Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) (25 page)

"She's good," Jo said.

"Daniel said you guys went to Paddy's for dinner. How's he doing?" Jeremy asked.

So he was going to make her stretch her vocal cords. "Fine."

"Heard Rafe left early."

"Yep." She took a sip of her beer.

Jo patted her knee. "How are the horses doing? Jeremy told me about the one that didn't make it." Jo was her best bud, steering the conversation away from a subject she didn't care to continue.

"They're good." She lifted her beer bottle and tilted it toward Jeremy. "Thanks to your husband."

Jeremy frowned. "I'm just sorry about the mare."

Bren leaned in. "It couldn't be helped." That's why Bren enjoyed her job working with Jeremy. He truly cared about the horses. He had preferred to give that mare a lethal injection—not a bullet to the head. But he wasn't prepared. None of them were.

"You hear anymore about Wes?" Jeremy asked.

She was under strict orders not to discuss Wes. She'd been glad she'd been asleep when Rafe had called Kevin after the break-in.

Bren shook her head.

The band took a break, and the sound system piped in a slow song by Carrie Underwood. Jeremy stood. "Jo, can I have this dance?"

Jo glanced at her cane resting over the back of her chair.

Jeremy knelt in front of her. "You don't need it, sweetheart."

"You be all right while we're gone?" Jo asked Bren.

"Of course. You two go. I'll be fine."

Jeremy scooped Jo up in his arms and whisked her away.

She loved her friends. She should be grateful they invited her to tag along. What was she going to do at home? Sulk. Bren took the last sip of her beer and decided to order another at the bar.

"Bren Ryan. It's been a long time. How have you been, sweetheart?" Elsie Morton, longtime resident of Clear Spring, with her silver-platinum 1950s updo, cleared the bar and gave her a hug. She stood back. "You look good. How are Daniel and the boys?"

Bren tried to connect Elsie with the Purple Cow. "You moonlighting a second job?"

Elsie patted her arm and came back around the bar. "No. Bob let me go. Business is down. When... if," she amended, wagging a finger, "business picks up, I'll be back slinging hash. But for now it pays the bills."

A waitress slid in behind the bar. "Sorry, Else, I need one gin and tonic and ice water."

"No problem." Elsie dumped ice in a glass and filled it with the hose from the bar. She glanced up at Bren as she threw a lime in a glass and mixed the drink. "What can I get you, sweetheart?"

"Oh. Ah, Miller Lite."

Elsie grabbed one from below the bar and twisted off the cap and handed it to her. "Put it on Jeremy's tab?"

"Yes."

Elsie turned away to take additional orders at the bar, and Bren drank her beer. Tonight, she sucked as company. The thought of calling a cab to take her home was tempting. She angled her stool. Jeremy and Jo were still dancing. She missed not having that special someone.

"Hey, doll face."

A hand pulled back on Bren's hair. The instant cool air on her neck disappeared when wet lips touched the side of her throat. Bren spun around. "Get your—"

For whatever reason, she expected to be looking into the eyes of Donovan Skidmore. Only she'd missed the mocking drawl when he'd surprised her. "I expected you'd be halfway to Texas by now."

"Nope. This is my home now." Rafe's speech was definitely slurred.

Bren stood up. "I'm with friends. So if you'll excuse me."

Rafe made a wide sweep of his hand, tipping his beer up. "Don't let me hold you up."

Bren ignored him and started to walk away.

"Rafe, buddy. How've you been?" Jeremy gave Rafe a hard shake of his hand. "We're sitting up front. See Jo?" Jeremy turned and waved toward his wife. Jo caught the signal and waved back. "We've got room for one more."

Bren stiffened. No way in hell would she be subjected to sitting next to Rafe and pretending everything was peachy. "He's leaving."

Rafe's lips tipped up into a smile. "Changed my mind." He put a hardy but drunk arm around Jeremy's shoulder. "Lead the way."

Bren decided to follow and retrieve her jacket and purse. She'd spring for the cab.

When they got to the table, Rafe pulled out a chair. "Ladies first." He grinned at her.

She beaded in on him, grabbed her things. "I'm calling it a night."

"Bren?" Jo's voice brought her around. Bren frowned. "I'm really tired. I'm going to grab a cab."

"We'll take you home," Jeremy said.

"No, you two are having a good time. I don't want to spoil your night."

