Colorado 03 Lady Luck (6 page)

“I think me bein’ an idiot was proved in a
courtroom, Tate.”

This was no lie.

“Don’t wanna stir up demons, Ty, but that
shit, it’s not on you and everyone in town knows it. That was all
Fuller.”

He knew that. Oh yeah, he fucking knew
that.

He didn’t respond.

“It was me they targeted, fuck, anyone would
have gone down,” Tate told him. “Don’t get buried under that shit.
Rise above.”

Again, Walker didn’t respond.

Jackson waited for it then gave up.

“I’ll keep diggin’. Call you back. It’s
tomorrow. When’s the wedding?”

“She’s shoppin’ for a dress.”

Or at least he hoped she was. He gave her a
wad of cash and he had the valet ticket. The ticket was not
insurance. All he had was hope she wouldn’t bolt but he wouldn’t
blame her if she did. The fact that she didn’t walk out the door
when he gave her the chance still surprised him. It sucked but he
had Shift to thank for her not leaving. She was desperate, he
played on that. He didn’t like it but it worked in his favor and he
had a mission, he was focused, so he used it.

That said, this was done, he’d set her up
and, she was smart, she’d go onto a life where she never again had
to make desperate, fucked up decisions like marrying an ex-con she
didn’t know.

His response got a low chuckle from Jackson
then, “I’m sure she is.” Pause then, “I suspect she’s good people,
you’re marryin’ her so I’m glad she gave you a second chance, saw
through that shit, knows what she’s gettin’.”

She had no fucking clue.

Time to move on. So he did, out from under
the awning and down the sidewalk toward the jewelry store.

“How’s Jonas?”

“Growin’ so fast, Laurie can’t keep him in
clothes.”

“Laurie?”

Pause then, “Fuck, man, forgot. I got
married.”

Walker stopped dead and he heard someone
behind him let out a squeak and scuttle around him but he didn’t
move.

“No shit?”

A definite smile in his voice before, “No
shit.”

“The woman from the news,” Walker
stated.

“Yeah.”

He tried to remember if he’d seen any photos
of her when all that shit went down with Tate and that serial
killer who had kidnapped his woman and stabbed her with the intent
to rape her with that knife before he killed her which, luckily, he
didn’t get around to doing. They’d reported it on television and
during a variety of sports commentator shows considering Tate had a
very short-lived career as a linebacker in the NFL.

He’d watched it in the joint, seen photos of
Tate, none of his woman.

But it didn’t care if she was butt ugly. She
wasn’t Neeta, Tate’s old bitch from high school and on and off for
what seemed would last an eternity. Fortunately, it didn’t and Tate
got shot of her and could talk about being married with a smile in
his voice. Unfortunately, Neeta had been one of the victims of the
serial killer Tate tracked down. Neeta was so much of a pain in the
ass, she was the definition of a cunt, just a shade better than
Misty but not by much. Still, no one deserved what went down with
her.

Except, maybe, Misty. And he knew thinking
that made him a dick and he didn’t fucking care.

“Told her about you,” Jackson said in his
ear. “She’s already conspiring with Maggie, planning a celebration
for your return.”

Fuck.

“Not necessary,” Walker said as he started
walking again.

“Don’t fight it, Ty. When Laurie’s in the
mood to be friendly, no one can stop her. And you know Maggie.”

Terrific.

“And, trust me, she cooks for you, you’ll
wonder why you even considered fighting it,” Tate went on.

At least that was something.

He pushed open the doors and hit the plush
interior of the exclusive jewelry store. The clerks looked up at
him and he noticed two go pale. They were the men. The women had a
different reaction.

They always did. Though they’d rethink their
reaction if they knew he was an ex-con and what he was sent down
for.

He didn’t care. All he cared about was it
was air conditioned. Spending five years in a correctional
institute in southern California he’d had enough hot to last a
lifetime. It sucked it was the beginning of summer. Even his
hometown of Carnal in the Colorado Mountains would get hot.

But when winter hit… heaven.

“Gotta buy a ring, Tate,” he muttered into
the phone, going direct to one of the women who was smiling slow,
turning fully to him, not knowing she was about to make one fuck of
a commission.

