Betting on Grace (3 page)

They had recently purchased six new horses for the
ranch, specifically to use for the tourist trail rides, and they’d all been
pitching in with getting them acquainted with the ranch. Dixie, their beloved
yellow Labrador, had inadvertently gotten herself knocked up by Budweiser a
couple of months back, and they were all required to be on puppy duty as well.

It didn’t help that Hope, Grace’s older sister, was
off on some crazy rampage about increasing the ranch’s income potential. The
spur in her sister’s butt had caused a hiring trend during peak season, along
with a shitload of new activities put in place for the guests.

“Gotta spend money to make money,” Hope had spouted
when they’d questioned her recent spending spree.

As far as Grace was concerned, they were doing just
fine, thank you very much. Not that she was responsible for the books or
anything. But Faith, the youngest of the five of them, was. And according to
Faith, they were in the black, which was all Grace really cared to hear.

Possibly not for long if Hope had her way.

“Have you talked to Grant today?” Lane asked abruptly,
pulling Grace from her thoughts.

“No.” Shoving her phone in her back pocket, Grace gave
Lane her full attention. Just the mention of Grant had piqued her curiosity.

It’d been at least three days since she’d spent any
time with him, and even then, they hadn’t been able to get much more than a
stolen kiss or two on the go. It had been late every night when Grace finally
managed to drag her ass home, desperate for a hot shower and a good eight hours
of shut-eye. She’d managed the shower but not much on the sleep, because
morning had come far too quickly every damned time.

Unfortunately, spending time with Lane and Grant in
the last few weeks had been sporadic at best. Not because she didn’t want to.
Quite the contrary, actually.

Regrettably, life had kicked back in, insinuating
itself right smack in the middle of the new relationship that she’d formed with
the two men not long ago. Since they were all tiptoeing around in order to
ensure her father didn’t catch wind of what was going on with them, they’d had
to perform a few evasive maneuvers recently just to throw him off their scent.
Jerry Lambert was not an easy man to avoid, either.

Damn Mercy.

One of Grace’s sisters had caught on to what was going
on between the three of them probably before they’d even known it themselves,
and now Grace feared Mercy was going to use it against her.

Not that she would let Mercy know that she actually
cared who found out. She really didn’t.

Well, no one except for her father. Jerry was a bear
of a man, and he had growled his demands on more than one occasion for the
cowboys at Dead Heat Ranch to keep their hands off his daughters. Any man
caught touching one of them would risk his wrath.

Yeah, well…

If her father knew that there were
two
cowboys
touching her specifically, he’d probably have a coronary.

“He mentioned that he had to go see his dad,” Lane
stated.

“Really? His dad?” she asked, shocked.

“Yeah. He wouldn’t go into detail, but something was
off.”

“They don’t get along,” Grace said, figuring Lane
already knew as much.

“I got that part. I know he doesn’t go see them often,
but this seemed like a demand, not a request.”

Grace didn’t know what to make of that. She didn’t
know much about Grant’s parents, just that Grant’s relationship with them was
tense. Come to think of it, Grace didn’t know much about Lane’s parents,
either.

Wow. For a woman who was sexually intimate with two
men at one time, she’d just realized how little she actually knew about them.
Then again, that was mostly her fault because she’d spent the last couple of
years avoiding them at all costs.

What the hell did that say about her?

Oh, who really cared?

“Did he say when he was coming back?”

“Nope. And when I suggested dinner, he blew me off.”

Grace could tell that Lane was holding something back,
but she didn’t get a chance to question him about it because — speak of the
devil — her sister Mercy came walking up.

“Time to get to work, kiddos. No smoochin’ on company
time.”

“Shut up,” Grace bit out, sounding like a petulant,
irritable child. Feeling like one, too.

Mercy brought out the best in her, clearly.

Grace was met with a shit-eating grin from her sister.

“Sorry, no can do. I’m comin’ to let you know that
we’ve got a family meetin’ goin’ on in just a few minutes.”

“What? Another one?” Grace hadn’t heard about another
meeting. Hell, she’d just wasted the better part of an hour listening to Faith
give them a stern talking-to about spending money.

“Yep, Hope’s on a tangent. She wants to hire three
more people. Time to talk it out.”

“Where?”

“At the rec hall,” Mercy said as she turned to face
Lane. “And as much as we’d love to see your bright, shinin’ face there, you’re
not invited. Not unless you’ve proposed to my sister and now I get to call you
Bubba.”

