Falling hard, p.9
Falling Hard, page 9
“The thought of you driving all over these mountains with an unreliable vehicle scares the shit out of me.”
It was nice of him to say. Even nicer that someone worried about her. “I take good care of her. She’s safe.”
“I’ll take a look under the hood before I leave.”
The thought of him leaving made her chest hurt. Although she didn’t see a romantic future for them, it was wonderful having a male friend who looked out for her. “Griffin just did an oil change. He would’ve told me if anything was wrong.”
“Who’s Griffin?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“Griff owns the Gas and Go, among other things.” According to Harlee and Darla, he was even richer than Gia, though you would never know it. He fixed everyone’s cars in town and built custom motorcycles.
Logan’s phone chirped with an incoming text. He grabbed the cell from the console and quickly read the message.
“Everything okay?”
“It’s Gabe. He’s on an assignment but is coming back in a few days.”
“Does he have work for you?”
“Probably. We definitely have stuff to discuss.”
They talked the entire three hours it took to get to Davis and the nightclub, a low-slung, boxy building on the corner of a nondescript street, next to a vacant lot. Other than a neon sign that read The Live Wire: Cold Beer, Warm Friends it was difficult to tell it was even a bar. Inside, the place was pulsing with patrons. Although the band hadn’t started yet, people stood shoulder to shoulder near the stage.
Logan’s hand went to the small of her back and he directed her to a miraculously vacant high table. Annie figured it was empty because of its obstructed view of the stage. A pole stood in the way.
“I’ll get us some drinks,” she said, knowing that it could be some time before a server got to them.
“I’ll get it. You stay here.” He asked her what she wanted and strolled across the room, effortlessly maneuvering through the tight crush of people to the bar.
Over by the sound equipment, her friends Gerry and Pete waved. And a couple of Zeke’s bandmates came over to say hi.
“You come alone?” Buddy, the drummer, asked.
“No.” She nudged her head at the bar but Logan was on his way back, his hands filled with two pint glasses and a pitcher. That had been fast.
“Hi,” he greeted the table, put the beer and glasses down, and shook Buddy’s hand. “Logan Jenkins.”
Buddy introduced himself and Zeke’s guitarist. The two of them made pleasant talk with her and Logan, then wandered off to say hello to someone else. A few other acquaintances Annie knew from the club scene came over to shoot the breeze and went off to reserve floor space before the band began playing.
“Interesting scene,” Logan said. “No dartboards or pool tables. How does this place make it when there’s no live music?”
“It’s a music venue. There’s always a band playing.”
“Is it always alternative country? What is that, anyway?”
She liked how he didn’t try to fake it. If he didn’t know something, he asked. That in and of itself took confidence. A lot more confidence than pretending to have all the answers.
“It’s not the stuff you hear on the radio coming out of Nashville,” she explained. “It’s more rootsy, folkie, like Steve Earle, Lucinda Williams, Gillian Welch, Uncle Tupelo.”
He shook his head. “I don’t listen to any of those artists. It doesn’t matter. If you like it, I’ll like it.”
“Ah.” She had the sudden urge to kiss him.
Then Zeke walked through the door, instantly killing her mood. For a second they locked gazes, then he abruptly turned away.
“Who’s that?” Logan asked, because he didn’t miss anything.
“Zeke, my ex. I wasn’t expecting him to be here.” Zeke wasn’t audience material. He couldn’t stand not being center stage.
“Seriously? That’s Zeke?” Logan discreetly watched him flirt with a blonde with painted-on jeans and a bandanna halter top. “I thought he’d be taller. Damn, Annie, you could kick his ass.”
She snorted. “I don’t know whether to be offended or flattered by that.”
He put his arm around her and pulled her in tight. “Definitely flattered. Is he in the band?”
“Not the one playing tonight.” She wouldn’t have come if he was. “But he is in a band.”
“Is he any good?” He had to talk into her ear so she could hear.
“Not really, no.”