“Right,” Jackson replied.

“Got a new number. This is Lexie’s phone.
I’ll text it to you.”

“Right,” Jackson repeated.

“Later.”

“Later and Ty?” he called.

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations, brother. Be happy.”

“Right.”

Walker flipped the phone shut.

Signing Bonus

I sat in the passenger seat of my own car,
the glossy, violet and ice blue cardboard folder that carried our
wedding photos and a large envelope with our marriage certificate
was sitting on my thighs, a huge bouquet of roses was in my hand,
the Vegas traffic was heavy, Walker was driving us back to the
hotel.

We’d been married by Liberace. Not the real
one, obviously, since he’d passed. A fake one. I didn’t know you
could be married by Liberace. I knew Elvis would marry you,
Liberace, no.

I found this hilarious, totally loved it. If
I knew you could be married by Liberace, even if I was head over
heels in love with the man I married and thinking I was starting a
life that would last forever, I’d blow off the traditional and go
for Liberace in a chapel festooned with violet, ice blue and a
liberal hand with silver gilding. It was freaking awesome.

But I wondered why Ty Walker chose Liberace.
I didn’t think he got a kick out of it because, as far as I could
tell, he had no sense of humor… or any emotion, really. It was
likely because it was the first wedding chapel we happened upon so
he swung the Charger in.

When we arrived inside, the vestibule was
packed. Two brides all kitted out in big dresses. One had at least
two dozen friends and family around her, groom in a tux, girlfriend
in a bridesmaid dress, another male in a tux – wedding party. This
was planned. They’d picked Liberace specifically. Their posse had
come with them, vacation and big event. The other bride and groom
had about half a dozen friends around them, the bride’s gown
clearly off the rack and not fitting properly and her hair was a
mess as was her makeup. Her groom was wearing shorts. She’d
probably donned that gown in the car. They’d been partying and were
about two sheets to the wind, teetering on three. Not planned.
Spontaneous but happy. Good times that may, or may not, be
regretted in the morning. I couldn’t tell. Right now they seemed
giddy with happiness but it could be giddy with booze. They’d wake
up tomorrow and realize they’d done the one thing that could happen
in Vegas that didn’t stay in Vegas. And looking at their loopy,
drunken grins, I hoped they didn’t care.

Walker walked me up to the desk that had a
huge display of real wedding bouquets and shelves of boxed confetti
in every color behind it and also behind it was a diminutive woman
with loads of dyed, dark hair ratted out into hairstyle the likes
of which I’d never seen and, not to be mean or anything, I hoped
I’d never see again. She also was sporting an excess of bulky
rhinestones which adorned her at ears, neck, wrists and fingers and
so much makeup it was unreal. It wasn’t a look I’d choose but she
worked it, except the hairstyle.

“Love is in the air!” she cried when we
stopped at the tall counter that was topped with glass under which
were photos of happy couples, the bride and groom sandwiching a
smiling-like-a-lunatic Liberace sporting an enormous, lilac-hued
pompadour, these pictures intermingling with printed menus of
wedding packages. “We’ve got a wait of about half an hour, a bit
more. I hope that isn’t a problem,” she went on.

“Nope,” Walker replied.

“Excellent,” she breathed, clasping her
hands in front of her then she took us both in. “What’ll it be?
Menu’s on the counter. We got a basic version then add-ons or you
could go with the deluxe package. And, I tell all my lovebirds,
whatever you do, go for the bubble machine even if it’s just as an
add-on. Nothing says joy like bubbles,” she advised and I pressed
my lips together to stop from giggling but even though I thought
she was funny, I couldn’t exactly argue with the fact that nothing
said joy like bubbles, I’d just never thought of bubbles like that.
She looked behind us then at us. “You need witnesses?”

“Yep,” Walker answered.

She leaned in. “We throw that in,
freebie.”

Walker just stared at her.

“That’s great,” I said.

“Basic,” Walker said and her smiling, love
is in the air eyes went up to him and her face fell a little.

“Oh,” she whispered.

“Cash,” he added.

She gave him a top-to-waist and muttered,
“Right.” Then she moved to the cash register.

