In the Wind (2 page)

Sawyer

Things Change

Last Dollar is a small town so completely unlike the one I've known all my life. The Hampton College brings in new people constantly, making Ellsberg feel bigger than a Podunk town. This place has no university, and I've only left the massive McLaughlin property twice on food runs.

My family's money mostly comes from illegal activities run by the Reapers. Our territory includes Kentucky and parts of Indiana and West Virginia. The McLaughlins started in oil like many Texans. These days, their assets include energy, tech, manufacturing, and real estate. The McLaughlins' arms manufacturing and the Reapers' need to defend our turf is how our families met years ago.

Technically, the twins are two sisters in a set of triplets. The girls are identical while their redheaded brother Zane is the third baby. Bodie and Colbie claim he's the lazy one. He agrees with this sentiment.

"I have no reason to know or do anything," he says, giving me a wink.

Zane has a rough voice, nearly growling even when talking normal. I love his voice, but he quickly annoys me the way most guys do. Luckily, he never makes eyes at me since I'm not even a tiny bit interested.

"I'm in love with a Mexican gal with fat lips and a fatter ass," he says.

After a minute, I realize he's complimenting his woman.

"Do you say that to her face?"

Zane gives me a grin that answers my question. I bet his woman loves his voice so much she doesn't care what the hell he's saying.

Even if they're not actually twins, I still think of Bodie and Colbie that way. Though identical, they claim their freckles are in different spots.
I suspect they're likely shitting me.

"I won't go home," I tell them on my second day in Texas. We're sitting next to their outdoor pool and eating fried pickles. "There's nothing left for me in Ellsberg."

"Wipe your silent tears," Colbie says from under her beige Stetson. "This is America. You do what you want. No worries what your big bro says."

A camouflage bucket hat hiding her flushed face, Bodie grunts in agreement. They tap their feet in unison to the sound of Dwight Yoakam playing from the outdoor speakers. Everything about this house feels decadent in a way my wealthy upbringing never was. Yet I feel at home here. The sisters love dogs, country music, and classic rock. Their big mouths remind me of my sister Bailey. Despite what Cooper demanded during our phone call, I can see myself living in Last Dollar.

"What kind of jobs do you have around here?" I ask.

Colbie sits up in the lounge chair and grins at me. "You could be my personal assistant."

Bodie gives me a disapproving look. Even knowing I should let the topic drop, I can't keep my mouth shut. While the twins are crazy bitches, I'm no timid pussy myself.

"What would I do?"

"Keep my shit in order. Email people for me. Stuff like that."

I'm about to ask how much the job pays when Bodie speaks up. "Ask Colbie what happened to her last assistant."

I look at Colbie who shrugs. "She's in a group home for the crazy sort."

Frowning, I reach for my iced tea and decide not to ask for clarification. Colbie knows what I'm thinking though.

"Hey, I knew she was bonkers when I hired her," Colbie says, petting her Bluetick Coonhound. "It's actually why I hired her. I wanted to see what kind of crazy direction she headed."

"And?"

"She tried to kill herself with a toy gun. Not as entertaining as you'd think."

"Tell her why," Bodie says.

"She was in love with me. I told her I wasn't into chicks, so she offered to have a sex change. I then told her I wasn't into ugly dudes. That's when she tried to blow her head off with a water gun. Again not nearly as popcorn exciting as I expected."

"I'm not going to fall in love with you or go crazy."

"You don't want to be her assistant," Bodie says. "You were going to college. I assume you have goals beyond following around a dumbass."

"I was working on a Communications and Public Relations degree."

"To do what?"

"My family owns legit businesses. Bailey runs them right now, but she's busy with her boys. I have plans to expand the business especially Pop's bar and grill called Whiskey Kirk's."

"Good for you."

"If you live here, what about college?" Bodie asks.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"Don't challenge me, Sawyer. I'll be forced to kick your ass and shit will get awkward between us."

"I'm fairly sure I could take you."

"Your grief has made you delusional," Colbie says, nuzzling her dog's face with hers.

"The only college nearby is the McLaughlin Community College, and it's full of retirees and stoners."

"My hairstylist takes classes there," Colbie adds, now on the ground with her dog.

