Brash (19 page)

May 14, 2002

Dear Diary,

Just got home from having breakfast with my family. Mirabelle's French toast is the best. It
almost made me feel better after missing Sweet so much. Where is he? I haven't heard from him since the day before my birthday. I wish he'd have told me who his people are. Then I could've gone to them and asked. But he'll be back. He has to.

So anyway, my new friend? The one that was being a lookout so I didn't get into trouble with my family? Well, she turned out to be a liar. I thought I could trust her. I thought she was helping me. But she's the one who's been following me and Sweet!! Can you believe that? She admitted it! First thing tomorrow, I'm going to tell her to never talk to me again, that Sweet is my boyfriend, and if she doesn't stop when he comes back I'm gonna tell everybody how awful she is.

Going to the movies with my brothers now.

Talk to you later,

Cass

Blue looked up, his heart slamming against his ribs. Natalie was standing there, staring at him. Her gaze dropped to the book in his hands.

The diary of Cass Cavanaugh.

“It was you,” he said.

Don't miss the next novel in the Cavanaugh Brothers series

by Laura Wright,

 

BONDED

 

On sale from Signet Eclipse in September 2015.

Some people would call it a long-held crush, but if you asked Emily Shiver directly what her feelings regarding Blue Perez were, she'd probably say it was more like a long-held . . . appreciation. She didn't do crushes. That was so junior high school. Of course, that might have been when she saw Blue for the first time. He'd just come to town with his mother, moved into the Triple C to take care of the house and of Everett Cavanaugh. The older man was alone. Wife had passed on, all three of his boys gone. From the outside looking in, doom and gloom coated that ranch like thick, hungry fog.

But what did anyone expect, right? They'd lost their girl. Cass. In the most painful way imaginable. Firstly, when her brothers had just wanted to do what every other brother would've wanted to do when they were at a movie theater: watch the movie. Not escort their annoying kid sis to the
bathroom. Hell, she could do that on her own—and grab some Skittles on the return trip. But there was no return. She went missing. Christ, the terror that family must have felt. And the horror that followed when her body had turned up in the meadow out past Lake Tonka.

The world as they'd all known it was over. Emily remembered those days well. Seemed like the whole town of River Black was just watching and praying and hoping. Their breath held. But it was no use. No coming back from pain that all-consuming. The Cavanaughs were irrevocably destroyed. Seemed like no light would ever find its way to them. Then in came Elena Perez and her son, Blue. Moved in, cleaned up and out. A hope for comfort and peace, and maybe things returning to some new sense of normal. Which they did. For a while. Until Everett passed . . . and the truth of his affair with Elena, long before she'd moved in to the Triple C, and the child they'd created came to light.

“Emily hon,” came a voice near her right shoulder. “That's my Coke you're manhandling there.”

The kitchen of the Bull's Eye came into focus like someone fiddling with the lens of a microscope. Emily looked up into the gentle dark eyes of Rae, the Eye's longest-going employee, then back down to their hands wrapped around a large red tumbler filled to the brim with black liquid. She instantly released the glass and stepped back from the soda machine.

“Sorry about that, Rae. My brain isn't working well tonight.”

With a soft laugh, the older woman placed the bubbling Coke on her tray. “Well, honey, you only have 'bout fifteen minutes left—ain't that right?”

Emily glanced up at the clock on the wall. Quarter of nine. “Can't come soon enough. Along with my addled brain, my feet are pretty much done.”

“Give it a few years and a layer of calluses, honey,” Rae said before pulling out and heading back into the dining room.

A few years, Emily thought. She was hoping for one at the most. Just enough time to save up for a mortgage on that abandoned store on Main and Kettler. Nothing wrong with serving up drinks and good food, if that was your choice, but she had a dream of opening her own flower shop that she was looking to fulfill.

After getting herself a large Coke to go with the two whiskeys on her tray, she too headed for the dining room. It was a slow night, and she had only one table. A couple of guys she guessed were traveling through because she'd never seen 'em around River Black before, and one tended to see the same people over and over. They'd ordered food and several rounds of drinks. Easy peasy. She'd serve 'em up and get herself home and to bed. And in that fifteen minutes that remained, she would not—repeat,
would not
—stare in the direction of the bar.

