Always My Own (Always Love Trilogy #2) Read online

  The bartender laughed. “Honey, you must be new in town. No cabs in Burton, unless they got lost on their way to Savannah.”

  “Mason and I’ll make sure she gets where she needs to go, Darce.” Rilla spoke up. “At this point, I don’t know that the whiskey’ll hurt her.”

  Darcy sighed. “Your funeral, toots. Here you go.” She poured me the shot. “Bottoms up.”

  “Bottoms up.” I giggled at the phrase. “If I have too many of these, my bottom’ll be up, for sure.” I tossed back the whiskey, wincing at the burn. “God, that’s good.”

  Across the room, music began to blare from a set of huge speakers, and at the same time, the lights dimmed. The women in the bar and in the restaurant area all began to cheer as a good many of them made their way to the dance floor.

  I recognized the opening strains of a song I’d loved in high school. “Oh, my God, I’ve got to dance to this.” I slid from the stool and grabbed the edge of the bar until the room stopped tilting. Holding out my hand to Rilla, I grinned. “Hey, lucky lady, want to dance? I hate being out there without anyone I know.”

  Indecision warred on her pretty face. Finally, she shrugged. “Okay. Why not?” She raised her voice. “Darcy, tell Mason I’m on the dance floor if he’s looking for me, will you?”

  Darcy nodded. “Let me know if you need help, Rilla.”

  “She doesn’t need help. She’s gonna boogey.” I exhibited a few of my more sophisticated dance moves. “We’re gonna get down. Like Kenny says, we’re young.”

  A few steps onto the dance floor and we were both swallowed up by the crowd of gyrating females. For the first time in months, I felt relaxed, wild and pain-free. This was good. I let go, shaking my ass, wriggling my shoulders and letting my hair fall back as every memory melted away into oblivion.

  “Elizabeth.” The voice that roused me from blissful rest wasn’t familiar, but it was kind. I blinked, looking up into the warm brown eyes. Did I know him? Something jarred in my mind. Oh, yeah, the bartender. Who owned the bar and gave me the nice wine.

  “Yep.” I licked my dry lips. “Yep, I’m Elizabeth.”

  “Honey, can you tell us where you’re going? Where’s your apartment?”

  I struggled to put the pieces together. “Um, Crystal Cove. My house is . . . fuck, no, I don’t live there anymore. Moved out.” The pain came thundering back as I remembered. “Burton. I’m . . . some apartment. Next to the flower shop, but only until he can build me my own house out in the country. Our own house. We’re going to plant a garden, and raise food and babies.”

  The long sigh came from the woman sitting next to me. I felt a soft hand on my hair, stroking it down my back. “Elizabeth, we don’t know where to take you.”

  “Address is in my phone.” I tried to sit up, but the room spun, and not in a good, fun way. Gingerly, I lowered my head back to the table.

  “Your phone is locked.” I heard frustration in Mason’s tone. “Is there anyone we can call? Anyone who expects you?”

  My lips began to move separate from my brain, speaking before I could stop them. “Yep. Call Trent Wagoner. Call my husband, Trent.”

  WHEN I WAS A LITTLE kid, I was afraid of the dark. It wasn’t something I ever told anyone; the foster homes I’d lived in off and on throughout my childhood were actually good ones, run by caring, decent parents, but I’d learned fast that kids in crisis can sometimes be like cornered animals. Even the ones who might not have normally been mean or aggressive kept their eyes open for weaknesses in others, and telling them I was having silent freak-outs after the lights were switched off? Yeah, that was a definite weakness.

  Later, when I was a teenager, I realized the dark had certain benefits. In the corner of the school gym during a dance, for instance, the lack of light gave me the chance to feel up any girl I could convince to join me there. If I managed to bum a ride for my date and me to the movie theater in the next town over, the dim and flickering light from the screen was perfect for a hot and heavy make-out session. Plus, I was cool. By that time, I’d learned to hide, to cover up any real emotion I might have had. It was safer that way.

