The Rented Mule (2 page)

Cooper would have been happy with a small office, in an old home rezoned for business, tucked quietly in a neighborhood, but Gates and Kelly insisted that they have a prominent address downtown in the prestigious RSA Tower. Their offices were on the eighth floor and cost more per month than Cooper cared to consider. He did, however, enjoy his view of the Alabama River and the baseball complex for the city’s minor league team. Now, realizing he should have pushed for a larger ownership share and an equal vote in the key business decisions, Cooper stayed frustrated but worked harder and longer hours than ever.

Gates was city slick, always scheming something. Cooper hadn’t really been bothered by this trait until the last few years of their working relationship.

Just recently, Gates had successfully lobbied a local bank to purchase the Tower Agency and the sale was near completion, pending the final year-end numbers. The buyer had
been very pleased with the agency’s campaigns for the bank and was looking to diversify its holdings. The bank was willing to pay—cash—four times the agency’s earnings. Gates was really pressuring Cooper to increase monthly ARs, suggesting they take clients who they never would have handled before. Cooper didn’t want to sell, but he didn’t have any choice. This company had been his life for almost ten years, and their twelve employees had been more loyal than family. Kelly wanted to sell simply because Cooper stood to walk away with almost a million dollars and hopefully a cushy monthly retainer for at least the next twelve months. It was not enough for Cooper to retire on, but not a bad payday either. Cooper secretly wanted the money too. He had a dream.

Gates was focused on nothing but the money, and it was making Cooper crazy. He had all but abandoned Cooper during the last two months as he positioned the agency for the big sale.

Cooper stood and then walked over to the small refrigerator he had in the corner of his office. It contained a dozen or so small six-ounce bottles of Mexican-made Coca-Colas that Cooper regularly imported through a friend. Popping off the cap, a tired and frustrated Cooper sat down on the corner of his desk and stared blankly out the window, thinking about the property he wanted to buy, his Promised Land.

The property was perfect. It was exactly what he had always wanted with seven hundred rolling acres of hardwoods and old-growth pines mixed with some hay fields. It was a turkey hunter’s heaven. He dreamed of building a cabin overlooking a pond and managing the property for wildlife—his true life’s passion. It would be his retreat from the daily pressures, plus it was a solid investment. He had an option on the property to hold it until he could put the
financing together, if he could, which was a big if. The option was about to expire, and he cringed knowing he would have to tell Kelly soon.
Tell her or ask her
, he wondered. Either way it wasn’t going to be pleasant. The money from the sale of the agency would make it work though, if he could invest it before she spent it.

Gazing down at the snaking Alabama River, he wondered about the woman in his dream. Since she wasn’t Kelly, his subconscious was playing with fire, fueled by several months of her increasingly intense comments and glances, making his vivid imagination run wild. It had surprised him and even felt good to have been the recipient of such attention. She made him pay more attention to how he dressed and acted. She made him feel young and alive. He wondered if she was just flirting or actually wanted more.
Wishful thinking
. The thought made him smile.

Cooper switched off the lights in his office as he headed out to complete his ubiquitous honey-do list.

S
tretching her legs, Brooke Layton eased her tanned feet through the sand until her toes popped up into the bright afternoon sunshine. She noticed her toenails needed painting. Upstairs in the condo, she had a bottle of hot pink nail polish. She planned on painting them later that night, after she and her son returned from playing miniature golf. Leaning her head back on her lounge chair, Brooke tried to relax, but kept wondering what her life would be like if her father had not lost his fortune. It would certainly be more comfortable than being a working, single mother.

The sky was an intense blue with an occasional white puffy cloud blocking the sun. The sand was sugar white, and the water was calm and foamy green as it lapped lazily at the beach. Brooke couldn’t really afford to go to the beach this weekend, but her son Grayson had begged, and she gave in without much resistance. She had borrowed a friend’s beach condo for a much-needed long weekend.

