Chapter 6
Present day
Mike Pitt sucked air in through the open space between his front teeth and almost
dropped the glass he was holding. Damn arthritis. The joints in his right hand seemed
to seize up at the oddest times, making the chore of cleaning his bar glasses almost
impossible. He set the tumbler down, threw his towel over his shoulder, and then surveyed
his life’s work.
The Pitt wasn’t much to show for twenty years of sweat and blood, especially at this
time of day. It was quiet, not a lot of traffic this early on a Friday afternoon,
but it would pick up. There was always an influx of men willing to spend their paychecks
on booze and women. The sound of pool balls breaking had Mike stepping to the side
to peer across to the back room.
He should’ve long ago busted out the wall and made the poolroom into booths for private
lap dances. What kind of owner was he? There was no money in a poolroom at a strip
joint . . . ah, he meant exclusive club for men, that’s what it was called these days.
Whatever his customers wanted to call his place, Mike knew business. And he didn’t
need men betting their money on a game of billiards, he needed them out here tipping
his dancers. But he knew he’d be doing no such thing. Having a billiards table at
his bar was how he could keep his promise to the only woman he’d ever loved.
Keep an eye on Nikki for me.
Well, looking after Mary Beth’s daughter turned out to be more than he’d bargained
for. What Nikki’s momma failed to mention was that Nikki was a hellion. Well, he guessed
the apple didn’t roll far from the tree. Mary Beth had been a hellion herself. When
they’d been kids, Mary Beth sure had brought him to his knees. Well, one knee and
a ring to be specific. But that was years ago, when he believed in young love and
when the thought of kneeling didn’t cause him to break out in a cold sweat.
In Mary Beth’s day she had all the boys panting after her. Shocked the whole town
when she up and married a half-breed. Not that Mike had anything against Indians,
but he’d been shocked right along with the town—shocked and brokenhearted. So the
Logans not only had to fight against the stereotype of being born on the wrong side
of the tracks, they also had their mother to thank for adding half-breed to their
lineage.
He might not be able to do as much as he once had, but he could still keep the law
in his own bar. His trigger finger still worked fine, thank you very much, which was
just as well since the biker in the red bandanna had just grabbed Nikki and was trying
to kiss her. Mike moved and grabbed “Billy” out from under the bar. “Billy the Shotgun”
and Texas self-defense was the only law he lived by. His bar, his rules, and under
his roof none of his girls got hassled.
Nikki threw a quick elbow and moved away, but he could hear her teasing laugh from
here. The biker seemed to get the point, but still never took his gaze away as he
watched Nikki sashay around the pool table.
Mike rubbed the swollen joints on his right hand as he assessed the other players.
They were rough-looking men, part of a gang maybe, not from around here, but that
was how Nikki liked it. A long time ago the locals had stopped playing pool with Nikki,
that was if they wanted to keep their money in their pockets. Hell, Mike wasn’t against
a little gambling. He ran a strip—a gentleman’s club—himself, but he sure would like
to punch Dakota, Nikki’s old man, for teaching her how to hustle men at pool. What
had the man been thinking? There were a hundred things Dakota shoulda taught his daughter—how
not to date a loser, how to keep her legs locked at the knees, how to stay out of
strip joints and two-bit bars.
Nikki picked up her drink—whiskey neat—and barely wetted her lips. She’d been nursing
her drink for the last two hours. Unlike Cole, Nikki’s devil had never been the bottle.
No, her demon was the lure of easy money. But Mike didn’t fault her for that. Most
men, himself included, had fallen into that trap.
Cole hadn’t though. He’d made his money the old-fashioned way. By the grace of God
and a whole lot of hard work, he’d pulled himself up and gotten that horse ranch out
of the red. But Nikki was different from Cole. It wasn’t fair, but the world was less
forgiving of women than men. Where Cole had stood proud, Nikki threw off attitude.
She hadn’t had her momma around to show her how to hold her head high and keep some
Texas pride.