  Nowadays, the dark of my bedroom was a relief at the end of the day. It was the one place I could take off the mask of indifference and caution that I wore all day. One place I didn’t have to worry about anyone sneering at me behind my back, making snide comments just loud enough for me to hear. One place I didn’t have to fear running into—well, anyone.

  And hell, let’s be honest, it was also a damn relief to be off my feet after a solid eight of lifting bags of feed, hauling crap around the warehouse and working my ass off. I was grateful for my job, no doubt about it. When I’d come back to Burton, I’d assumed I could get back my old position at the hardware store. I’d left on good terms the last time I’d moved out to Benningers’ farm to work for the summer, and although I hadn’t come back after harvest, since I’d moved up to Michigan, I couldn’t think of any reason why Larry wouldn’t hire me again.

  Until I’d pushed open the door that day and had seen the look on his face when he spotted me. At that moment, I’d remembered the fatal flaw in my logic. Larry Wexler was Jenna Sutton’s uncle, her mother’s brother. That was how we’d met in the first place; he’d given his niece a part-time job. I’d been so intent on forgetting everything about her, about that time, that I’d blocked out the memory of their relationship.

  Still, the man hadn’t taken a swing at me the minute he saw me. That was a good sign. He didn’t greet me with a hug either, but the expression on his face—somewhere between regret and resignation—was better than what I saw on the dude standing next to him. That guy looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him.

  “Trent.” Larry sighed, shaking his head. “I heard you were back in Burton.” He glanced at the other man. “Heard why, too.”

  My back went stiff. The last thing I wanted to talk about was what had brought me back home. “Yeah, well . . . it wasn’t exactly what I planned, but when does anything ever work out? It’s all good. But I need a job. I was hoping maybe . . .” My voice trailed off as Larry’s mouth pressed into a hard line.

  But the other man didn’t have any problem with filling up the sudden uncomfortable silence. “Oh, hell, no. Are you out of your fucking mind? You have balls, Wagoner, to show up here and expect anyone to help you. Either that, or maybe you’re strung out like your mama. Heard she was trying to hook some big fish on the corner in front of the Catholic Church.”

  “Nick, that’s enough.” Larry’s tone was hard. “Keep your mouth shut.” His eyes flickered back to me. “Trent, I wish I could say it was different, but I can’t give you any work here.”

  I was nodding before he finished the sentence. “I understand, Mr. Wexler. Sorry for bothering you.” I couldn’t stand to be in there a minute longer. Without another word, I turned and left the store, only stopping after the door had closed behind me. I stood on the street, staring at the cracked sidewalk, wondering what the hell I was supposed to do next.

  “Trent.” The door had opened again without me hearing it, but I couldn’t miss the rattle of glass as Larry closed it behind him. “Hold up a minute, son.”

  “It’s okay. Really. I just . . . forgot, I guess.” I ran a hand through my hair. “But it’s okay. I won’t come back.”

  “I’m sorry, Trent. If it were up to me . . . boy, I’m not stupid. And I’m not blind. I saw you last year, when you and Jenna both worked here. You didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t mess with her. She’s my niece, my sister’s girl, and God knows I love that child. But I saw what I saw.” He put his weight onto one foot, hands on his hips, mouth pursed. “If it was up to me, I’d give you a job. But if my sister didn’t kill me, my wife would.”

  “I get it.” I did. I understood. I didn’t hold anything against Larry, but I wanted to get away from there. I needed to be gone.

  “Listen. You came back here for your mother, and that means something. Knowing what I know, you could
’ve walked away from her, and no one would think worse of you. But you stood up and you came back. Maybe some won’t think that makes a difference, but it does to me.”

  “Thanks.” I stared over his shoulder, my jaw tense. I could feel a tic jumping in my cheek.

  Larry blew out a long breath. “What I wanted to tell you is this. Grainger’s hiring over at the feed store. You head over there now, and I’ll call him, tell him you’re coming. I’ll give you a good recommendation. He’ll hire you, I know it. Might be hard work, but you’re young. You can handle it.”

