Lone Star Nights (22 page)

She let the call from her agent go to voice mail. The very thing she'd done with Andrew's calls. And the one from her mother. The four from her father, too. She decided the only non-McCord/Compton call she might answer would be from a Girl Scout who wanted to personally deliver a case of Thin Mints. Everybody else could leave a voice mail.

“Enjoying yourself?” someone asked from behind her.

Deputy Davy.

He was in uniform, his thumbs hooked over his equipment belt, his legs apart as if he was ready to pounce on any situation that might require pouncing.

“So, did Lucky dump you already?” Davy asked.

There were so many things wrong with that question, and any way she tried to answer it Cassie would say more than she wanted to. So she didn't answer at all. “Why are you here?”

He gave his thumbs an adjustment. “To stop underage drinking. You can't trust these kids, and I figure somebody will try to sneak in some liquor.”

Maybe, but since there were just as many adults there as children, it wouldn't be easy.

“It's all over town, you know,” Davy went on. “Not just those kissing pictures, but about the cats. Folks know that Lucky and you took 'em.”

She grunted again. And considered a pretend gag. If Davy thought she was about to barf, he might move away from her and pester someone else.

“I went to the McCord building,” he continued, “to search for those cats.”

This time she grunted because her stomach got a sudden knot in it. Certainly Helene or Logan would have called if Davy had found the cats, though.

“Helene wouldn't let me in,” Davy added. “Said I had to get a search warrant. I'm working on it, and once I have it, I'll go back and search that place from top to bottom.”

She seriously doubted any judge would sign a search warrant for a building that Logan owned, but just in case, Cassie made a mental note to arrange to have the cats moved. Where exactly she didn't know, but she might have to fly them to California with her and kennel them for a while until she could find permanent homes for all of them. But that still wouldn't get her father off her back.

Or off Lucky's.

Heaven knew how long her father would hound Lucky.

And Cassie decided to try to fix that. “The next time you talk to Mason-Dixon,” she said to Davy, “tell him I'll offer him fifty grand for the cats.”

Davy looked at her as if her functioning brain cells had been killed with the loud music, but he finally nodded. Finally, he moved away from her, taking out his phone as he walked. No doubt to call her father.

With the deputy finally out of her hair, Cassie turned her attention back to Mackenzie. And she immediately frowned. Yes, the light was dim, but she had no trouble seeing that Brody had taken hold of both of Mackenzie's wrists, and it didn't look like a dance move. He appeared to be “coaxing” her toward the corner, and he didn't look especially happy that she was putting up some resistance.

Cassie made her way to the dance floor, hurrying but trying not to look as if she were. On the outside chance she was misinterpreting Mackenzie's expression, Cassie didn't want to embarrass all of them. But the moment she reached Mackenzie, Brody let go of her as if she were an electric fence gone live, and he marched toward the drinks table.

“Everything okay?” Cassie asked her. Of course, she had to shout it. And of course, that was when there was a dip in the music volume, so Cassie hadn't managed to do this without drawing attention after all.

“Everything's fine,” Mackenzie snapped, but then she huffed and led Cassie off the dance floor, toward Brody and the drinks table—though she stopped a good distance away from him.

“He's the only boy who's ever noticed me, all right?” Mackenzie threw out there.

There were as many things wrong with that comment as there had been with Davy's question about Lucky dumping her.

“You're thirteen,” Cassie reminded her. “There'll be plenty of years for boys to notice you.”

“Mom said she lost her virginity when she was thirteen.”

Good grief. “There'll be plenty of time for that, too,” Cassie assured her.

Mackenzie made a sound that might or might not have been of agreement. “Brody likes me, okay?”

“Okay. But that doesn't mean you have to give him your virginity. Or anything else for that matter.” Cassie paused. “Did Brody force you to kiss him that night in the barn?”

“No. I wanted to kiss him,” Mackenzie insisted. “Anyway, it doesn't matter. This is the last night I'll be with Brody like this, and I don't want to spend it standing here, talking to you.” Her tone was sharp, but Mackenzie brushed her hand on Cassie's arm before she stepped away and joined Brody.

