Chapter Thirty-One

The last traces of a dream edged away, leaving him in a semiconscious state. He’d been dreaming about Charlie. They’d gone tubing, and she’d been wearing that sexy bikini. He reached out to touch her cheek before she faded away. His arm wouldn’t budge. He became aware of an ache in his shoulder. What the hell?

His eyelids weighed about a hundred pounds each. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. Water. He needed water. And the use of his arms.

He cracked his eyelids open, fighting against the gravity pulling them down. Peering out between the slits in his eyelids, he came face-to-face with an unshaven, foul-breathed Dwight.

“How ya feelin’ this morning?” Dwight used his fingers to pry Beck’s eyes open. “Anyone home in there?”

Beck struggled to sit up. A zip tie held his wrist to the rail of a metal bed. “What’s going on? Where am I? Why are you here?”

“So many questions.” Dwight unscrewed the cap from a bottle of water and held it out. “Want a drink?”

“Can you cut me loose so I can sit up first?”

“Nope. But I can help you up.” Dwight grabbed him by an arm and levered him to a seated position. “Better?”

“Not much. Get this off me.”

“Sit still and take some water.” Dwight held the bottle out, and Beck grabbed it with his free hand to take a swallow.

“And what happens when I need to take a piss? You thought about that?” Ridiculous. He’d always figured Dwight was a Froot Loop short of a full bowl, but this stunt was a stretch, even for him.

“Hmm. I suppose I can help you drop trou, but you’re on your own for the shake and dribble.”

Beck yanked and twisted his wrist. An explosive tide of rage threatened to take over, but he swallowed it back. What good will that do? Maybe he could reason with Dwight. There had to be something he wanted or needed—some reason he was doing this.

“What’s it going to take, Dwight?”

“For what?”

“For you to let me loose and pretend this never happened?”

Dwight pulled a canvas chair in front of the bunk and plopped down. “I’m not interested in negotiating. I’m working for the greater good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? And where are we anyway?” His eyes struggled to adjust to the semidarkness. Looked like he was in some windowless cabin or something.

“Ironically enough, we’re on your property. At least it’s yours for the next couple of hours.”

“What time is it?” He jerked hard at the restraints, realizing. “The parade. I’ve got to talk to Charlie.” Panic rose, a shock of adrenaline to his already-thumping heart.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.” Dwight propped his feet on the edge of the bunk and crossed his ankles. “See, Charlie doesn’t know you’re even here. She wanted me to bring you to her so she could talk you out of turning over the Rose to your dad.” Dwight tapped at his temple. “But I got to thinkin’. If you don’t show up, she gets everything, don’t she?”

“How do you know that?” He shouldn’t be surprised that the confidential contents of the will had leaked their way out to the general population of Holiday.

“Took Hill fishing. Folks don’t give me much credit for paying attention, so they don’t feel the need to shut their traps when I’m around.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dwight shrugged. “Charlie said your dad’s gonna close the place. That means my friends would be out of a job and I’d be out of a place to hang out.”

This was a whole new level of crazy. “What did you do? Slip something in my drink last night?”

Dwight jabbed his pointer finger at Beck’s nose. “Bingo! You really are a hotshot, ain’t ya?”

Beck struggled against the zip tie tethering his wrist to the bed rail. “Screw you, asshole. Get me out of here right now. There’s been a misunderstanding. I need to talk to her.”

“Yeah, and next you’ll try to sell me an island off the coast of Kansas. I knew you’d be a fast talker.” Dwight wiggled his eyebrows. “I’m onto you, and you ain’t gonna talk me into anything. Now settle down. We’ve still got about”—he checked his watch—“three hours until I figure it’s safe to let you loose.”

“But I’ve got to get to Charlie and tell her she was right. The only way to keep my dad from getting the Rose is for me to get on that float.”

“Nice try. That’s a bunch of mumbo jumbo.”

“I’m not lying. There’s a loophole in the will. My dad will fight to the end to get control. Charlie would lose everything. Go ask Hill if you don’t believe me.”

Dwight leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He stared at Beck for what felt like a long time. “You’re not bullshittin’ me?”

“I swear.”

“Swear on something I can believe you about.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Your mama’s grave.”

“She’s alive.”

“Then pick someone else. You got another relative who’s passed?”

“Just my grandfather.” The man he’d come to know and respect more than the father who’d raised him.

Dwight stood. “I don’t know. You never even met him. This doesn’t feel right to me.”

