Betting on Grace (13 page)

The only good thing about it, if anything at all could
be considered good in this whole fucked up mess, was that Grant’s day started
long before Darrell’s. And that meant he might be able to cut the old man off
at the pass.

And it was for that reason alone that Grant managed to
go to sleep at all.

Early Thursday morning

“Who the hell is that?” Mercy asked, marching along
next to Grace as they made their way across the open space between the main
barn and the house.

“Who’s
who
?” Grace asked sleepily, doing her
best to keep her eyes open as she followed her sister over to Hope’s so they
could attend the mandatory meeting that had been scheduled at the butt crack of
dawn.
Thank you very much, Hope, for moving the time back two hours and
letting me know via a text message reminder in the middle of the damn night.

As much as Grace wanted to skip the meeting, piss off
her older sister, and get her day started the right way by sneaking in a few
minutes to see Lane and Grant, she knew today was probably not the day to do
that. Hope was in danger of having a nervous breakdown as it was, if her stress
level was any indication, and Grace knew better than to nudge her.

“That guy,” Mercy pointed, her hand coming across the
front of Grace’s face, forcing her to turn her head or get Mercy’s finger up
her nose.

“No idea,” Grace said as she watched the tall guy with
the protruding belly stumble up the steps that led to the section of the main
house that her father had commandeered as his office. The guy’s rusty red Ford
was parked haphazardly — as in, he’d missed the parking space altogether — just
a few feet away from the office door.

Pure instinct had Grace adjusting her course, veering
toward her father’s office, and Mercy moved right alongside her.

A loud noise had Grace’s legs kicking into a jog, then
a full-out run when she heard someone yelling, likely that guy, if Grace had to
guess, because her father wasn’t the type to yell.

“Who the hell are you?” Jerry’s deep voice thundered
out into the otherwise silent morning air. Crap. Crap. Crap.

Slamming her way into the office, Grace found the two
men basically standing toe to toe. Nose to nose would’ve been more accurate,
except the other man’s nose wasn’t quite level with her father’s, thanks to
Jerry’s slightly taller frame. As she slowed down just inside the door, Mercy
practically barreled over her before Grace could come to a complete stop.

Okay, so now Grace had to rescind her last statement.
Clearly, her father
was
all for yelling at a stranger. She assumed there
was a good reason.

Well, she hoped, anyway.

“You goddamn know who the hell I am,” the man
hollered, his face red and splotchy, drops of spittle launching in her father’s
direction. Luckily, her dad was good at bobbing and weaving because he
sidestepped the man just in time to avoid being showered with it.

“Watch. Your. Mouth,” Jerry warned, his eyes flashing
with fury.

No, Jerry Lambert was not fond of cursing, but using
the Lord’s name in vein was the fastest way to find yourself out on your ass.

Grace waited to see what the man was going to say or
do next, studying his appearance as she did. He looked like he hadn’t bathed
in, oh, maybe a week. His shirt, which she assumed might’ve once been white,
was yellowed and out of shape, hanging awkwardly on his slight frame. His
thinning, salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back from his forehead, but she
didn’t think the grease was intentionally placed there to keep it from falling
forward. He was sporting a beard that was worthy of those guys on
Duck
Dynasty
.

The way his face heated, turning an interesting shade
of crimson, she feared he was going to explode anytime now. That’s when she
heard the sound of boots clomping on the wood outside. Grace had barely enough
time to move out of the way, and she only managed that when Mercy yanked her
arm, sending her falling toward her sister as the screen door flew open and in
walked Grant.

Oh. Shit.

Grace watched as Grant stomped up to the strange man,
Grant’s eyes fierce, his lips a hard, thin line. He had dark circles beneath
his eyes, which meant he’d gotten little to no sleep the night before, and she
didn’t think she and Lane were completely to blame for that.

“Why are you here?” Grant asked, his voice set on
shout
,
like the rest of the men in the room.

