Unchained (15 page)

S
EVERAL HUNDRED YARDS
after they passed the split in the main drive that led to the Marquez Villa, Stephanie got her first clue about the bash her hunk of seriously hot burning love was throwing to celebrate her birthday—and she was flabbergasted.

Next to a prop, looking like it’d been lifted right off the set of a John Wayne movie, a dilapidated wagon adorned with a very fake but ominous looking vulture sat next to the roadway. A wooden plank made to resemble an old sign was hanging off a post and read, ‘Rodeo 2 miles.’

Oh, my dear sweet lord. A rodeo? Now, the outfit he’d wanted her to wear made perfect sense.

Stephanie loved Calder Dane so much at that moment; it made tears well in her eyes. Only he would think of something so delightfully ingenious. And if she knew him at all, she was quite sure a ton of theater was involved. The Wild West prop was an indicator of what was to come.

After they had passed the wagon, Angie turned in her seat and smiled broadly. She couldn’t see her eyes through a pair of dark sunglasses, but the girl’s huge grin let her know she was sparkling with delight.

“Damn,” the youngest Marquez sister muttered. “Uncle Calder really threw down with this party. Didn’t expect him to give me a run for my event planning money!”

Parker chuckled. “He’s a man of many talents.”

“Of course, you would know that,” Stephanie chirped happily.

“Stephanie,” Parker replied as he glanced in the rearview at her. “I once saw that dude strip to his skin, climb up a huge boulder on a seaside cliff, and bellow so loud the angels asked him to shut the fuck up.”

Angie giggled and shook her head. “Yep. That guy is swimming in my gene pool.”

Her comic statement generated the breathtaking image of her man in all his California surfer dude glory. Nobody rocked a pair of swim trunks like Calder did. The man’s body was criminal for a guy his age.

And speaking of men his age, Stephanie recalled the weeks they’d spent hanging out with Calder’s sister and husband, Parker’s parents, and Meghan’s folks. Now that she gave it some thought, the senior citizen chapter of the alpha husbands club had plenty of silver fox man candy to check out. Maybe this turning fifty thing wasn’t such a scary idea, after all. Seemed to her as though everyone from Alex to Meghan to Parker to Angie and even her Victoria had done pretty damn good in the DNA sweepstakes.

It was a shame, though, that Calder had never had children. He was a natural. The way he cared for Daniel was a surprising facet of his personality. She would happily climb over broken glass barricades to spend time with her grandson. Something was magical about a baby. The pure, unsullied love they put off was addicting, and Calder wasn’t immune to it either. He not only facilitated her times with Daniel, but he also enthusiastically helped to plan and never balked at how much time she devoted to the baby. In fact, Calder had his pants on fire plenty of occasions—eager for whatever activity he thought up.

She reached for her phone and scrolled through the pictures. So many of the three of them. But there was this one.

Ah. There it is
, she thought. Tapping on the pic till it filled the screen, she smiled at the image of her two guys. Fast asleep in a hammock Drae built, Daniel sucking his thumb, as he lay nestled in the crook of Calder’s muscled arm.

Parker and Angie were talking as she wandered in her thoughts. Hearing her name, she closed the picture and looked up.

“Is that okay?” she heard Parker ask. “Calder didn’t think you would mind.”

She had no idea what he was referring to, but if Calder said it was okay, she was gonna grin and go along with whatever came her way. She was that happy.

In heavy twang, she mockingly answered. “Darlin’, that man needs his head examined, but since he’s got a bad case of Tarzan going on, I think we should just let him call the shots for now.”

“Tarzan?” Angie asked while Parker snickered at the reference.

“Chest thumping, me Tarzan you Jane stuff. C’mon, shugah! Surely a Desert Angel shacking up with a bad boy knows what that’s like.”

Angie cracked up with laughter as another clue to the day came into view. Two enormous signs, on either side of the road, left her in no doubt what was coming her way.

Looking older than vintage, each sign was a reproduction of a Wild West handbill advertising a rodeo event.

Family Justice

Wild West Show

One Performance Only! Rain or Shine

More props started appearing as they approached the Villa—hay bales and American flags, a signpost with arrows pointed the way to a chuck wagon, event corral, stable, and the Double M Saloon.

Oh, my goodness. Her face was starting to hurt from all the grinning. Staring out the window, she barely noticed them pulling over until his car came to a stop.

Parker turned around and winked at her. “Your chariot awaits m’lady.”

Er, uh. Huh? What had she missed?

Angie was giggling and clapping her hands.

And then she looked the other way and stopped dead. A stagecoach station was set up behind a cluster of Juniper trees on the side of the access road. A crusty looking cowboy with a handlebar mustache was there with the door held open on a red stagecoach pulled by two sturdy looking horses.

Was this one of the things Calder was sure she’d be okay with?

Holy cow. She practically jumped out of Parker’s car, and would have had Angie not stopped her at the door.

“Give us a twirl,” Alex’s spunky little sister teased. Twirling her finger in a circle, she wagged her eyebrows at Stephanie and said, “Show me what you’ve got, lady.”

She looked down at her outfit, swung her gaze to the waiting stagecoach, and then at Angie, who was decked out in standard western wear—Coachella version.

