looked like no hotel she’d ever seen. The room’s ceiling was made up of plaster and tree trunks, it had a fire burning in a sort of conical adobe fireplace that she was sure had a name, the grounds outside were lit with absolute subtlety to show off a rocky streambed, steaming against a snowy backdrop just like Yellowstone, except with no killer bison, and the whole place just screamed “comfort.”

  They didn’t check in, because the front-desk woman signaled to a bellman the moment she saw them, and about three minutes later, they were stopping outside a door with a plaque on it. Harlan said, “This is you and Dyma. You’ve both got a spa treatment in …” He looked at his watch. “About twenty minutes, so don’t fall asleep. I thought we’d get room service after that. More comfortable. Want to invite Owen and me over for dinner?”

  “Uh …” She was having trouble processing, because the plaque said Morocco Suite, and then the bellman opened the door, and … wow.

  Dyma said, “You’re kidding.” She was looking, too.

  Owen said, “I hope they make a decent steak and give you some sides. All of this spa stuff is giving me a bad feeling. This better not be one of those weight-loss deals, where your outdoor yoga class followed by the Buddhist meditation is supposed to make you not notice that you ate three hundred calories for breakfast and lunch is still two hours away.”

  “How would you possibly know about that?” Dyma asked.

  “I read a lot of magazines on planes,” he said.

  Harlan said, “Since nobody’s answering me, I’m just going to make a plan here. Owen and I will come knock at your door at seven.” He gave Jennifer a smile, and it didn’t look one bit practiced. “Try to stay awake for me, OK?”

  Dyma said, “Mom.”

  The bellman had deposited their suitcases and left again, and they were standing in the middle of their … living room.

  It was Moroccan, yes, it was. It was so Moroccan. It was also the most beautiful room she’d ever seen. The plaster walls were sponged with more of that terra cotta color, overlaid with stenciled arches that looked like mosaics. The ceiling had tree-trunk beams again, and every piece of furniture was vibrantly patterned and colored. It was warm and cozy and like no possible hotel room on the planet.

  There was a fruit basket on the coffee table, too. It had a flat black box stuck into the midst of the perfectly shaped, perfectly ripe pears, secured by stretchy gold cord tied in a bow. She had a bad feeling about that box.

  “Two bedrooms and two bathrooms,” Dyma said, coming back from an exploration and instantly going for the black box. “Ooh. Truffles. Wow.” She bit into a huge, decadent-looking round thing, opened her eyes wide, and said, “Spicy dark chocolate. Cayenne pepper, I guess. That’s amazing. Taste.”

  Jennifer did. This wasn’t turning out to be the weekend to start her new resolutions, that was for sure.

  Dyma said, “This is the most bizarre trip. It’s like—whiplash. Also, one of the bathrooms is amazing. It’s like a shrine in there. I’m guessing that’s yours. And, see, I told you Mark took you for granted. We should take pictures and text them to him. That’d be so great.”

  “Nope,” Jennifer said. “We broke up. No point.”

  “Mom,” Dyma said. “Revenge? Also, there’s a courtyard out there with a private hot tub, and there are waterfalls here, too.”

  “They’d freeze,” Jennifer said automatically. Owen had been right. It was cold in New Mexico. Not in here, though. In here, a gas fire was burning in another of those conical fireplaces, and the reds and oranges and yellows and blues in the woven fabrics, the Oriental rug, the walls, were warming her up all by themselves. Not to mention the spicy dark chocolate. She grabbed it from Dyma and got the last bite.

  Dyma barely noticed, because she’d picked up a piece of paper from the coffee table. Also because Dyma had the ability not to eat the last bite. Dyma could somehow leave a Snickers bar in the fridge for an impossible length of time and just forget about it. For exactly how long, Jennifer didn’t know, because after a couple weeks, the Snickers bar sang a siren song to her right through the refrigerator door, and she ate it.