Lane smiled, which put Grace on high alert.

“Not yet, ma’am,” Lane drawled. “But trust me, when it
comes to that, I’ll be sure to let you know.”

Grace’s head twisted around on her body hard enough to
give herself whiplash. “Lane!” she yelled. “No more fuel for the fire, please!”

Just as he always did, Lane brushed off her warning.
The guy didn’t seem to have a care in the world. She had to wonder just what
he’d say if her father were to confront him on some statement like that.

The sound of the screen door slamming behind Grace
told her that Mercy had moved on.

Thank God.

“I’ve gotta run. We’ve got a group comin’ in around
noon, and I need to help out. How ’bout dinner?” Lane spoke to her directly,
but he might as well have been talking to the whole damn ranch for as quiet as
he was.

“We’ll see,” Grace said, tempted to search their
surroundings, wanting to ensure some nosy-ass wrangler wasn’t passing by.

“In my book, ‘we’ll see’ is the equivalent of yes.
I’ll bring dinner to your place. How’s that sound?”

Grace was just about to lay into him when he pulled
her up against him, his mouth finding hers. “Your sister’s gone, and there
ain’t another soul anywhere close.”

Grace couldn’t help it; she turned to liquid in his
arms. As much as she wanted to punch him for freaking her out like that, she
damn sure enjoyed when he put his mouth on hers. Or anywhere, for that matter.

“Gotta run, gorgeous,” Lane said as he backed away
slowly, his mocha-brown eyes peering into hers. Grace wanted to grab his arm
and pull him into a dark corner somewhere for a few minutes of catching up, but
she didn’t.

She was restraining herself and all.

Something she found was getting more and more
difficult as each day passed, especially the days when she didn’t get to spend
any
time with Lane or Grant, or, which she preferred most, both of them at the same
time.

“Dinner,” Lane called out when he was several yards
away. “Your place. I’ll bring the food.”

Grace nodded, praying like hell that no one was
listening because…

Yeah, they were really going to have to do something
about this sneaking around thing.

And soon.

“Dad, where are you?” Grant shouted when he walked into
his parents’ rundown trailer about two hours later.

If it hadn’t been for the fact he’d had to chase down
Jerry Lambert to let him know he needed a few personal hours, and then to make
sure he had backup in the event something went awry while he was gone, Grant
would’ve come and gone by now.

No such luck.

Oh, hell. What the fuck is that smell?

Grant’s olfactory glands threatened to revolt against
him, but he forced his feet to move farther into the house, closing the front
door behind him.

No, wait, he was going to leave that bad boy open.
And
open the screen.

“Kitchen!” Darrell Kingsley bellowed back from
somewhere in the house.

Grant raised the rickety glass on the cheap aluminum
screen door, jamming it upward to keep it on the bent track, gulping in fresh
air for as long as he could before turning back toward the offending smell.

His sinuses were assaulted by the stench of stale
cigarette smoke, what he assumed was burnt food, and … holy fuck, was that cat
urine he smelled? Whatever it was, it wasn’t pleasant. Then again, the
disgusting aroma of his parents’ house — usually made up solely of cigarettes
and cats — wasn’t new to him, and, no, it wasn’t something he’d ever gotten
used to, either, though it had gotten significantly worse in recent years.
Glancing around the small trailer that he had once called his home, Grant
fought the urge to vomit.

How many fucking cats did they have now?

He caught sight of one, a fat gray-and-white tabby, as
it snuck behind the worn couch, another, this one orange and black with a patch
of white around one eye, that was sitting on a box near the window, and a solid
black one that scampered down the hall. His mother had an obsession with cats,
but unfortunately, she wasn’t much for getting them spayed or neutered, so it
seemed every time he came by, they’d multiplied in number. Which they probably
had.

Trying not to breathe through his nose, he gave the
room a quick once-over, cringing as he took in the ramshackle furniture and
torn carpet. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of where he’d grown up —that was a
part of his life he couldn’t very well change. No, it was more that he was a
little embarrassed about the way the place was being kept these days. Or
not
kept, as was the case here. He would be the first to admit that their house
wouldn’t have won any sort of modern home award when he was young, but this…
This was absurd.

The living room was practically trashed, with two
overflowing ashtrays on the coffee table, as well as beer cans and empty plates
lying on every other available surface. The pillows that belonged on the sofa
were on the floor; one of them was puking up the stuffing that had once been
inside of it.
Maybe the smell had gotten to it, too.