Even with the music still going, Cassie became aware of the hush that had come over the room. For a moment she thought it was because all eyes had been on Mackenzie and her, but then she noticed Lucky. He came in through the door, looking exactly like the hot cowboy fantasy that he was.

And she'd had sex with him.

Something that made her all tingly. And then it made Cassie frown. Because apparently everyone in town was aware of that and then had made the assumption—based on what, she didn't know—that Lucky had dumped her. Of course, maybe they thought that because Lucky didn't spend too much time with any one woman.

Cassie saw him glance around. Their gazes met, and he started to weave his way through the crowd to get to her. He was a different fantasy tonight. Not chapped and spurred but rather suited. He had on a dark-colored jacket paired with his jeans. Clothes for a “date.”

“Everything okay?” he asked the moment he reached her. But then Lucky glanced around the room. “Hell, what's everybody saying about us now?”

“That you dumped me.”

He repeated that “hell,” huffed and then kissed her. Not a friendly peck, either. He kissed her so long and with so much body contact that Davy called out for them to break it up. Probably not the best behavior for chaperones at a teenage dance where hormones were zinging, but it did start a new ripple of behind-the-hand whispers.

“Something for me to think about?” she asked.

“Something for them to talk about,” he corrected.

Oh. So it hadn't been an invitation to go back to his bed. Cassie really did need to apologize for that stress-reliever comment.

“Is Mackenzie all right?” he asked.

Cassie nearly blurted out her concerns right there, but since everyone had their ears and eyes still turned in their direction, she motioned for Lucky to follow her to the side double doors. They were wide-open, mainly because the AC wasn't cooling off the room nearly enough and also because there was a steady trail of older teens coming and going.

Something Mackenzie definitely wouldn't be doing.

Of course, everyone inside probably thought Cassie was hauling Lucky off to make out with him, but she wasn't. Even if her body thought that might be a fun idea. Nope. She just needed to tell him that she thought Brody was pressuring Mackenzie and then hope Lucky didn't find a stun gun and shovel to use on the boy.

Since Gladys Ellsley, the minister's wife, was in their path, Cassie stopped a moment and asked Gladys to keep an eye on Mackenzie. It really wasn't necessary. If Mackenzie did anything, or even if she did nothing, Cassie figured she'd have a full report from at least a dozen people.

Lucky and Cassie stepped just outside the door and definitely weren't alone. There was a couple kissing, but they either didn't notice or didn't care that they had an audience because they didn't stop. On the other side of the doors were five teenage boys. They were huddled in a circle, their backs to Lucky and her, but a sudden breeze sent a familiar scent right at Cassie.

Booze.

No, Mackenzie definitely wouldn't be coming out here.

Cassie turned to Lucky to start the conversation she didn't want to have, but he was already moving away from her. He broke through the circle of boys like a bowling ball, scattering them and sending a bottle of cheap whiskey splatting to the ground.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” Lucky shouted at the same moment one of the boys shouted something similar.

The boy was clearly drunk, and he threw a punch at Lucky. Lucky ducked, and in the same motion he put the boy against the wall.

“I said what the hell do you think you're doing?” Lucky's voice was even louder this time.

“Drinking,” the kid snapped, sounding pretty cocky for someone who was being restrained.

Cassie hurried to help, not that the other boys were in fight mode. They were all backing away, and they backed away even farther when Deputy Davy came waltzing out. Davy repeated a version of Lucky's original question, and he nearly tripped on his own feet trying to get to Lucky and the boy.

“He was drinking,” Cassie volunteered.

Though Davy no doubt saw the bottle on the ground. The other boys took off running, and Davy went in pursuit.

Cassie went to Lucky and, because his grip on the boy seemed a little too tight, she took hold of his hand to get him to let go of the kid. That's when she realized Lucky was shaking.

“Come on,” Cassie insisted. “Let go of him, and we'll get out of here.”

