Unforgettable (The Dalton Gang #3) (25 page)

“That’s okay. It’s good to talk about it occasionally. My friends have heard it all a thousand times, and I try not to let it build up, but it happens.” She toyed with a wisp of hair that had fallen out of her rooster tail. “Dean always knows when I’m down about it, and with me never having to say a word. I don’t know what I’d do without him. He is the best man. The best father and husband. If I hadn’t come back here . . . I can’t imagine having missed out on knowing him, and loving him.”

Thoughts of Arwen and Dax, Casper and Faith came to mind. How often had Everly heard her best girlfriends say the same things about their men? Penny wasn’t any different. She didn’t have the money Faith did, or the business Arwen did, or the connections Everly did, but she was a woman in love. And in that regard, she had things Everly had only dreamed about.

“You know, I owe Boone a big apology.”

“How so?”

She shrugged, tapped the end of her cigarette box on the table. “I was so screwed up in high school. Obviously, right? Judging by my behavior. I got him into such a big mess, knowing how both my folks would react at catching me with him.”

Everly frowned. “You knew your father would go after your mother?”

Another shrug. “That part I can’t say for sure. Maybe.” She paused, flipped the top of the box open and shut. “It was like a keg of gunpowder inside our house. I couldn’t deal with it anymore, the wait, and I used Boone for the fuse. And that was really shitty of me.”

It was, but shitty things were part of being teenagers. “It was a long time ago.”

“Not so long that I don’t need to make things right.”

Everly left after that, turning over everything Penny had said, wondering about the one thing she hadn’t: having been pregnant with Boone’s baby.

TWENTY-SIX

B
OONE WAS IN
a mood and had been since seeing Everly Monday night. Three days now, and he was still regretting the confession he’d made. What the hell had he been thinking, telling her he’d been falling apart, that he was losing it. Bellyaching about the conditions on the ranch, none of which were her concern. All of which had been building to a worse head of steam than he’d realized.

And then she’d been worried about using his food stores, when what she should’ve been worried about was his
not
using a condom Friday night
or
Sunday morning. By Sunday, the horse was out of the barn, but Friday . . . He’d torn off her clothes, cut open her clothes, ruined them, and buried himself so deeply inside her he’d disappeared. All without a goddamn condom. But, no.

She’d been worried about him.

She’d stood there in Tess’s kitchen, in
his
kitchen, listening and fitting right in, wearing her heels and her buttons as if that’s what anyone wore to stand at the stove. She’d cooked for him, stirred the soup and soothed him and calmed him and cared for him. And she’d done it all without once telling him to buck up and get over himself. But she hadn’t spent the night. She’d gone home. And since then, she hadn’t called.

First thing he’d done the last three nights after walking into the house was check the log on the phone. No messages. No missed connections. He’d stretched out the soup, finishing it last night, but he hadn’t called her back. He hadn’t even called her tonight, knowing he was coming to town.

What in the hell was wrong with him that he couldn’t pick up the goddamn phone and call?

So what if she didn’t answer? Her not answering would hardly be the end—

“I thought you did most of your drinking at home,” Faith said, climbing onto the stool beside him where he sat nursing his sorrows at the Hellcat Saloon bar. “On the back porch. With your cooler of beer.”

His cooler of beer was empty. His wallet would be when he left here tonight. “Had to come to town to sign some papers for Nora about the furniture going up for sale. Wasn’t in the mood to go home.”

“Because of the auction?” she asked as he drank. “Letting go of Tess’s things?”

“That. And . . . other stuff.”

“Everly?”

He shrugged. Made no sense that he had a hard time going home because of a woman who didn’t even live there. But she’d been there enough that he missed her when she wasn’t. He lifted his beer with a grunt, let that serve as his answer.

His sister reached over to rub his shoulder, making him feel even worse because her being there helped. He shouldn’t need her to be there. His having next to nothing to his name was his problem, not hers. But it did help, having her, having his dad, his mom.

He should’ve come home to stay a long time ago. Except if he’d done that, he might’ve settled down too soon, worked a spread that wasn’t his own, married the wrong woman. Missed out on knowing the one he couldn’t get out of his mind. She was unforgettable, Everly Grant.

And she was making his life pure hell.

