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“I knew it,” Slade muttered, more to himself than a response to Lute’s statement. Before he could add more, the waitress, Jess, stopped by the table with her order pad in hand. In the blink of an eye, Slade lost that half-angry brooding look and flashed her a grin. “Two Coronas for me and my friend here,” he boomed, and gave a wink. “What time are you off tonight, girl?”
A shadow flickered across her face. “Not till closing. Then I’ve got plans.”
“Too bad.” The grin remained. “Well, maybe next time.”
“Sure.” She walked off to get their drinks.
Lute stared after her. “Slade, is that girl a—”
“Naw. Just a nice, friendly waitress. Best kind.”
“Does she let you . . . you know?”
“Hell, boy, I’m a happily married man. Haven’t you figured that out by now?” He sank into a sullen silence while Jess brought their beers and set them on the table. For the space of a quick breath, her gaze locked with Lute’s. But what he read in her sad doe eyes wasn’t an invitation. It was more like a warning.
Slade took a long swig of his beer. “About that work I mentioned. Still interested?”
Lute’s pulse jerked. “What do you think I’m here for? Tell me more.”
“Not much to it. You keep your job with the Tylers and phone me every few days about what’s going on out there—stock coming and going, new equipment, new people, any trouble on the ranch, whatever. If I don’t pick up, you can leave a voice message. It’ll be like you’re my eyes and ears. Long as you do your job, I’ll pay you fifty dollars a week. You can come by and pick up the cash from Stella when you’re in town.”
Fifty dollars a week for doing almost nothing. It wasn’t a fortune, but for now it would make the payments on a cheap car. And if he proved himself, maybe the job would lead to better things.
“Got a cell phone?” Slade asked.
“An old prepaid. Won’t do much more than the basics.”
“Use it. A new one would just draw attention. And when I give you my phone number, memorize it. It can’t be found written down or entered on your phone. There can’t be any connection between us. Understand?”
“Understand.” Lute’s pulse raced as Slade wrote his phone number on a piece of paper napkin. He sipped his beer, savoring the chilled taste. This was really going to happen. He would be more than just a shit shoveler. He was on his way to becoming somebody.
After the news ended, Natalie switched off the TV and stood gazing out the darkened front window. It was after 10:30 and she was dressed for bed in her nightgown and robe. But Slade wasn’t back and she was too wired to go to sleep.
They’d settled their earlier quarrel outside the barn over a supper of Burger Shack pizza, spinach salad, and a bottle of Cabernet that one of Slade’s clients had given them for Christmas. Just as the tension seemed to be easing, Sky had called from the Tyler ranch with word that the mare was having problems.
When she’d grabbed her keys to leave, Slade had blown his top again. She’d invited him to go with her, but when he’d refused, there was nothing she could do but race out the door, gun the engine, and go.
“Don’t count on me being here when you get back!” he’d yelled after her. Well, he was true to his word. The candy-apple-red Ford pickup he kept shined to a high gloss had been missing when she’d pulled into the garage.
No need to wonder where he’d gone. He’d be at the Blue Coyote, drinking and flirting with the waitresses. Slade rarely got drunk, and she doubted that he got past first base with any of the women. He’d soon be home as usual, muttering apologies and wanting sex, which she’d give him to seal their truce.
Natalie was a woman who took her marriage vows seriously. Six years ago, when she’d promised to love and honor Slade Haskell, she’d meant every word. She’d faced the reality that Beau wouldn’t be coming back for her. And Slade had been there—handsome and likeable, with roots in the community and enough ambition to take over the family business from his father. They could have a comfortable life together, she’d told herself.
Was it really Slade she’d fallen in love with, she asked herself now, or the person in those mental pictures?
But she was committed to making her marriage work. Slade wasn’t a bad person. Neither was she. They deserved to be happy, or at least satisfied with each other. Surely they could find a way.
Meeting Beau again had been like pouring acid into an old wound. The memories of how she’d loved him, and how he’d hurt her, felt as fresh and hot as ever. She’d almost convinced herself that she was over him. But she was wrong. He’d made her feel like a silly little nineteen-year-old fool all over again.
The sudden glare of headlights and the growl of a big engine in the driveway pulled her thoughts back to the present. Natalie forced a mental shift as the garage door opened and closed. Her husband—a decent man who loved her in his way—was home, and they’d had enough contention for one night.
She would do her best to make peace.
The Eastern sky had just begun to pale from the slow rising of the sun when Beau wandered into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He’d hoped for some quiet time alone, but Will was already at the table, digging into a trencherman’s breakfast of fried eggs, bacon, and pancakes dripping with maple syrup.
“That looks like a recipe for instant heart attack, brother,” Beau observed as he filled a mug from the electric coffeemaker. A place had been set for him, but he didn’t plan to use it. He hadn’t eaten a big breakfast since he’d gotten out of the military.
“It hasn’t bothered my heart yet.” Will dunked a forkful of pancake in the yolk of his egg. “Tori tried to turn me into a health nut. But the granola and green tea didn’t take.”