“How about I swear on the Rose? My love for Charlie?”

“Nah. I’m still not so sure you’re not trying to pull a fast one.”

Beck tried to calm down enough to put himself in Dwight’s boots for a split second. Any longer than that and he feared his head might explode. The guy loved beer, cars, and women. “I swear I’m telling the truth. If not, let my copy of this year’s Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue get drowned by a leaky keg of Lone Star beer while my Porsche gets trampled by a stampede of longhorns.”

Dwight ripped his hat off his head and held it over his heart. “Dear Lord. I’m no fan of yours, but even I would never wish something like that on my worst enemy.”

“So you believe me now?”

“Doesn’t seem like I have much of a choice. You really have a Porsche?”

“Yes. Untie me?” Beck pulled his hand away from the bed rail so Dwight could cut him free.

“Will you let me drive it someday?”

“Sure. If I ever bring it to Texas, I’ll let you drive it, okay?” Like that would ever happen. If Charlie didn’t run him out of town, he’d have to trade in his Porsche for a truck. Or at least some big-ass SUV.

“Hmpf.” Dwight flipped a knife out and sliced through the zip tie, and a few moments later, Beck rubbed his wrist. When the feeling finally returned, he stood up and grabbed Dwight by the scruff of his T-shirt. He pushed him against the wall, lifting him up so his feet dangled six inches off the floor.

“Hey, put me down! I let you go. You can’t beat me up.”

Beck gritted his teeth and drew back a fist, wanting nothing more than to slam it into Dwight’s jaw. “You idiot. Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Where’s my phone?”

Dwight shielded his face with his hands. “I tossed it in the trash can at the diner. I’m sorry. I was trying to help Charlie. You don’t deserve a woman like her.”

Dammit. He loosened his grip on Dwight’s shirt, letting him slide down the wall until his feet hit concrete again. “That’s one thing you’re right about. She deserves a hell of a lot better than me. Where’s your phone?”

Dwight handed him an ancient flip phone.

Beck messed with it, trying to get a signal. “Battery’s low. Do you have a charger?”

“Nope. And I let the air out of the truck tires so if you got loose, you couldn’t go very far. We can try hitching from the road.”

“Not enough time. The parade’s going to start soon.” Beck took the stairs two at a time and emerged in the middle of a field of tall grass. “Where are we?”

“Sully’s place. I guess he put this bomb shelter in back in the ’50s. I thought it’d be a good place to hide you.”

“Remind me later to kick your ass. Now, which way’s the house, and how far away is it?”

Dwight shielded his eyes with his hand and scanned the field. Looked the same in every direction except for a path of beaten-down brush off to the right.

“That way. Follow me.” The grass parted and swallowed Dwight as he moved off to the left. Not wanting to lose him, Beck jogged to catch up. If they could get to Sully’s, maybe he could reach the parade in time. He just needed a little bit of luck.

“No, that way.” Dwight swung ninety degrees to the left.

Make that a lot of luck.

* * *

Charlie eased her foot onto the brake. “There?”

Darby motioned her to back up another couple of inches. “Got it.”

Finally. With the float firmly attached to the hitch on the back of Charlie’s dually, all they had to do was drive into town and join the parade lineup. The Rose was almost safe.

Darby hopped into the passenger seat. “Who’s that?”

A trio of shiny, black SUVs came to a synchronized stop, blocking their exit from the parking lot. A couple guys in suits emerged from the lead vehicle. The same men who’d come with the appraiser trying to take measurements and pictures.

“Oh no. They work for Beck’s dad.” All the air squeezed out of her lungs as a head of silver hair emerged from the back seat. “No, no, no.” Charlie’s hands shook as she slid her sunglasses over her eyes.

“Honey, who is that?”

“Beck’s dad. Sully’s son.”

“What’s he doing here?” Darby bounced on the seat next to her. “Do you think he’s looking for Beck?”

Charlie forced herself to take in a breath. “I don’t know. But whatever he wants, it can’t be good.”

“Do you want me to go talk to him?”

Charlie nodded toward Dickwad Number One. “Too late. I think he’s heading this way.”

At that moment, her phone rang. Dwight. Where was he? She hit the speaker button.

“Charlie?” Beck’s voice exploded into the cab of the small truck.

“Beck, is that you?”

The man rapped on the driver side window.

“I’m on…way. Don’t…to anyone.” Static crackled through the line.

