For You (The 'Burg Series) (68 page)

“Cheryl one of the names at the bottom of the list of people Denny Lowe fucked over.”

“Oh,” Feb muttered, her eyes gliding away, her thoughts unhappy, malignant it was and it was lucky she prepared, “that Cheryl.”

“She’s safe in Ohio with her kid but her boss canned her for takin’ an unscheduled vacation.”

Feb’s eyes shot back, her unhappy thoughts gone, new unhappy thoughts in their place, she leaned forward so close she had to put her forearms on the bar and she hissed, “But she’s on the run from a
murderer
.”

“Don’t know any but not sure men who run strip clubs worry about that shit. Think they worry more about losin’ money.”

Feb leaned back slightly and snapped, “Oh my God, that
sucks.
” Her eyes were on his and the feeling behind them, mostly anger, was intense. “She’s got a kid! And she’d just been royally screwed! What a
dick.
” She shook her head and looked away, saying, “Poor Cheryl, she just needs this to deal with after learnin’ about Denny.”

Colt was finding it hard not to laugh but he didn’t try not to smile.

“Good you feel that way, honey, since I essentially told her, she gets back and comes in, you’ll give her a job.”

Her gaze cut back to him then her brows drew together, she still looked pissed but he figured she wasn’t pissed at some unknown strip club owner anymore.

Then she asked, “You did what?”

“Your monthly expenses are gonna change, movin’ in with me. Morrie’s overhead is gonna reduce significantly, bein’ back home, and you need the help.”

“Dee’s gonna be comin’ in.”

“And Dee’s gonna wanna work until three o’clock in the mornin’ about as much as I’m gonna want
you
doin’ it.”

“Cheryl’s got a kid, how’s she gonna work until three?”

“Baby, she was a stripper.”

He had her there. He knew it because she straightened, put her hands to her hips and stared at him without saying a word.

Then she found the words she wanted to say. “You gonna offer a job at J&J’s to every stray that wanders your way?”

“Only the ones been fucked over by Denny Lowe.”

He had her there too. Like it or not, Cheryl was in their club. A club they didn’t ask to join but they were stuck together in it all the same.

Feb proved he had her when she asked, “She know how to make a drink?”

“She doesn’t, reckon she can be taught, same as Dee.”

“She got her shit together?”

“Does Darryl?”

Feb’s eyes slid to Darryl then they hit the floor and she whispered, “Fuck me.”

“That’s later.”

 
She looked at him and her face cracked. She didn’t want to smile and she didn’t want to laugh but she was having a hard time not doing either.

When she won her struggle against her humor, she declared, “I take her on,
then
you’ll owe me.”

“I’ll pay.”

She shook her head before she tipped it to his beer. “Ready for another?”

“When Shanghai gets here.”

“All right, babe,” she said and turned away and again Colt watched her ass when she did.

* * * * *

It was after they shared their food while sitting in the office and shooting the shit during Feb’s break, all of which lasted less than twenty minutes.

It was after the crush hit the red zone, everyone in town buzzing and wanting to be out. Spring was there, weather was turning warmer, days were longer and dead bodies were being found. It was time, if you were alive, to be alive and get your ass to J&J’s, have a drink, see your friends and neighbors and have a good time.

It was when Colt was feeling a fatigue he hadn’t felt in a long time, with stress and broken sleep, all through riding an emotional roller coaster. He just wanted to go home and go to bed with Feb and, yes, with her damned cat draped on their feet.

It was when he thought this that he saw Feb slide through the crowd toward the jukebox. She found her song, put in a coin and pressed buttons. He’d seen her do that on occasion in the last two years. She did it more before, when she would be home visiting and wasn’t working.

It was when she turned and headed toward a table where they were calling her name, Colt decided he could stay awhile. If Feb was in the mood for some of her music then Colt wasn’t too tired to sit on a stool, drink his beer and watch her enjoy it.

It took five songs for Feb’s to come on. She was behind the bar at the other end but Colt still knew it was hers. It wasn’t what he was expecting or anyone would expect. The music came loud because the box was set loud, but it wasn’t rowdy Friday night bar music by a long shot.

The minute he heard the guitar his eyes went to her to see hers come to him. Then she dipped her chin, looking away while she tucked her hair behind her ear, bashful at showing her emotion.

And that’s when Colt knew it wasn’t Feb’s song. It was the song Feb chose for him, or the song she chose to say the things she couldn’t say.

A lump hit his throat, he looked down at his hand wrapped around his beer which was sitting on the bar and he paid attention to the lyrics to a song he’d heard time and again, lyrics he knew and could likely recite if asked. Lyrics he’d never paid any real attention to in his life.

Staring at his beer, his hand tightening on the bottle, fighting that lump in his throat, he listened to Stevie Nicks singing “Landslide”.

Colt’d always liked it, it was a great song. Listening to it then he thought it was the most beautiful fucking song he’d ever heard in his whole fucking life.

He saw her hand wrap around his wrist the second Stevie quit singing and his head came up.

She leaned in close and whispered, “Go home, baby, get to bed. Someone’ll drop me home later.”

She didn’t want to make a big deal of it, what she’d just given him, but her face was soft, her eyes especially, her lips tipped up at the ends, just slightly but it was all there, nothing held back, everything she felt for him showing clear on her face.