Nikki put on a tough show though, but what Mike saw was an angry girl so hurtin’ for
love that anyone with half a brain could tell most of what she did was an act. But
he’d known Mary Beth and what she’d wanted for her daughter. So if he cut Nikki a
little more slack than the rest of this town, he forgave himself.
There was a loud crack as a pool stick was thrown across the room. The red-bandanna
guy pushed another biker. It was just a matter of seconds before a full-out bar fight
ensued. Mike held up Billy and cocked the gun one-handed—terminator style. He might
be old, but he was still strong enough to blow some loser to kingdom come. The sound
of a sawed-off shotgun being locked and loaded had a way of silencing a crowd. All
eyes were on him, well, him and the double-barreled gaze of “Billy.”
Nikki looked away first, embarrassed. Should be, she was too old for this crap. Or
maybe he was the one who was getting too old. He kept forgetting, she was only twenty-two.
The others settled down, and finally one of the men laid down a few more dollar bills
on the table. The pile of green had been increasing steadily over the last few hours
and so were Nikki’s nerves. Oh, she held it together well enough—he wouldn’t expect
anything less from a Logan. But he saw it in the way she pushed her hair behind her
ears, held her pool stick, and studied the table like it was a complicated mathematical
equation. Yeah, Nikki was sharp. She might hide the intelligence behind those piercing
blue eyes, dye her hair a rebel black to cause a stir, but she was smarter than most
everyone in this town.
The pool balls were once again racked, and it was Nikki’s turn to break. Mike didn’t
even have to watch to know that the break was good. The sound of the pool balls exploding
into all four corners across the green was heard throughout the Pitt. Apparently,
Nikki thought the hustle was over and it was time to close the deal. Mike didn’t want
to cause trouble for Nikki, but if she didn’t change course quick, it wouldn’t be
long before she’d be asking him for a job. And if he made Mary Beth’s daughter a strip—an
exotic dancer—well, let’s just say he’d rather be in the place where pitchforks were
the norm and the weather was like south Texas in the middle of summer.
There was only one person who cared for Nikki enough to put up with her crap—cared
enough to drag her kicking and screaming from herself. He just hoped Jett could pull
his head out of his ass long enough to see that Nikki was worth it.
Nikki’s gaze followed the small, white, spinning ball as it traveled across the green
felt. Her heart and the cue ball were one as both dead-dropped into the pocket after
the black eight.
A freaking scratch.
She never lost a game. Well, not when she wasn’t trying to lose. But she just had—lost
a game when she should’ve won. There was a moment, ten seconds maybe, when she was
dizzy, colors spun with the sickening reality that she didn’t have the money to cover
her bet.
She braced herself with a hand on the table and quickly tried to pull herself together.
She licked her lips and gave a laugh that sounded fake even to her. “Hey, hey . .
.” God, what was it? Bob or Bill? In her mind she’d referred to him as Bandanna-man.
Who did he think he was kidding? Everyone knew what he was hiding—a receding hairline.
Regardless, it would’ve been smart of her to figure out his name beforehand. Her dad
would’ve been disappointed. She was better than this. “How about we go double or nothing?
One more round. Winner takes all.”
But even as she said it, she knew it was a no-go. Toward the end, her patience had
run thin and she’d potted the balls with speed. There was no way she could pass her
game off as a total fluke. And since everyone seemed to be packing a gun except her,
there was also no way she was getting out without paying with money or her life. The
problem was she only had one of those to give and twenty-two was just too young to
die in a sleazy strip joint in the middle of Texas.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart. A deal’s a deal,” said Bandanna-man. His pack-a-day
habit had grayed out his skin, but color had seeped back in now that lust was wetting
his eyes. Lust for her or the thousand dollars that should be coming to him, she wasn’t
sure.
She nodded and gave what she hoped was a good-sportsmanship smile.
Monday-through-Friday
, she was in trouble, but even in a time like this she couldn’t get her mother’s voice
out of her head.
Just because we’re poor doesn’t mean we have to curse like trash.
Hence, the euphemisms of
Monday-through-Friday
,
bowed-ship
, and
shut-the-front-door
. God, that woman had more power from beyond the grave than she had when she was alive.