Bodie and I frown at the weird wrestling match taking place in the grass nearby.

"I guess I can get my degree online," I say, still watching Colbie roll on the ground. "Farah did that when she was busy popping babies out."

"And Farah is?"

"Cooper's woman."

Bodie nods. "I'm not great at names or caring enough to fix how I'm not great at names."

"What kind of real estate options do you have around here?"

"Trailer parks. Lots of trailer parks," Colbie calls out from the ground.

Bodie rolls her eyes. "We're currently building a new subdivision of family homes. Not great for a single gal like you. We do have a new condo complex built. You could live there and get a cat. Date guys from the trailer park in your free time."

"Do you not want me to be here?" I ask again.

"Look, you're aces and all that shit. I love my town though. I don't need you turning around and bitching about my beloved hometown because it's small and you can't get whatever crap you got back in Eltonberg."

"Ellsberg."

"Not good with names, remember?"

Closing my eyes, I picture Ellsberg. "It's a small town too. We have lots of honky-tonks. Little family owned restaurants too. The big box stores are just outside of town. That's not so different than Last Dollar."

Bodie gives me a little nod before lowering her hat over her eyes and dozing off. After finishing with her dog, Colbie walks inside the highly air-conditioned house. The afternoon is quiet, and Bodie's Doberman sits nearby. I worry about my safety though. Cooper tends to get whatever he wants, and he specifically stated I was returning to Ellsberg. His tone made me think I had no choice.

My brother is no working slob. He runs an outlaw motorcycle club. If he wants me back in town, he'll do more than stomp his feet and whine.

Leaving a napping Bodie, I go looking for Colbie. The cold of the house feels good on my sweaty skin, but I remain tense. If Cooper sends someone, I'll run. No fucking way will I go back. I'm Cooper's sister, not his employee.

I find Colbie on the couch in the three-story beige living room. She's flipping through channels when I enter.

"What if Cooper sends someone?" I ask.

"Who's Cooper again?"

"My brother and the president of the Reapers."

"Oh, yeah, the big blond guy. He's hot. I wish my brother was hot. That way, I'd have someone better to look at everyday than the shit face I have now."

"Not cool," Zane mumbles, startling me.

I turn to find him on another couch. He's staring at the TV through half-closed eyes.

"What the hell?" I ask. "Am I interrupting naptime?"

"Actually," Bodie says, shuffling into the room with her Doberman and a black cat following close behind, "you are. We get up early and take a nap after lunch. That way, we can stay up late. If you want to roll with the McLaughlin Three, you'll need to learn to nap too."

I take a minute to mentally mock the "McLaughlin Three" thing before returning to my point. "Cooper said if I didn't come back to Ellsberg..."

"Where?" Zane grunts.

"You three need to learn to remember fucking names."

"You'd think," Bodie says, flopping on a third couch, "but nope."

"Look, if he sends someone to Last Dollar to grab me, what the hell can I do besides run?"

"You'll be fine. Those Reapers don't have any power around here."

"My brother doesn't mess around," I say, pacing now. "Hell, he could send one of his enforcers. Someone like Vaughn or Judd. Those guys have known me since I was born. They'll pull guilt trips on me and likely weapons on you."

When I stop pacing, I realize the three of them are asleep. Not even their damn dogs are listening to me.

"Fuck," I mutter.

Bodie suddenly sits up and grabs a blanket from the end of the couch. Noticing me staring at her, she rolls her eyes. "This property is prepared for a zombie apocalypse. The town runs drills for alien invasions. I think we can handle a few bikers, Sawyer. Now, please shut the fuck up. You seriously don't want to be around us if we don't get our afternoon naps. Imagine an overtired baby packing heat."

Collapsing on the couch, she covers herself with the blanket and closes her eyes. The only noises in the room come from the giant TV quietly playing an episode of
Roseanne
.

Thinking about Cooper's stubborn streak and arrogance, I know he'll send someone to force me back to Ellsberg. I only pray it's not my other brother Tucker. I really don't want to have to kick his ass again.

