No Better Man (2 page)

A collective gasp hushed the crowd.

“
Mamacita
!
” Vanessa yelped.

“Look at that rock!” someone else shouted.

Jaw hinged open, she stared at the prism-like diamond. It was wrong. All wrong. She’d always pictured her wedding ring as something of an antique, tried and tested by two people who’d weathered year after year of storms together. It would be a family heirloom, handed down to her future fiancé as a blessing when the stars aligned and he found his soul mate…

Logan slipped the imposter-ring on her finger and gazed into her eyes. “Avery?” The mic was still close enough to project his voice to the crowd.

Everyone quieted in anticipation of her answer.

Vanessa had officially invaded her personal space to inspect the ring.

Her body trembled. Could Logan feel it? Could he feel that she didn’t love him? She
liked
him. A lot. A whole lot. They had fun. But love? Marriage? Forever?

Extreme terror scorched her cheeks and made her feel like she’d sat in the sun too long.
Oh, no. I’m gonna throw up.
Chest heaving, she wrapped her free arm around her stomach.

Logan squeezed her hand a little too desperately. “Avery King, will you marry me?” he repeated in case the whole world hadn’t heard him.

“Uh…um…” The stares of twenty thousand people burned into her. “I…well…”

His arms flew around her neck. He kissed her hard, his lips like steel. Then he let go and waved to the crowd. “She will! She said she will!”

What?
Wait!
No! She’d said well.
Well
. For the love of everything holy, it was a completely different vowel sound! The words remained trapped in her frozen throat. Her hand was still splayed in front her, weighted down by at least three carats.

A cheer rose from the stands and swelled into a roar.

The loudspeaker played a wedding march.

Edward stood next to her, stiff as one of his marble statues, clapping like he was at the opera and the fat lady had sung.

Only Vanessa seemed to get it, seemed to realize she was drowning.

“Oh, boy,” her friend muttered, mimicking her own look of fear.

Hands jostled her shoulders. “Wanna chug?” The guys behind her held up their plastic beer cups in a mock toast.

“Ohhhh! How romantic!” shouted females, from ages eight to eighty. Best wishes for a happy life mixed with music and chants.

Her heart palpitated. Not in a happy,
ohmygoodness I’m getting married
pattern, but in a dreaded
thud, thud, thud
, that made her chest feel too crowded and small. Oh, this was bad. So very bad.

“I didn’t say yes,” she whispered.

Vanessa nodded discreetly. She got it. Her eyes shifted as though searching for an escape, some way to end this before it got too ugly.

The blood drained from Avery’s face and pooled in her chest. She couldn’t marry him. She couldn’t.

But…maybe she should go with it and give everyone a good show, a happy ending. It was the King thing to do, as her father would say. She glanced at Logan, at his broad, friendly smile. At the generous way he waved to all of his fans.

Her heart felt steeped in pain. She couldn’t live a lie. Not even for five minutes.

He deserved more than that. She couldn’t lead him on.

Slowly, she rose, legs shaky and weak.

Vanessa stood, too, arms outstretched, eye blaring a warning…
Don’t do it, Avery. Not here. Not now.

But she had to.

Logan finished waving to the cameras and leaned into her for another hug.

“Wait.” She jutted out her arms to stop him.
Stop.
It had to stop. Her hands rested on his broad, muscular shoulders.

His eyes met hers.

Slowly, she shook her head back and forth.

A frantic look of understanding cranked open his mouth. “Oh, no. I…I thought you knew… I’m sorry…”

He was sorry because he realized it, too. What would happen if she said no in front of 20,000 of his most devoted fans? He had to realize it. He was Chicago’s Golden Boy. Everyone loved him, which gave them every reason to hate her right now.

The crowd hushed as if they’d caught on that their little fairy tale wouldn’t have a happy ending. She hated to burst their bubble, but the popping had to start somewhere.

