01 - The Heartbreaker (19 page)

Sloane sighed wistfully. “I’d think it would be nice to grow old in a place where everyone knows and accepts you for who you are.”

The sound of her own voice startled her. Realizing she’d spoken aloud, she glanced at her companions, who were staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. Little did they realize, she was just starting to find her mind, and herself, in this small town called Yorkshire Falls.

Chase paused outside his guest room. The door was open and Sloane stood by the wooden dresser, adjusting her shirt, another tight long-sleeved number, this one emblazoned with USA on the front.

He knocked once. “Ready to deal with your biker friends?” he asked as he stepped into the room.

“Don’t you mean, am I ready to find my father?” She turned his way and treated him to a warm smile, but he didn’t miss the hint of nervousness in her voice or the fact that the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

She was scared.

“I’ll be there the whole time,” he promised, walking up beside her. “But you realize we may end up no closer to finding Samson
than we are right now?” He wanted her to be prepared for the worst.

She nodded. “I hope Earl’s heard from him. If not, maybe he’ll just be more willing to talk about where Samson might be.” She drew a deep breath and exhaled hard. “I’ll be ready in a minute.” She picked up a scarf from the dresser and tied it around her neck.

“I brought you something.” He showed her the shirt he’d taken from his closet.

“What’s that?”

“My shirt.” He held it open for her to slip on like a jacket. “In case our biker buddies are there.”

She raised an eyebrow in surprise.

He shrugged. “It’s safer not to take chances. This way we make the statement that you’re mine before we walk in the door.” He folded his arms across his chest, determined to get his way. And even more determined not to let her wide-eyed stare and full glossy pout get to him.

Fat chance
, he thought as she willingly slipped one arm into a sleeve, then the other, wrapping the shirt around her, much the same way he’d like to wrap her in his arms and keep her safe. Accepting that he could protect her physically but not from the emotional upheaval that was sure to follow her search for Samson wasn’t easy. And he hated the helpless way it made him feel. Hated the implications of his feelings even more.

She pivoted toward him and he instinctively grabbed the lapels, pulled her close, and sealed his mouth against hers. She parted her lips and his tongue slipped inside, finding her warm and welcoming. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this. Since he’d been sitting with Sloane, watching her with his family, and seeing her enjoy his small-town life, his craving for her had grown. He was falling for this woman and it wasn’t in his plans.

She stepped backward, breaking the kiss, a satisfied smile on her face. “I do like how you take possession.”

“Does that mean you’ll wear the shirt?”

She lowered her arms and the sleeves fell below her fingertips. “It’s too big,” she said, her eyes flashing playful sparks.

“Make do.” He wasn’t playing games, not with her safety. And not, he admitted to himself, with the chance another man might be interested enough to come between them.

She raised her arm, saluting him with a shirt-covered hand. “Yes, sir.” Laughing, she turned back to the mirror. She picked up a tube of lip gloss and proceeded to fix her makeup.

Shaking his head, he returned to the living room to wait, trying to reconcile Sloane Carlisle, the senator’s “daughter,” with the woman who so obviously enjoyed the game. Not the game of chasing after Samson, but the role of playing Chase Chandler’s woman.

And damned if Chase didn’t like it too.

C
razy Eights hadn’t changed in the few days since Sloane’s last visit—the smell of smoke still permeated the air and the drinks flowed fast around her. However, there was a difference, and it wasn’t subtle. As she walked into the back poolroom, she had the support of Chase and his family behind her this time.

She couldn’t lie to herself. Their presence meant a lot. No matter how much she loved her family and they loved her, she’d always felt the differences between them, enough for her to sense she was the odd woman out without knowing why. With Chase, Rick, and Kendall, she not only felt the unconditional support, just as she’d had growing up, but she was comfortable. She fit in.

She glanced around the smoky room. The bikers congregated around a back table, Dice making eye contact long enough to acknowledge their presence. He’d obviously seen Chase behind her and since
ownership
had been established that first night, he chose to leave her alone. Considering how Kendall had huddled up alongside Rick, Sloane decided her new friend was safe as well. The bikers weren’t an issue tonight.

Realization dawned and she leaned close to Chase. “There was no reason for me to wear your shirt.”

“Yes, there was.”

