Blackbird Lake (11 page)

Even Madison’s mother had liked Brady, because he always, unfailingly, called her ma’am.

“That Farraday boy, now
he
has nice manners. Those folks of his brought him up right.”

But Brady’s father drank too much, and now his folks were both dead. So was Cord. And ever since his brother got trampled by that bull, the good-natured, easygoing boy she’d known long ago had taken on a tough edge. A go-to-hell-see-if-I-care attitude that glinted out like polished steel from his narrowed gray eyes.

He’s not letting anybody in,
Madison realized.
Especially not me.

For a moment, her throat ached. Sometimes she still
found herself missing the old Brady so much. Wishing her best friend would come back.

But even the old Brady had stopped speaking to her in seventh grade. And who could blame him? She’d betrayed him all those years ago, shattered his trust.

“We were friends once, Brady,” she said suddenly. “Maybe we could be friends again—if you want to be.” She was making a mess of this, she knew it. But she plowed on anyway. “I’m pretty worried about you. And I’m not the only one—a lot of people in town care what happens to you. Everybody wants you to be okay.”

Brady’s jaw clenched tighter. He didn’t believe her, not for a second. Not after the way he’d screwed up. He knew what people were saying. The same thing her grandfather, the town sheriff, must be saying.

That one-time so-called hero punched my deputy in the face. Quit his job. Landed in jail. He’s nothing but a loser. Like his drunken dad. Like his brother. A loser…

He could hear the words. They rolled endlessly through his head. He hadn’t a clue why Madison was trying to hand him all this crap, but he knew it was a bunch of b.s.

“No one in this town needs to waste their time worrying about me.” Brushing past her, he smacked the beer and hot dogs down on the checkout counter.

But Madison stuck around, waiting while he paid for his purchases, then she followed him outside. She grabbed his arm as he started to turn away down the street and he glared at her in surprise.

“Brady, come on, give me a chance. Don’t you remember the way it used to be? I’d like to—to—”

“To what? Be my friend?”

He stared down at her in the cool afternoon light, even as a wicked September wind rustled down from the Crazies. He saw her shiver despite her oversized bulky tan sweater and jeans. But in his short-sleeved T-shirt, no sweater, no jacket, Brady felt impervious to the weather, as impervious as he was to the people skirting around them down the street. As impervious as he was to her.

“You really want to be my friend again, Madison? Sorry to tell you, but that’s not going to happen. I don’t have anything against you. I just don’t need a friend right now. I need a job. I need work, and money to pay my bills. I need something to think about besides—”

He stopped, his mouth tightening, wondering if she knew what he’d been about to say.
I need something to think about besides Cord being dead.

“Well, to tell you the truth, I need something, too. A favor.” The words flew out of her mouth. She lifted her chin in a stubborn way that, oddly, he remembered.

“If you’ll…help me out with something, I’ll pay you.” The words tumbled out seemingly before she could stop them.

Suspicion narrowed his eyes. “You’re gonna pay me? For what? And just how much are you willing to pay?”

“You know about the charity dating auction next week at the Double Cross Bar and Grill? Well, I agreed to be part of it. Actually I was pressured to do it—not that I don’t think it’s a good cause, but—well, you know how I…I don’t like parading up onstage.”

“So?”

“So I swore to myself after my last pageant that I’d never get up on a stage again. But—”

“Get to the point.” Taking hold of her arm, he eased her nearer to the drugstore window and out of the path of a bunch of teenaged boys jostling each other as they stampeded down the street.

“The point is…I don’t want to be on that stage any longer than I need to be. So I’ll pay you to bid on me. Immediately. Just as soon as I get up there.”

“Bid on you?” He repeated the words as if she’d spoken them in a foreign tongue.