Jace

Hello Texas

Driving all night, I reach the Texas/Arkansas border an hour after dawn. I stop at a Denny's for a gallon of coffee and enough food. Apparently, I have eight hours more of driving before me. My plan is ride until I reach Last Dollar. Underestimating the heat and my fatigue, I finally pull over to a Days Inn around noon.

I down a sandwich in between taking a shower and crashing on the bed. My last thought before I sleep is how Sawyer's blue eyes shine when she's happy. Unfortunately, she won't be happy to see me.

Sleeping for way too long, I wake up grumpy. The room is nearly dark, and I remain in bed staring at the ceiling. Sawyer has haunted my thoughts since I was old enough to realize she was a sexy girl rather than my buddy. I'm thinking of her now, and my thoughts aren't happy ones.

Outside my room, arriving guests make a racket. I hear the kids whining about the long drive while the mom sounds ready to scream. The dad grunts all his responses. I don't know why exactly, but the sound of their misery puts me in a better mood.

I take another shower before checking out of the hotel. The heat infecting my every pore dampens my smile. Combing back my shoulder-length brown hair, I hear the earlier family stumbling outside to have dinner somewhere. Their bickering makes me laugh. During family trips, my sisters and I complained the same way. Those vacations were some of my fondest childhood moments.

The next few hours, I ride along quiet highways. The only traffic occurs whenever I pass by a town or small city. The sun is gone by the time I reach the "Welcome to Last Dollar" town sign. I don't know if I should talk to Sawyer tonight or wait until the morning. The old Sawyer was always wilder after sundown. The new Sawyer is a mystery to me.

I fill up my tank at a gas station on the main strip of the small town. The guy behind the counter alternates between watching me like a hawk and avoiding looking at me.

"Do you know the McLaughlin property?" I ask him.

His eyes widen, and he steps back. "Why?"

"My friend is staying with the twins, and I need to bring her something from her brother."

"Well," he says, all helpful now, "you take Main Street right through town and keep going. The big trees are a tip-off that you're getting close. The McLaughlins have a big front gate with the letter "M" on it. It's lighted, so you can't miss it even in the dark."

"Thanks a lot, man."

I start for the door when he gets to talking again. "They won't be around right now. I mean, if that matters to you."

"Come again?" I ask, turning back.

"Someone will be at the house to let you in. If you're looking for the twins and your friend, they won't be at the house at this time in the evening."

"Got any idea where they could be?"

The man scratches at his chest, near his faded nametag spelling out "Gigger." "Are you really a friend of theirs because I don't want to get in any trouble for telling you stuff?"

"No one is getting in any trouble."

The man glances outside then back at me. "You come to town alone?" When I nod, he chuckles. "I don't see you being a threat all by your lonesome. The twins usually spend their evenings at the Hidey-hole."

"Where's that?"

"Keep going like you're heading to their place. It's the big honky-tonk with the howling dog sign on your right side."

After thanking him again, I head down the road and past plenty of storefronts with rocking chairs on the front porches. People watch me go by, and a few of them wave. I sense either this town is friendly as hell or I'll be buried in an unmarked grave soon.

The Hidey-hole doesn't do much to conceal itself, despite the camouflage painted walls. I pull into the half-full parking lot, and find a spot away from the semi-trucks lined up on the far end. Country music plays from the outdoor speakers located near the dog sign's howling mouth.

The bar is bigger on the inside than I expect. The decor feels more steakhouse than honky-tonk, and I'm struck by the scent of grilling meat. A pretty waitress smiles at me and asks where I'd like to sit.

I glance around the place and spot a head of blonde curls. "I'm meeting someone," I tell the waitress and make a beeline for Sawyer before my common sense gets the better of me.

Her back faces me as she picks a song from the jukebox. Sawyer's lean body sways once the distinctive sounds of Ram Jam's
Black Betty
begin over the speakers. The men in the bar notice the hot blonde grooving. Even if I don't blame them for admiring all the bare flesh her tight tank and shorts offer, I feel a familiar jealousy rising up in me. Even knowing this isn't the time or the place to lose my shit, I decide logic be damned, I'm ready to murder anyone who so much as breathes on her.