“Do you want to come over for supper? Clay’s cooking tonight. Not sure
what
he’s cooking, but it really doesn’t matter because it’ll be better than anything Casper or I could whip up.”

“Thanks,” he said, shaking off his thoughts of moments ago. “But I’m going to sit here awhile.”

“You can’t drink your supper, Boone.”

“Watch me,” he said, emptying the first bottle of the night.

Faith pulled her phone from her purse, typed out a text while saying, “Then order food. My treat. Have a burger. Have a steak. Just do more than drink.”

“I don’t want you spending your money on me,” he said, but he knew his sister and it was no use. She was already signaling for Arwen.

“Boone wants a twelve-ounce rib eye, medium rare, a baked potato, loaded, and a side of squash casserole. That and the beers go on my tab.”

“You don’t have a tab,” Arwen said, jotting the order on a green ticket and tearing it off. “But I’ve got your credit card number saved,” she added, waving the paper as she headed through the kitchen’s swinging doors.

“See?” Faith said, patting Boone’s shoulder. “Problem solved.”

The problem of his empty stomach. Which, come twelve hours from now, would just be empty again. “What’re you doing here anyway?”

“I was on my way home. Saw your truck and stopped.”

“Home from where?” It wasn’t his business, but it kept her from digging into his. And him from doing more whining. He was damn sick of hearing himself cry like a baby.

“From the high school. I’ve been helping Momma with the holiday carnival planning,” she said, and when he groaned, added, “I was glad to see your name on the list of volunteers.”

Yeah. That’s how it had happened. “Trust me. I did not volunteer.”

“You didn’t have to. Momma volunteered for you.” When he grunted again, she got back to patting and rubbing. “It’ll be fun.”

He took back his earlier thoughts about being glad he had his family close. But only long enough to order a second beer. “No. It won’t.”

“C’mon. You’ve been gone sixteen years. You’ve missed a lot of holiday carnivals.”

“Nope. Haven’t missed them at all.”

“Then think of it as doing community service to make up for all the shit you caused at the last one you were around for.”

She had him there, though he was pretty sure it was Dax who’d started the fire in the hay bales used for the hay ride. “At least the trailer’d been unloaded and the tractor unhitched. We weren’t total heathens.”

“Yeah, you were,” she said, glancing over his head toward the door. She took a swig from his fresh beer bottle, then said, “I’m going to head home. Don’t you move until you’ve finished the dinner my saved credit card number is paying for.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving her on her way, but not before she’d planted a big sloppy kiss on his cheek.

He started to wipe it off, decided against it. Decided he could use all the good karma he could get. Then, less than ten seconds later, Everly climbed onto the stool beside him. “Want some company?”

“What’re you doing here?”

“I was hungry. And I’m all out of grapes.”

He signaled to Adelita, tonight’s bartender, for a third beer since this one was going fast.

“Make it two,” Everly called to the other woman, causing Boone to look over and frown.

“Since when do you drink beer?”

She turned on the stool to face him, cocked her head, smiled. “Since you’re drinking beer.”

“Huh,” he said, wondering what she had to smile about. He couldn’t imagine it was being here with him. He didn’t even want to be here with him. “Surprised to see you. Thought you’d moved back to Austin or something and just didn’t want to tell me.”

Her smile picked up steam. “I’ve been working, silly. I have a story to write. And it’s hard to concentrate on work with you around. I was going to call you tomorrow. I should have my first draft done by then. Except for the holes I’ve left to plug in what I learn from
your
interview.”

He grunted. He’d been grunting a lot tonight.

“C’mon. Let’s move to a booth. I’ll order some supper.”

“I’m not in the mood—”

“I am,” she said, grabbing both beers and giving him no choice. “And I know Faith already ordered for you.”

“How do you . . . She texted you, didn’t she? Told you to come babysit.”

“So, you
are
acting like a baby,” she said, wiggling both bottles as she did, as she turned away, laughing.

He grunted, but he got up and followed her, the click of her heels and the swing of her ass doing a lot to cheer him up. The swing of her hair, too. He loved how it fell down her back, the blond waves skimming just below her bra strap. Her pants tonight were black, her shoes black and white zebra stripes, her blouse, with its too many buttons, zebra striped, too.