“Yes, bid on me.” Color flooded her cheeks. “I agreed—under pressure—to go out on one date with whoever bids the highest. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand up there getting ogled for one more second than I need to. I swore I’d never put myself through anything like that again. So if you bid on me—and I mean if you bid
a lot
—and win the
date right at the very beginning…” She took a breath and rushed on. “Then I’ll pay you back. I’ll pay you whatever it takes to get me off that stage as soon as possible. Then I’ll also pay you one hundred dollars
over
your bid.”

“One hundred dollars more? A date with you could go for a lot of money, Madison.” The words came out a bit rougher than Brady intended, but Madison just shrugged dismissively.

“No way. I’m not dressing up like the other girls, and I’ll barely put on any makeup. I’ll wear my hair in a
bun
if I need to. Just tell me you’ll bid on me, like maybe fifty dollars, right at the outset. Then I’ll pay you one hundred and fifty and you’ll be a hundred dollars richer. And I’ll be done with the stupid auction.”

She obviously didn’t have a clue what she looked like, what effect she could have on a man. Even with her hair wrapped in an old lady bun, wearing bulky dull clothes and a frown on that oval face, Madison’s wide-set doe eyes and her simple beauty would just shine through, Brady thought.

Even standing beside her was enough to make a man a little crazy. Those full, voluptuous lips begged to be kissed. Her delicately shaped nose and caramel eyes would draw any man’s gaze across any room.

Add it all up and Madison exuded an indefinable earthy sexiness without a whit of trying….

She was five feet, five inches of luscious brunette dynamite.

“And what about the
date
part of what I’m buying—my taking you out somewhere. Is that part of the bargain, too?”

“We’ll grab ice cream cones at Lickety Split—or something.” She shrugged, worrying her lush bottom lip in the innocent way he remembered, the way she used to when they did homework in the treehouse. “That would make it legitimate, you know? And it’ll be quick—quick and painless for both of us. That is,
if
you can endure my company for the time it takes to eat an ice cream cone.”

“For a hundred bucks, I reckon I can handle it.”

“Be careful, all this sweet talk might go to my head.”
The words came out tart. She moistened her lips, cleared her throat. Spoke carefully. “Listen, Brady, I know it’s all my fault we stopped being friends. But seventh grade was a long time ago. Don’t you think that one of these days you could just
try
to get over it?”

For a moment he found himself caught up in the earnestness of those wide eyes that were searching his face. He remembered how she’d stared at him in the same wistful way back in seventh grade, when he learned she’d told Margie Shane about the crush he had on her, how he couldn’t stop thinking about Margie and dreamed about her every night—something he’d confided to Madison and to no one else, not even Cord.

After she spilled the beans to Margie, it had gone viral around the entire school.

He’d been twelve, a stupid, unsure, self-conscious kid, furious at the betrayal. He’d yelled at Madison that they were done. Swore to her they’d never be friends again. When tears poured from her eyes and she tried to apologize, he’d turned his back on her and stalked away, even though she’d been his closest friend since kindergarten.

Even a few months later, when her mom had suddenly married some trucker and dragged Madison off with her and the new guy to live in Missoula, he hadn’t forgiven her or even said a word. Not before she left Lonesome Way and not when she moved back a few years ago on her own to live near her grandparents.

He’d always figured they’d grown apart too much to ever be friends again.

And now the idea of trying to bridge that gap was more than he wanted to handle. So he skirted her question and changed the subject, trying to wipe the hopefulness from her face.

“If you can afford to pay me a hundred bucks to get you off that stage, you must be making a fortune babysitting these days.”

“Not a fortune, but you’d be surprised.” She drew herself up, and the top of her head almost reached his chin. “I have
a standing gig at the Spotted Pony two nights a week that pays pretty well. And I’ve saved some of my pageant winnings. So don’t worry, I have the money. You don’t need to lose any sleep thinking I’ll cheat you out of your hundred dollars.”

She started to spin away, but he caught her arm and tugged her back. “Look, I never said I was worried, Madison. I just want everything spelled out. One hundred dollars and an ice cream cone and you have yourself a deal.”

