12
__________
“Everything cool?” Wolfe asked when Lynx started for his truck.
“Yep,” he answered, trying to keep his voice from reflecting the hurt currently swarming him. “Just dropped off those chairs. Headin’ home. What’re y’all up to? Besides, you know, shackin’ up together.”
Wolfe’s smile was so fucking bright Lynx almost had to look away. He liked seeing his cousin happy. Not that he wasn’t usually, but there was definitely something different about Wolfe these days. The guy seemed to be walking around on a fucking cloud, despite the danger they all knew to be lurking nearby.
“Rhys gonna be packin’ his shit up, too?” Lynx asked when Wolfe didn’t respond.
“We’re workin’ it out.”
“Right. So that’s a yes.”
“It’s a … yeah. He’s got a lotta shit goin’ on right now. He’s tryin’ to stay focused, but that’s where I want him.”
Lynx chuckled. “I get it. Hard to focus when he’s spendin’ all his time naked, huh?”
“Shut it.”
“Well, I gotta run,” Lynx told him. “Gotta go get Cope. He’s prob’ly goin’ crazy right about now.”
Wolfe nodded toward the house. “And I need to get inside, see if I can help with somethin’.”
“You do that.” Lynx stopped. “Oh, and while you’re in there, check out the water heater. Reagan said it’s actin’ up.”
“Uh … yeah. Okay.”
“Check ya later, hoss.” Lynx offered a half-ass wave, then hopped in his truck without looking back at the house.
Half an hour later, Lynx pulled up in front of his house. Officially it was his uncle’s place, but ever since Wolfe’s momma passed away two years ago, Calvin Caine had moved into the apartment above the store. Said it was easier that way. Back when Lynx and Tammy had split, Lynx offered to move into his uncle’s house to keep an eye on it. Since he was already doing the upkeep on his grandparents’ old place, he’d figured it really was easier, not to mention he had needed to get as far from Tammy as possible. The woman was like a damn tick.
Thankfully, it seemed as though she’d moved on. At least since the day she’d stolen his truck, anyway.
It had only taken Lynx wiping out half the money in his personal account for her to finally stop hounding him, but as far as Lynx was concerned, it was worth it. The money didn’t mean shit if he had to spend the rest of his days dealing with the woman who’d personally planned to make his life a living hell.
“You live and learn, Cope,” he said to his dog when he climbed out of the truck, greeted by the three-year-old German shepherd. “Whatcha been up to, man? Chillin’? Lickin’ your balls? What?”
Copenhagen pushed his big head against Lynx’s thigh, nudging him.
“All right, I get it. I won’t talk about your balls no more.”
The two of them traipsed up the stairs to the farmhouse and Lynx found himself eyeing the porch. There were no rocking chairs on this front porch. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever if things didn’t work out the way he’d planned.
His mind drifted back to Reagan, to how fucking hot she’d been in his arms. And then her words had hit him like an uppercut, nearly knocking him sideways. The woman was out of her ever-loving mind if she thought once was going to cut it. As it was, when the time came that Lynx got her in his bed, he might not ever let her leave.
“You hungry, boy?” he asked Copenhagen. “Come on, then. Let’s get you fed, then we’ll run over and check on the old man, see what’s up.”
After that, Lynx would find something else to do to pass the time. It was Saturday, which meant he should’ve been planning to head over to Reagan’s for a couple of beers later in the evening.
“Not tonight,” he muttered to himself.
He couldn’t remember the last Saturday he hadn’t gone over to the bar, but after today… Lynx figured it was time to give Reagan some of that space she’d been asking for.
If for nothing else, so Lynx could maintain a little bit of his sanity.
Otherwise…
No. He wouldn’t even go there.
Not this time.
Patience was key to this game. He just had to remember that.
“What’s up, old man?” Lynx called to his father when he and Copenhagen walked into the house. Although it was three in the afternoon, it was dark as hell with all the blinds closed.
“Whatcha doin’ here, kid?” Cooter called from somewhere in the house.
Copenhagen took off.
“Hey, Cope! Good to see you, boy.”
Lynx found his father in the kitchen, a bowl of fresh tomatoes on the counter in front of him.
“That from the garden?” Lynx asked.
“Yep.” The man looked so proud.