Because of the mess, Grant didn’t notice
what
was missing in the living room right away, but he knew something was.

Oh.

Shit.

It didn’t take him long to realize that the
something
missing
was the one thing his dad coveted probably more than his gun
collection, or even Grant’s mother, whom the man had been married to for going
on thirty-five years.

How they’d lasted that long, Grant had no idea, but
that was a story for another day. Or perhaps a month-long session with a
shrink. Either way, Grant couldn’t let his thoughts stray; he was too busy
trying to … breathe.

“Dad, where’s the TV?” he asked as he stepped into the
kitchen, having to sidestep the crap littering the torn linoleum floor that
probably hadn’t seen a mop in a decade. Looked like a tornado had hit and the
only casualty had been the dishes. They were everywhere.

“Pawn shop,” Darrell said curtly, concentrating raptly
on the laptop in front of him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Grant asked,
his attention successfully focused on the old man sitting at the battered
kitchen table. The same table where Grant remembered eating lukewarm TV dinners
when he was a kid.

Not only had the table seen better days but his father
had, too.

Darrell’s once-dark hair was sprinkled with gray, his
usually clean-shaven cheeks were salt-and-pepper dark with at least three days’
worth of beard growth, and he had a cigarette dangling from his thin lips. If
Grant wasn’t mistaken, his father had lost more weight recently. Not that it
was that obvious because his gut hadn’t shrunk at all, which was probably
thanks to the beer he chugged like water.

“You fuckin’ heard me,” Darrell spat. “I needed
money.”

“You needed… Wait. Back up. What do you mean you
needed money? Why aren’t you at work?”

“Laid off.”

“You were
laid off
?” Grant couldn’t quite
believe his ears. His father worked at an auto parts store in town and had for
the last eight or nine years.

“Well, technically, they said I was fired.”

Okay, so Grant never quite knew what to expect from
his parents. It wasn’t a secret that they barely got by, both financially and
otherwise. The two of them had what they considered an extremely passionate
relationship, one that had, yes, included plenty of abuse over the years — on
both their parts.

But even considering all that, something was off here.

W-a-a-ay
off.

“So you pawned the TV?”

“All the TVs,” his father corrected.

Grant dared to look around, trying to see what else
might be missing. It was hard to tell because the house was a fucking pigsty.
Not only was it cluttered with crap, the smell was unbearable.

“Why didn’t you pawn the laptop?” Grant asked, fear of
the obvious becoming an oppressive, stifling stench that competed with the
rancid odor of cat urine. The culmination of it all nearly had him heading for
the door.

“Why the hell would I do that? Then I couldn’t find a
way to get
more
money.”

“So you’re lookin’ for a job?” Grant asked, hopeful
that his father hadn’t relapsed, but as he watched Darrell intently staring at
the screen in front of him, a long string of ash about to land on his bulging
belly, Grant already knew the answer.

“Nope. But this last bet I placed is a sure thing,”
Darrell answered confidently, his hazel eyes darting up to Grant only briefly.

God, that was not what he wanted to fucking hear.
“Where’s Mom?”

“Left.”

“Where’d she go?” Grant’s mother didn’t work, and for
as long as Grant could remember, Sandy Kingsley had spent her days camped out
on the sofa watching her soap operas … shit ... which she evidently couldn’t do
because there was no television.

“Don’t know. Don’t care,” was the response he
received.

Grant’s frustration was kicking in, and he feared that
he was going to lose the cool he worked so hard to maintain around his mother
and father. It was hard enough to have parents with such volatile
personalities, but through the years, Grant had somehow managed. That included
remaining calm when his father would break out the belt, or a fly swatter, or
whatever was close at hand, for absolutely no reason other than he felt like
it.

In his father’s defense, Darrell always had an excuse
for the punishment. Sadly, it was just usually not Grant’s fault — and Grant
wasn’t trying to duck any responsibility, either. He had been a fairly good
kid, staying out of trouble, making good grades, going to school every day.
None of it seemed to matter when Darrell flew off the handle, though. Luckily,
for them all, that hadn’t happened in nearly fifteen years. At least the
physical aspect of the abuse, anyway.

“Why’d you call me, Dad?” Grant asked seriously,
lassoing the last of his patience and yanking it close. He already knew the
answer, but he desperately hoped he was wrong.

“I’ve got a favor to ask,” Darrell stated, this time
actually taking the opportunity to look at Grant.