He laughed. “I don’t see you with him.”
“No? Who do you see me with, then?”
“Me,” he said. “I mean, if I wasn’t leaving. If I wasn’t . . . you know, in security work.”
A soldier of fortune. She might not be in that world but she’d seen enough episodes of Homeland to get a pretty good sense of it. It was dangerous. “But you are, right?”
“Yeah.” He pulled her in closer and she saw the intensity in his blue eyes. “It’s who I am, Annie.”
“I know.” She tried not to think about what it could be like if he stayed. He’d always been upfront with her, hadn’t in any way tried to mislead her, and she respected him for that.
The band got on the stage and ripped through its first song, a rowdy rendition of Merle Haggard’s “Mama Tried.” Logan kept his arm around her and if they got any closer, she’d be sitting in his lap. The band went through a set of mostly originals, sprinkled here and there with covers by the likes of Hank Williams and Tom Waits.
At the break, Zeke ambled back to their table. Annie tensed and Logan squeezed her knee under the table.
“Hey, Annie,” Zeke said while glaring at Logan.
She didn’t want a scene. “Hi, Zeke. How are you?”
“This your new boyfriend? The one you needed the birth-control pills for?”
“I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight, Zeke, or I wouldn’t have come. Please don’t act like a jackass.”
Logan stood, towering over Zeke, whose eyes instantly darted around the room like a cornered rabbit. Annie feared that Logan was going to hit him.
“Hey, Zeke, I heard a lot about you.” Logan stuck his hand out and introduced himself. Annie wasn’t foolish enough to be deluded by his Hey, I’m a friendly guy routine. But Zeke was.
“Uh . . . hey . . . uh, nice to meet you.”
Logan bobbed his head at the stage. “Band’s good.”
“They’re okay.” They were Zeke’s friends and he couldn’t even find it in himself to be complimentary. What had she ever seen in the man? “I’m going to get a beer before they start up again. See you around, Annie. Logan.”
On their way home, Annie said, “Thank you for defusing the situation with Zeke. For a minute there, I thought you two were going to fight.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s the thing, Annie, it wouldn’t have been a fight. I would’ve decked him and he wouldn’t have gotten up. Make no mistake about it, though, if he’d continued to be disrespectful to you I would’ve made things uncomfortable for him.”
She let out a breath. “I knew our circle of friends would be there, but I honestly didn’t think Zeke would. If he’s not on stage—not the center of attention—it’s not worth it to him to show up, even if it’s to support his friends. Had I known, I never would’ve gone.”
“Why not? It’s your scene. You enjoy the music, enjoy being with your pals. Why would you give that up because there’s a chance your ex might be there? Seems chickenshit to me.”
He had a point, but she still wished Zeke hadn’t come. “Because I don’t enjoy scenes. And now I’m worried that you think I brought you to the show to make him jealous. I would never do anything like that. I don’t like manipulative people who use others for their own ends.”
“Nah.” He darted a glance at her. “I could tell how tense you were the minute he walked in the club. You brought me because you wanted to share the music, share that part of your life with me. I know that.”
“Did you like it—the music?”
“Yeah, I did. But mostly because I was there with you.”
She leaned over the console and kissed him on the cheek.
He put his hand on her thigh, cocked his head, and grinned. “So, what’s this about birth-control pills?”
Chapter 7
Logan got to the Ponderosa early Saturday and chose a table. In the teams they called it a sneak and peek—a reconnaissance operation—as well as an insertion into enemy territory. His gut continued to tell him this wasn’t going to be a friendly meeting.
But he could be wrong. Maybe Raylene just wanted to get to know her big half-brother.
The bartender from the night of the ruckus, Mariah, came over with a menu. “Anything you want is on the house.”
“Nah,” he said, “you don’t have to do that. The police chief had it handled. I was just helping out.”