“I’m sorry.” She tuned out the horrified gasps around her and kept her eyes trained on him. Because this was right, even if breaking his heart broke hers. “I can’t do this. I can’t marry you, Logan.”

For a moment, a deafening silence smothered everything, then a horrible booing rose up from the crowd.

Logan said something, his eyes worried and sad, but she couldn’t hear…

Cold splashed against her back. The smell of beer overwhelmed her. Things flew at her—cups and hats and…oh no! Popcorn rained down over her head, the kernels sticking to the mess on her clothes.

“Avery!” Vanessa huddled against her and raised her coat over their heads.

“Get her out of here!” Dad yelled at some security guards who’d sprinted over to help. Hands gripped her shoulders and ushered her down the aisle. She couldn’t see. Beer and soda dripped down her face. Ice cubes slid down her matted hair.

“That’s right! Leave, bitch!” A woman yelled.

The hands of her security entourage pushed her forward, shielding her with their coats and bodies, following her father’s directives.

Vanessa found her again, threw an arm around her and somehow kept her moving. Her feet stumbled down a series of steps.

“Don’t come back!” a kid shouted.

“How could you do this to him?” some lady wailed.

“Go!” Dad commanded behind her. “Bring the car!”

Locked inside the security guards’ shelter, she and Vanessa staggered on and on for what felt like miles. Her body shivered from the way her wet clothes clung to her skin. Boos still echoed from the stadium, but they grew softer.

Finally, the momentum stopped.

Wheels screeched somewhere nearby. The hands herded them into the limo and slammed the door.

Avery sank into the leather seat next to Vanessa and tried to remember how to breathe. Breathe. Just breathe.

“Here, honey.” Vanessa handed her a soft towel from the minibar.

She mopped her face. When her vision cleared, she saw her father’s expression, the worry lines engraved in his forehead, the sad pull of his lips. It was the same look he’d worn at Mom’s funeral, and then again every time he saw Avery in pain.

“Everything’ll be fine,” he insisted, even though everything was
so
not fine. His eyes brightened. She could practically see the light bulb flicker on over his head. “Schedule the jet for Aspen,” Dad said to Van. “As soon as possible. We need to get her out of the city for a while. Might as well get some work done.”

There was no point in arguing. Logan’s botched proposal was destined to be tomorrow’s YouTube sensation. She wouldn’t be able to walk down the street without getting yelled at. “Let the death threats commence,” she muttered.

“I’ll get the PR department on it. We’ll release a statement,” Dad said briskly, as if that was all that mattered. Like her ruined public image was what had finally freed her tears.

He should know better. She didn’t care what people thought. She didn’t care if the whole world hated her.

She gazed out the window at the place she loved so much, the only place where her mother’s laugh came back to life in her memory.

An overwhelming sense of loss weighted her heart.

She’d lost so much more than the city’s respect.

After what had just happened in there, she’d never be able to show her face at Wrigley Field again.

H
ey batter, batter! Swing batter!”

Bryce Walker positioned himself behind home plate and glared at the woman who taunted him from the pitcher’s mound.

“Love that tight t-shirt, baby!” Meg Carlson called, then bounced her curls like a blonde Betty Boop. He shook his head at her. What was she thinking, wearing that low-cut white t-shirt and short skirt to a damn baseball game? She wasn’t careful, someone might mistake her for a cocktail waitress instead of an ER doctor.

“You been lifting weights or what? Those guns are gonna tear your sleeves!” she crooned.

If it hadn’t been for the bat, he’d have flipped her a one-finger salute, but as it was, his hands were occupied. “No weights, sweetheart,” he called back, making sure to smile real big at Nelson, her nurse fiancé who manned the outfield. “Just the usual mountain man stuff. Wood choppin’, tree haulin’. You know the drill. Tough stuff for delicate hands like yours.” Or for Nelson’s, but he didn’t say it. That might be one step too far over the line.

“Can you bend over real quick?” she shot back. “I want to get a picture of that tight ass of yours.”

