sometimes,” he says. “Too good. Elias here pulled a damn movie star, and that’s with being a Saint. And having one leg.”
Elias laughs. “Fuck yeah,” he says. “But it’s probably ‘cause my dick’s bigger than yours.”
“Screw you guys.”
“Maybe you should go screw your girl,” Silas suggests. “Maybe that will change your shitty attitude.”
“Get out. Both of you.”
“Are you shitting me?” Elias says. “Lighten up, man.”
“I’m light,” I spit back. “As a damn feather. I just can’t stand to hear your voices anymore. Hurts my ears.”
“Dude, don’t be stupid…”
But it’s my goddamned house and I’ll kick them the hell out if I want to.
And I’ll have a shitty fucking attitude if I want to have one.
When my brothers leave, I make a phone call. Not to Autumn. Hell, I’m the last person on earth she’d want to see after she saw me and Tempest together. I call my guy, the foreman I sent over to work for her – a guy I knew from working with on a contract back a few years ago, who lives a few hours away and was willing to do me a favor.
“How’s she doing, Mike?” I ask.
“Fine, fine,” he says. “No activity at the orchard.”
“Alright. Just checking in.”
“Although…”
“Although what?”
“She’s going out someplace tonight,” he says. “I heard her talking about it with the nanny before I took off, making plans for a date or something.”
“A date?” I ask, my voice rising. “With who?”
“How the hell should I know, Luke?” Mike asks. “It’s none of my business.”
“I asked you to keep an eye on her,” I say. Blood pounds in my ears and I’m mentally running through a checklist of who she could be going out with and where she could be. This town isn’t that big.
“Yeah, man,” he says. “You said to keep an eye out for assholes from the mining company, not guys who want to go out with her. I didn’t come out here to stalk your girlfriend for you.”
“She’s not my damn…” I pause, thinking about how badly I’d like to punch anyone who might lay a finger on her. “I’m not stalking her.”
“Is there actually something going on, man? Where she’s in actual danger? Because if you’ve gone off the deep end with some chick, following her and bullshit, now you’re just in psycho territory and I’m not going to be a part of that kind of crazy.”
“She’s in actual danger,” I say, my voice firm. “Potentially.”
Mike laughs under his breath, the sound low. “Shit, man. Potentially,” he says. “That sounds a lot like no.”
“Just keep an eye on the fucking house,” I say absently. “Keep an eye on Autumn and Olivia.”
“Seriously, dude,” he says. “You might need to talk to someone, get some help, you know?”
I hang up on him.
What I need to do is go find Autumn.
31
Autumn
“Running an orchard is good,” I say, trying to focus. I forgot what I was going to say. My mind keeps wandering, bouncing from one subject to another but landing back on Luke each time. Even out to dinner with another man, I’m thinking about Luke.
Admittedly, this isn’t an actual date. If it were, it would be a terrible date. Hell, I’d be a terrible date.
This is a business dinner. With a man who happens to be charming, and handsome, and rich – exactly the kind of man I should be interested in. Except that he wants my orchard. And even though he's cordial and smiles and asks my thoughts about the mining company buying up land in town, he's really only wining and dining me because I'd spoken out at the town hall meeting against his company. And I'm pretty sure he's a very bad man.
“Do you ever think about packing it all up?” Randall Edwards asks. He’s casual and relaxed as he sits back in his chair, surveying me, sizing me up. But he’s not really relaxed. He’s not casual at all. He’s a shark, a predator, the kind I recognize from my corporate days. “Running an orchard is hard work.”
I bristle at his words. “You mean, hard work for a woman.”
“Not at all,” he says, nonplussed. A smile pulls at the corners of his mouth, as if my irritation amuses him. “Running an orchard is hard work for anyone. Of course, you are a single mother with a small child. It’s exponentially harder work for you, I imagine. I’d think you would be pleased with our offer. You have no family here in this town. It's just you and your child. Our offer is fair. I'd even be willing to negotiate.”
He speaks the words with a smile, yet I’m not convinced there’s not a veiled threat behind his words, with his talk of me being a single mother of a small child. But if there is, I’m not about to be intimidated by someone like him.
“Let me ask you something, Mr. Edwards,” I say, leaning forward. “Are you in the habit of wining and dining the people in this town whose properties you’re trying to buy up? Is this standard operating procedure for you?”
Now he does smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and it has the effect of making him look cold instead of charming. “Only when the people whose properties I’m trying to buy are as beautiful as you.”
“It’s funny, though, a mining company buying up all these places,” I muse, studying him. "That doesn’t seem like the way it usually works.”