As if the silent promise were really an enticement to do just that, Emily's brown eyes—which her father called doe eyes, or can't-say-no-to-my-baby-girl eyes—tracked left. Seated at the bar, his back to her, Stetson riding low, was the very object of her . . . What word had she resorted to again? Oh yeah,
appreciation
. And boy oh boy, could she appreciate him tonight. His long, lean, hard body was showcased in nothing special: standard cowboy gear, jeans and black T-shirt. But her eyes moved covetously over him anyway, from tanned neck to broad shoulders, trim waist and . . . a denim-clad butt that made her heart kick up and certain unmentionable lady parts quiver.

Sigh.
She'd worked at the Bull's Eye for a year and a half now, and the man had maybe been in the place twice. Didn't seem like much of a drinker or a socializer. 'Cept maybe with Mackenzie Byrd. They worked at the Triple C together and seemed like friends. Or had. She hadn't seem them around each other lately. Since Mac had gone and married the eldest Cavanaugh. Emily wondered what had brought him in tonight. And straight to the bar. Where he'd been tossing back—

“Goddammit, girl!”

Emily whipped around. The man before her—a customer she didn't know—had his hands in the air and was staring down at his crotch. Emily swallowed as she saw that the denim was sporting a spattering or two of whiskey. She glanced at her
tray and the glass on its side.
That's what staring and dreaming does: pissed-off customer, no tips.

Quickly, she set the tray down on the empty tabletop behind her and grabbed some napkins. “I am so sorry,” she began, holding out the napkins. No way was she trying to clean up his crotch. “Here. Please take these.”

The man looked up, venom in his pale brown eyes. “What the fuck are you? Blind? Or just clumsy?”

Perfect. No forgiveness here.
“I'm really very sorry. Let me get you another, on the house.”

For anyone in River Black, this would've garnered a begrudging smile at the very least. But not our out-of-towner. He wanted blood and humiliation.

“So you can spill that on me too?” he snarled at her. “Pass.” He turned to his friend, who looked about as nice and as forgiving as jerkweed number one and uttered, “Should've known. Stopping in these tiny towns, all you get are stupid, clumsy bitches with big racks.”

Heat spread through Emily's chest, and she felt her lip curl against her top teeth. Assholes came and went. It was part of the job. Maybe not as much in River Black as in the bigger cities, but it happened. For the most part it was always better to walk away from the table or to let Dean handle it. But Emily had never been able to suffer insults or misogyny well. Shoot, she'd grown up with
two brothers. They'd stopped thinking they could get away with shit after the age of five. Jerkweed One and Two were going to learn that hard fact right now.

“I'm sorry, sir,” she began, her tone low and cool. “I don't think I caught all of that. I have a big rack and what? What did you call me?”

The friend made a low whistling sound before Jerkweed Number One muttered, “No eyes, but she's sure got ears.”

“Sure do,” she said. “And they're almost as big as my rack.”

Both heads came around. Both sets of eyes widened.

“Look,” she said, easing back just a touch, giving them room to drop their crap and act civilized. She wasn't looking to have a problem in the Bull's Eye tonight, and hell, her shift was almost up. “Didn't mean to splatter you with the whiskey. I'm offering to buy you another. On me. Be done with this. What do you say?”

For one brief second, Emily thought the Jerkweeds were going to be human. But then Jerkweed One opened his big mouth again.

“You know, darlin,” the man drawled, “a man only likes his women feisty in the bedroom. I think someone should teach you some manners.”

She rolled her eyes.

“I'll do it,” offered Jerkweed Two. Dark eyes glittered under dark brows.

“Okay,” Emily began. “I'll get you the check. Or better yet, leave and I'll take care of it.”

Jerkweed One laughed. “She thinks she has a say over what I do, Tim.” The man snorted and sat back in his chair. “Big tits and a nice ass only sway a man—”

“Okay over there?” came a male voice behind Emily.

A different kind of heat coursed through her this time. It blanketed her with warmth and familiarity, and she instantly turned to see Blue coming up beside her. Tall, strong and handsome, with eyes so fierce they took her breath away.

“Everything's fine,” she told him.

“That's right,” Jerkweed Number One chimed in. “Get lost, cowboy.”

“I'm not speaking to you,” Blue said in a voice so cold, Emily waited for her breath to fog up. “Did you think I was speaking to you?”

The man stared back hard.

“Okay,” Emily said. Last thing she wanted was a fight. “It's all good here.” She gave Blue an encouraging nod. “Seriously, nothing I haven't seen, dealt with or kicked to the curb before.”

“Or got down on yer knees for, right, honey?” Jerkweed Two said with a low chuckle. He turned to his friend, the instigator. “That's how we shut her up, right, Tim? Stick something in her mouth.”

