ABANDON ALL HOPE: The Hope Brother Series (Book Two) (13 page)

My fist made contact with his jaw before I even knew what was happening.  He sprawled on the barn floor, his hand flying to his jaw.  He laughed through a trickle of blood that escaped over his lips, and then he jumped to his feet and came at me.

He barreled into my stomach, knocking me down, and we hit the floor together, a tangle of flying fists and bits of hay and jabbing knees.  His fist knocked me square in my right eye, and I blinked away the pain, pulling my knee up into his chest and pushing him off of me.

He landed on the ground beside me and I rolled over on top of him, pummeling his dirty mouth with my now bloody fists.

Strong arms snaked around my chest, pulling me backwards as I flailed in the air.  I fought against them, and then I heard Seth’s voice in my ear.

“Crit, stop it, goddammit, stop this shit right now!” he hollered.

I landed on my feet, and shrugged him off of me.  Lincoln jumped to his feet, spitting blood on the ground, before giving me another bloody smile.

“You just fucked up, Hope,”  he sneered.  “You attacked the wrong man.”

“Fuck you!” I spat, starting for him again.  Seth grabbed my arm again, pulling me back.

“Get the fuck out of here,” Seth yelled, “before I let him demolish your face even more.”

Lincoln took three steps forward, his voice a low, seething, evil sneer.

“You have no idea who you I am.  I’ll destroy you.” He turned on his heel, wiping his chin, and walking out of the barn.

The sound of his engine starting and the gravel crunching under his tires let us know he was gone.

“What the fuck was that about?” Seth asked.

“That was about a man protecting what’s his,” I replied.

***

After I went in the house and cleaned up, without explaining myself any further to Seth, I dialed Ruby’s number.

This prick was bad news and I didn’t want him anywhere near her.

She didn’t answer.

“Ruby, it’s me,” I said into her voice mail.  “Call me right away.  Do NOT go out with Lincoln.  He’s a fucking snake.”

I hung up the phone and immediately called Johnson’s office.  He answered right away, and I told him without going into too much detail that I didn’t anticipate Lincoln LaCroix would be willing to negotiate after all.

“Well, that’s too bad, Crit, it really puts us in a pickle.  With the way the will is written, Lincoln is the one who gets to make the decisions on how to handle all of this.”

“There’s got to be some other way,” I insisted.

“I’m sorry, son.  I can’t think of anything but let me do some research.  If I come up with anything, I’ll let you know right away.”

I hung up the phone again, and went straight to the kitchen and poured myself a shot of whiskey.   My eye was throbbing, but I ignored it, focusing more on relieving the pain inside of my head.

I had one more person I could call for help.

I picked up the phone again and Hank Haggard answered on the first ring.

“Crit!” he answered, his strong, clear voice reminding me of my father’s.

“Hank, I need some help.”

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

I sat at the bar of the saloon, watching my phone light up every fifteen minutes.

“You ignoring somebody?” Jimmy asked, bringing me another beer.

“You could say that,” I replied. Crit had been calling me non-stop for hours, but up till now I had successfully avoided answering.  Each new call felt like a new dagger slicing through my heart.  I looked at my watch.  Lincoln was almost twenty minutes late.

Maybe he’s not coming
, I thought.  
Maybe he came to his senses and realized what a country bumpkin you are.
 

I tried to push those thoughts away, along with the incessant guilt I was feeling about Crit.  Mixed with anger and confusion and insecurity - I was a mess.  My heart felt like it was swirling out of control, and to be honest, the last thing I wanted to do was go on a date with Lincoln right now.

I don’t know why I had agreed, and I was regretting it with each passing second.  I wanted to find some big comfy bed and make love to Crit till dawn, maybe eat some ice cream or pie in between.  Anything that didn’t include this torturous despair I was going through.

I downed my second bottle of beer in ten minutes.  I threw a ten dollar bill on the bar, picked up my purse, and hopped off my bar stool.  I wasn’t even upset that Lincoln had stood me up.  I was relieved.

I had a big carton of chocolate fudge Bluebell waiting for me in my freezer at home.  I might not have Crit, but I could at least drown my sorrows in sweet, creamy chocolate.

Jimmy shouted a thank you and a goodbye and I waved at him without turning around, as I made my way out of the bar.

The sun was setting in the horizon, and I looked up at the pink and grey clouds above me.  Just a few short months ago, I would have looked at those clouds and felt joy.  Now, it was all gone.  Because of Crit and his screwed up excuses.

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice called from behind me.  I turned and gasped when I saw Lincoln.  His lower lip was swollen, and his eye was purple.

“Oh, my god, what happened to you?” I exclaimed, rushing over to him, gingerly touching his lip.  He winced in pain and pulled away.

“Your cowboy boyfriend attacked me.”

“What?” I asked. “Who?”

“Crit Hope.”

“What are you talking about, Lincoln. Why would he do this? And —,” I sputtered, “—he’s not my boyfriend!” 

“He sure seems to think he is.”

“Lincoln, I don’t understand.”

“I told you that I’m in town for business,” he began, “my uncle died and left me his land.  That land just happens to border the Hope farm, who I am guessing you know all about at this point.”