“There you are,” the man said, turning to face Grant,
and that’s when Grace realized who he was.

Well, she didn’t know for sure, but he looked enough
like Grant for her to figure out that this man was likely his father. They had
the same eyes — although the man’s were like a green-brown color, not blue like
Grant’s, but the shape was the same — same high cheekbones, same narrow,
straight nose… Only this man appeared at least fifty years older, which Grace
knew couldn’t be right. He looked as though he’d lived a hard life. Or maybe
just done some hard living. Either way…

“I asked why you’re here,” Grant stated again, a few
decibels lower than before but his tone significantly firmer.

“You know goddamn well why I’m here.”

“I’ve already told you once not to speak like that in
my house,” Jerry rasped, his eyes cold as they pinned the unidentified man in
place.

The guy didn’t seem at all worried about Grace’s
father, but she could’ve jumped in just then to warn him except that wasn’t
necessary because…

“We don’t use the Lord’s name in vein. And keep in
mind that there are ladies in this room, Dad. Watch your mouth.”

Yep, just like she thought… That was Grant’s father,
all right.

“The
ladies
can step out, for all I care. They
weren’t invited,” Grant’s dad said with a hint of hatred in his tone. He spared
Grace a look, his evil, bloodshot glare making her want to take a step or two
back. She didn’t budge, though, refusing to let this man treat her like she
didn’t belong in her own house.

Grace darted a look toward her father, trying to gauge
how he was going to handle this situation. Did he want them to stay? Did he
want them to leave? If he shooed them out the door, she would gladly cut and
run. But if he wanted her and Mercy to stay…

“Grace, would you mind?” Grant said softly, definitely
more of a request than a demand as he turned his pleading gaze her way.

Nearly melting into the floor because her heart
reached out to him, Grace nodded. “If you don’t need us…” Grace let the
sentence hang in the air.

“You’re not needed,” Grant’s father said, and Grace
was tempted to reach out and slap him across the face.

“Enough!” Grant yelled. “You will not talk to her like
that. Understand?”

Grace was holding back solely because this man was
Grant’s father. Otherwise, she would’ve put him in his place long before Grant
had. While she tried to control her irritation, Mercy eased her way forward,
effectively forcing Grace to move over to the side.

Oh, hell. Apparently, Grace had a little more
self-control than her sister did because Mercy was moving, and it wasn’t toward
the exit.

Which meant only one thing.

All hell was about to break loose.

■□■□■□■□

Mercy could tolerate a lot of shit: being thrown from
a horse, the chickens pecking her legs when she walked through the coop, having
her scalp sunburned because she forgot to wear her hat, cowboys pretending to
know more than she did about ranching, hell, even a cowboy not holding the door
open when he knew she was coming.

All of that was just a miniature hiccup on any given
day.

What she couldn’t tolerate was a man talking to a
woman, her included, as this scrawny bastard had. It didn’t help that her
father’s face had turned beet-red, his blood pressure likely reaching dangerous
levels.

“Look here, old man.” Mercy got up as close as she
dared to the man she had recently realized was Grant’s father. “I might not
have somethin’ swingin’ between my legs, but you might wanna rethink how you
talk to a lady,” she grit out through clenched teeth. “I’m all for lettin’ the
boys have their special time together, but you won’t dismiss me, understand?”
Mercy slid her gaze over to her father and continued, “Pops, we’ve got a
meetin’ to go to, so we’ll be on our way.” Mercy grabbed Gracie’s wrist, gave
Grant a nod, and led her sister out of the office before Mr. I’m-Too-Stupid-For-My-Pants
decided he had something else to say.

Mercy had been itching for a fight ever since her run-in
with Cody the night before, right after she had managed to get out of the
hour-long conversation with her father. Cody’s timing couldn’t have been worse.

“Hey, babe,” Cody said quietly, brushing against
Mercy’s arms in the softest of touches.

