“You’re late.”
She rolled her eyes, knowing, without moving, who stood behind her. Sitting on the soft, recently turned ground, she tried, in vain, to ignore the shadow that fell over her. With a sigh of resignation, she stared at her mother’s newly placed headstone, wishing he’d just go away.
“Did you lose your voice in your travels?” The man’s voice mocked her. Of all the people in this god-forsaken, hole-in-the-wall town, Brent Harrington was the last person she wanted to see. Just the sneer in his voice was an irritant and as rough as sandpaper to her raw emotions.
“Go to hell,” she rasped, her voice hoarse from having cried through most of the flight that had returned her to the state of Montana. The shadow moved and Dexie McBride closed her blue eyes in frustration. Why did he have to be here? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone to grieve in peace?
“Still so sweet. Why didn’t you make it in time? Where have you been the last ten years?” Brent questioned her mercilessly.
“None of your damn business.”
“Come on, you must have some great stories about your grand adventures. What have you been up to?”
“Living,” she snapped, refusing to look at him. The smell of excessive Old Spice invaded her senses, making her stomach roll and her eyes burn. She shuddered as he squatted next to her, his arms resting on his knees. His mere proximity was repulsive enough to conjure her nightmares.
“Why didn’t you come home when she begged you? You missed the funeral, why come back now when you couldn’t be bothered before? What are you doing here?”
“Dying while I count the minutes until I can get the hell away from you.”
Brent reached out and ran his short, stubby hand up her arm suggestively, sending Dexie’s revulsion higher and her skin crawling. She wrenched her arm away from him and scowled.
“We still have unfinished business, Dexie. Perhaps now is a good time to do that… before you leave again.” Brent edged closer, his movement reminding her of a waddling crab. The salaciousness that oozed from his voice made her shudder. Swallowing past her disgust, she stood and backed away to the end of the grave. Vivid memories of their last encounter still haunted her. The events of that afternoon had kept her away from Peace and from her mother for the last ten years. Even as her mother had begged, with her dying breath, for Dexie to come home, she’d known she couldn’t without making sure she was protected.
“We have no business. Mom didn’t change her will, therefore, we have nothing to discuss any more than we did ten years ago. Please leave.”
Brent straightened, turned, and advanced toward Dexie. His dark eyes were alight with the same maniacal lust that tormented her dreams. The hard, cruel, predatory expression on his too-square, pock-marked face twisted her stomach. Choking back her urge to vomit all over his polished shoes, Dexie continued to edge away from him.
“I say we complete the merger. Right here. Your mother can bear witness. We can make it official then declare Peace ours.” Brent leered as he reached for Dexie. She side-stepped and spun away from him, coming to a stop near her mother’s headstone.
“I think not. My mom was married to your dad. You are my step-brother. That makes you disgusting and off-limits.” Dexie grimaced sarcastically, her voice dripping with disdain.
“There’s no blood tie between us, it would be okay…”
“Hell no. There’s bad blood and that’s enough. Now go away.”
Brent lunged a second time, this time catching Dexie’s arm in a tight, painful grip just as she was trying to spin away again. Before she could react, his other hand was a fist in her dark strawberry-blonde hair, yanking her head to the left and backward. Pain shot down her neck and across her shoulders, but she clamped her mouth shut against the cry that threatened to escape her. Memories of his taunting voice whispering in her ear how it turned him on when she screamed enabled her rising panic as he twisted her hair even tighter. Brent let go of her arm and grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to look at him. The stench of his stale breath, heavy with the reek of whiskey and tobacco, assailed her as he leaned down, bringing his face inches from hers. Bile rose in her throat as she gagged.
“You need to learn some manners, Babycakes,” Brent hissed. Dexie lifted her hand and slipped it between their faces, making Brent back away slightly. Glaring defiantly, she dropped all of her fingers except her middle one. Brent snarled and pulled harshly on her hair.
“Mr. Harrington, I suggest you release the young lady, right this instant,” a cool, authoritative voice behind Brent instructed. Dexie bit her tongue, trying desperately not to make a sound, knowing that was exactly what Brent was waiting for. Brent continued to tighten his fist, making her scalp burn painfully as he slowly bent her backward.
“Now Mr. Harrington!” the man repeated more forcefully in a cold tone that had hardened and brooked no argument. His voice was unrecognizable in Dexie’s panic-laced haze. When Brent continued to ignore the other man, Dexie heard a small ‘pop’ followed by the rattle of metal.
Brent snarled and threw Dexie from him violently, a few of her hairs parting company with her scalp as she stumbled, off-balance. She slammed into the hard marble monument marking her mother’s grave and a sharp pain rippled through her thigh, making her whole leg ache.
“Well, if it isn’t my least favorite, pain-in-the-ass, coattail cousin,” Brent sneered disdainfully as he slowly turned to face the other man. Dexie used the grave marker to straighten, putting weight on her leg gingerly as the muscles in her thigh knotted painfully. She turned to see who’d interrupted Brent’s attack and stifled a gasp as Brent spoke again. “Why are you here, Dray?”
It was all Dexie could do not to stare open-mouthed in shock. Draven Palmer stood, gazing impassively at Brent, his charcoal-grey eyes bored. He stood at least six-foot-five, was broad-shouldered, and dressed in the brown uniform worn by the Stillwater County Sheriff’s Department. One of his long, powerful hands rest on a nightstick hanging at his side and the other sat nonchalantly on his service revolver sitting in its holster.
Dray looked nothing like the overly thin and gangly man-child she’d known ten years ago. He’d been the one person, aside from her mother, whom she’d missed more than she cared to admit. They’d been best friends since kindergarten and inseparable… until Brent had made living in Peace, Montana impossible. Her departure from Peace had been sudden and inescapable thanks to her step-father and his willingness to sweep his vile son’s brutal behavior into a closet. Tears filled Dexie’s eyes as she imagined the hurt she’d caused Dray.
“I’m doing my job, Brent. What are you doing here? Because we all know you aren’t mourning the death of your step-mother.” Dray answered coolly as he slowly approached Brent with the air of a lion tamer approaching his most dangerous adversary.
“I was having a little chat with my sweet step-sister. Just family business. No need for you to stick your annoying nose into it.”
Dexie closed her eyes as she struggled to marshal her emotions and keep her face devoid of expression. When she opened them again, her blue eyes collided with cool grey eyes as they seemed to peer into her very soul.
“Dexie,” Dray nodded politely, his expression giving nothing away. “Would you like to press charges against Brent for assault while I’m filing my report on this?”
“Sure, I’d love to. It won’t do a damn bit of good but I’ll do it anyway. I’d wager he still owns seventy percent of this town and most of the people in it.” Dexie retorted bitterly.
“Eighty,” Brent smirked as he leered at her over his shoulder.
“You wish,” Dexie snapped.
“Brent, you’re under arrest for assault,” Dray began, moving swiftly before Brent had the chance to fight. Dexie gaped as she listened to the ratcheting of the handcuffs while Dray recited Brent’s Miranda Rights. Either Dray was a whole lot more courageous than she remembered, or the Harrington hold on Peace wasn’t as strong as it had once been. She almost burst out laughing as Brent began protesting, his hands locked behind his back and shock etched in his horrible face. “If you’d like to come with us, we can fill out the paperwork,”
“I’ll get you for this, Dexie,” Brent promised menacingly.
Dexie glared icily at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a verbal response as she followed Dray toward the edge of the cemetery.