She made him happy, the way
she
was happy, the way she knew herself, how she refused to be anyone else, or change to fit in. She fit in just fine. And she fit with him. That’s what he was having hell with tonight, having signed the papers earlier to sell Tess’s antiques. He had to sell what he had to keep what he had. What kind of life was that to offer a woman like this?

“Come with me to the football game tomorrow night,” he heard himself asking once they’d settled at a booth near the bar.

“Really?” she asked, her eyes lighting up. “Your dad’s team? The high school game?”

“Only one I know of in Crow Hill.”

“I’d love to go. Faith and I were actually just texting about my helping out with the holiday carnival. It’s like my childhood all over again.”

“You had a good one?” he asked, because this felt like safe territory and it was one they hadn’t covered before. As grounded as she was, he didn’t doubt she’d had a solid upbringing.

“I did,” she said, nodding as Luck Summerlin slid his plate in front of him, avoiding his gaze as she did.

She avoided Everly’s, too, as she asked, “Can I get you something? Do you need a menu?”

“Hmm. A bacon cheeseburger with jalapenos, medium well.”

“Fries? Onion rings?”

“Just the burger,” Everly said, reaching for her beer.

Boone watched Luck go, wondering if it was a touch of schadenfreude tugging at the corner of Everly’s mouth. “I’m not sharing my potato.”

“The burger will fill me up,” she said, sticking out her tongue and sitting forward. “Anyway, yes. I had a wonderful childhood. I grew up in Austin. I’m the oldest of four, and our parents were the best. They remind me a lot of yours, actually. Very involved. Very . . . parental in that they were always there for help with homework and school programs and extracurricular stuff, the cheerleading and gymnastics and dance and piano, but they didn’t spoil or indulge or skimp on the discipline.”

“Did your mother ever sign you up for the dunking booth at her holiday carnival?”

“Oh, no. Seriously? She roped you in, too?”

“All three of us,” he said, picking up his knife and fork. “We’re supposed to wave the white flag or some community bullshit.”

“I love this,” she said, sitting back in the booth, crossing her legs, holding her longneck on her knee. “It’s going to be so much fun. I can’t remember ever being so excited about an invitation to get kissed by a bunch of strangers.”

Wait a minute
. His knife and fork stilled. “Get what?”

“Kissed,” she said, and waggled both brows. “I’m going to work the kissing booth while you work the dunking booth.”

“I thought Faith was doing the kissing.”

“She was, but I guess Casper objected.”

Huh. “But my objecting to you doing the kissing doesn’t rate?”

“Are you objecting?” she asked after a long moment searching for something in his eyes.

“I don’t know. Is that too close to hovering?”

“Why would you ask me that?” she asked then brought the beer to her mouth.

He waited while Luck set Everly’s burger on the table, shook his head when she asked if either of them needed another beer. “The night we danced. You mentioned you didn’t like men hovering.”

“I did?”

“It’s stuck with me all this time, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t make it up.”

“Huh. If I knew the context—”

He sawed through his steak, thinking back. “It was about what Faith and Arwen were wearing. You liked their costumes. But you didn’t like Casper and Dax hovering.”

“I remember now,” she said, her smile fading, the laughter like fireflies in her eyes vanishing. “My objection was because of my ex.”

Calf nuts on a motherfucking cracker.
He’d done that, made her sad, and he wanted to kick the shit outta himself. “He didn’t like other men looking at you, so he hovered.”

“No,” she said, her expression wry. “He wanted to show me off, so his hovering was about making sure I dressed so men
would
look.”

“That’s fucked-up,” he said, his wrists on the edge of the table, his appetite gone.

“A lot of things about him were,” she said with a shrug, as if what she’d gone through was nothing.

What he’d gone through with Les Upton was nothing compared to what he sensed she’d endured. “You don’t talk much about him.”

“There’s not much to talk about,” she said, pulling a strip of bacon from her burger, popping it into her mouth. “He’s not a part of my life anymore.”

“But he is the something that happened, isn’t he? The something that brought you to Crow Hill?”

She looked down at her plate, as if she’d find an answer, like another slice of tomato, inside her burger’s bun. Or a reason to get out of answering him altogether. “He is. Our breakup was rather ugly.”

“Ugly enough that you had to go into hiding?”

“That’s closer to the truth than you know. I don’t like to talk about it. Or him,” she said, wrapping her hands around her burger and bringing it to her mouth so she wouldn’t have to.