"She's right. I'll take her home." Rafe's long fingers stroked her hair, and Bren pulled away.

"Don't touch me."

Rafe pulled his hand back as if he'd been stung. "Relax, Red."

"Stop calling me that."

A couple walked by, the man brushing up against Rafe. Rafe stumbled forward. "Hey, partner, watch who you're pushing."

The man made a dirty face and kept moving.

"Did you hear what I said?" Rafe yelled over the music.

Bren reached for him, snagging the collar of his black suede jacket and yanked him down to eye level. "Cowboy, this is Maryland, not Texas. We don't have bar fights."

He blinked at her. "You're cute when you're mad."

She pushed him away. "And you're an ass when you're drunk."

And that was the problem. He was drunk. And he
would
drive home. Maybe wrapping himself around a tree would drill some sense into his obstinate cowboy brain.

Bren stepped forward and dug her hands into the pockets of his black suede blazer.

"Hey, Red."

She took an irritated breath through her nose and ignored him and stuffed her hand into the front pocket of his jeans.

A sly grin creased the rough, dark planes of his cheeks. "You're turning me on."

Bren groaned and shoved her hand in the other front pocket of his jeans.
Damn it,where'd he hide his keys?
Rafe, tall and lean and inebriated, was easy to manhandle. She spun him around with little effort. He teetered, and she grabbed his jacket, her fingers sliding into the back pocket of his jeans. She smiled when her fingers hit the warm metal. Yanking the keys from his pocket, she took him by the arm and directed him toward the door. She called back to Jeremy and Jo. "I've got my ride." She slung her coat over her arm and her purse over her shoulder.

The two laughed and waved her off.

T
hey cleared the front door, the cold air a relief from the heat of the bar. "Where's your truck?"

He grabbed for his keys, and she pulled her hand away. "In your dreams, cowboy."

Bren searched the parking lot. Finding Rafe's black pickup in the far corner, she pulled him with her. He tripped and then found his footing. Bren rolled her lips in, trying not to smile. "Let's go. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner I can climb into bed."

"Count me in." Rafe picked up his step.

This time Bren did laugh. "Not with you. I'm putting your drunken ass to bed. Your bed. Your house. Alone."

He frowned at her. "Party pooper."

She wouldn't waste her breath. Instead, she moved her hand down and clasped his, tugging him like the defiant little boy he was. She leaned him against the truck and unlocked the passenger door. "Get in."

He teetered, grabbed the door frame, and climbed in.

After shutting the door, she went around to the driver's side and got in, dropping her purse and jacket in the back seat. She glared at him. His legs spread wide, his butt on the edge of the seat. "Sit back so I can buckle your seatbelt."

He slid back, and she reached across him.

Big mistake.

His arms came around her, and he flipped her onto his lap and nuzzled the side of her face. "Don't waste your time on me, darlin'."

She pulled her face away from him. "Trust me. I'm not. I need a ride home."

His grip on her waist loosened, and she moved off his lap. She motioned to the seatbelt. "Buckle up. Or you're paying the fine if I get pulled over."

He reached for the seatbelt and snapped it into place and didn't say another word.

Bren started the truck and put it in Drive. Chewing on her bottom lip, she welcomed the silence. Leaving Main Street behind her, the road opened up. Pine trees a blur on either side of her, she pushed the truck to sixty. Grace's sign came into view, and she made the left into the driveway. She passed her house and kept to the gravel road leading to Rafe's. She glanced over at him. He was awake, his dark head leaning against the passenger window while he stared out.

What the hell was his problem? He could have been killed. The pang of loss made her clench the steering wheel. Then she got mad. Tempted to ram his front steps, she turned the truck hard, stirring up dust, and slammed on the brakes.

Rafe sat up. "What the—"

She reached over and slugged him in the arm. "You're an asshole. I've told you everything there is to know about me. Tom's death just about killed me. I hate you for making me feel anything for you." The tears burned her eyes, and she blinked, and they rolled hot down her cheeks. "Damn you!" She wiped at her face. "Now I'm crying over
you."

Rafe unsnapped his seatbelt and slid across. He put his arm along the seatback, his thumb rubbing away the tears from her wet face. "Don't cry, Red." He moved closer. "I'm an asshole. I admit it." Long, clumsy fingers reached out and stroked her hair. "Tell me, darlin', how I can make it up to you?" He slurred his words.