Use the gifts God gave you, Sunshine.
Gee, thanks, Mom. Another jeweled piece of advice that got her nowhere. ’Course, she
would’ve appreciated if God had given her a little less ability to do calculus and
a little more green in the bank. Instead, her only two assets worth a damn were her
ability to play pool and a pair of strong, long legs. But maybe her mother had a point.
Even a broken clock was right twice a day.
God
had
given her two assets for a reason. If one failed her, then it was time to use the
other.
She picked up her drink, and, swirling the amber liquid in the glass, she made a move
toward her mouth. But instead of wetting her lips, she tossed the contents in Bandanna-man’s
face. And ran for hell.
Chapter 7
Katie’s hand trembled as she ran the currycomb over Fat Albert’s withers, the repetitive
motion soothing her as much as the horse. Katie needed to be here at the stables,
needed to be in a place where she had some measure of control, unlike when she’d paced
the gray halls of the hospital earlier.
Your father’s surgery didn’t go as well as hoped.
The horse shook his head and stomped a foot, but otherwise stayed in place. Fat Albert
was just that, fat and a bit on the lazy side, which was why she chose him. She wasn’t
up for a fight.
Were the stables chilly or was it just her? Her icy fingers were so numb she could
barely grasp the brush.
The currycomb grew heavy, and she needed both hands to raise it to the old horse’s
rangy mane. Exhaustion broke over her, and instead of stroking through, she leaned
against the gelding to keep herself upright.
We had to restart his heart three times before he stabilized.
She drew the back of her hand across her forehead—slow, shaky. She couldn’t believe
she was sweating. Would she ever be warm again?
He’s in critical condition. We can be more optimistic if he makes it through the night.
Somewhere deep in her gut a scream was born. She pressed her mouth to her arm, muffling
any sound, and broke with a silent sob instead.
She shuddered. Her arms shook, her legs weakened. The thought of crumpling into a
motionless heap had never seemed more inviting.
The door of the stables banged open. Katie quickly straightened and dashed the wetness
off her cheeks. She twisted her fingers in Fat Albert’s mane, nails pinching into
her palms to keep her focus.
“Were you going to tell me he almost died on the table?” Cole’s voice had the bite
of winter’s wind. “Or was I just supposed to find out at the funeral?”
Yeah, he was angry. She could feel him seething behind her, but she couldn’t face
him. She was too weak, too ultra-sensitive to fight with him. If she made a move,
if she turned, she would fall into the arms of the one person who loved Pa as much
as she did. The temptation made her mouth water, but she bit her tongue instead.
She’d lose. She always did with Cole. She’d fought long and hard to cut him out of
her heart, and now she’d never be able to look herself in the mirror if she crawled
back. Instead, she leaned her cheek against Fat Albert’s shoulder and breathed deep.
“I should’ve been there.” Cole spoke as if he fought to keep his voice from breaking.
“I have just as much right to be with him as you do.”
And he did. He had every reason to be there. If anyone was a son to Pa, it was Cole.
Unlike her, he had never left.
“If he had died, and I didn’t get to say good-bye,” he said in a rough whisper, “I
don’t think I could’ve forgiven you.”
And she’d have never forgiven herself. It only made it worse that her own weakness
was what had kept her from calling Cole.
She needed him to leave. She was small and broken, and more than a little shamed,
but pride kept her knees locked. Cole had witnessed her shattered before; he wouldn’t
again. “Only family members are allowed to visit.”
Katie felt as much as heard Cole’s sharp intake of breath. She squeezed her eyes shut,
and wished she could block her ears as easily.
“Damn you, Katie. You don’t care who you hurt in the process, just as long as you
feel vindicated. Well, screw you. I’m done making apologies.”
Had he ever apologized? She remembered being eighteen and wanting nothing more than
a whisper of remorse from Cole. But it had never come. He had let her walk out the
door and out of his life.
Something raw, dark, animal-like throbbed in her brain. Pa was the only family she
had left, and Cole hadn’t kept him safe. She hurt. Cole needed to hurt. She whipped
around and attacked. “What was Pa doing out here anyway? Why was he working when you
knew,
you knew
, he had a bad heart? Was killing off your own father not enough? Did you have to
take mine also?”