Tim grinned. “You bet. While I stick something in her—”

That's as far as Tim got. Before Emily could stop him—not that she wanted to—Blue reached out, grabbed the idiot by the collar, jerked him to his feet and slammed a fist into the man's smug face. The guy went flying back into a chair. In seconds, his friend was up and rounding the table, coming after Blue. But the ranch hand was ready. Emily had never seen anybody work so fast. While Rae and Dean were rushing over to a mumbling Tim, Blue had Jerkweed Two in a chokehold and was dragging his ass across the Bull's Eye and toward the door. Emily stared at the man on the ground, shaking her head. He could've just accepted the drink.
Asswipe.

Suddenly Tim was being hauled to his feet. It was Blue. Controlled ire sizzled around him. He was a good three inches taller and far broader than the other man, and it was a lot more evident as the guy sagged against him. Blue dragged Tim over to Emily.

“What do you say?” he ground out, shaking Tim a bit. “What do you say to her?”

The man blinked, no doubt trying to get his full range of vision back. He looked at Emily. “Sorry. Ma'am.”

“Yeah, sure,” she returned. “Just, you know, don't ever come back.”

Blue handed the man off to Dean, who escorted him out to his waiting friend. Emily glanced at Rae, who just shrugged. It wasn't as though they
hadn't seen this kind of thing before. Rae probably several times. Then Emily looked back at Blue. It was then that she noticed he was bleeding. A small gash on his lip—and his chin was bruised. Must've happened outside with Jerkweed Two. Dammit . . . Last thing she wanted was this man getting hurt. That beautiful face. That hard, sexy jawline . . .

This time when she rolled her eyes it was at herself and internal.

She reached for a napkin. “Your lip . . . let me clean it up for you.”

He backed away. “Naw, it's nothing.”

She stared at him. “You're bleeding.”

He swiped at it with the back of his hand. “All gone.”

“Well, that wasn't very sanitary.”

His eyes—those unbearably blue eyes—warmed with momentary humor. Then he touched the brim of his hat and turned to head back to the bar.

Emily stared after him. Confused. “Wait.” She followed him. “Shit . . . I didn't thank you.”

“No need,” he said, sliding into his seat once again.

“Maybe not. But I'm going to thank you anyway.”

He turned to look at her. “Something tells me you could've taken 'em out yourself.”

“What tells you that?”

He ran a hand over his jaw, which was darkening by the minute. “Just a guess.”

“Are you in pain?”

“Constantly,” he returned before picking up his drink.

“You want something, Em?” Dean asked, sliding back behind the bar. “After dealing with those assholes, I say you're done for the night. But a drink is needed.”

“It's on me,” Blue said, then tossed back his tequila. “Another if you please. What would you like . . . Em?”

Her heart pinged in her chest. “It's Emily.”

“Right.” He cocked his head to the side as he studied her. “I've seen you around.”

Her heart ceased to ping.
Seen her around.
Which was code for
I barely noticed you. Do you even live in River Black?

“You like wearing a green hat, right?” he continued. “I remember because I always wondered where you got a green Stetson round here.”

Oh. Pinging has returned!
A smile touched her mouth. He had noticed her. “It was my grandmother's. Dyed for her special by a Native American friend from school.” She turned to a waiting Dean. “Just a Coke for me. Thanks, Dean.”

Blue groaned. “Ahhh, now you're gonna make me feel bad. Or worse.” Under his breath he uttered, “If that's even possible tonight.”

Curiosity coiled within her. Did she ask? Did she wait for him to tell her? Did she ignore it?

Dean set the Coke before her and poured
another round of tequila for Blue, which he drained in about five seconds flat, then tapped the bar top to indicate he wanted another.

“Thirsty tonight?” she asked gingerly. She'd worked at the Bull's Eye long enough to know that drinking like he was had nothing to do with relaxing. Dark feelings were running through Blue Perez's blood.

He turned, and his eyes moved over her face. “Yep. Green hat and a ton of strawberry blond curls.” He reached out and fingered one of those curls caught up in a ponytail.

Emily shivered.

“Here you are.” Dean was filling his glass once again, and this time when Blue took hold, he swung it her way in a quick acknowledgment.

“Sure you don't want something stronger, Miss Emily?”

She sipped her Coke. “I think you're doing fine for the both of us. And you'd better be walking home.”

“I got my truck.”

She shook her head and, like the meddlesome gal she was, reached over and grabbed his keys off the bar top. Blue's gaze found hers, and under the heat of that electric stare, Emily's breath caught.