My eyes moved to the bouquets.

After Walker told me what I needed to know
for now and gave me thousands of dollars to make it so, I’d braved
the Vegas heat and gone shopping. I was exhausted. I wanted a
shower and a nap but he was intent on getting this done and I
figured, if we did it then it would be over, I wouldn’t have a mind
filled with whether or not I’d made the right decision or kicking
myself for getting played by Shift rather than upping stakes and
getting the fuck out of Dallas about thirty seconds after we laid
Ronnie in the ground.

And as I tried on dress after dress trying
to find one to get married in, I thought about the men in my life
(by the way, the first dress I’d been instructed to get I’d found
right away – a wedding dress, not so easy and, incidentally, I’d
done a detour from Walker’s instructions in order to buy a bikini,
a hopeful effort that I might eventually get to veg beside a pool
where every girl knows she can let the sun bake away her life,
however crazy it is, and I needed that for certain).

In thinking about the men in my life, I
started at the beginning and counted them down.

First, there was my grandfather. A decent
enough guy if you didn’t know him. Not so decent if you did. Total
shit at being a Dad. This was evidenced by the fact that my mother
was a mess. He hadn’t learned any lessons from what went bad with
her before taking me on. This was because, first, he didn’t want to
learn and second, he was the kind of man who always thought he was
right so he didn’t think there was anything
to
learn and my Mom flying off the rails was
therefore all on her not on the fact that her mother was a weak
woman cowed by an overbearing man and her father was more
interested in football than fatherhood and expected the women in
his life to tow the line and wasn’t best pleased, and showed it,
when they didn’t do what he wanted even if he hadn’t expended the
effort to explain what he wanted.

There you go. Enough said about
Granddad.

Then there was Ronnie.

And, enough said.

Then there was Shift.

Definitely enough said.

Now there was Ty Walker, an admittedly
gorgeous and weirdly honest yet still unforthcoming ex-con who went
to a pimp to get himself a wife for reasons unknown.

Again, enough said.

Evidence was suggesting in the man
department I should give up while the giving up was good.

So, upon finding my wedding ensemble, an
extortionately expensive dress full price that had been marked down
twice and I knew why, only a buyer would see it on the hanger and
know it was fabulous, I decided to give up while the giving up was
good.

In other words, this would be my only
wedding. I was done with men and that done could be displayed in
neon lights, that was how done I was.

And I had a fabulous dress, great shoes and
Ty Walker’s diamonds.

And since this was it for me, I wanted a
bouquet.

“Can you, uh… add on a bouquet?” I asked the
lady. “Ring it up separately. I’ll pay for it with my credit
card.”

Her gleeful eyes came to me and she cried,
“Absolutely, darlin’!” Then she threw out an arm indicating the
bouquets like she was the gowned eye candy on a game show. “You
pick.”

I looked at the bouquets and instantly
spotted the one I wanted. “Top row, second one in.”

A huge, close bundle of blush-colored roses
mixed here and there with gorgeous ivory ones. Nothing else. Just
roses pressed together tightly. Elegant. Gorgeous.

“Fabulous choice,” the woman approved,
moving to the bouquet, she plucked it out and I saw the spray of
stems was bound with a wide, ivory organdie ribbon tied in a big
bow. She turned, offered it to me, I took it and she announced,
“One hundred and fifty dollars.”

Oh my God. One hundred and fifty dollars?
There were a lot of roses, probably two dozen, maybe even more,
they were gorgeous, each one sheer perfection, but still.

I stared down at the bundle, muttering,
“Um…”

“Add it,” Walker rumbled and my head jerked
back and to the side to look up at him.

“You don’t –” I started.

His eyes tipped down to me. I shut up.

“All righty, lovebirds,” the woman
chirped.

“Photo,” Walker stated and I looked from him
to the now beaming woman.

“Five by seven or eight by ten?” she
asked.

“Two. Of both,” he answered.

“No problem,” she stated. “Anything else?
Confetti?” She did the game show thing with her arm again,
indicating the boxes of confetti behind her but eyeing my dress.
“We got pink.”

“No,” Walker said firmly, she bit her lip
and I waded in.