Cooter hadn’t left the house, aside from going out into the garden in the backyard or the occasional afternoon spent on the porch, for ten years now. Not to the grocery store, not to get gas, not even to the doctor. At first, it had seemed odd, but eventually it became the norm. Lynx picked up his dad’s groceries, he brought fuel for the mower when it was time to cut the grass around the house, and he’d found a doctor willing to make house calls.
Cooter wasn’t opposed to company and plenty of people stopped by. Although Cooter had extricated himself from the world outside of his house, the people in this town hadn’t given up on him. That was part of living in a small town. Friends became family.
“Figured you’d be out gettin’ yourself in trouble,” Cooter said, a smile on his weathered face.
“Takin’ a break,” he told his father.
“For what? Five minutes?”
Smiling, Lynx nodded. “Somethin’ like that.”
“You want some tea?”
“Naw. Gonna head over to Nana’s real quick. Check things out.”
“You seen your cousins lately?”
“Who? Travis and them?”
His father lifted one gray eyebrow, as though it was obvious who he was referring to.
“Not since the bonfire,” he told him. “Why?”
Cooter shook his head. “Talked to Iris. She mentioned Travis was helping to deal with that little gal’s … situation.” His eyes narrowed. “They find that asshole yet?”
Lynx knew his dad was referring to the Houston police chief, the man responsible for Amy’s abuse and the death of the police detective. “Not yet.”
Not that they’d proven the man was responsible for the car accident that had killed the woman who’d come out to Embers Ridge in an effort to find Amy. However, it seemed awfully coincidental that that woman had ventured this far to confirm that Amy was in fact the Jane Doe who’d been found on the side of the road a year ago only to wind up dead shortly after finding out the truth.
“He’ll fuck up,” Cooter said, his tone confident. “And they’ll get that bastard.”
They would. Not soon enough though. The asshole should’ve been chilling with the worms six feet under at this point.
“Need anything while I’m here? I can run into town, grab some groceries.”
“I’m good right now. Next time you’re out, maybe you could pick up some M&Ms?”
Lynx grinned. “Sure thing, Dad.”
“Thanks.”
“Cope, you ready, boy?”
The dog’s ears perked and his tongue lolled out of his mouth as he trotted over to Lynx’s side.
“Talk to ya later,” Lynx hollered as he headed toward the door. “And I’ll grab those M&Ms when I’m up that way. Love you, old man.”
“Love you too, kid.”
Clicking his tongue twice, Lynx directed Copenhagen to the truck.
Time to find something else to do to keep his mind occupied for a little while longer.
Kelly Jackson sat in the old truck he’d borrowed from a friend, watching the small bar. He’d been there for an hour and had yet to see Amy come out. He knew she was in there, knew she worked here in this shit hole every Saturday night.
And it was a shit hole. Not a place he would ever be caught dead in.
However, he wasn’t all that surprised that Amy would be there.
Every time he thought about it, Kelly remembered the day he’d decided he could never marry that girl. She was too young, too stupid, too … weak. No wife of his would’ve ever worked in a fucking bar. That thought triggered memories of his first wife. God, he’d held out so much hope for her. Unfortunately, he’d found out far too late what a fraud she was. The girl hadn’t been classy at all. She’d been … a tramp. Whenever he had hit her, she hadn’t fought back. After the second or third time, she had simply thrown herself at him, thinking sex would distract him.
It hadn’t worked.
They’d only been married nine months when he finally got tired of it. And he’d set it up perfectly. She’d drowned in the bathtub and no one had even suspected that he’d held her head under the water and watched as the life drained from her body.
Of course, his second wife had been wild and crazy, hot for him in ways he hadn’t expected. Their sex life had been intense. She’d thought his dominance was sexy, even turned it around so that she was playing the role of his submissive. Granted, Kelly hadn’t been into the real D/s relationships. There were too many rules involved in that shit for his liking.
He’d thought things were going to work there for a little while. He had enjoyed their games, the fact that she seemed to like when he hit her. Then the stupid bitch went and got pregnant. She had forced his hand at that point. He wasn’t about to raise a child with that woman. Or any woman, in fact. He’d had to work that one from a different angle. A few strategically timed conversations about her being depressed had worked like a charm. So, when she’d taken too many pills, no one had suspected him then, either.
Amy, on the other hand, was proving to be his biggest challenge yet. Out of the three of them, he’d thought she would be the easiest to break. When he had first set his sights on her, she’d been vulnerable, moldable. Even better, she’d had no one, and at nineteen, she’d still been rebellious against her aunt and uncle. Taking them out had been simple and it had allowed him to take possession of Amy.