Well, she might not be with the young ones anymore, but the tribe she sat with at the grown-up’s table could still teach these younglings a thing or two!

“I might have to kill Calder,” she murmured comically.

“Shut it!” Angie chortled. “You’re a babe, Stephanie. And a hot one at that.” Wagging her eyebrows and tongue at the same time, she added, “Don’t forget. You’re riding in there with a strong advantage. You know damn well he didn’t think you’d have the balls to wear the outfit he picked out.”

They both snickered. It was true.

“So showing up as you are”—Angie wolf whistled and offered up a fist bump—“is gonna melt the man’s board shorts right off his arrogant ass.”

“Angelina!” Stephanie admonished. “That’s your uncle. Be nice!”

Fluffing her hair with one hand, she reached with the other for her bag and pulled out her favorite
Fresh Sugar
lip balm in a lush hot pink. With her coloring and what she had on, the burst of color on her lips was perfection.

With a laugh, she twirled on the toe of her cowboy boots for Angie’s inspection.

The outrageous outfit her lover’s young niece was inspecting? A pair of vintage denim shorts—the kind usually referred to as Daisy Dukes—that fit her like a glove and went a long way to showcasing her tanned and toned legs.

“Smart move, ditching that halter cami. I think this is so much better, and frankly”—Angie smirked—“it’ll drive him nuts. Sometimes, sexy isn’t always less.”

Well, she was correct about that. The pathetic skintight halter with the red, white, and blue flag motif was a step too far for her. So she rifled through her suitcase and Angie’s wardrobe until she found an outrageously provocative dark blue bra that was totally visible underneath a sheer blouse. Tying the shirttails under her boobs was a last-minute stroke of genius. Not only did it bare her midriff, but it also drew attention to the sexy bra.

Calder was going to have a hard time ignoring what was clearly on display.

“Where’s my hat?” she asked. “Did I forget to bring it?”

Angie ran to the back of the car and opened the trunk. “Here it is,” she announced, smacking it against her leg before holding it out.

Stephanie took the raffia straw hat and admired the turquoise and silver beads on the hatband. It was funny on some level that she, Stephanie Bennett, former beauty queen and professional pageant coordinator, had a cowgirl hat.
Actually
, she thought,
I have a whole collection of them now!
Living in Georgia, she knew all about heat, but holy god, the Arizona sun was a whole different matter. She’d be lost without these vented hats to keep her head cool and the sun off her face. And if that wasn’t enough, Meghan had a closet crammed with parasols in every conceivable fabric and design.

Angie chuckled and gave her a half hug. “All you’re missing is a holster and a six shooter.”

Parker came around the back of the car. “Dan, the cowboy man, is waiting for you,” he said with a mocking chuckle. “Has specific instructions too.”

Why did that sound ominous? “Parker?”

“Relax,” he said with a shrug as he threw his arm over Angie’s shoulders. “I just mean that Calder read the guy a blunt and threatening riot act. You’re to be treated like a lady—not a saloon gal. Or something to that effect.”

“Go get ‘em, lady,” Angie cheered as Stephanie waved at the couple and walked to the stagecoach.

She couldn’t wait to see what happened next.

Impatiently pacing back and forth, Calder kept checking his watch for updates from Parker. Waiting for Stephanie to arrive was nerve wracking.

All around him, a massive Wild West carnival was in full swing. There had to be a hundred people milling about. Hell, he’d invited half the county, so he was probably lucky there wasn’t an arrival stampede.

Most of Family Justice was there. Except Alex and Meghan, of course. And Cameron. Cameron’s absence was the elephant in the room that nobody acknowledged.

The whole crew was having a raucously good time. Betty arrived dressed like a saloon gal, and she had her whole posse of friends and church ladies decked out in costume as well. Same for Ria and Ben, only Ben was in full costume as a sheriff while his wife played the role of schoolmarm.

Half the Justice construction work crew was having a good time. So was the Family Justice supporting cast.

Pete was holding court with a bunch of wannabe cowboy types. His entire staff from the bar was also on hand.

Busty handled most of the catering along with, surprisingly enough, that waste of fucking oxygen, Finn O’Brien.

Looking like they just came from the OK Corral, a band of Justice Agency people, the ones Drae called the B Team, was engaged in a lively pantomime of gun twirling.

And speaking of guns. Calder made damn sure nothing more dangerous than a prop was anywhere around. Kids were in attendance. That did not mean, however, that security wasn’t also a part of the event.

His eyes searched the crowd till he found their new head of security. Duke Winston was hard to miss. Maybe it was his size. He’d be surprised if the man hadn’t been a linebacker in school.

Or maybe it was that he never wore anything except head-to-toe black. And the ponytail. The man had a ponytail that he usually wore sticking out the back of a worn baseball cap. A cap proclaiming him a Vietnam vet.

Strangely, he knew without looking that wherever Duke happened to be, so was Carmen. And in this case, Carmen with her whole gaggle of ladies affectionately dubbed the Mexican Mafia. Despite being horribly politically incorrect, the description was comically accurate. Carmen presided over more than just the Marquez Villa. She was one of those females who had an indomitable spirit. And that spirit made her a natural leader. Not that different from Alex.