“You’re breaking up. I can’t hear you.” She glanced at the man at her window. He motioned for her to roll it down.

“You going to open it?” Darby leaned forward.

“Beck? You there?”

“We need to talk.” Hell yeah they needed to talk. “Be there…as possible. Do not…my dad. Trust me…”

“What’s he saying?” Hands shaking, Charlie tilted the phone toward Darby.

“I don’t know. Sounds like he said don’t do something about his dad. What are you going to do?”

“Beck?” Charlie tried again.

The mountain at her window made a move to grab the door handle. She slammed her elbow onto the lock, preventing him from opening it. His mouth morphed into a menacing frown, and he pointed at the window.

“Open the window,” Darby said.

Charlie cranked the handle and lowered the window an inch. “Yes?”

“Ms. Walker?” The question came out in a burst, like machine-gun fire.

Darby practically climbed over Charlie’s lap. “Who’s askin’?”

“Mr. Holiday wants to have a word.” He motioned Beck’s father over.

“Charlie. Is my dad there?” Finally, Beck’s voice came through.

She didn’t respond. Beckett Sullivan Holiday Jr. approached the truck. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten.

Panic bubbled up from her gut to her throat like the foam from a bad keg. She tried to move her hands from the steering wheel, but they wouldn’t budge.

Holiday reached the window. “Ms. Walker, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Her limbs turned to jelly. “Wish I could say the same, Mr. Holiday.”

He chuckled, the noise grating against her nerves like a jackhammer on steroids. “You and I need to talk. Beck’s decided he doesn’t want to go through with our little deal. There’s nothing worse than a son who turns his back on his father, wouldn’t you agree?”

“What’s he talking about, Charlie?” Darby nudged her in the side.

Charlie ignored her. “That’s ironic, seeing as how you only want the Rose so you can turn your back on your own father and shut it down.”

The shock that registered on Holiday’s face was either authentic or Academy Award worthy. “Did he tell you that?”

“You hinted at it yourself, that night at dinner.”

“Oh, Charlie. You must have misunderstood. We’ve got to keep Beck from getting on that float. If he does, he’s going to sell the Rose out from under us. We’ll both lose.”

“Charlie?” Beck yelled through the phone. “He’s lying. Get out of there. Trust me.”

“I can’t do this.” Charlie’s gaze flew from the phone to Darby to Holiday.

“That’s right, Charlie. Don’t give him what he wants.” The smug smirk on Mr. Holiday’s face sent a jolt of adrenaline through her. Her foot stomped on the gas, and her fingers came back to life. She gripped the steering wheel, swerving to avoid the trio of SUVs, and charged over a flower bed by the curb. The sheriff’s prize rosebushes flattened under the tires, and the float bounced from side to side, sending wads of tissue paper scattering in their wake.

“Yeehaw!” Darby wrapped her fingers around the handle above her head. “You go, girl.”

A glance in the rearview mirror showed Mr. Holiday racing back to the SUV. Based on what she knew about the man, the sleight wouldn’t sit well with him. That meant she needed a plan C. It wouldn’t take him long to set his posse in pursuit.

“Beck?” The phone had fallen to the floor during their escape.

Darby picked it up. “He’s not there. Must have lost him. Who do you believe? Beck or his dad?”

“I can only handle one crisis at a time.” Think, Charlie, think. “Where’s Waylon this morning?”

“What?”

“My brother…your husband. Is he at home?”

“Yeah. He’s getting the kids ready. They’re going to meet us at the lineup.”

Charlie’s mind spun through possible delay tactics. “Call him, will you?”

“Sure. What are you thinking?” Darby punched in the number.

“Tell him to open the gate from the east pasture to the west. We’ll drive by in ten minutes.”

“You think that’s going to work?”

“You got a better idea?”

Darby spoke into the phone and relayed Charlie’s instructions. “Done.”

Charlie reached a hand over and squeezed Darby’s arm. “Thanks. Will you keep trying Dwight’s number? I need to talk to Beck.”

“You bet. What about the goons?”

“We need to lead ’em around some back roads until Waylon has a chance to set up.”

“And here they come.” Darby whipped her head around, and Charlie checked the rearview mirror.

Having the fourteen-foot float dangling off the back of her dually would make it easy for them to catch up. She increased her speed. Hopefully the damn thing would stay attached. It wouldn’t go over very well if they showed up for the parade without a float.