She looked at him curiously.

“I wanted you to,” he said simply.

For a man of few words, he’d just revealed plenty. Swallowing hard, she continued her perusal of the room.

Earl and his friend looked as if they’d never left their table and she decided not to put off talking to them. Sloane pushed ahead of Chase and strode up to the old man. “Hi, Earl. How are you tonight?”

“Hiya, pretty lady.” He shot her his toothless grin. “You here for another whooping at my hands?” He grabbed his pool cue and perched it on the floor.

“I might be persuaded to play a game later. Right now I was hoping to buy you a drink.”

“You hear that? Free alcohol,” Earl called to his friend at the table. “I see an empty seat over there.” He gestured to a booth that would hold about four. “Come on, Ernie. Whiskey’s on the lady.”

Sloane opened, then closed her mouth shut. If she wanted answers from Earl, she wasn’t about to argue if he wanted to drink with his friend.

“Who’s the pretty feline with you?” Earl asked Sloane, gesturing to Kendall with a tip of his head.

“Feline’s a cat, numbnuts.” Ernie coughed, a hacking sound that worried Sloane.

“This is Kendall,” Sloane said by way of introduction, gesturing between Earl and her friend.

“She’s my wife,” Rick practically growled.

Sloane thanked her lucky stars he hadn’t pulled his gun or revealed the weapon as a macho display of territorialism that seemed so common in this place. But Rick was a professional.

“Well, you ladies join us and we’ll give our pool table to your men. How’s that sound?” Earl asked.

Kendall glanced up. A muscle ticked in Chase’s jaw and Rick’s hand slipped to his wife’s waist.

Oh damn. Sloane needed this conversation, something she knew Chase understood. “That sounds great,” she said before
either one could object. “Kendall?” Sloane shot a pleading glance her friend’s way.

But from the excited gleam in Kendall’s eye, Sloane didn’t have to worry. Kendall was more than up for the adventure despite her glowering husband. “It’s good by me too.” She confirmed Sloane’s hunch.

“We’ll be over here.” Chase pointed to the railing by the pool table. “
Right
over here.” He aimed his dark glare and warning tone at Earl.

“I can’t remember the last time we wuz seen with pretty women like yourselves.” Earl grabbed her arm and led her to the table, Ernie following his friend’s lead with Kendall.

Sloane shot a grateful glance Chase’s way. He inclined his head and never took his eyes off her, making her feel safe and cared for.

She liked being Chase Chandler’s woman.

“I don’t like this.” Chase nursed a beer and kept an eye on Sloane while she drank and talked with Earl and his friend Ernie.

“You think I do?” Rick gestured to the waitress for another beer. “Next time, remind me not to offer to help you out.”

“Shut up.” Leaning back, Chase decided to use his time wisely and to watch. He’d always been intrigued with the facets Sloane presented, though he had to admit he’d never seen the senator’s daughter, only the relaxed woman. One so different than Madeline Carlisle and so at ease in his world. The one he’d wanted to see wearing his shirt for no real, rational reason.

He didn’t think this Sloane was the pretense. The woman she showed the world when campaigning for Senator Carlisle, however, was certainly a facade. Sloane might be more casual and relaxed than her family, but that didn’t mean she’d normally behave excessively. And the way she was doing shots with Earl and Ernie revealed a need to let herself be free. Just as she had that first night they’d met.

He told himself her rebellion was a good thing, considering
she’d stifled her needs in favor of her family’s for too long. Surely she’d welcome the opportunity to be on her own when their time together was through.

He folded his arms across his chest and nodded. Sloane and her situation were perfect for a man who wanted to steer clear of relationships and commitment, and even better for the reporter who wanted to be the one to break her story. So why did the thought leave him feeling hollow inside?

Sloane was dizzy. Giddily dizzy. Chances were she’d pay tomorrow with a whopping migraine, but for now, she was relaxed and hanging with Earl. And Earl had a lot of information to offer. Unfortunately, he was willing to speak up only when the women followed his answers with a shot of alcohol. She and Kendall had managed to convince the old man to substitute vodka for whiskey, saving them the more unpleasant taste, but the end result was the same.