“People have been pleased with the offers we’ve made.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard,” I say, sipping my wine. “And I’ve also heard you’re not the only game in town, Mr. Edwards. There’s another extraction company here. And that might not make anyone else here curious, but it makes me curious.”
He opens his mouth to speak, and he might even be saying something, but I'm not listening, because behind him, the door opens and Luke walks in.
He's out of place, completely at odds with this restaurant, wearing jeans and a pair of work boots, and when his eyes meet mine, there's a split second where I feel guilty, as if I've been caught cheating.
Except then I remind myself that there's no relationship – there's nothing between us, nothing to cheat on.
I sit there, staring at him as he walks toward our table. "You shouldn't be here," I say when he reaches us, my voice cold, cutting him off before he can speak.
“Evening, Ms. Mayburn,” he says, his tone excessively friendly. “It’s funny, running into you here like this.”
Randall Edwards looks at Luke, then back at me, quietly appraising the situation. “Is this someone you know?”
“It’s someone I used to know,” I say. “Someone who’s probably just leaving.”
“Actually,” Luke says. “I just came in here because I was trying to be neighborly. I think you’re the owner of the red sports car out front, right? I passed some kids out there, juvenile-delinquent looking types, running away from it. Tires are flat. Might want to check it out, call someone about it.”
“Fuck,” Edwards says, standing up and throwing his napkin in the middle of the table. He pauses, looking back and forth between Luke and I, trying to read whatever the relationship is between us. He looks at Luke accusingly. “There are cameras outside this restaurant, just so you know.”
Then he’s gone, and it’s Luke and I. The restaurant is dead quiet, quieter than it was before, no more hushed whispers and romantic talks.
I lean forward, my tone hushed, practically fuming, aware that all eyes are on me. “What the hell did you do?” I ask. “Did you just slash that guy's tires? What, are you some kind of fucking lunatic?”
“I didn’t know you were on a date with one of the bigwigs from the mining company,” Luke says. “That is not a good man.”
“You didn't know I was on a date, or you didn't know I was on a date with him in particular?" I ask, trying to keep my voice quiet. “Have you been keeping tabs on me?"
"That guy is an asshole," Luke says, dodging my question. "Not someone who needs to be anywher
e near you."
I raise my eyebrows, leaning forward to hiss my response through gritted teeth. "You say that like you have some kind of claim over me. And in case you were wondering, you most definitely do not have a claim on me. Not after the way you – you know what? I’m not having this conversation, here of all places.”
“Autumn, you need to listen to me.”
It hits me. I was stupid to not realize it before, naïve to think that he was somehow trying to look out for me by sending me a new foreman for the orchard, trying to make up for the fact that he was being a total jerk. My hands shaking, I reach into my purse to pull out cash and place it on the table. “The foreman -- the one you sent. He’s spying on me, isn’t he?” I ask, my voice trembling. “You… I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you, but you’re a psycho.”
Pulling my purse over my shoulder, I don’t look at him, or anyone else in the restaurant, even though I can feel their eyes on me. I storm out the front door, half-holding my breath as I leave, not wanting to deal with Edwards either. But he's already gone, his car and its flat tires still there.
My head is spinning as I open the car door.
“Autumn,” Luke yells, grabbing me by the wrist and turning me around. “Listen to me. I was trying to protect you. I did it the wrong way, but I was trying to keep you safe.”
I shake off his hand. "I don't know what kind of game you're playing here, Luke, but I'm not. And I'm going home."
"Autumn, damn it." He doesn't let go of my wrist, keeps his hand wrapped around it like he has a right to touch me. It makes me instantly angry. And what makes me angrier is the fact that when he touches me, heat rushes through me the same way it did before. I’m attracted to him, and I hate myself for it. In my head, I know he’s bad for me – someone who texts me to break up with me, then sends someone to replace him as foreman to spy on me, then shows up at a restaurant and slashes some guy’s tires – this guy is not a good person.
And I’m clearly not a good judge of character.
And despite whatever fucked up attraction my body might have toward him, I’m a mom. I have to be a good judge of character. For Olivia.
I wrench my wrist from his grasp and try not to notice the fact that he looks at me the same way he did before, with lust in his eyes. And I try to ignore the desire that courses through my body. “Back the fuck away from me right now, Luke,” I warn him, “or I will scream.”
He doesn’t take his eyes off me, but he steps back. “Autumn, damn it, I’m not a psychopath,” he says. “And I can explain about –”
But I’m not listening. “I don’t want to hear another word," I tell him, opening the car door and slipping inside. I lock the doors, half-afraid he’s going to keep me from leaving, but he doesn’t. Instead, I pull away and try not to look at him in the rearview mirror when I leave.