“Yes, Georgia Hope is my best friend.”

“Right.  Well, apparently her brother thinks he’s your boyfriend.”

“This doesn’t make any sense.  Why would Crit hit you?”

“Because I own his farm.  And he thinks I’m dating his girl, apparently.  He’s a very possessive guy, isn’t he?” Lincoln asked, his eyes squinting at me.

“You own his farm? What are you talking about Lincoln?”  My voice was high and frantic, my heart was racing and my head was spinning.  None of this made any sense to me.

“Look, I’ll tell you all about it later, okay?  It’s a long story.”  He tried to smile, but instead ended up wincing in pain.  “I need a drink right now.  How about we go inside and have a few cocktails before dinner?”

He turned without waiting for my reply, leaving me standing there with my jaw dropped on the sidewalk.  I forced myself to walk, following him slowly back into the saloon.

Lincoln walked straight up to the bar.

“Whiskey!” he barked at Jimmy.  “And keep it coming.”

I sat on the stool beside him, my eyes glued to his battered face.  His wounds seemed to be swelling by the second, his striking good looks not so striking anymore.

A curious Jimmy began to pour Jack Daniel’s into a shot glass before Lincoln yelled at him.

“Not that cheap shit!  For fuck’s sake, don’t you have anything better than that piss?”

“I got this and I got Maker’s,” Jimmy said, holding up the bottle of Jack. 

“Fine, give me the Maker’s.  I guess it’s too much to ask for some Glenfarcas,” he growled.

“I have no idea who Glen Farcass is,” Jimmy said, as he turned away.

“For fuck’s sake,” Lincoln said under his breath. “I can’t wait to get away from this fucking hillbilly town.”

I watched silently, impatiently, as Jimmy poured him a shot of Maker’s.

“Leave the whole fucking bottle!” Lincoln demanded.  Jimmy put the bottle down on the bar in front of us, put an empty shot glass in front of me, and turned away, his face full of obvious disdain for Lincoln.  I avoided his eye at all costs.

Lincoln downed his shot fast as lightening, poured the glass in front of me full of the sparkling amber liquor and then filled his back up.

I took a sip, the warmth flowing through my body quickly, and I reminded myself that I had already had two beers.  I had so many questions, but Lincoln looked absolutely furious, and I hesitated a few minutes before I just couldn’t stop myself.

I had to understand why he was involved with the Hopes at all.

“So, Lincoln, tell me again how you know the Hopes?”

“The Hopes,” he snarled, their name sliding off his tongue sarcastically.  “What a bunch of idiotic, hillbilly white trash they are!”

His words stung.  Every single person in that family was dear to my heart.  They were like my own family.  I had never heard a bad word uttered in this town about any of them, and I was shocked to hear Lincoln talk about them like this.  I was just about to start defending them, when he continued with his rant.

“Here’s the thing, Ruby.  I never wanted to come here.  I didn’t want anything to do with my crazy, senile Uncle Olly and neither did my mother.   But now, because they’re both dead, I’m left to pick up the pieces of their affairs.”

“Olly LaCroix is…was…your uncle?” 

“Yeah, lucky me, huh?”

“Olly was a good man, Lincoln.  I’m sorry, I didn’t know he had passed.”

“Whatever.  Apparently, he was gullible too.”

“What do you mean?” “He loaned the Hopes money a while back.  They used their farm as collateral, and they never paid the loan back.  Now, I own it.  I was going to forgive the loan completely, but when I went to look at the place today, Crit attacked me, completely unprovoked, and for no reason at all. He’s a hot head, and completely out of control.”

He glanced over at me finally, and his gaze darted down to my low cut neckline, then down to the swell of my hips and back up to my eyes, which I’m sure were filled with pain and confusion.

“A girl like you shouldn’t hang out with men like that.  They’re savage. Uncouth. Undignified.”

“Oh, I - ,” I began, and then stopped.  I what?  I had been chasing Crit around like a bitch in heat, desperate for his tiny bursts of affection, agreeing to meet him secretly, as if I was something to be ashamed of, for so long now, and I was so tired of it.  And for him to punch Lincoln because he found out I was going out with him?  As if he owned me?  The irony of it all was not lost on me.

Instead, I snapped my mouth shut, and took another sip of the whiskey in front of me.  Lincoln continued to down shot after shot, as he sat there sulking at first, and then becoming angrier and angrier as the liquor hit him.

“I will destroy that family,” he railed.  “He doesn’t know who he’s fucking with.  He’s going to regret ever laying a hand on Lincoln LaCroix.”

I was so torn.  I was angry at Georgia for telling Crit, angry at Crit for hitting Lincoln, and angry at myself for getting so tangled up with him for so long.  The more whiskey I drank, the less I cared, though.  And that felt good.  Soon, I was filling my glass up with the bottle myself, and letting Lincoln go on and on while I half-listened to him and half-listened to the voices in my head telling me to figure my shit out.  Soon, I was lost in a fog of intoxication, and by the looks of Lincoln’s glassy eyes, so was he. We had been there for hours, according to the clock on the wall.