“Done.” She stuck out her hand and he shook it, trying to ignore the spark of something hot that seemed to run like jagged lightning up his arm as his rough palm enclosed her delicate one.

The dignified, set expression on her face made Brady feel about two inches tall. He was just about dead broke right now, but there was no way in hell he was taking a penny from Madison. He just didn’t want to tell her that yet. He didn’t want her thinking he felt sorry for her or anything. He knew how intensely she’d hated being in all those pageants over the years and how much she must be dreading the dating auction.

“Meet me at the Double Cross the night of the auction, right before it starts, and I’ll slip you the cash,” she instructed him, dropping her hand to her side, rubbing it against her jeans.

She seemed about to say something more, but then she paused, shook her head, and whirled away from him. He watched her hurry back up the street toward A Bun in the Oven without another word.

Even if he’d wanted to tell her he wasn’t interested in her money, she hadn’t given him a chance. The truth was, he didn’t mind helping her out. It hadn’t mattered for a long time that she’d told Margie about his seventh grade crush.

He hadn’t been angry with her for years now, but he’d never gotten around to telling her that. Or to picking up their friendship again.

Because once something’s gone, you can’t get it back,
Brady thought. And besides, he didn’t see why anyone who’d grown up to be as drop-dead gorgeous and smart and
hardworking as Madison would care to be friends with him anymore.

He was a loser. And too many years had gone by. They weren’t kids now. They were two adults who lived in the same town but breathed in different worlds.

And yet…she’d taken the time to run after him into Benson’s. To tell him she was sorry about Cord.

Funny how people can surprise you now and then, he reflected, then heard the harsh slam of brakes. Turning his head toward the street, he saw Jake Tanner sitting in his truck, with a large skinny mutt taking up the seat beside him.

“I went looking for you at your place last night,” Jake said.

“Guess what. I wasn’t there.”

“Yeah, I got that. Don’t be a jackass.” Jake shot him a cool, level glance. “Need to talk to you about a job. You interested?”

A job. Brady had to force himself to swallow down the shot of hope that surged through him. “It better be at least a hundred miles away because no one in this town’s going to hire me.”

“Don’t be so sure. Meet me at the Lucky Punch. Twenty minutes. And leave the attitude behind.” Then Jake hit the gas and was gone, roaring up Main Street.

Brady stared after him.

A job.

Against his will, he felt again that small stirring of hope. Ever since he’d punched Deputy Mueller and walked out on his construction job with the McDonalds, he’d been certain everyone in Lonesome Way hated his guts.

And he couldn’t blame them.

Punching the deputy had been a stupid-ass thing to do. And it had been a sucker punch, too. Mueller, a nice guy, had only been trying to offer a word of condolence about Cord and find out if he was okay. Brady had been drunk. Stupidly, idiotically drunk—weaving his way through the streets between the Double Cross Bar and Grill and the Lucky Punch Saloon…

But he knew his excuses didn’t amount to a hill of beans. The truth was, he was ashamed of himself.

Head down, Brady loped in the direction of the park where he’d left his bike. Before going to the hardware store and then into Benson’s, he’d wasted a few minutes sitting on a bench under a cottonwood, watching some high school kids picnicking on the grass during their lunch hour.

Remembering better times, and feeling sorry for himself. Because he was on his own now, his folks gone, and Cord, too. He was used to his parents being gone, of course. But he missed his brother with a raw open pain. Even when Cord had been on the circuit, away for weeks, months at a time, he’d never felt this alone.

Nothing to be done about that, he thought, throwing a muscled leg across the Harley.

By the time he was roaring toward the Lucky Punch, he told himself that maybe things were starting to look up. After all, he had a date with the most beautiful girl in town, even if they had nothing to say to each other anymore. And he had a possible lead on a job.

Could be my luck is starting to turn around,
he thought. Then he reminded himself to hold the hope in check. Better not to count on it. Better not to count on anything.