However, she had proven him wrong by fighting back. The gleam of defiance he always saw in her eyes had turned him on for a while, but she had never cowered, never understood her true place. That had only incited his temper, making his dick harder than he thought possible. Honestly, he had enjoyed their time together in the beginning. But even that had worn off.
Fortunately for him, he’d figured out a way to handle her.
Little did she know, but tonight was going to be the end for her. Once she was out of the way for good, his life would be back on track, her memory a mere blemish in his otherwise perfect world.
Every time the damn door opened, Reagan’s gaze darted over. And every damn time the door opened, Reagan was disappointed because the person waltzing in wasn’t Lynx.
She still remembered the pained look on his face that morning and it made her stomach hurt. She’d put that look there and she hadn’t meant to. The last thing in the world she would ever want to do was hurt that man. Although protecting her heart from him was crucial, he was still a friend. A very cherished friend, at that.
“Get another round over here, ladies?” one of the old cowboys called from the back.
Reagan glanced over at Amy, who was busy wiping down a couple of empty tables.
It was late, closing in on eleven, which meant they’d be shutting the bar down in an hour, and for the first time in forever, Reagan was counting down the minutes until that happened. She was pretty sure today had been the longest day in history. It was time to put it to bed. Not that she had anything to do after she left, but tonight she really didn’t want to be here. She was tired of listening to everyone laughing and joking, chatting it up about nothing important.
What she wanted to do was curl beneath the blankets in her bed and pretend today had never happened.
It would be easier that way.
Reagan popped the top off three beers and carried them over to the group of men. One of the guys — she’d never seen him in there before — glanced her way, his gaze instantly sliding down to her chest. She fought the urge to roll her eyes.
“Here you go, gentlemen,” she said sweetly. “Still good?”
“We’re good, honey,” the older one confirmed before resuming his conversation.
After making her way back to the bar, Reagan tried to keep herself busy so she wouldn’t be tempted to watch the door. Unfortunately, she’d already cleaned everything she could clean. Twice.
“Hey.”
Looking up, she saw the man who’d been checking out her tits now standing on the other side of the scarred bar top. He wasn’t a bad-looking man. A little older, probably mid-thirties or so. He looked as though he’d been rode hard and put up wet, which likely meant he was a new ranch hand over at either the Double D or Dead Heat Ranch. Not that it mattered. She saw so many come through here and they changed quite frequently.
“What can I getcha?” she asked, knowing he wasn’t there for another beer.
“How ya doin’?” he asked.
“Great. You?” She knew her tone didn’t sound great, but hey, Reagan was doing the best that she could tonight.
“Name’s Tommy. And you are…?”
“Busy, Tommy, but thanks for askin’,” she replied coolly.
The guy grinned, clearly not fazed by her obvious brush-off.
“Aww, come on now,” he said with a grin. “I was just tryin’ to be friendly.”
Reagan turned to face him. “And I was tryin’ not to be rude,” she told him flatly.
The man seemed to consider that for a moment. “Somehow, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”
“Nope,” she assured him. “We didn’t. If you need another beer, holler. Otherwise…” Reagan motioned to where she’d left the rag on the bar.
“Got it.” He turned and sauntered back to the table.
She’d half expected some sort of snide remark from being spurned, but he didn’t say a word. She’d gotten used to that over the years. Most of the folks who came in knew her and were friendly. However, there was the occasional hothead who didn’t take kindly to being turned down. And then there was Billy, who had never taken kindly to not getting his way. Whenever she didn’t meekly agree with him, she usually endured a rash of shit spewing from his mouth.
She damn sure didn’t miss that.
Of course, those thoughts had Reagan replaying the conversation with Tommy in her head. God, she sounded like such a bitch.
Seemed she was on a roll today.
An hour later, Reagan breathed a sigh of relief. Without wasting time, she grabbed the till from the bar and secured it in the safe before locking the rest of the place down. She made her way out to the main room to find Amy and Wolfe standing there, clearly waiting for her.
“I’m good, y’all,” she said. “Really. You don’t have to wait.”
“You’re right,” Wolfe replied easily. “We don’t have to. But we want to.”
Same thing Lynx had said the other day.
