Place Your Betts (The Marilyns) (6 page)

“Uh oh.” All Betts could do was stand back and watch the carnage. Charlie protected her friends and family like a mama bear protected her cubs. God help the world when Charlie actually did have a child because any teacher stupid enough to give him or her a bad grade would die a horrible death.

Lucky rose and angled herself between Charlie and the desk. “You’ll want to change the subject now…before she pulls out the big words. Once she starts spewing four-dollar words, I won’t be able to hold her back.”

Lucky wrapped her arm around Charlie. “She didn’t mean anything by it. Let’s walk it off.” She escorted Charlie to the door.

“Charlie cherishes the privacy of her friends and family.” Betts shot Laura a look that said she needed to not ask any more questions. “I assume cash is okay.”

 “With a cash offer, I’m confident we can get this at a deep discount.” Laura opened a desk drawer.

Betts nodded. The land didn’t mean jack, but the fact that it was Gabe Swanson’s meant everything. It took all the control Betts had cultivated over the years
not
to jump up and down. Gabe wasn’t about to let Betts waltz into Tom’s life without a fight. In life, location was key. She’d park herself on Swanson land—land she would buy with her own hard-earned money—and refuse to move. The ranch was Gabe’s whole world. He’d proven that when he’d chosen it over her. Now he’d have no choice but to let her in if he wanted his precious land back.

***

“I think it ends over there.” Laura’s cow eyes looked down at the land plat. “Your property line runs straight, all the way to the road.”

Betts shaded her eyes from the fading late-afternoon sun. The breeze carried the scent of fresh-cut hay, and a swooshing, mechanical noise hummed in the distance. Scrubby pine and thick, old oak trees dotted the grassy, rolling hills at her back. Standing square in front of her—directly to the left of the line Laura’s polished pink fingertip had just drawn on the plat—was ground zero for Betts’s teenaged broken heart. The Swanson cabin.

The last time she’d seen the cabin, it had been deserted, but the cedar-plank building appeared to be inhabited now. The river stone fireplace jutting from the roof was straight and new, replacing the crumbling one. Wooden shutters—once grayed with time—had been painted a deep green. Long curtains were pulled back to let in light through the shiny windows.

If Betts had been alone, she’d have thrown rocks through those windows. This cabin was where Gabe had promised her the world, laid her down, and relieved her of her virginity. She cocked her head to one side. His promises had lasted only slightly longer than the deed.

With one hand, Betts massaged the tension in her neck. Her new land ran right alongside the cabin.

“It looks like the electricity and sewer run on your property first and then to that cabin. They should be easy to tap into.” Lucky peered at the plat and refused to acknowledge Laura.

“The pasture is perfect for the reenactment,” Charlie yelled from the other side of the field. “We can use that tree over there. It’s not as high as the Book Depository, but I think we can get the right trajectory.”

“Trajectory?” Laura looked from Betts to Lucky and back again.

Lucky rolled up the plat and tucked it under her arm. “Every year on November twenty-second, we reenact President Kennedy’s assassination using water balloons.”

Laura appeared to be even more confused. “Why?”

“To prove there was a second shooter.” Lucky turned her back on the realtor and walked across the pasture to Charlie.

“They certainly are interesting friends.” Laura smiled tentatively at Betts.

“Interesting” meaning odd. Being odd was what had brought them together. Charlie had been chubby and awkward, Lucky was super smart, and Betts had been on a scholarship to their all-girls boarding school. All outcasts forced to create their own inner circle.

“I’m sorry if I offended Lucky.” Laura watched Lucky and Charlie.

Not Ms. Strickland, but Lucky. Fame bred a false sense of familiarity.

“She’s a very private person who never wanted to live her life on TV.” But her bastard of a husband had insisted, and Lucky would have done anything to make him happy. “Is the cabin empty?” She changed the subject and pointed to the cabin. Neighbors weren’t ideal, especially ones who worked for Gabe, but it couldn’t be helped.

Laura laid a hand on Betts’s arm. “The Swansons live there. Gabe and his son.”

“I thought they lived in a mansion down the street.”

“That’s right. You don’t know.” Laura leaned in close. “The big house burned down. People say it was Peyton—Gabe’s father—who did it. Burned down his own house for the insurance money.” She hunched her shoulders. “Didn’t work. The insurance company smelled arson and wouldn’t pay. Peyton was about to go to jail when he had his heart attack. Went too easily, if you ask me. He was a tough son of a gun and deserved some jail time.”