She slowly rubbed suntan oil on her arms and legs, paying careful attention to her upper thighs—
they never seem to
get enough sun
. Just a few chairs away, a middle-aged wife sharply elbowed her husband for enjoying the scene just a little too much.

Brooke tried to take care of herself and was constantly dieting and exercising in an effort to stay in shape. She dressed to accentuate her assets. The shapely brunette had always enjoyed men staring. Brooke had a certain electric attraction about her. But you would never know that behind the dark sunglasses, the outwardly confident Brooke Layton was deeply frustrated with her life. It was missing something, and she knew all too well what it was.

From the beginning, Brooke had tried admirably to make the marriage work. She had read books and magazines, wanting to believe they could have a perfect marriage. Since the first night of their honeymoon, she sensed something wasn’t right and that something really important was absent. The longer their marriage dragged on, the more apparent her husband’s true colors became, and she realized that marrying him had been a colossal mistake. Staying married was an even bigger screw-up. After four years they divorced in what was a bloody legal mess. Four and a half years later, the chaos continued, leaving her in a constant state of raging emotions.

She held her head high and made no apologies for ending the marriage. Her sole focus was her son and his welfare. She felt that she could handle anything.
Almost anything
, she thought.

The problem was that her ex-husband had never accepted the divorce and hadn’t moved on with his life. He hadn’t even thought of moving on. He regularly stalked her, but was smart enough not to cross any legal lines… or at least ones that she would notice. At first he wanted nothing to do with their son, but in the last few years he had petitioned the courts for joint custody, mostly just to harass Brooke. So,
now, every other weekend Brooke had to see him and he did his best to upset Grayson in some demented, desperate attempt to work his way back into her life.

Only Brooke knew the truth of her ex’s dangerous side. She was certain that he was a sociopath, and he displayed symptoms of various mental disorders: bipolar, split personality, and last but certainly not least was multiple personality disorder. He had eventually admitted to her that he required medication after she threatened to club him with a tee ball bat.

He seemed to be getting worse. Unfortunately, Brooke couldn’t prove it, and with his high-priced team of lawyers, he was winning battles. Brooke’s guts knotted every time she was forced to allow visitation with Grayson. She smiled at the thought that she was mentally prepared to kill him if she had to, and then looking around, she wondered how many of these other women were thinking about killing their exes.
Probably most
.

Brooke had met “Mr. Wrong” while home from college over Christmas break. She was attending the University of Montevallo, pursuing a fine arts degree. He was handsome and affable… back then. It was at a Montgomery popular college bar that they were introduced. They ended up talking for a couple of hours about politics and world issues. Brooke wasn’t, however, instantly attracted to him. He was a little too arrogant for her tastes. But after she returned to school, he would call and even sent yellow roses, which surprised her because they were her favorite and she hadn’t told him. He was relentless but subtle in his pursuit and eventually charmed his way into her heart.

She now knew the truth. Her ex-husband had preyed on her from day one. The prospects of being married to her and her certain inheritable fortune were too much for him
to resist. So she didn’t stand a chance against his keen psychological manipulations. While very vulnerable, struggling with the death of her mother, he intensified his efforts to worm his way into her life. His devious plan worked. And then by cutting slits into the reservoirs of his condoms, he impregnated Brooke. Finally, against the advice of friends and family, she agreed to marry him.

When Brooke thought back on it all, she could see how it happened. He found out she was real-estate developer G. James Layton’s daughter and instantly saw dollar signs; in fact, he had admitted as much. Brooke didn’t know anyone who knew him at the time and ended up falling for every one of his lies and stories. The reality was that the long-distance romance prevented them from spending enough time together for her to really get to know him at all. He was simply one of life’s pitfalls that every girl is warned about as she starts dating.

When he found out Brooke’s father was near bankruptcy and, therefore, he hadn’t married into an actual fortune, he began to chase every young thing in a tight skirt that crossed his path. He also oftentimes became violent. When she finally summoned the courage to mention divorce, he went ballistic. Brooke feared for her and Grayson’s safety. She began to wonder if she would ever be free again.