Sawyer turns around, sees me, and stops jamming halfway through a hip thrust. Her eyes freeze, so I don't know if she's scared or pissed. I don't know what she's thinking, but I'm quite certain of my feelings

I cup her face and kiss her before I can stop myself. Her lips open in surprise, and I taste beer and steak sauce on her tongue. I don't know how long our lips mash together, hungry for something we haven't felt in nearly nine months. All I can think is how much I love this woman and how badly I fucked up. My kiss promises I'll fix all the bullshit I've caused.

Pulling my lips away, I look into her bright blue eyes and try to think of the right words. Before I can speak, Sawyer does.

"Oh, hell, no!" she yells, trying to knee me in the crotch.

I block her knee, and the punch she throws next. Frustrated, Sawyer runs for the front door.

Instinct kicking in, I beat Sawyer to the door and grab her around the waist. The girl bucks like a wild animal, but I manage to hold on.

"Let me go!" she screams, punching at me.

Sawyer's too upset tonight to focus, and her strikes go wild. I dodge them before swinging her over my shoulder and turn to the door. I expect everyone in this place to pull their weapons and stop the newcomer from stealing a girl from their domain. People laugh instead. Some take pictures on their phones. No one looks ready to call the cops as I storm past them and out the door.

The music is loud enough outside that I can't hear the names Sawyer's calling me. I suspect most of her threats involve my dick though. Despite my ease at getting out of the honky-tonk, I'm screwed.
How the hell do I get this pissed chick anywhere?
Sawyer will most definitely jump off a moving Harley. She once jumped out of Bailey's moving SUV because her sister wouldn't change the channel. Sawyer's temper shorts out her common sense every time.

"Hell," I grunt standing in the open. "Do you have a car?"

"I'm going to filet your dick. Grill it too. Feed it to my dogs!"

I open my mouth to mention something about Cooper sending me. I even think to explain how I'm only there to help. My goal is to bullshit Sawyer long enough to find her keys.

The second her feet touch the parking lot, Sawyer's knee goes straight for my crotch again. I expect as much and block it. My hands dig in the pockets of her jean shorts while she punches my arms and back. Her pockets are empty. She isn't even carrying cash.

"How the hell did you get here?" I demand, pissed at how I've been in town less than an hour and already fucked up.

When Sawyer opens her mouth, I do the same to tell her to save the dick threats. We both pause when a camouflaged truck comes barreling into the parking lot at us.

"Shit!" I holler, grabbing Sawyer in the hopes of moving her out of the truck's path.

The truck swings around and sprays mud at us. Sawyer is about to raise hell until we notice the two figures pointing weapons in our direction from the truck's bed. I make a move for my gun while shoving Sawyer behind me. The first shot hits me square in the stomach. Even hurting like a sonovabitch, the wound isn't from a bullet but a paintball. The next shot hits my hand reaching for my gun. I'm nailed in the legs, arms, and gut.

My brain is just accepts they're not trying to kill us when Sawyer makes a run for the truck. One of the figures reaches a hand out and pulls her into the bed. The second figure fires at my feet.

"Go!" one of the figures yells, and the truck speeds off.

Sawyer and the two figures hold on while the truck disappears out of the parking lot and down the road towards the McLaughlin property. Drenched in pink paint, I wonder what kind of people I'm dealing with around here.

"Could have told you that would happen," a woman says, leaving Hidey-hole."

"Why didn't you?" I ask like a dope.

The woman only laughs as she reaches her car. Other people are laughing too from the doorway of the honky-tonk. No wonder they didn't call the cops.

Arriving at a hotel just out of town, I receive laughter from the front clerk. Even after I give my death stare, the guy snickers.

"Could be worse," he says, handing me the room keycards.

"How do you figure?"

"They could have been using real bullets. Last I checked, those aren't pink."

Forcing a grin, I stomp to my room to wash the pink splatter from my hair. After a thirty-minute shower, I sit on the bed and think about my next move. Everyone in this town seems to know everyone else's business. Showing up unannounced at the McLaughlin house likely won't go well, and I'm not looking to be shot with pink paint again.

Rather than going in half-cocked again, I plan to make an appointment by asking just about anyone in Last Dollar to set it up. Sawyer has wild friends here, but she's fooling herself if she thinks I'm returning to Ellsberg empty-handed.