32
Luke
The knock on the door jolts me awake, but even if it didn’t, Lucy is growling at the bedroom door, her hackles raised the way she only rarely gets. I’m startled awake, not even the least bit groggy after a sleepless night wracked with dreams about her.
I’ve never dreamt about a girl before. Hell, I've rarely cared about anything enough to have nightmares about it – the only nightmares I've had have been about my brothers.
And now, Autumn and Olivia.
I peer out the window at the police cruiser in the driveway and Jed Easton standing on the step in front of the camper. I knew this visit would be coming, but hell if I want to deal with Jed Easton right now.
On the way to the front door, I grab my firearm, sliding it into the back waistband of my jeans before I slip on my jacket – just in case Jed gets the idea that shooting me is a good way of dealing with me.
Lucy doesn’t calm down when I pull the door open, and I have to tell her twice to go chase squirrels to keep her from attacking the sheriff.
“Sheriff Easton. Whatever brings you out here this fine morning?”
“Had a report of a disturbance at the Quarter Moon Restaurant last night,” he says, looking at me from behind mirrored sunglasses. “An altercation with Randall Edwards. His tires were slashed. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now, would you?”
“Now, I don’t think I do,” I say. I lean against the doorframe casually. If he can play this bullshit dance-around-the-subject-and-lie-through-his-teeth game, so can I. “In fact, I saw a couple of kids running away from the car, which is why I went inside the restaurant to let him know. Out of courtesy.”
“You’re a regular Good Samaritan, aren’t you, Saint?” he says.
I shrug. “You know, I'm just doing my neighborly duty, Sheriff. Now, I hope you didn't drive all the way out here just to ask that one question. I'd hate for you to have wasted your time."
“I heard that Autumn Mayburn was at the restaurant,” he says. “Some patrons said you were harassing her, arguing with her about something. She wanted you to leave.”
My jaw clenches just hearing him speak her name. “Did she say I was harassing her?” Would Autumn think I was harassing her?
“I haven’t talked to her yet,” he says. “What do you think she’s going to say about the incident?”
“Well, I imagine she can go ahead and speak for herself,” I say. “If she wants to file a claim of harassment, I expect that you’ll come back and pick me up.”
He gives me a long hard look. “Or maybe you and your brothers decide that West Bend isn’t the place for you anymore,” he suggests, “and you decide to go ahead and get gone, leave this town in peace.”
“The way you left my mother in peace?” I ask. I can’t help myself. I want to know whether he killed her, and I want to hear it from his lips. I want to look him in the eye when he answers.
Jed’s eyes narrow. “Your mother never knew her place. That was really her problem, you know. People get uppity, think they deserve better than what they’re born into. They think they’re better than their lot in life. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, though, does it?”
“You did it. You killed her." Anger rushes through me, floods me like a wave, and I lunge for Jed without thinking.
In a flash, Jed draws his weapon, and I’m looking at the barrel of his gun. “You really think that’s a good idea, Saint?” he asks. “Out here, in the middle of nowhere? Someone unhinged like you would be easy to get rid of. Just as easy as your crazy mother."
“Shoot me, Jed,” I say, taunting him. “If you’re going to do it, just go ahead and do it instead of talking about it. Look me in the face and kill me like a man. Or do you only kill women?"
He stands, his hands steady, holding the gun at me, and I think he might actually shoot me right here, leave me for dead in front of my camper. “Nah, Saint,” he says instead. “I’m not going to shoot you here. I don’t need to. You’ve got more powerful enemies than me.”
“You have no idea the world of shit you’re in, you stupid prick," I say, my teeth gritted.
He laughs as he backs away slowly with his gun aimed at my head. I contemplate rushing him or pulling my weapon on him. But I don't – because of the image that flashes in my head. When I think about drawing on him, I see Autumn's face. And I know I can't do that to her. I'm going to make sure she's safe.
“Yeah, Saint?” he taunts, several feet away, with his back nearly against his patrol vehicle. “Seems to me that I’ve gotten away with shit just fine.”
The thing that consoles me as he backs into his vehicle and then pulls down my driveway is that it’s just a matter of fucking time. Tempest's crew is working the angles to take them down in a way that doesn't come back on us, that doesn't involve me being sent to prison and away from Autumn and Olivia.
Before them, I wouldn't have given a shit about possibly going to prison. Before them, I'd been living full-throttle, on the edge, with no obligations and no demands placed on me. Because I thought that was really living.
Now, I'm beginning to realize I was just running.
&
nbsp; And I don’t want to run anymore.
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