  A small wave of relief covered me. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “‘Course I don’t, but I’m going to. Get going.” He paused. “I hope things work out with your mom. I knew her, when she first came to town.” Larry cleared his throat, and his eyes dropped from my face.

  “You did?” I wanted to gag a little. I couldn’t picture my mother, the thin brittle shell of a woman she was, involved with Larry Wexler, a tall, strong Baptist who didn’t drink or smoke.

  “Not that way.” Larry’s brows drew together. “I just knew her a little. She went to church with us for a time. She was a sweet thing, always wanting to help out.” He shook his head. “I see her nowadays, and I just try to remember what she was like back then.”

  I couldn’t imagine my mother in church any more than I could see her with Larry. She’d never darkened the door of any religious building as long as I could remember. Still, I knew the man was trying to give me a piece of her I didn’t have. For that, I stuck out my hand. “Thank you, Mr. Wexler. Appreciate the referral, and, uh, the . . . what you said about my mom. I’ll be seeing you around.”

  “Yeah, probably. Good luck, son.” He pumped my hand briefly before he turned to go back into the store.

  And that was how I ended up working at Grainger’s Feed Store. Paul Grainger was a good man, fair to his workers, and he didn’t seem to hold anything against me. As a matter of fact, he was all business and wasn’t interested in anything that happened beyond the walls of the warehouse and shop. That was perfectly okay with me. I would’ve been happy to forget everything else, too.

  But it was damned hard work. I never stopped moving, lifting and hustling all shift. So lying flat on my bed in the dark was pretty much the best part of my day. Okay, not pretty much. It was. No one was bitching at me, no one was whining, and no one was staring daggers at me.

  I’d just relaxed enough that my eyes were drooping when my cell phone went off. For a few minutes, I considered turning it off. Who was going to be calling me, anyway, unless it was someone at work—and they never did—or my uncle Nolan, who was always asleep before ten o’clock? My number hadn’t changed since I’d lived in Burton before, but there wasn’t a soul in this town who’d have been phoning me.

  But in the end, I rolled over and lifted the phone. My eyes took a second to focus on the screen, but there was just a number there—no name. It was a local call, and that kind of freaked me out. I pushed to sit up, reaching for my pants so I could run across the hallway and make sure she hadn’t snuck out after I’d watched her go to bed.

  I swiped my finger over the phone and held it to my ear. “Yeah?”

  “Trent?” I didn’t know the voice, though it sounded slightly familiar. “That you?”

  “Yeah.” I repeated the word. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Mason Wallace, down at the Road Block.”

  Of course. That’s where I knew it from. “Okay. What can I do for you?”

  “Uh . . .” Mason hesitated, and I got the feeling he wasn’t sure how to answer that question. “The thing is . . . there’s a woman here. She says she’s your wife.”

  Shock took away my ability to speak. And apparently made it impossible to breathe, too, because for a minute, I was gasping like a bluegill on the bank of the river. My mind, however, continued to spin out of control.

  Elizabeth? Elizabeth was here, at the Road Block? In Burton?

  “. . . and I don’t know, Trent. She’s kind of, uh, well, wasted.” Mason had continued speaking during my temporary paralysis. “She didn’t drink that much, but she’s sort of passed out. So maybe we misunderstood her. Or maybe she’s just batshit crazy, man.”

  “No.” I recovered enough to answer him. “I mean—is she blonde? And is her name Elizabeth?”

  He was silent for a beat. “Yeah.”

  I rubbed my forehead. “Okay. Can you keep her there just until I can drive out? It’ll be ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”

  “Oh, yeah. Don’t worry, I don’t think she’s going anywhere for a while.” I couldn’t miss the thread of subtle amusement. “But we’ll keep our eye on her.”

  “Thanks.” I ended the call and for the space of a few minutes, sat unmoving, staring down at my hands.

  Elizabeth was here, in Burton. To say I was surprised was a massive understatement. Part of me had believed I’d never see her again. I’d expected divorce papers would find me at some point, mostly because I couldn’t imagine that she wouldn’t want to get married again. Married this time to someone worthy of her, of course, which was something I was never going to be. I’d proven that and fast.

