Pretty Reckless (Entangled Ignite) (15 page)

“When it rains, it pours,” she grumbled, disgusted. She stuck a hand inside her purse to pull out her third cigarette of the short drive. “Can’t the man get a clue?” Lighting up, she puffed obsessively away, staring hard at Nathan’s house.

I squinted out the window. Gunner was perched on the porch stoop. He tipped his hat at us and stood up to saunter over and lean on the door, sticking his head through my mother’s window with a wink.

“Good to see you, Ruth.”

My mother clenched her teeth. “When do you go back to Houston, Gunner?”

“Not soon enough, I guess.”

He opened my door and offered his hand. I scooted past him and waved back at my mother’s sourpuss face. She sucked a long drag, punched the gas on the Oldsmobile, and started edging back out of the driveway.

“Just remember,” she called, dangling the cigarette from her pursed lips. “Laney’s a married woman.”

“Not ’til July,” Gunner returned.

“Try in two weeks,” my mother hollered back and left us in a storm of dust.

Gunner’s eyes had set on me. He was waiting for an explanation.

“What?” I dismissed him with a shrug. “Nathan and I decided to move up the date.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m pretty damn serious.”

He snorted. “You don’t love that douchebag.”

“Prove it.”

Gunner moved in and nuzzled my neck without me doing anything to prevent it. When he lifted his head, we locked eyes, and then he kissed me. His mouth was gentle, and the kiss was delicious. My blood pressure spiked, my heart raced, and I swear my arms turned to putty at my side, leaving me breathless. His mouth brushed just below my earlobe. “That’s all the proof I need.”

“Pig.” I pounded a fist on his smug, self-satisfied chest, wishing I could dose him with another load of rock salt and knowing I was the one who should be shot.

“Don’t marry him, Laney. He’s all kinds of wrong for you.”

I gritted my teeth against the truth. I was a liar; my mother knew it, Gunner witnessed it, and my heart denied it. But hell would freeze over before I’d admit it. “Bullshit!”

I pushed past him, giving his shoulder a hard shove as I stomped toward the Yukon. I jerked open the passenger door and was about to slide in when I looked back at the clinic. Nathan was standing at the window staring at me. Guilt chewed me up. So this was how Gunner’d felt five years ago. It sucked getting caught in the lie I’d been telling myself since I started dating Nathan. I pulled the door shut and slipped down in the seat, trying to hide out—from Nathan and myself—a little longer.

Gunner crammed himself behind the wheel and started up the Yukon. “You’re mad.”

I sighed, not quite able to hate him even as I realized he’d known Nathan was there all along. “You’re a flawed individual.”

“I’ve never denied it,” he admitted.

…

Being trapped inside the car with Gunner after that made me sweat. His deep, gut-twisting brown eyes kept drifting my way. And it didn’t help that we still had a thirty minute drive to Harper’s Ridge ahead of us. I wedged a shoulder into the door and pressed my cheek against the hot window.

“You look like you’re going to be sick, Laney.” He scooted a hand over the top of my thigh.

I could have smacked him. Some men lacked any sense.

Some women, too.

“I never said you could touch me,” I snapped and flicked his hand away. “You’ve done more than enough as it is.”

He reached out and tugged at my hair. “I guess I’m just crazy,” he said.

I looked at him. Gunner was many things—cunning, charming, manipulative…but crazy? No, crazy wasn’t one of them. Truth is, I was the one with a screw loose.

“Just keep your hands to yourself.”

He put the offending appendage back on the wheel and hit the gas, chuckling while he gunned it out of town.

…

Harper’s Ridge was Pistol Rock’s twin. The town’s main drag shot straight through Main Street. The local watering hole was the only way to waste away the dull days, and the sheriff’s office lacked a competent boss. The only thing that made Harper’s Ridge different from Pistol Rock was that the lucky dogs had scored a Whataburger. Frankly, both towns could’ve been squished together to help the census, but folks were unwilling to give up the forty-year-old football rivalry between us. And the last time some fool had mentioned uniting our two towns, Pistol Rock’s head football coach threatened his life.

Yep, we were special, we were.

Gunner whipped into a spot outside the station. He kicked his door open and got out. I followed suit, easing my sore muscles down from the Yukon. Hot, dry air immediately attempted to suck the life out of me. I adjusted my sunglasses and strutted to the front of the SUV.

