Rough and Ready (More Than A Cowboy Book 2) Read online

  Gray shrugged, leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. He wore his usual T-shirt—stained with sweat—and fighter shorts, plus his running shoes. No one would know by looking at him in the gym he preferred snap shirts and cowboy hats. After a quick head tilt to the guy who came through the door, he replied, “Emory won't say.”

  This answer meant he, too, knew something was up. I hadn’t told him about the elevator freak out.

  While I appreciated Emory’s ability to keep secrets like a bank vault, it would be really helpful to be able to figure Harper out. Was it claustrophobia? Obviously, she wasn’t bothered by being in a car. Did that mean she wouldn’t like to have her wrists pinned as she fucked?

  I blew out a deep breath at the idea of having her beneath me. Shit. I was in trouble.

  “I do know she's got issues with her family and was looking for a new place to live that was safe.”

  “Safe?” I asked, wondering what that meant. Safe, as in, the house was falling down or safe, like her mother was a serial killer?

  “After the incident at Emory's house last summer.” He bit off the words remembering what happened. Some lunatic had been beating up women for their pain pills, and Emory, who volunteered as a nurse practitioner at a family clinic, got in the guy’s way. He’d broken into her house to mess with her, and she’d escaped by climbing down a fucking rope ladder. I’d been there when Gray got to her. While she hadn’t been hurt, it had been a bad situation, and no doubt she had nightmares. Gray probably, too. If Harper had lived on the same street, it was likely she’d worried for her own safety after that.

  “I thought maybe that was the reason, but when Emory mentioned a whack family, I started to think differently,” he added.

  “Everyone's got a crazy family,” I countered. I didn’t really have parents as much as fucking criminals who’d spawned me. They were dead, so that made things simpler. I seriously doubted Harper’s mom was a drug addict, and her father made her be his getaway driver in armed robberies. No, probably her only parental problem as a kid was to worry if her parents would show up for her field hockey game. She was a princess.

  Gray only arched a brow at my response, and I remembered the shit with his dad. Now he was an asshole. He owned Green Acres, a bunch of retirement communities all across the West. He might be successful, but he was a piece of work. A kid beater and worse.

  Gray looked away from the window and focused on me. “All I know is, watch out for her.”

  I stopped the jump rope, even with time left, let it hang down in front of me. I took a deep breath, then another, wiped the back of my hand over my temple to catch the dripping sweat. “You think someone's trying to hurt her?”

  Not on my fucking watch.

  He shrugged, pushed off the wall. Grabbing his towel from a nearby bench, he wiped it over his sweaty head. “Perhaps, but while she can run faster and farther than anyone I've ever seen, sometimes you can't escape your problems. I think she's got some stuff she's working on.”

  Somehow, I had a feeling he wasn’t talking about elevators.

  5

  HARPER

  “Did you get a new outfit for the holiday party?” Sarah asked. She stuck her head in my office door, her eyes wide with female glee at the idea of a new outfit.

  “I won’t be here,” I replied, glancing up at her.

  I sat behind my desk, piled high with papers that needed to be graded and notes from the latest article I was writing on the use of the Latin Cross layout in later cathedral structures in northern Europe. It was the last week of the semester, and everyone was in the chaos and insanity of exams before the long winter break. Instead of going to the department holiday party this weekend, I was going to the UK. I had to do research for my latest paper that was being published, and the only free time I had from school was between semesters.

  The excitement slipped from her face. “That’s right. I forgot.” Then she smiled again, sighed. “God, a vacation in England. You can meet up with that guy, what’s his name? Giles?”

  Giles. A professor at the university in London, or lecturer as he was called in the UK. A one-night stand I’d told Sarah about. I may have embellished him a bit more than what it really was. We’d hit it off then gotten off in the supply closet on the third floor of the arts building. I hadn’t lingered and hadn’t seen him since. I barely thought about him.

  But, Sarah was little Miss Matchmaker, and having a possible boyfriend in another country allowed me to string her along and keep any blind dates she might scrounge up from happening. I let her think Giles and I emailed each other and did stuff when I was in the UK, which was fairly often.

  “Right. Giles,” I replied.

  “You’ll be there for Christmas, won’t you? If not, you’ll come over.”

  She was married, had two kids who were in elementary school and a white Labrador whose shedding hair clung to all of Sarah’s clothes. Going to her house for Christmas dinner would be a three-ring circus and remind me of a family life I never had.

  “I will be away, yes,” I replied vaguely.

  “Dinner with Giles and his family?” she asked hopefully.

  More like dinner with the flight attendants on the transatlantic flight coming home. I’d specifically planned my return for Christmas day. I hated the holiday. It was a day for family, and I had none. The day I’d been attacked was the day I severed all ties with them. They hadn’t come to the ER to check on me, to sit with me as I spoke to the detectives. A few weeks later, they’d bailed Cam out of jail. Supporting him—no, trying to save him—when he’d been caught by undercover police selling drugs. I’d been dramatic and attention seeking. As if.

  That had been it for me. I’d not once reached out to them, but that hadn’t stopped them from contacting me, solely for selfish reasons.

  I should be thankful for my friends, who were kind to include me, but it wasn’t the same as family. It never would be, so I’d found ways to make Christmas just disappear. And while my research trip to England had been planned for the school winter break, I’d made sure I wasn’t at home, anywhere really, for the actual holiday.

  “We’ll see,” I replied. “What are you wearing to the party?”

  My question redirected her as I’d hoped, and I listened as she spoke of the new top she bought that required new shoes to go with it.

  “I have those chandelier earrings you can borrow.” My phone rang from beneath the papers.

  Sarah rolled her eyes and gave me a wave as I dug it out then answered.

  “Harper Lane.”