“Well, we appreciate it. We rarely get troublemakers in here. Since Sophie and I bought the place we’ve only had one other situation. But those motorcycle men were looking to cause problems and with a full house . . . I don’t want to think about it.” She grabbed a pitcher of ice water and filled his glass. “You waiting for someone?”
“Raylene Rosser,” he said. “You know her?”
“I know her.” There was a slight tightness in Mariah’s voice, signaling to Logan that she didn’t like Raylene. She didn’t leave him any doubt when she said, “Good luck” and grimaced.
He cracked a smile. “Thanks.”
“You want something besides water to drink in the meantime?”
“I’m good.”
“Okay, flag me if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
He passed the time scrolling through messages on his phone. Predawn, he’d run ten miles on the ranch, done a hundred push-ups, and a hundred chin-ups. He called it his lack-of-sex workout. Last night he and Annie had flirted the whole drive back to Nugget. But when they got home, they went their separate ways. Not even a kiss. He was trying to be a decent guy, he really was. But it was killing him.
By ten after twelve, Logan started wondering whether Raylene was a no-show. But then she, her husband Butch, and a dude in a suit who he’d never seen before, walked into the restaurant. Mariah pointed him out to them and they walked back to his table. Logan stood up and shook everyone’s hand. The first thing he noticed was the suit had a briefcase.
“You order yet?” Butch asked.
“Nope, I waited for you.”
Butch flagged over a server and got on his high horse when one didn’t come fast enough. Apparently he thought he was the sultan of Brunei. To Logan he looked like a weenie. Tight jeans and loud snakeskin cowboy boots. When it was Logan’s turn he ordered a burger. Butch got a tri-tip sandwich and an Amstel Light. Yep, weenie. The suit and Raylene got salads.
Until the food came, they discussed the weather—Denver versus California this time of year—and made enough small talk to put Logan to sleep. Raylene kept nervously scanning the room. He suspected it wasn’t easy facing the town after her father’s murder rap.
For the first time he really looked at her, assessing the physical traits they had in common. The same blue eyes. Her nose was different, snubbed at the end, while his was straighter. Her chin was diamond shaped and his was square. They may not be dead ringers for siblings, but there definitely was a resemblance between them.
“You just got out of the navy, huh?” Butch poured his Amstel Light into a frosted pilsner glass while sneaking a glance at the ass of one of the waitresses.
Logan took a bite of his burger and nodded. Butch bugged the crap out of him. He preened like a smug rooster. Logan got the sense he’d been pampered all his life.
“You must be looking for work,” Butch continued, an unctuous smile on his face.
“Got a job.” Logan dipped a fry in his ketchup.
“Yeah, doing what?”
“I’d tell you but then I’d have to kill you.” God, he hated when people said that. But Butch knew he’d been a special warfare operator. His new job wouldn’t be much different. Meaning it was classified.
“That’s not funny,” Raylene said.
“Wasn’t supposed to be.” He checked his watch. “Why don’t we get to the point of this meeting.”
“The point is we have no proof that my father was your father.”
“Yeah, so?” Logan wasn’t about to offer up his DNA. Screw them. He didn’t have anything to prove.
“So why should you be entitled to any of his money if you’re not really his son?” Raylene said.
“Because he left it to me.” Logan turned to the suit. “Why don’t you ask your lawyer to break it down for you?”
“I don’t have to—”
The lawyer put his hand on Raylene’s arm, effectively cutting her off. “Look, we didn’t come here to fight.”
“No, then what did you come here for?”
Raylene started to talk again and Butch shot her a look.
“To discuss the terms of Ray’s trust,” the lawyer said. He’d introduced himself as Danvers. Steve Danvers. “Obviously, you being named as a beneficiary has sent shock waves through the family. Ray was a man who laid his cards on the table. So you can imagine the trouble my clients are having believing that for all these years he kept you a secret.”
“This very much reads like a scam to us, Jenkins,” Butch interjected.
“A scam? Who the hell are you kidding?”
“Don’t raise your voice,” Danvers said. “I realize this is very emotional.”