“I see the window got fixed,” I said, lowering my sunglasses down my nose.

Gunner locked his door and dropped me a charming smile. “The boss doesn’t like his Rangers driving pieces of shit. C’mon.” He grabbed my hand and tugged me across the lot. When we reached the station’s door, he stepped aside and pulled it open, waiting for me to pass through.

Inside, there was a funk in the air. A single desk sat in front of a boxed fan. To the back was a vending machine loaded with a variety of Tom’s products—crisp chips, salty snacks, and tasty pastries. Gunner raised an eyebrow at me.

“I think Pistol Rock might be faring better when it comes to law enforcement facilities,” he said.

“Let’s get this over with.” I left his side and walked to the back by the file cabinets.

A man with an ass that looked like two pigs fighting in a potato sack hacked and dipped his head deeper into a file drawer. I tapped him on the back. He lurched up and hit his head on an open drawer, smoothed down the three unruly white hairs on his scalp and turned around. “Can I help you?” he asked, displeased.

It took me a second to answer. I wanted to be polite but found myself struck temporarily dumb at the sight of his one milky, dead eye.

“Texas Ranger Gunner Wilson,” Gunner told him. He tipped his hat at me and smiled. “And this here is Deputy Laney Briggs from over in Pistol Rock. We came on a hunch that you might have some information pertaining to a case we’re working concerning some Special K.”

The heavy set man coughed and cleared his throat, wiped his hands on his pants, and offered a hand. “Sheriff Bob Neal, pleasure to meet you both.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said and gingerly shook his sticky hand, hoping like all hell the stickiness was nothing more than sweat or donut glaze.

Sheriff Bob nodded. “Special K, you said?” He rustled the key ring at his waistband and said, “Give me a minute.” He headed toward a door on the other side of the office, returning in a couple of minutes to toss a stack of papers onto the desk. He sighed and fell back in his chair.

“This is all we have. You’re welcome to look through it.” He fanned the pages then pushed them across the desk. “There’s not much, I know, but Mrs. Adams snapped a photo of a guy over at Bristol Mills we believe was slinging the drugs.”

Bristol Mills was the county brothel. Kenny Perkins owned it but was smart enough to keep the place operating under a legal premise.

“Who’s Mrs. Adams?” I asked, reaching for a file.

Sheriff Bob frowned. “The minister’s wife over at Calvary Fellowship. Patty suspects her husband of dropping his pants in places he shouldn’t.”

I raised an eyebrow at Gunner. He ignored me and snatched the file out my hands. Quickly, he scanned the documents then pushed the papers back at Bob. “Where’s the photo?” He scattered the papers, making a mess on the desk. “This is all shit we already have.”

“It’s not exactly here,” Sheriff Bob said, picking at a piece of food between his teeth. “See that dang photo. It’s blurred. Mrs. Adam’s ain’t the best photo snapper around. She has a shaky hand.” He rocked back in his chair. “I sent it off to Austin—been waiting to see if they can clean it up for the past three weeks.”

Gunner crouched over the desk. “Do you think we could get our hands on it when it comes in?”

Sheriff Bob snorted and flicked the food scrap in the trash. “Don’t bother me a bit. I heard about Bosley Conrad getting capped.” He eyed us. “You two don’t think he had something do with all this?”

“People get killed in a drive by, there’s usually a reason,” I said.

“I hear ya,” the sheriff agreed, scrabbling together the contents of the file Gunner had scattered and stuffing it in his desk.

Straightening, Gunner paced around to sit on the desk, leaning toward Bob confidentially. I couldn’t help but admire the way his black T-shirt tugged at his massive biceps, but it also really had me questioning if I should seek out professional help. I was about ready to find a phone and do just that when he slid a business card at Bob.

“Will you call us when that photo comes in?” he asked, tapping the card.

Sheriff Bob took the card, gave it a quick glance, and nodded at Gunner. “Not a problem,” he said and tucked the card in his shirt pocket.

“Thanks. Your help is appreciated.” Gunner stood up and turned to me. “Laney, we should get going.”

I gave the Harper’s Ridge sheriff a pasted on smile. “Have a good day.”

“You too, doll.” Bob winked and stretched back in his chair. “And give old Dobbs a hello for me.”

I hustled out the door and strolled across the parking lot. Gunner leaned against the Yukon’s bumper, head down, lost in thought. He looked up when I approached.