Cole’s face blanched of all color, and he staggered back like he’d taken a blow. He
reached up and steadied himself on the stable wall. “Is that what you think?”
Cole headed toward the door. He didn’t wait for a response. Why should he? She knew
she spoke the truth, or the only truth she was willing to accept. Katie watched his
retreating form with a mixture of regret and longing.
Then Cole stopped and Katie’s stomach pitched. She watched him turn, then stalk her
like a wild animal.
He pinned her without a touch; just the force of his gaze had her backing up flush
against Fat Albert.
“No.” He shook his head, disgust etched in the line of his mouth. “You want to fling
words around like they don’t hurt? Fine. Let’s have it out, Katie.”
“What do you mean?” But she knew and hadn’t meant to go there.
“It’s so easy to blame everyone else, huh? So easy to throw everything back in my
face. And yeah, Katie, I have guilt, but let’s get this right. Who seduced who?” He
captured her entire focus with a two-finger touch on her chin. “No, don’t shake your
head and look at me with your I’m-so-innocent doll eyes. Bring it out in the open.
Time to shame the devil and tell the truth—time to face up to what happened between
us all those years ago.”
Senior year
Katie applied the thick charcoal eyeliner with a heavy hand, then added a second coat
of mascara for good measure. The brown eyes that looked back at her from the bathroom
mirror were exotic and smoky, years older than their current seventeen.
Tonight was Prom. Not that she could’ve cared less about the outdated, overrated,
high-school rite of passage. But tonight was also the first Friday of the month, which
meant Cole would be coming over to her house to talk business with Pa.
Her pa treated Cole like the son he’d never had, and in turn Cole had developed a
deep respect for the man who had helped Cole through the years after his own father’s
death. Not that Cole ever accepted much help. He took his responsibilities for his
family and ranch seriously, having been made into a man the day his father died.
It was Pa who insisted that Cole come over for a decent meal and to talk horseflesh.
They would discuss Cole’s future plans for the ranch and review business matters.
Katie didn’t know all the details. Pa was a private man and always showed respect
for others and their business, but it was common knowledge Cole’s father had recklessly
thrown all the family savings into his dream of owning and breeding horses. When he’d
died of a heart attack, he’d left the Logan family destitute, and no one but young
Cole was left to pick up the slack. Katie had gleaned over the years that Pa had helped
where he could. He’d even given Cole a loan to keep the family business afloat.
And usually business was the only thing that Cole was focused on, but not tonight.
Not if Katie could help it. She outlined her upper lip with the precision of an artist.
She followed the bow with a dusty pink, purposely accentuating the natural poutiness.
She opened her mouth wide and filled in the rest of her nude lip with the “Sinfully
Shiny” gloss. She checked the desired effect, and then air-kissed her reflection.
Poor Cole, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
Not that he had many chances. The years hadn’t been kind to Cole. His mother had never
gotten over his father’s death and could barely summon the strength to take care of
Cole and his sister, Nikki, much less herself. She gave up what little fight she had
left after being diagnosed with breast cancer a while back, finally dying after a
year of being bedridden.
Which had basically left Nikki and Cole to fend for themselves. And Cole had tried
to be a good big brother, but something had happened to Nikki in those years of taking
care of her mother. Nikki had fallen into the wrong crowd—pool halls, fast cars, and
even faster boys. Katie could tell Cole was worried about his sister, but he had no
clue when it came to Nikki. Katie couldn’t blame him—he was so much better with horses
than he was with females.
Katie rechecked her hair for the third time, the only part of her appearance that
concerned her. She’d planned on a sweeping elegant updo, going for a dignified and
mature look, but after an hour she’d only achieved a messy French twist. A flutter
of uncharacteristic nervousness tickled her belly. She shook her head. There was no
time for second-guessing. The dark strands that fell and brushed her shoulders would
have to suffice. Only a saint would have the patience to tame her hair, and she had
even less than the average sinner.