Logan laughed. “You people are out of your minds. The trust was written up by Ray’s lawyer with Ray present. So who do you think perpetrated this scam?”
“We only have the lawyer’s word for that, now, don’t we?” Butch took another drink of his beer and Logan wanted to shove the glass down his throat.
“What, you think he’s lying?” These people were freaking nuts. He didn’t give a crap about the money but he wasn’t going to let them twist things for their own gain.
“It’s awfully suspect that Ray’s lawyer just so happens to be engaged to the new owner of Rosser Ranch. How do we know that the two of you aren’t in cahoots?” Butch said.
In cahoots? Logan had never laid eyes on Flynn Barlow until a couple of weeks ago.
Logan faced off with Danvers. “You’re not serious about this, are you? I mean, what kind of lawyer doesn’t know that I could crush Butch’s shit-for-brains allegations with one cheek swab.”
“This is not an issue of questioning your paternity,” Danvers said.
“Really?” Logan jabbed his finger toward Butch. “Because it certainly sounds that way to me.”
“All we’re saying is we have some questions about the veracity of the trust and will be contesting it until we straighten everything out. Unless, of course, you’d be willing to take a reasonable settlement. That way we don’t have to belabor this in court and Raylene—and you, Mr. Jenkins—can take this time to mourn.”
“A settlement, huh?” He’d tell them to shove their settlement where the sun didn’t shine.
“That’s right,” Butch said. “For someone like you it would be quite substantial.”
“For someone like me.” He turned from Butch to Raylene. “Did you hire Danvers or did Butch?”
“Why is that any business of yours? Or even relevant?” she said, sticking her chin out like a sullen child.
“It isn’t and frankly I don’t care. But let me give you some brotherly advice. Since the three of you arrived, your asshole husband has been checking out every nubile young female in the restaurant. Instead of worrying about me taking your inheritance, worry about him. Get your own lawyer, Raylene. As far as your settlement offer: See you in court.” He threw his napkin on the table, stood up, and walked out.
He was halfway to his truck when that cattle rancher, Clay, came up behind him.
“Hang on a second,” he said.
“You heard that in there?” Logan had noticed him and his wife having lunch a few tables away.
“I heard most of it, I’m afraid.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to disrupt your lunch.” The truth was he was embarrassed at having his dirty laundry aired in public like that.
“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you held your ground. Raylene’s a spoiled, self-centered brat, but her husband pulls the strings. Never saw that lawyer before. As far as I know, he’s not from around here.”
“I don’t care about the money. I do care that they think I’m trying to pull a con.”
“They don’t think that. They know damned well that the trust is legit. But they’re greedy. As far as the money: You may not care about it, but Ray did. I knew the man my whole life. He and my late father were friends as much as anyone could be friends with Ray. That old cuss didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do. If he left you money in his will he wanted you to have it. It’s never going to make up for him not being a father to you, but he wanted to honor your mother by giving you that money.”
“And they want to dishonor her.” Logan ran his hands through his hair, pissed. “They’re going to put me through hell.”
“I’m not a lawyer but I think living trusts are fairly difficult to contest. And Flynn Barlow is one of the most respected lawyers in Northern California. He used to be an FBI agent and a federal prosecutor. It’ll be tough challenging his word.”
Still, these things could languish in the court system for years. Logan didn’t want to be hampered from taking overseas assignments because of hearings and depositions.
“Talk to Flynn,” Clay said.
“Yeah, okay.” He’d put the lawyer’s card somewhere. As soon as Barlow returned from his vacation, Logan would give him a call.
Clay went back inside the Ponderosa and Logan was about to get in his truck when Donna Thurston accosted him.
“You, come with me.” She hovered over him like his CO used to do during drills.
He wasn’t in the mood for her right now. The fact was he wanted to go home and punch something.
“You’ll thank me later.” She clutched his shirtsleeve and attempted to drag him away. For someone half his size, she was strong, he’d give her that.