Brooke wanted a good man in her life, although she had proven to herself that she was self-reliant. Still, she desperately sought someone to take care of her; someone financially sound, who could be a positive role model for Grayson.
Someone like Cooper Dixon,
she thought.

She’d been infatuated with Cooper for some time. But since he was married and didn’t seem to notice her sly advances, she’d begun to reconsider her plans. Sitting on her beach towel, she glanced at her watch, which read 5:30 p.m.
That meant Cooper was probably on his way home.
Home to his wife
.

In frustration, she folded her arms across her knees and closed her eyes to daydream of better times ahead.
The good ones are always taken. But is he REALLY happy?

Brooke opened her eyes to see her eight-year-old son walking up. He sat down and then stared up at an airplane pulling a banner that advertised “All You Can Eat Crabs.” She had followed his gaze and thought just how adorable he was. All boy, and by far the best thing that had ever happened to her.

“Mom… I’m bored,” he said, with a deep exhaling breath while kicking sand.

“Whaddaya wanna do?” she asked, pulling down her black sunglasses so that she could clearly see him.

“I wanna go fishin’, like those people,” Grayson said, pointing at a father and son casting into the surf.

Always one for adventure, Brooke said, “Let’s go,” as she jumped up and began gathering her beach accoutrements.

“But, Mom… I don’t have a fishin’ pole,” he whined, turning out the palms of his hands.

“Well, we’ll go buy one. Actually, we’ll buy two, so I can fish as well,” Brooke replied enthusiastically, while hiding her concern over her credit cards’ balances.

“But you can’t bait your hook, and I’m really not that good with shrimp yet,” Grayson replied with an honest smile. “But Grampa’s teachin’ me,” he quickly added.

“Okay, then. Looks like we’ll just have to help each other. Go on inside and get ready. I’ll be right there.” Brooke believed that she could find someone to help them if necessary; and if not, she’d figure it out. She had fished with her father growing up and remembered the basics.

“Thanks, Mom!” Grayson exclaimed as he took off running across the warm white sand.

Brooke slowly stuffed her suntan lotion, towel, and Kindle into her beach bag while she watched Grayson racing toward the condo. Sliding her feet into her flip-flops, she hoped that he would continue for years to listen and trust her. She knew that was his best protection from his father’s influence.

As she picked up her cell phone, she thought of Cooper and tried to come up with an excuse to call this late on a Friday afternoon. Finally, she said aloud, “What the hell,” and punched in his cell number from memory.

She listened to it ring several times and almost broke the connection when he answered, “Hello?”

“Hey, Cooper. It’s Brooke. I just wanted to let you know that I finished those art boards. I’ll have them ready to view Monday,” she explained happily.

“Great! I’ve made some progress on the project myself. Is that a seagull? Are you at the beach?”

“Yep. Took the day off, but I finished your boards first… of course. Gulf Shores is so beautiful,” she said, and then took a sip of bottled water.

“I wish I were there. I mean… I need a break,” he clumsily replied.

“You should get away; life’s too short not to enjoy each day. At any rate, I just called to say the boards look really good. After I go fishin’ with my son, and then eat, and probably play a round or two of miniature golf, I’ll finish the whole presentation. You’ll love it,” she continued, twisting the cap onto the bottle and placing it inside her bag.

“That sounds like fun. More fun than I had at the office all day.”

“You really need to take some time off… maybe you could go fishin’ for a few days. That would be relaxin’, wouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, sure it would. But I’ve got too much going on at the office,” he replied, intrigued by her suggestion.

“Go catch some fish. The office and everything you’ve got goin’ on will be there when you get back, but you’ll be recharged and feel better when you do.”

“I know. I should. You’re right. But I can’t,” Cooper acknowledged, wondering if he meant that he couldn’t go fishing or that he shouldn’t be thinking about her the way that he was.

“Okay, well, look, I gotta go. I’ll bring the boards Monday. Call if you need me.” Brooke hung up quickly, strategically cutting short the conversation, hoping to leave him wanting just a little more. He made her feel sixteen again.