“Seriously, don’t you wanna take your lady home to bed?” she teased, taking off her apron and tossing it beneath the bar.
“Of course,” he said with a wicked smirk. “And if you’d get your ass in gear, I could do just that.”
“Fine.” Reagan knew they wouldn’t leave until she did, so she grabbed her truck keys and headed toward the door.
“I’m not sure why y’all can’t just—” Reagan pushed the door, but it shifted slightly but didn’t open. It should’ve swung outward. She tried again but was met with the same resistance. “What the fuck?”
She dropped her hands, shook them out, then tried again just in case, you know, she’d forgotten how to open a door in the last few hours.
Nope. Still wouldn’t open.
Glancing over at Wolfe, she frowned. “What’s wrong with the damn door?”
“Hell if I—”
That was all he got out before the world erupted in a violent explosion. The earth-rattling boom sent the three of them slamming against the front wall of the building. Chairs and tables launched into the air, glass shattering, raining down all around them.
And the noise. Holy shit, it was so loud. Too loud.
Reagan landed with a thud on the floor, her head making a solid impact with the hard post that framed the doors. It rang her bell hard, making her see spots momentarily.
Shit.
She tried to push herself up, but she couldn’t manage. Her ears were ringing, her eyes unable to focus.
“Wolfe? Amy?” she choked out as smoke filled the building, invading her lungs, making her eyes sting.
Shit, shit, shit.
When Reagan managed to get her eyes open, she noticed…
“Fire!” Wolfe yelled. “Son of a bitch. Get out, Reagan! Now!”
The man sounded frantic, but Reagan was still having a hard time hearing, her ears ringing from the percussion of the blast. What the hell could’ve exploded?
“Amy? Baby?” Wolfe was shouting now, an ungodly sound that had Reagan forcing herself up, trying to see what was going on.
Fire engulfed the back wall of the bar. The heat from the flames roared toward them as they licked at the rickety ceiling.
“Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck,” Reagan hissed, clutching her head as she got to her knees.
Trying to clear her thoughts, Reagan could barely make out Amy unconscious on the floor. Wolfe was cradling her head, but there was a lot of blood.
“Out,” Reagan said, talking more to herself. With the roar of the fire, it wasn’t like Wolfe would’ve heard her anyway. “Have to get out.”
She glanced at the front door, then at the back wall. Reagan attempted to push the front doors open, but again, they wouldn’t move. They were trapped. The only other door was blocked by the flames and the front one wasn’t budging.
It took a second to steady herself, and her head was screaming at her the entire time, but Reagan managed to feel her way down the wall toward the bar, keeping low to the floor. She covered her face with the edge of her shirt, trying to breathe through the thick smoke. The room was dark, lit only by the flames, but it was enough to light her path to the bar. Reaching around, she fumbled for her shotgun, locating it instantly.
“Get back!” Reagan yelled, getting to her feet and stumbling toward the door. “Move her back, Wolfe! Dammit!”
The man seemed to process what she was saying, and as soon as he had Amy shifted out of the way, Reagan lifted the gun to her shoulder and aimed at the front door right where the handles were. She sent up a silent prayer that no one was on the other side before she fired off three rounds, hitting her mark effortlessly. It was enough to weaken the wood. With her foot, Reagan kicked in the center, but nothing happened.
“Move!” Wolfe howled, grabbing her arm and jerking her out of the way.
With a well-placed kick by the much bigger man, the doors flew open. Air rushed in and the fire thundered behind them.
“Out! Now!” Wolfe hollered, nudging her with his shoulder.
Her brain was so fuzzy Reagan didn’t even realize she’d been standing there, frozen in place.
With Amy in his arms, Wolfe pushed Reagan until the three of them were out of the building, stumbling down the steps to the gravel parking lot.
No sooner had they reached Wolfe’s truck than one of the deputy’s squads came barreling into the lot, sirens blaring, lights flashing.
“We need an ambulance,” Wolfe said, his tone frantic as he spoke into the phone. “We’re at Reagan’s Bar in Embers Ridge. There’s been … fuck … an explosion. We’ve got one injured for sure. Possibly two.”
Clearly the guy had the brains to call 9-1-1. Reagan could hardly process what was going on, much less what she should’ve been doing. Lot of damn good she was doing anyone.
And with that one last thought, everything went fuzzy on the peripheral of her vision. She had to sit down.
So she did.