“Amen.” Betts nodded. Jail was too good for the asshole. Between Gigi and Peyton Swanson, hell was getting pretty full.

Tom lived here. Betts’s heart swelled. Her baby lived here. She squinted. Which one of the windows was his bedroom?

“You knew Peyton?” Laura perked up like she’d stumbled onto a juicy tidbit.

Damn it. Betts should have bitten her tongue; instead she wiped her countenance clean because a confidentiality agreement wasn’t ironclad. “Some. I spent summers here with my grandmother.”

“Wow. I didn’t know that.” Laura stepped back. “My favorite singer lived in my town, and I had no idea.”

That’s because nobody had gone out of their way to befriend the gangly redheaded granddaughter of the town shrew. Wherever Gigi had gone, people hadn’t just given her a wide berth—they’d scattered like cockroaches.

“I was a nobody back then. I stopped coming when I was sixteen.”

Gigi hadn’t told everybody about her famous granddaughter because Betts had been a big disappointment. The pictures on the wall in Gigi’s kitchen meant nothing.

“Your grandmother lives here?” Laura’s thick, dark eyebrows reminded Betts of two patches of electrical tape.

“Did. Irma Dittmeyer was her name.” Betts studied the landscape. The leaves were changing. Mother Nature did her finest work in reds, oranges, golds, and yellows.

“Oh.” It took several beats for the word to finish rolling off Laura’s lips. “I didn’t know her that well. I go to Peace Lutheran.”

There it was. The L word. Gigi wouldn’t have given a Lutheran the time of day. On her list of Hell’s Most Wanted, Lutherans occupied the spot just below murderers and right above gum smackers.

“Consider yourself lucky.” Betts smiled and changed the subject. “Is it possible to keep the terms of the sale private?”

The less the media knew about her business the better.

“Sure. I mean, as private as I can. The deed will be filed with the county commissioner, but it’ll take a couple of days.” Laura was all sincerity. “Sorry about your loss.”

“It wasn’t that much of a loss. Believe me.” She was surprised when tears gathered in her eyes. Tears were inappropriate, uncalled for, and horribly inconvenient in front of the town gossip. Betts turned away. “I’ve seen enough. When is it officially mine?”

“We’ve already signed the necessary paperwork, so as soon as your bank sends the money.” Laura glanced at her watch. “Which I’m pretty sure they already have. So…” She spun around with her arms open wide. “Happy land-buying day.”

“Thanks.” Betts swallowed a couple of times. This was a pretty great day. She now owned a third of Gabe Swanson’s life.

It had better be enough.

***

Gabe was here to deal with the devil face-to-face. He cast his gaze around the tidy front yard of Betts’s grandmother’s house. Clumps of people milled around. Her fans. He laughed to himself.

He needed to find out why Betts was here. When it came down to it, he couldn’t afford a custody battle; hell, he couldn’t afford the gas to drive to a custody battle. If Betts was in town to throw her weight around and get Tom back, Gabe wanted to be prepared.

He popped his black Stetson on his head and slid out of his truck. He shouldn’t be here. This was a bad idea. Around Betts, he was a bottomless pit of bad ideas.

His mother had taught him to look his best when going into battle, so he’d showered, shaved, and put on his pressed jeans. Then again, shiny shoes and combed hair hadn’t helped his mother deal with his father. And Betts made his daddy look like a pussycat.

Gabe sighed. Back then, Betts had been something, all five-foot-nothing of her, bold as brass, taking on the old man without breaking a sweat. She was hard as nails one minute and soft as silk the next. And she’d melted every time Gabe had kissed her…and he’d kissed her a lot. Even now, she slipped into his dreams, got him all hot and bothered, and then woke him before the good stuff happened.

Gabe slammed the truck door and glanced at the crowd of twenty or so people milling around the Dairy Queen parking lot and pointing at him. Her groupies. It had been pretty inspired to spread the word about her being in town on his way home yesterday. Every obstacle he put in her way was a point in his favor. Tom would come by later; he’d asked his son to drop by and pay his respects. If Betts wanted to see Tom, it would be on Gabe’s terms; plus, it wasn’t like he’d kept Tom from her. She’d never tried to see him until now.