Mercy hated that her body craved his touch.

One. Time.

One fucking time, and now she ached for something she
didn’t even want.

Mercy shrugged him off, focusing her attention on
petting Dixie. She was watching the pups as they trampled around the small yard
they’d fenced in near the stables so the little things couldn’t get in too much
trouble but could still spend some time outside. They weren’t very big just
yet, but they certainly were mischievous.

“You know, I was thinkin’…” Cody began.

“Watch it, you might hurt yourself,” Mercy spouted
off.

“Maybe,” Cody replied with a chuckle, the sound
reminding her of thunder on the horizon during one of those early-summer storms
she enjoyed so much. “Anyway. I was wonderin’—”

“The answer is no,” Mercy said firmly, dusting her
hands off on her jeans and standing to her full height. She still had to look
up at the tall cowboy, but at least she felt a little better. “So don’t go
thinkin’ or wonderin’. Save yourself the headache. The answer will always be
no.”

“Damn it, Mercy,” Cody said on a frustrated breath.
“Why the hell do you have to be like that?”

“Be like what?” she countered. “I’m not bein’ like
anything. I don’t want to date you, I don’t want to fuck you, and at this
point, I don’t even want to see you.”

Okay, so she knew she was excessively harsh, not to
mention she feared she might be struck by lightning with all the lies she’d
just told, but still…

Cody’s emerald-green eyes locked on her, and she
wanted to turn away, but for whatever reason, she found herself frozen in
place, mesmerized by the sheer intensity in his gaze.

“I don’t know what your problem is, Merce, but damn
it. I don’t want to play this game with you anymore. You know damn well that
what we had that night–”

“See, right there,” Mercy interrupted. “You’re on to
something. ‘What we had,’ that’s the key right there. We don’t have anything
anymore, Cody. And what we had ‘that night’ was just that. One freakin’ night.
Why can’t you just get that through your thick skull?”

Cody didn’t respond, which surprised Mercy. They did
this often. And usually, Cody’s cockiness and self-assurance had him winning
the round, but if she wasn’t mistaken, that definitely wasn’t confidence she
saw in his eyes. No, that looked more like … hurt.

Sonuvabitch.

Mercy shook off the memory. She did not want to think
about Cody Mercer or the fact that she had hurt him for no reason whatsoever
other than she wasn’t comfortable with the way she was starting to feel about
him. It didn’t help that he plagued her mind even at the most inconvenient
times — like now. But ever since that argument, ever since she’d seen the pain
in his eyes, she’d been itching for a fight, which she knew wasn’t a good
thing. Getting into a fight wasn’t going to get her anywhere. At least not this
time of the morning anyway.

“Let me go,” Gracie exclaimed, wrenching her arm free
of Mercy’s grasp as they stepped out onto the huge wooden porch that wrapped
clear around the entire house.

Mercy freed Gracie as she stopped just outside the
door, listening to make sure the men had it under control. A second later, when
she heard the rumble of Grant’s voice, she decided it was time to bolt.

“If we don’t get over to Hope’s, she’s gonna send the
dogs.”

Gracie twisted to look behind her at the screen door that
separated her from the man she clearly had a thing for. “Fine, let’s go.”

Mercy made her way down the steps and headed in the
direction of Hope’s cabin. “What do you s’pose he wants?” she asked her sister
when the silence began to eat away at her.

It was either talk or think, and she didn’t have
enough brain cells firing to think because she knew exactly what — or rather,
who
— she was going to think about.

“I don’t know,” Grace said, but Mercy didn’t need a
polygraph machine to tell her sister was lying.

“Did Grant get in an argument with him?” Mercy
inquired.

“I said I didn’t know,” Gracie bit out.

“Fine!” Mercy snapped. Shrugging her shoulders, she
opted to give up.

At least until they were done listening to Hope’s
plans for the big shindig she was looking to put on. After that … all bets were
off.