She shrugged off her robe and stepped into her dress, enjoying the cool feel of silk
as it shimmied up her body. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the zipper. She
dropped the tab, stretched her fingers, then tried again with success. The strapless
black dress was a creation of bunched fabric that molded her newly formed curves.
The skirt ended mid-thigh, but only after it cupped her derrière, toned and firm from
years on horseback.
There was nothing like this dress at the local mall, which was stocked with shiny
taffeta-polyester gowns, spun directly from little girls’ dreams of princesses and
glamorous balls. She had found her dress online after pouring through fashion magazines
for months, and duplicated the look of the gaunt, sophisticated models that graced
the glossy pages. She was grown up now, and it was time others noticed it as well.
Things between Cole and her had changed. Katie still got up early to help with the
unloading of hay, but now they were never alone. Cole had asked the ranch hands to
come in earlier and had stopped bringing coffee to the stables. Cole’s respect for
Pa would never let him cross a line with her, imaginary or not.
Katie was running out of time. Graduation was just around the corner, and she knew
the summer would fly. Soon it would be time for her to head out of state to college.
Her father had put away money for her since she was born so her tuition was already
paid. It would take her four years to complete her undergraduate degree and then another
four for vet school. Aside from a few school breaks here and there, she’d be gone
for close to eight years. And that was too long for her to be away from Cole. He would
be sure to have forgotten her by then, or worse, some other woman would have her claws
in him before Katie could get back.
She wasn’t completely naïve. She didn’t expect marriage. She only wanted an inclination,
some sort of commitment, so she could persuade her father to let her stay. Cole had
to see her as a woman, not as a child, and then she was sure he would tell her he
loved her. There were already signs. Small tells—the way his eyes traveled across
her face when he saw her, the way he now avoided touching her, when before he’d greeted
her with bear hugs and ponytail tugs. The way he would stand still whenever they were
in the same room together.
Katie slipped toes freshly painted deep red into the slinky three-inch-heeled gold
sandals. She loved the sleek elongated look her legs instantly achieved. This was
an important night, one she had planned down to every detail.
The time for waiting for Cole to come to his senses was over. She’d already waited
her whole life. Cole was going to step over that line, even if that meant she had
to grab his shirt and pull him across.
Cole wiped the sweat from his brow. His body, still damp from his quick shower, had
his last clean white tee sticking to him like paint on wood. He raked his fingers
through his wet hair, trying for a quick air dry during the short walk from his home
to the Harrises’. He’d checked the time before leaving. It was a quarter to six and
he knew dinner was set on the table precisely on the hour.
Cole quickened his step, hating to be late, but couldn’t help sparing a glance at
the distant horizon. The two adjoining properties were located at the edge of town,
the last civilization before the endless expanse of land that stretched wide and gave
a soul room to breathe. The sky mirrored the grassy terrain with its endless canvas
of blue, until both met in a bold demarcation separating heaven from earth, mortal
from spirit. He didn’t give much thought to his dead parents, simply because there
wasn’t a lot of time in the day to dwell on the past. But sometimes, in these moments,
Cole wondered if his dad were still alive whether he’d be proud of Cole’s accomplishments
or simply disappointed in the leaky roof on the barn. Cole supposed there was never
an easy age to lose a father, but sixteen had been particularly tough. He’d been at
the age when he’d questioned his father, when he’d wanted to establish his own identity
apart from his old man’s. Looking back, Cole wished they’d had the time to grow past
that, to get to an easy place between father and son.
Cole mentally shook off his melancholy. Feeling sorry for oneself took energy, and
he had little enough energy to spare. His long gait quickly ate up the distance from
his gravel drive to the Harrises’ grassy lawn. Cole held up his hand to block the
sun as it shot the last fading rays between the leaves of the oaks that lined the
western arena. Other than when he left his hat at home, like tonight, he never thought
much about his attire. Clothes were practical—hat to keep the sun off, boots to keep
the manure out. But in honor of his dinner plans, he’d put on his best black boots,
not much different from his work boots, just less crap on the bottom.