He wanted to go home, he definitely wanted to go home, but only if he was taking Feb home.

But that wasn’t the way she wanted to play it and she just handed him everything, he could give her this.

“Whoever brings you home walks you in,” he ordered, she nodded and he said, “all the way in, Feb.”

“Gotcha.”

He lifted his beer and her hand fell away. He took one last pull and put it on the bar before he tagged her around the back of her head, leaned in and brought her mouth to his.

“Later, baby,” he said against her mouth when he finished giving her his kiss.

“Later, Alec.”

He pulled away but his hand slid through her hair to her cheek, taking hair with it but he didn’t care and neither did she. She pressed her cheek into his hand as he ran his thumb along her cheekbone. Then his hand dropped away and he turned away before he did something asinine like carry her out of the bar over his shoulder.

Calling his good-byes to a dozen people as he went, Colt exited J&J’s, walked to the Station, got in his truck and went home.

He saw Melanie’s car parked out front as he turned into his street. He drew in an annoyed breath and decided his first order of business the next morning was putting in for vacation time. He’d just had time off but he didn’t give a fuck, he’d take it unpaid if he had to.

He parked the truck in the drive and by the time he slid out of it she was walking across the yard toward him.

“Melly, it’s then thirty at night,” he said when she was four feet away.

“Gotta talk, Colt.”

Fucking hell.

“Mel, I’m wiped. Seriously.”

She glanced at the house then to him and asked, “Feb livin’ here?”

Fucking,
fucking
hell.

He looked into the night then at his ex-wife. Melanie was everything Feb wasn’t, dark-haired, quiet, thoughtful, patient. She didn’t dance because she was worried people were watching and more worried about what they’d think. It took her weeks to come to a decision about anything, no matter how large or small because she didn’t take risks, she treaded cautiously. He’d liked all that about her when he fell in love with her, he thought it was cute and it was. Until she took her time making the decision about leaving him, pulling away the whole time she took to make it. Then it wasn’t fucking cute.

“Come into the house,” he said. He didn’t want to but he also didn’t want to have this conversation at ten thirty at night in his yard.

He led the way, hearing Melanie’s feet hit the turf as she walked beside him and partly behind him something else she’d always done and something he never understood, why she’d never walk right beside him.

He unlocked the door and went to the security panel.
 

When he made the beeping stop, he walked to the lamp by the couch as she asked, “You have an alarm?”

“Yeah,” he said, turning on the lamp.

In the light, she took him in, saying, “You’re in a suit.”

“Funeral today.”

They both heard the meow and their eyes went to Wilson who Colt could swear was standing in the doorway to the hall staring at Melanie with indictment in his eyes.

“You have a cat?” Melanie asked.

“Mel –”

She cut him off. “You hate cats.”

Colt expelled a breath and Melanie’s face crumpled as understanding dawned.

“It’s
her
cat,” she whispered.

He did not need this now. Actually, he didn’t need this at all but particularly not now.

With less patience than he would normally use with her, he reminded her, “You left me, Mel.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head, small shakes, like she couldn’t even commit to the decision to show that emotion. Then her eyes opened and she looked around the space, trying to find hints of Feb, evidence of a betrayal it wasn’t hers to claim. They’d bought that house together, intending to use it to build a life and she’d left him behind in it to live alone.
 

“You’re here to say something,” Colt prompted, “so say it.”

Her eyes shot to his and he saw the sting his words caused. He’d always been tolerant with the quirks in her personality mostly because, in the beginning, he thought they were sweet. After that, he did it out of habit. She’d been gone a good while and he was out of the habit.

“She told everyone to stop talkin’ about us,” Melanie said.

“What?”

“Feb,” she explained, “when people heard about… when I called… you know how people talk.”

“I do.”

“Well, she… Feb, told them to quit talkin’ about us.”

“You mean you,” Colt said honestly and Melanie sucked in her cheeks. “Feb told folks to stop talkin’ about you.”

She’d do that, Feb would. She might not tell folks to stop talking about her, or her and Colt, but she wouldn’t stand and listen to folks talking about Melanie.

“I should have never said anything to Marla,” Melanie stated quietly.

Marla Webster was Melanie’s best friend and a pain in the ass. She had a big mouth, for one. For another, her mouth was loud, always nearly shouting even in a one-on-one conversation like she was talking to someone mostly deaf. Unfortunately, since she talked so damned much, you could never get a word in to tell her to quit yelling. One thing Colt didn’t miss when Melanie left was Marla.

“I kept telling you, Melly, Marla’s a pain in the ass.”

Pain flashed through her face at the reminder of a time when Colt told her anything and the little patience Colt had left, he was losing.

She’d left him, he didn’t ask her to leave, didn’t fucking want her to leave, but she left. That decision was on her. What happened after was not her business. He couldn’t say what would go down if this was happening and Melanie was in his life. The pull of Feb was so strong, he might have buckled and been drawn in by her. Then again, he’d loved his wife so he might not. But, all this shit was going down when he luckily didn’t have a wife. And it was luck that he’d been free, he knew it in his bones and that might not say good things about him but he didn’t give a shit.