Sloane was drunk. “So you spoke to Samson yesterday? What did he have to say?” Sloane rolled the empty shot glass between her palms. Glancing down, she saw two of them. Not two hands, which she obviously had, but two glasses, which she knew didn’t exist.

“Yessiree. He called. Surprised me too, since he don’t usually bother to pay for a phone call.” Earl rolled his shoulders and poured his glass full. “Damn fool said he lost his house in a fire, but not to worry—he’s holed up somewhere safe.” Earl turned his attention to her shot glass, filling it halfway. “Did you ever do a slammer?” the older man asked her, changing Sloane’s favorite subject to Earl’s favorite.

“I’ll get the ginger ale,” Ernie said, jumping on the idea before Sloane or Kendall could answer. He headed for the bar, returning a few minutes later with a liter of soda.

“Bottles at the table,” Kendall observed, her voice slurred. “Do you guys have an in with the owner?” She eyed the soda with
curiosity. Obviously, she didn’t know what a slammer was either, but from the gleam in the old men’s eyes, they were about to find out.

Earl chuckled. “We’re good customers. He don’t mind giving us bottles as long as we pay for them later. And you did say drinks were on you.” He glared at Sloane warily, as if she might have forgotten.

“And I meant it.” She didn’t mind paying for the drinks, but she was quickly reaching her alcohol limit. With any luck, another two or three questions tops and they’d learn enough to walk out of here.

“Pour and slam.” Ernie filled the rest of Sloane’s shot glass with ginger ale while Earl began instructing her on the finer points of a slammer. He pointed to the shot glass. “You cover the top of that-there glass with your palm, then slam the bottom against the table. It’ll fizz and you down the shot.” He grinned, pleased with his directions. “You’ll taste how much easier the alcohol goes down.”

“The shot goes down easier, huh?” She met his gaze. Even his teeth blurred together and she could no longer see the space between them. “Any reason you didn’t mention that about five shots ago?” Sloane asked wryly.

Drawing a deep breath for courage, she slammed the glass and consumed the drink, coughing from the fizz and bubbles until her eyes teared. But she had to admit the man had a point. “That was much better,” she said when she could finally speak.

“My turn.” Kendall laughed, high pitched and loud enough to pierce Sloane’s eardrums. “First the questions. Where did Samson say that he was?”

With all they’d consumed, Sloane was amazed they’d been able to keep their focus on needed conversation. She owed Kendall and she’d personally deliver coffee to her tomorrow as a thank-you—if she could lift her own head off the pillow.

Somehow the two women had reached a silent understanding.
In order to keep either one of them from getting too drunk, they alternated questions, hence alternated shots. Sloane couldn’t imagine how she’d feel if she’d imbibed alone. She’d probably be passed out under the table by now.

Earl shrugged. “Samson didn’t say where he wuz. Then again he never says much. Never calls either, so I was surprised to hear from him,” he said again.

Sloane knew there was a message in there somewhere, but she was too woozy to figure out what. She tipped her head to one side and immediately regretted the quick motion. When the dizziness cleared, she forced herself to think. Samson had called Earl when he’d never called before. She wondered if he’d even had a telephone prior to the explosion.

“Why’d he call you?” Sloane asked.

“Blondie didn’t drink yet,” Earl said, refusing to answer until Kendall remedied her lapse.

Ernie poured and Sloane sighed, waiting for Kendall to drink so they’d get more answers out of Earl. Once he was satisfied, he did a straight shot of his own and turned back to the subject at hand. “Samson figured I’d heard about his house and wondered if he wuz dead.”

Sloane cringed at the casual way Earl spoke, but at least Samson had someone to call when he’d had trouble. Even if Earl didn’t seem like the warmest guy going, he was Samson’s friend.

“Course I hadn’t heard till he told me. I asked him if I’d inherit if he croaked.” He cackled at his callous joke and she winced. “Samson said it wuz none of my business who got his money, but for my information, he had family who’d inhurt—”

“Inherit, you moron,” Ernie chimed in.

Both Kendall and Sloane laughed, but Earl ignored them, merely glaring at his friend.

Sloane grasped onto Earl’s words and wondered if Samson was being his surly self in his reply to Earl or if he really had family. She wondered if he’d actually been referring to her. Her stomach
churned with a combination of fear and hope, the upheaval having nothing to do with the alcohol in her system.