“Which is?”

“I need to borrow some money.”

Grant sighed. They’d had this conversation repeatedly
over the years, and it generally ended up in a heated argument. That was the
last thing Grant wanted, so he opted to deflect. “Have you talked to Morgan?”
Grant asked, referring to his sister.

Morgan, older than him by three years, had packed up
her shit and moved out as soon as she’d turned eighteen, foregoing her high
school diploma to do so, which had been about four years before Grant had been given
the same freedom. He’d finished high school, but college had been a pipe dream,
which was why he’d settled for heading out on his own in hopes that he could
come up with a plan that would allow him to end up a little better off than his
parents.

Not Morgan.

She’d up and married some loser and moved to Arkansas
but had since divorced that sorry bastard. Unfortunately, Morgan had merely
traded one fuckup for another, and she was married again, this time living in
Kansas with two kids in tow.

“Nope. She told me never to call her again.
Again
.”

Yep. That sounded like Morgan.

Great. And now Darrell had had another falling out
with her, which explained the phone call Grant had received just that morning.
If Morgan was in a tizzy, Grant’s parents usually turned to him.
Again
,
as his father had said. It seemed that every other week, Morgan and their
father were going at it for one reason or another. Grant did his best to stay
out of as many of their squabbles as he possibly could.

Grant pulled his hat off his head and thrust his
fingers through the mess that was his hair. He’d crawled out of bed half an
hour late that morning, and instead of running through the shower and then
grabbing breakfast, he’d tugged on clean clothes and run out the door. Now he
was starving and in desperate need of a shower. Not to mention, he was in a
shitty fucking mood because of it all.

“So, you gonna loan me money or what?”

Had he not been so pissed, Grant would’ve found his
father’s use of the word “loan” slightly amusing. The man had never paid Grant
back a dime in his life, and he suspected he never would. Which was why he
replied, “Sorry, I don’t have any money to loan.”

Not that it was far from the truth. Grant had a little
in his savings account, but not nearly as much as he had hoped to have at this
point in his life. Considering his lack of bills thanks to living on the ranch,
he would’ve expected to have significantly more. So not the case.

“I didn’t fucking call you over here to listen to you
bullshit me, Grant. I asked to borrow some goddamned money. You know I’m good
for it.”

Right.

Arguing with Darrell had never gotten him anywhere,
and Grant wasn’t going to give in to the taunting today. As it was, he was in a
crap-tastic mood, and the last thing he needed was to have a run-in with the
local police.

Figuring it was best to get while the gettin’ was
still good, Grant pressed his hat back on his head and turned toward the door.
“Sorry, Dad. Ain’t got money to loan. But I’ll be more than happy to check
around and see who’s hirin’.”

“Fuckin’ worthless piece of shit,” Darrell mumbled
beneath his breath.

Yep, Grant had heard it all before.

Had people been required to get a license to have
children, Darrell and Sandy Kingsley would’ve been shit out of luck.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t a law governing who could and couldn’t procreate.

“I’ve gotta get back to work, Dad,” Grant called as he
moved toward the door.

From experience, he knew exactly where this was going,
and he damn sure didn’t have the wherewithal to put up with any of his father’s
abuse today, verbal or otherwise.

When Darrell began his rant, Grant double-timed it to
his truck, never bothering to look back until he was safely inside. By the time
he was backing out of his parents’ driveway, Darrell was on the front porch,
his fist flying as he tossed whatever verbal obscenities he felt were necessary
to get his point across.

Grant could’ve saved the old man the energy. He’d
already heard every damn one of them.

But the good thing was — if anything could be
considered good in this fucked up situation — the fact that seeing Darrell
served as an appropriate reminder of exactly why he had no intentions of having
kids. After all, what the hell did Grant know about being a father? Look who
his role model was, for fuck’s sake.

■□■□■□■□

“Have you seen Grant?” Hope asked Lane as he made his
way to the main house.

He had bypassed a shower in lieu of getting some grub
before heading over to Gracie’s as he had promised her he would. In fact, the
possibility of seeing Gracie, having dinner with her, was what got him through
the day, the one and only thing he was truly looking forward to besides seeing
Grant.

“The technical answer to that is yes, I’ve seen him.
If you mean now, then no,” Lane retorted as he continued on his trek. He had
spent the last two hours with Hope snapping at him for one reason or another,
and if it was all the same to her, he just wanted to get the hell away from
her.