  “The hot tub is salt water,” Dyma informed her, “and so is the therapeutic pool with the waterfalls. I didn’t even know that was a thing. Too bad we didn’t bring our suits. Also too bad it’s just for one night. The water in the stream is heated, that’s why it doesn’t freeze.” She read some more and put the paper down. “Whoa. This place was in Oprah’s magazine as the best place to spend Christmas. For people who spend Christmas in resorts, that is, which isn’t too much of the population. Tell me again why this is happening.”

  Jennifer sat down in an upholstered armchair in front of the fireplace. It had roses on it, because, apparently, why not. Sitting down hurt, but then, moving hurt, too. “I have no idea,” she said. “I know that we shouldn’t expect it to keep happening, though. You are not some … some football groupie. You’re so much more than that.”

  Dyma sighed. “Excuse me? I’m the one with all the serious future plans, not the one who … well, let’s see. Whose boyfriend just whisked her away on a private jet, maybe?”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Jennifer said. “Not even for the night.”

  “That’s right,” Dyma said. “Just a random guy flying you to New Mexico so you can stay at a luxury hotel and he can buy you a spa treatment. A mysterious spa treatment. They’ve got a menu for that here, too. Some of this stuff looks a little … extra. Wonder what he decided was good enough for his not-girlfriend who he’s definitely not trying to impress?”

  “I don’t know,” Jennifer said, and tried not to be impressed. It wasn’t easy. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see.”

  21

  Melting

  When Harlan knocked at the door of the suite, Jennifer didn’t answer. Dyma did. She was wearing a Pink Floyd T-shirt with her jeans this time. The shirt was faded and tight, like she’d bought it when she was younger—like, for example, fifteen—and her jeans were cut a little low, allowing him to see that her belly button was pierced by a silver barbell with a tiny ring hanging from the bottom stud, just to give Owen something else to stare at. She held the door, tipped her buzz-cut blonde head to one side, letting the longer layers fall free, gestured them into the suite, and informed them, “We’re pretty relaxed in here. Could be dangerous. Mom’s especially relaxed, since you sent over that bottle of wine. I’m not sure she’s made it out of her robe. They have these fantastic bathrobes, like wearing a cloud. I kind of want to steal one, even though I’ve never actually stolen anything.”

  “Yeah?” Owen asked. “Tonight your night to be bad? So what was your spa treatment?”

  “I had a massage,” she said. “Which Harlan knows, because he booked it. It was pretty amazing. More than an hour long, and they used hot stones on your back, which feels better than you
’d think, and played soothing music, and there was a fancy shower room to use afterwards with all these different lotions. Although in fairness, I’m not sure if it was actually amazing or not. It being my first time and all.”

  “Yeah?” Owen asked.

  “Oh, yeah,” she agreed. “First time for everything, I guess. I’m lucky mine was that good, huh?” With a sidelong look from those blue eyes that Owen wasn’t going to be great at resisting.

  Harlan cleared his throat, and Owen glanced at him and said, “You don’t even have to say it.”

  “And yet,” he said, “it feels so much like I do.”

  The bedroom door opened and Jennifer came out, smoothing her coppery curls around her face. And, yes, she was still in her robe, her feet bare. Her legs were bare, too. She looked so pretty, her complicated, curvy mouth soft and a glass of red wine in her hand, and he wanted to be alone with her so bad, he could taste it.

  “Well, hi,” he said, once he could manage it.

  “Hi,” she said, and smiled. A slow, glorious thing of eyes and mouth and square face and freckles, and there was also nothing but pale skin and a few more freckles showing in the deep vee front of that robe. She told him, “I can’t seem to get out of my bathrobe.”

  Owen told Dyma, “Know what I want to do? Eat in the restaurant. Can’t take Thor, because somebody always figures out it’s him, and then he makes us run away before I’m even done. They’ve got steak, though, because I checked, and I want it, but I don’t want to try to cut it on this coffee table, all hunched over. Want to check the place out with me? We could go swimming first. That saltwater pool’s heated up nice, they said. There are these waterfalls, too. What do you think? Do some floating? Watch some stars?”