“You wish.”

“We want a pitcher, not a belly itcher!” someone yelled from the bleachers, but he couldn’t see who. The floodlights above him cast a glare right into his eyes. It was the perfect night for a game at Lower Moore Field—cool and crisp, the smell of campfire lingering in the air. With the fall tourist season in full swing, it seemed the stands were fuller. Or maybe they’d all turned out to see Aspen’s prodigal son make his return to the town baseball league.

Whoosh!
The ball sailed past him and smacked into the catcher’s mitt.

“Hey.” Bryce lowered the bat. “I wasn’t ready.”

Meg shrugged. “Always gotta be ready, Walker.”

Trash talk flew from his team’s dugout.

“Don’t let her ruin your concentration!” Mom shouted. Even the sweetest woman in town knew Meg’s M.O. She’d earned a reputation as the biggest flirt ever to grace the mound, and her strategy usually worked. She made half the guys in town practically swallow their tongues when they stepped up to bat, which meant she had the best pitching record in the history of the league. Lucky for him, he’d known her since he was old enough to open his eyes, so she didn’t do much for him. Kind of like that annoying older sister who’s always humiliating you in front of your friends. Or the whole damn town, as the case may be.

Not tonight…

“You know, that whole shaggy mountain man look is really working for me,” Meg tried again. “Love a man who’s not afraid of a little curl in his hair.”

“Put a sock in it!” Mom yelled from behind the chain-link fence. “For goodness’ sakes, Meg, don’t encourage him!” She’d made it pretty clear she didn’t appreciate the way he’d let his dark hair grow down past his ears. Wasn’t too keen on the stubble he’d started to keep around, either. What could he say? Hadn’t been much time lately for standing in front of a mirror. She, on the other hand, went to the beauty shop twice a week to keep her Betty White hair perfectly sculpted. He glanced over at her. On the street, you might mistake Elsie Walker for a sweet, little old lady with that white bob and the deep laugh lines accentuating her bright smile, but underneath that exterior she was a force to be reckoned with.

“Take it easy, Ma,” he called over. “I can handle her.”

“Yoo hoo! Bases are loaded,” Meg reminded him with a wicked smile. “No pressure.”

Bryce widened his stance and raised the bat. No pressure his ass. This was his first game in the town league since his stint in rehab. Not to mention, they happened to be playing their biggest rivals for ten years running. Aspen Valley Medical Center versus the Walker Mountain Ranch. He glanced over at his motley crew made up of river rats and ski bums, many of whom had worked at the ranch when it’d been operational. Before he’d gone and screwed everything up.

Next at bat would be Paige Harper. Growing up down the road, she’d always been like his little sister, though she’d changed a lot since her days of tagging along with him during the summers he came home from college. She’d always been a pretty girl, with long, wavy hair the color of Ponderosa pine bark—a cross between red and auburn. Back when they’d chummed around, she’d been in high school. Mom hired her to keep up the grounds and gardens at the ranch. Since then, he’d heard she’d become a damn good boater. Good skier, too. She worked for some rafting company in the summer and the mountain in the winter.

Then there was Sawyer Hawkins, a cousin from Mom’s side, but everyone said they looked more like brothers. If that was true, Sawyer would’ve been the big brother, the way he always got Bryce out of trouble. Didn’t hurt that he was an Aspen deputy. He was the one who’d finally convinced him to go to rehab. Said he’d beat the crap out of him if he had to drag him to detox one more time. As usual, Sawyer’s wife, Kaylee, was attached to his arm. Newlyweds and all that.

Standing next to Kaylee was Bryce’s buddy Shooter, who didn’t much care if a woman was married or not. He still wasn’t shy about looking. Shooter was tall and bulky, played wide receiver in high school. Still could, if he would’ve kept himself in shape. For a while, he tried to get himself cut enough to go pro, but no one drafted him so he’d fallen back on his other hobby in high school—skiing. He’d worked his way up the ski patrol and was now assistant director on the mountain. He was also obnoxious as hell, but he’d do anything for a friend, and Bryce figured it didn’t hurt to have people like that around.