That drawl, still irresistible and even more pronounced with alcohol, had Bren willing to give him a chance to make it right.

A blubbery mess, she sniffed and wiped her face. "I want the truth. What's going on with you tonight? What the hell happened at Paddy's house?"

His jaw tensed, and his fingers, still twining through her hair, stopped and fell away. Eyes intent on her face, only seconds before, dropped to his hands. He gave a nervous laugh. "There's nothing to tell."

Bren grabbed the door handle. Whatever he could have said—the truth—couldn't have been more hurtful than the lie that slipped from his lips. If he couldn't trust her, if he believed her gullible enough, or was it more of an acceptance on her part that only snippets of his life—the parts he chose to share—were up for discussion, then he was wasting her time. Her eyes flared with warning. "I was ready to give you my heart.
All of it,
you stupid cowboy," she said through gritted teeth. "Bury Tom once and for all. You saved me a lot of heartache. Unlike Tom, you are a liar. Why, I thought you even measured up to him." Her voice cracked.

Rafe visibly winced; his hand resting on her thigh tightened. "You're right, Red." He moved closer, pressing her hard up against the door. His eyes, hard glints in the dark, bore into her. "I'm not Tom, and I'm weary as hell trying to compete." His hand shot up and pulled her face to his. "I'm here, not Tom," he said, his voice rough with anger. "All I've ever wanted, I could never have." His voice became reflective. "How do you choose a favorite? How can you choose one without knowing the other?" He shook his head in disgust. "Tom was the golden boy. He was a keeper, but not me."

Bren frowned. "You're drunk." She pushed him away and opened the door, a cold rush hitting every exposed part of her body, and she shivered.
Damn him.

"Where are you going?" He grabbed for her.

She jumped from his grasp. "Home."

He laughed. "In those pretty little boots." He mocked her, staring at her feet.

Yeah. In my pretty little boots with my head held high, asshole.

She couldn't do anything about the shoes, but she'd be damned if she'd freeze her ass off. Bren grabbed for the back door of the truck. She snagged her purse, slipped into her coat, and slammed the door. When she turned, Rafe stood behind her, blocking her exit. "Get out of my way, Rafe."

He put his arms out on either side of her and rested his hands on the edge of the pickup's bed, pinning her against him. His thighs pressed her to the truck, his chest a wall of muscle refusing to give an inch. He dipped his head. "We breaking up, doll face?" he drawled.

Tempted to knee him for his smartass comment, she refrained and went for the kill—his heart. "You only said that to hurt me. You're real good at that lately."

His face twisted angrily. "That's right, darlin'. That's all I've wanted to do since I came here." He touched her hair, his hands shaking slightly. "Hurt you," he said, his voice softening. Then the tenderness was gone, and he laughed. "I needed your farmhouse like I needed a dairy farm." He pushed off the truck and waved her through. "Run away, Red. And keep running."

Bren stood frozen. What was he saying? Come to think of it. He'd never bought one single cow.

"Did you hear me?" He bent down, again, his unshaven face dark and scowling inches from hers. He grabbed her arm hard, yanked her past the truck, and pulled her to him. He looked dangerous and capable of hurting her if he wanted.

Bren shuddered. He didn't resemble the man she thought she'd come to know. The gentle, kind man was gone, replaced by an angry, unfeeling bastard.

"Tom's dead, Bren." His voice sliced the air with finality. "He's never coming back, darlin'." For a moment regret flashed in his eyes before it dissolved into an ugly emptiness. "So get used to it."

Bren fisted her hand and brought it up, connecting with his nose. "Go to hell."

His head tipped back, and he cursed. He let go of her arm and grabbed his nose, blood running through his fingers. He eyed her and grinned. "You got a mean right hook, Red."

God, he was exasperating.
It was all fun and games now, but wait till the alcohol wore off. Bren gave him her back and started walking. She hated him—hated him for making her fall in love with him.
She was in love with him.
She threw her head back in abject resignation and disgust. She was in love with him, and she couldn't stand to be within a fist's throw of him because he was acting like a spiteful child.

But more than that, he was hiding something from her. Even in his drunken state, he hadn't eased off and confided in her—he was that good at keeping his head about him, and keeping a truth he couldn't confess that ended any future they might have had together.