  But now she was not only here, in my hometown, but she’d told someone that she was my wife. Yeah, Mason had said she was drunk, but still . . . obviously I’d been on her mind. When she was vulnerable and in trouble, it was me she’d told them to call.

  I got dressed as fast as I could and slipped out of my room. The rest of the apartment was dark and still, and I counted that as a blessing. I was careful to close the front door quietly behind me before I jogged to my truck, parked in the street.

  Burton was just as still as my apartment had been. The night was mild for February, but regardless of the temperature, it was winter, which meant everyone was cocooned in his own house. When spring came, there’d be people out sitting on front porches, watching the world pass by. But that was months away, and that worked in my favor. The last thing I needed was the neighborhood noticing the guy Burton loved to hate skulking around at midnight.

  I didn’t pass a single car until I was nearly to the club, and even then, I only saw one, turning out of the nearly-empty parking lot. I pulled up in front of the large wooden building and swung out of the truck.

  Once upon a time, I’d spent every Friday and Saturday night at the Road Block. Before Mason had come home and opened up the club, I’d had to drive a town over to find a decent place for drinking, dancing and dicking around. This place had been a huge timesaver—not to mention helping me to conserve gas and wear and tear on my truck. And of course the music was a damn sight better, since Mason used the contacts he’d made while living in Nashville to make sure his club hosted the hottest up-and-coming bands.

  But I hadn’t set foot in the place since I’d been back in town this time. It held too many memories. Plus, I figured there was a better than average chance I’d be lynched or at least beaten up if I showed my face there. Not that I’d wanted to, anyway. Between work and—the other responsibilities I had now, there just wasn’t time or energy for anything frivolous like dancing. Sure as hell wasn’t interested in looking at any woman, let alone touching one.

  Well, maybe just one woman . . .

  I gave myself a full body shake, the way I used to when I was a kid and I needed to snap out of my head. I had to get real. I wasn’t going to sail into the bar and find Elizabeth standing there waiting for me to rescue her. I’d get her out of there, she’d sleep off her drunk and then tomorrow morning, she’d be gone.

  Although, another voice in my head reminded me, I still had no idea why she was in Burton to begin with. Was she here to find me? If that was the case, why hadn’t she called? My number hadn’t changed.

  The only way to get the answers I wasn’t sure I wanted was to go inside and face her. I took a deep breath and opened the door.

  Most of the lights were already out. Only the bar was lit, and I could see Mason standing behind it, leaning over with h
is elbows resting on the solid oak. The blonde perched on the stool in front of him, whose lips were really close to his, was his wife, not mine.

  That thought jarred me a little. Elizabeth and I’d had so little time together as a married couple that I’d only just begun thinking of her as my wife right before I’d left. I remembered the first time I’d referred to her that way out loud. I’d run into a coffee shop while she waited in the car, and the barista—a flirty brunette—had made a comment about the extra whipped cream I’d requested.

  “It’s not for me. It’s for my wife.” I’d felt an odd and unfamiliar twinge of pride and possessiveness when I’d used the word. My wife. Precious little in this life had been mine. I didn’t have any siblings, I’d never known a dad, and my mother wasn’t necessarily someone I wanted to claim. But Elizabeth . . . she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. She was scary-smart, funny, sexy as hell, and somehow she loved me. She’d chosen me.

  Now, watching Mason murmur something in his wife’s ear that made her both giggle and blush, I was brutally aware of what I’d lost. What I’d never have again.

  I didn’t know if I made a noise or moved, but Mason spied me and straightened to stand up. He jerked his chin in my direction, and Rilla swiveled in her seat. I remembered her only vaguely; she hadn’t been part of our crowd growing up, since she was both younger than us and had been homeschooled. She’d never been one to hang out here, even after she married the owner of the place.

  But when I saw the expression in her eyes—the same wariness I’d seen in so many faces on the streets of Burton before I’d left last spring and since my return—I remembered that Rilla Wallace was also Boomer Sutton’s niece. Jenna’s cousin. And apparently, she hadn’t forgotten what had happened a year ago.