After Shooter came Yates, then Simpson, then Timmons, who’d all worked maintenance for his family at one time or another. When they could fit it in between bar tending and skiing, that was.

Looking at the two teams, it wasn’t hard to pick out the underdogs. But as it stood, their team was only down by three. One long hit could hand them the victory.

“Oh, Bryce.” Meg turned his name into a song.

“Hit a line drive! Nail her in the face!” Paige yelled.

“Tune it out, Walker! Get in the zone!” Sawyer chimed in.

No pressure.

“You ready, Slugger?” Meg taunted. “’Cause I’ve got a curveball with your name on it.”

Grinning, he grabbed his crotch and spit like a professional ball player. “Send it in, sweetheart.”

From the outfield, Nelson flipped him off. Didn’t he know better? Stuff like that only egged him on. “Give it to me hard and fast. You know how I like it.” There wasn’t a lick of truth to that statement. Meg had no clue how he liked it, but two could play her game.

An outraged growl screwed her face into a look of fiery disgust.

Mission accomplished.

She planted her feet and drew back her arm. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Walker.” With a loud grunt, she let it fly high and wide.

“Ball one!” The ump signaled.

He lowered the bat. “That all you got, Meg?”

Her face darkened—mouth taut, eyes narrowed like she was calling on some inner power.

Time to trip her up.
Bryce backed out of the batter’s box and threw a few practice swings, making sure to engage his biceps. One hit, that was all they needed to pull out a win. If he could catch a break, he’d hit the winning run, and that’d mean more than anyone could’ve guessed. After two years of letting the ranch slowly die, he’d come back to change everything. Right now it was more than just winning this game. He did this, maybe he could win back the ranch, too.

Before the bank took it away.

“Come on! You got this, Bryce!” Paige rattled the fence. She knew how much he had to prove to everyone sitting in those stands.

“Send the boys home, son!” Mom clapped and whistled.

Now or never.
He jammed his big toe into the dust inside the batter’s box and nodded at Meg.

She launched it in, straight and low.

His upper body strained and he came at it with everything he had.

Smack!
The ball sailed over the outfielder’s glove, hit the ground and rolled all the way to the damn sidewalk.

The Walker Mountain Ranch Misfits whooped and hollered.

“Run, Walker. For shit’s sake, run!” Shooter sprinted along the fence just like he had back when they were ten. Bryce dropped the bat and took off for first, keeping an eye on the outfielders. Nelson had the ball, but he was still a ways out and he threw like a girl. Sure enough, he lopped it up, but it didn’t have the distance.

Bryce rounded second, then third before Meg somehow came up with the ball. She chased him all the way home, but he had a longer stride.

Two steps. He’d beat her by two steps.

The dugout went wild and bum-rushed him. They swarmed him with congrats, high fives, and hearty slaps on the shoulder, with one on the ass, courtesy of Shooter.

When the racket settled, Meg trudged over. “Good game, Walker,” she grumbled as she punched him in the shoulder.

“Yeah. You, too, Meg.” He punched her back.

Surprisingly, she smiled. “It’s good to have you back. How are things with the ranch?” Her eyes shifted away from his and told him she already knew the answer.

Gotta love a small town. He wouldn’t be surprised if she’d found out before he’d even received the Notice of Election and Demand from the bank, informing him that he had 120 days to catch up on payments or they’d send it to auction. The thought wrenched his gut. While he’d been getting sober, things at the ranch had piled up, and now he had no idea how to dig out.

He tried to shrug it off. “Things have been better.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Don’t think so.” He glanced past her at Mom, who was handing out homemade post-game cookies like it was some Little League Championship game. He hadn’t found a way to tell her about the bank yet. Hoped he didn’t have to. “I’ll find a way to make it work.” He had to find a way.