Gabe raised his hand to knock on the front door.

“Love is always a shock to the system
…
” Betts’s voice carried through the open front windows into the yard. A faint tune played on a guitar. Then she played the same thing again, only the notes were a little different. “Love is a shock to the heart, a boost to the system, a shot to the arm
…
” She sang the words again—over and over—each time, the words stayed the same, but the tune changed.

Gabe lowered his hand and closed his eyes. How many times had he listened to her do this? Fiddle around on her guitar until she’d come up with a song. The guitar propped on her thigh, pen and paper close at hand, a dreamy expression on her face. The same expression she’d had the night they’d met.

He’d been in the Dairy Queen drive-thru line with the windows down and the T-tops off his old Camaro, and she’d been singing in her grandmother’s backyard. Like a legendary siren of old, she’d lured him in, plucked him out of his normal life, and after she’d gotten what she wanted, she’d tossed him overboard.

“Love is shock to the heart, a boost to the system, a shot in the arm…”

“Love is a pain in the ass.” Gabe pounded on the door. They would settle this once and for all. He pounded harder. The living room went dark, and all movement inside the house stopped. Gabe let out a long, slow breath and pounded again. Silence.

“I know you’re in there. Hiding behind the door isn’t going to work.”

The door opened a crack. “What do you want?”

“May I come in.” It wasn’t a question. Gabe stuck his boot in the door crack because she wasn’t shutting him out. They had things to discuss. “Or would you like for me to make a scene out here in front of all your fans? I’m sure the ten o’clock news would love a juicy Betts Monroe story.”

Betts glared at him and chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating.

Gabe tipped his hat. Hell, he needed to take it off inside anyway. “I can see it now. Beloved country star slams door in the face of local fan—”

“Get in here.” Betts opened the door wider, clamped her hand on his forearm, and pulled him inside. With a gracious smile, she turned back to the milling crowd. “Smile and wave or I’ll kick you out on your butt, headlines be damned.” She’d managed to say the last bit without moving her lips. If her singing career went south, ventriloquism would be a great backup.

Four people waved and jumped up and down while two held up signs. One read, “Betts, I love you. Will you marry me?” and the other said, “Fur Is Murder. Save The Innocent. Support MEAT—Musicians Ending Animal Torture.”

Without missing a beat, Betts bent down, picked up a book and an old red shoe from a pile of odds and ends stacked next to the door, and tossed them to the crowd. People went nuts pushing and shoving like Nolan Ryan had hit a homer into the bleachers.

“The keepsakes keep them at bay.” She slammed the door. “About the fans…I know it was you who tipped them off.”

“Yeah, I couldn’t resist. The
National Enquirer
would have been here this evening, only Lindsay Lohan got pregnant with Elvis’s baby. And a greeter at Wal-Mart got stigmata after seeing the Virgin Mary kneeling in front of the Doritos display. Unfortunately, your star power doesn’t compare to the Holy Mother on a snack run.”

Betts rolled her eyes. “Just remember, payback’s a redheaded bitch who doesn’t play fair.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

Tonight Betts looked more like that girl than a country star. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and the baggy jeans and gray sweatshirt swallowed her curves. No glitz, glamour, or sparkly stuff. She looked normal, disheveled—a housewife folding the laundry after the dinner dishes had been put away.

Why did that turn him on?

He gritted his teeth. People should be required to dress to match their personality. In her case, she’d be decked out in plastic and silicon. He glanced at her chest. The bulky shirt ensured that the size, shape, and chemical makeup of her breasts remained indeterminate. He shook his head and looked up. Sixty seconds in her company and he was already checking her out.

“And who do we have here?” A tall brunette unfolded her long legs from a rocking chair and stood. She was part swimsuit model and part scary biker chick.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know Ms. Monroe had company.” Gabe put a firm hand on Betts’s shoulder. “I’d like to talk to you in private.”

A tiny woman resembling Scarlett O’Hara stepped into the room from the hallway. “Betts doesn’t do private. Feel free to speak your mind in front of us.”

Tall and Short stood side-by-side, arms crossed—a lopsided honor guard.

Betts gestured in his direction. “Charlie, Lucky, this is Gabe Swanson.”

One second passed and then two. Obviously, Betts didn’t feel the need to finish the introduction.