“Well, that was a dead end,” he stepped forward, frowning. “Where to now?” his gaze dropped to my chest. “Have you had lunch?”

I shuffled in my boots and stared back. Probably, it was best to head home to get my cruiser. If I spent any more time being carted around by the likes of Gunner—or my mother for that matter—I’d pee my pants. “Could you drop me off at my place so I can get the cruiser?”

“Sure.” He opened my door. I slid down into my seat and aimed the air at my face, then closed my eyes. “Are you okay?” Gunner asked, turning the car on.

“I’m just exhausted. And I want to make sure Boomer hasn’t left the stovetop’s pilot light on. ”

“Working a case like this can do that to you.”

I cracked open an eye. His smile was so damn unnerving that I quickly closed my eye again. I couldn’t stand it anymore. By kissing me senseless at Nathan’s this morning, he’d probably screwed up not only my relationship with my fiancé, but my impending nuptials as well—and I hadn’t done anything to stop him.

I hadn’t really wanted to stop him. But now…

The stroking of his rough hand along my knee got my attention. I shot up in my seat and coldly glared back at the bullheaded man. “What do you think you’re doing?” I snapped and attempted to push his hand off my leg. “I told you to keep your damn hands off.”

His dark eyes were soft and mischievous. “Laney, we could just run away. No wedding. No note.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“The old Laney would have jumped at the offer.”

I grunted. “You’re right. She would’ve.”

“What happened to that Laney?”

“She grew up.”

Sadly, he looked out the window and backed up to pull out of the lot and head for the highway. “Haven’t we all, sweetheart…”

We flew down the old, two-lane country road and breezed past the city mile marker welcoming us both back into Pistol Rock. The hard right turn down FM 167 threw me forward in my seat. I caught the dashboard as Gunner hauled the Yukon over the railroad tracks and hooked the corner to my house.

“I need your phone. I forgot to grab mine before leaving Nathan’s.” I waved for him to place it in my hand.

Gunner huffed as he struggled with the seatbelt then handed it over. “Am I allowed to ask why?”

“I should check in with Nathan,” I said.

He looked annoyed. “So, he’s keeping tabs on you now.”

“No, I’m just the sweet girlfriend he caught you dragging down to your lying, cheating, sneaking level this morning by kissing me in his driveway.”

I don’t think I’d ever seen Gunner shocked before, but shaken by that statement, he was. The big, arrogant cowboy gaped at me for a moment, then turned eyes front to stare out the windshield at the road, hurt.

“Damn, Laney,” he mumbled. “That was low.”

“As low as you thinking it’s a game trying to sabotage the only steady relationship I’ve had since you screwed Wynona Berkley in our bed?”

“Aw, Laney…”

“No, Gunner.” I shook my head as I dialed the clinic. “The fact is that as limp as your kisses might make me, I don’t trust you anymore. My heart doesn’t trust you. Doesn’t matter what you say about Nathan. He’s solid and steady and trustworthy, and you’re just Good Time Gunner, same as you were back in school.”

Not waiting to see how he might respond to that, I turned my attention back to the phone as the line rang twice then picked up.

“This is Nathan Prescott,” he answered in a monotone voice.

I sighed, wishing there was a way to avoid this conversation, knowing there wasn’t. “It’s Laney, just wanted to check in and see how your day was going.”

There was a long silence on his end of the line. Then I heard a snort and the sound of a fist slamming down on the desk.

“I saw that son of a bitch kiss you. I want you to stay away from him, do you hear me?” he yelled, angrier than I’d ever heard him.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Damn it, Laney. I want you home now.”

“Tonight,” I repeated and disconnected our bittersweet conversation before either of us said something we’d regret, and handed Gunner his phone.

“That didn’t sound pleasant,” Gunner said, tossing the phone into the console.

I stared straight ahead. “You think?”

We cruised up the driveway, flying past my mailbox faster than necessary. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing my fiancé tonight. I was a chicken when it came to confrontations in my personal relationships, and I had a sinking feeling that before tonight was over, I’d be in the middle of one hell of a bitter fight.

The tires screeched as Gunner planted a foot on the brake. He threw the Yukon into park and scowled at me. “Were you expecting company?”

I looked out the window. Luke Wagner lounged against the driver’s door of his silver Ford pickup that he’d parked on top of my weed infested front lawn.