“No. Mackenzie—”

“Gladys is watching her, and we won't be long. We can go back in as soon as we've talked.” And as soon as Lucky had had a chance to settle his nerves.

Lucky finally backed away, and even though the kid took off running as well, Lucky picked up the bottle and threw it against the brick wall. It shattered and sent what was left of the whiskey and the glass scattering around them.

She led him away from the kissing couple, who still hadn't stopped to draw breath despite the disturbance, and took him to a large oak. Not very private, but it was the best she could do. Suddenly, his head and back went against the tree, and his breath started gusting.

“Are you having a panic attack?” she asked.

Lucky shook his head. But didn't say anything else. Cassie decided just to wait him out because whatever was going on had gotten to him.

“I didn't stop him,” Lucky finally mumbled.

“But you did. The boy was drinking, and...”

This wasn't about that boy. This wasn't about tonight. This was about his parents.

“The teenager who killed your mom and dad had been drinking,” she said.

Well, according to the rumors he had been anyway. Cassie seemed to remember reading in the paper that he had a blood alcohol level that had exceeded the legal limit. Added to that, he hadn't even been old enough to drink.

“Brian Ducal,” he said.

Yes, that was the boy's name. He'd been alone in his car and had swerved and hit Lucky's parents' vehicle in a fatal head-on collision. The only survivor had been Claire, who had been riding in the backseat because Lucky's parents had given her a ride home from a ball game. Cassie was away at college at the time, but she'd heard plenty about it from Dixie Mae.

“I saw Brian that night,” Lucky continued a moment later. “He was drinking, and I was too busy making out with a girl to take the time to stop him.”

Oh, God.

“I didn't stop him,” Lucky repeated. He jerked away from the tree. Away from her, too. “I have to go. Please stay here with Mackenzie and make sure she gets home all right.”

Lucky didn't give her a chance to say anything. Not that there was anything she could say that would help him right now.

Cassie just stood there and watched as Lucky walked away.

* * *

T
HE
BULL
RIDE
hadn't worked for him. Not that Lucky had expected a good crap-slinging to erase his bad mood, but a ride usually jacked up his adrenaline enough for him to nudge the old memories into the back of his head.

Not tonight, though.

Even the Angus had seemed confused as to why Lucky was leading him into a gate this time of night. Hell, so had the ranch hand. Hank Granger hadn't complained, not out loud anyway, but then the man had worked for the McCords for nearly twenty years. He knew plenty of the things Lucky had done didn't make sense. After all, Lucky hadn't gotten the label of screwup by doing nothing.

Well, except for the nothing he'd done the night of his parents' death.

No nighttime bull ride was going to erase that.

Lucky heard the footsteps and knew it was Cassie before he even looked over his shoulder. He got that funny feeling in his stomach again, the one he always got when he saw her, but tonight neither the funny feeling nor Cassie herself were going to help.

Hank mumbled a good-night and said something else that Lucky didn't catch before he ambled off toward the guest cottage that he'd called home for the past decade.

“Did the ride help?” Cassie asked. She joined him at the fence where he was still watching the bull. The bull was watching him, too, and even though Lucky knew he was projecting, he thought the Angus was calling him an asshole.

Lucky didn't answer her question but instead went with one of his own. “Did Mackenzie have fun?”

“I think so. I think she floated up the stairs to her bedroom.”

Yeah, he'd seen the light come on in her room, so he figured she was back safe and sound. Safe and sound for two more nights anyway. After the wedding the day after tomorrow, the girls would be heading to Phoenix.

“I'm sorry about ditching you at the civic center,” he said.

But Cassie waved him off. “Davy arrested a couple of the boys. Personally, I was surprised he was able to catch up with them, but he did.”

Good. Maybe that would teach them a lesson about underage drinking. Of course, Lucky had gotten arrested for it once, and it hadn't stopped him, but what he'd never done was drink and drive. Brian Ducal had taught him that lesson quite well.

Cassie's phone buzzed, but she didn't even take it from her pocket to look at the screen. “It'll be from my agent, Andrew or someone else I don't want to talk to.”