Meg reached into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “Bill Rhodes is a friend of mine. Go talk to him. Tell him I sent you.”

He took the card and studied it.

Bill Rhodes, Senior Loan Officer

First Bank of Aspen

Despite the show she’d put on out there, he smiled at her. Felt damn good to have people on your side, even after being away for a while. “Thanks, Meg. Really.”

“Yeah, sure. Least I can do.”

Across the field, her fiancé waved her over. “Let’s go, babe! Got the early shift.”

Her hand patted confidence into his shoulder. “It’ll work out, Bryce. Something will work out. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

As she jogged away, he dug his cell out of his pocket and punched in Rhodes’s number.

After that hit he was feeling lucky. Time to go for another win.

Italian leather. Man, how he hated Italian leather. Bryce tried to get comfortable on the stiff couch and tapped the sole of his mud-caked boot against the marble tiles. They didn’t belong in a place like this, those boots. Hell, he didn’t belong in a place like this, but he’d run out of options.

“Mr. Rhodes will see you now.” The secretary—admin assistant?—didn’t even look up from her computer screen.

He stood and glanced at the nametag proudly displayed on the lapel of her swanky suit jacket. “Thanks, Chrissy.”

She still didn’t acknowledge him with a look, but her eyes narrowed like he had no business calling her by her first name. Yeah, he probably didn’t. Even so, he passed her with an exaggerated smile. Her nose got any higher in the air, she’d scrape it on that golden ceiling and ruin her perfect nose job.

He clomped down a short hall and stopped in front of a door clearly marked,
Bill Rhodes, Senior Loan Officer
over frosted glass. He’d never been one for titles. Person could add as many adjectives to their name as they wanted and it still wouldn’t impress him. Senior, President, Chairman, Superman, whatever. Didn’t change much about a person, and he was about to find out exactly what kind of guy Bill Rhodes was.

The door opened.

“Mr. Walker?” Rhodes was dressed in one of those neatly trimmed suits that looked like something out of the old Bond movies. He had dark hair, cropped short and sculpted into stiff spikes.

A man who uses hairspray. Never a good sign.

Still, Bryce stuck out his hand. This guy held the cards for his future. Wouldn’t hurt to make a good impression. “Yeah. Name’s Bryce. Nice to meet you.”

“Come on in. Have a seat.” He stepped aside and gestured to his palatial office.

Apparently being a Senior Loan Officer meant you got a corner office that looked more like an apartment—a granite wet bar with a stocked wine rack, two black leather couches squaring off over a rustic coffee table, a black poplar desk that could’ve easily sat eight. All with a million-dollar view of downtown Aspen.

Bryce glanced at the door. This had been a mistake. He was way out of his league.

“Have a seat.” Bill Rhodes gestured to the couches. “I’ll grab your application so we can chat.”

A man who says “chat.” Another bad sign
.

Suddenly too aware of the dirt trail his boots left behind, he tromped to the couch and slouched into the cushions.
Let’s get this over with.

“Would you like something to drink?” Bill Rhodes shuffled his loafers across a Persian rug to the wet bar and swung open the mini-fridge.

“No.” He hadn’t come for a drink. He’d come for a verdict. “Thanks.”

“All right, then. Let’s see…” Bill snatched a Perrier for himself and popped the top. “We’ve reviewed your application.” He strode back to the couch and sat across from Bryce with what could only be described as a plastic smile, similar to the ones on all those mannequins that stared out the gold-trimmed windows in the shopping district.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Walker. Bryce. We’ve decided to deny the loan. It’s too risky.” He sipped his sparkling mineral water, then set it carefully on a marble coaster.

Bryce said nothing. He’d expected to hear that, but he wanted to watch Bill Rhodes squirm.

“The ranch hasn’t been operational for a few years. There’s no guarantee your improvements will pay off.” His hands laced together into a patronizing configuration. “If you make the improvements and get things running again, we’d be open to seeing a new application.”