  “Your brother is reaching out to you, Harper.”

  God.

  I couldn’t look at Sarah, so I just gave her a vague wave in return and spun my chair around to face the wall. It may have been a little rude, but I wouldn’t let my friend see my face. Not now. Seven words from my mother, and I was destroyed. I stared blindly at the large cork board filled with photos I’d taken of various cathedrals across Europe as well as paintings I lectured on. Close ups of mosaic tiles and examples of pristine stained glass.

  I saw none of it. My lunch became unsettled. All because of her.

  “Yes, I’ve heard from him,” I replied. My voice was monotone. I had nothing to give to my mother, no emotion. Nothing. After what she’d done, I was a dry well. It had been six months since she called me last, when Cam had been hurt in a fight in the prison yard. Why she’d called me to tell me about it, I had no idea. She called now because Cam had tried yesterday and failed to get me to engage.

  “He’s in jail. The least you can do is be responsive.”

  I pulled the phone away from my head, stared at it. “He gave me to drug dealers as payment, Mother.” The fact I had to remind her of this made it instantly clear she was not calling for reconciliation. “I have nothing to say to him.” Or you.

  “That… incident is not why he is in jail—therefore, you should empathize with his plight.”

  He’d gotten away with my assault since the men who�
�d attacked me were never found. And, my parents’ lawyer had done a great job of ripping me apart to the D.A. to save Cam. Even so, he’d done something else stupid—which, like she said, had nothing to do with me—and ended up in jail anyway.

  I let my head fall forward, closed my eyes. “What do you want?”

  “He will be released on the twenty-third. A wonderful Christmas present. We are having a little party with his friends. Seven-thirty. You will come and—”

  “No.” The single word was like a bullet. “I will not come. I will not talk with him. I will not talk with you. Goodbye.”

  Spinning around, I slammed the phone down just as I hit my knee on the inside of my desk.

  “Fuck,” I breathed, wincing and taking deep breaths to ease the pain, rubbing at the abused bone.

  Slowly, my knee felt better, but my heart didn’t. What the fuck was wrong with my family? Why couldn’t they just be normal, nice people instead of sociopaths? I wanted to throw up. I wanted to swipe all the papers off my desk. I wanted to scream.

  I couldn’t do any of that. Not here, not now. Looking up at the clock on the wall, I had a full afternoon of exams. I could run this off. Later. Or fuck it all away. Yeah, that would be good. The connection with someone else, even for a little bit. An orgasm was like a hit of some hard drug.

  The alarm on my cell went off, a daily reminder of my first afternoon class. Fuck. I took a deep breath. Another. Thought of the wall my therapist had told me to visualize. To build it brick by brick around my anger and frustration at my family, at what happened to me, until it was completely walled off. The concept was great, but it didn’t really work. Still, I tried.

  I had students waiting to take their semester final on triptych paintings and clerestory windows. Teaching was soothing although exam time was a little hectic. The familiarity of my subject matter was almost comforting. Seven-hundred-year-old cathedrals didn’t talk back, didn’t fuck up your life. They were consistent, enduring. They were always there. The same, familiar, no matter what shit came your way.

  6

  REED

  “Word on the street, you’re going down,” Gray said. He leaned back in his desk chair, fingers steepled in front of him. He was in jeans and t-shirt with the gym logo on the chest. His Stetson was in its usual spot on the hook behind his desk. He wore the serious expression of a guy in ruthless control but would much rather beat the shit out of something. Or someone. In this case, I knew who it was.

  “Dominguez.”

  It wasn’t the guy I was fighting next week. He was clean. Or at least he’d be clean in the ring. It was his backers, one of them specifically. Instead of having sponsors who touted the latest protein powder or sneaker, Sammy the Sandbag Briggs had Dominguez who was infamous for leading one of the nastier gangs in the area, including as far away as Denver. With Brant Valley’s crime rate only getting worse, it only proved he was one mean fucker.

  “How the hell did Sammy get mixed up with him?” I asked, shaking my head. I knew the rough life of the streets, the way things worked, but the shit I’d done didn’t even approach what Dominguez did.

  “I’ve heard Sammy’s sister is baby mama for one of Dominguez’s men.”

  “Baby mama?” I asked, stunned he’d use that term.

  “What? I know my street language.” Gray offered a quick smile then let it fall away. “I don’t think Sammy’s got much choice in who’s backing him.”

  “I thought he had that energy bar company taking him out for dinner.”

  “That was before Dominguez got his hands on him. Everything’s changed now.”

  I could only imagine. Sammy must be shitting himself over this whole thing. Would they kill him if he lost the fight next month?

  “So Dominguez will bet on the fight, make some cash,” I said, dummying it down.

  “If you lose,” he added, leaning forward, putting his forearms on his desk.

  I looked at Gray. We didn’t have to say anything because I wasn’t throwing the fight, and I wasn’t losing. Fuck no. I couldn’t worry about Sammy’s neck with only a few weeks to go.

  A tap on the office window had me turning around. When Jack caught my eye, he tilted his head past the front counter. I looked in that direction and saw Harper walking out of the gym with Larry the Loser.

  “What the fuck?” I muttered.

  Harper was in her work clothes. I wouldn’t forget those hot heels. She wasn’t in the gym for exercise. No. Based on the look on Larry’s face, she’d taken him up on his offer for a quick fuck. I’d heard his lines, and no woman I’d ever met went for it. He was probably zero for fifty. I’d seen for myself the way she’d turned him down the day before. Obviously not. I didn’t give a shit who Larry fucked except Harper.

  I stood and walked out of Gray’s office without looking back. “Later.”

  If Gray wanted to talk more, he’d have to wait. There was no way in hell I was letting Larry get his hands on her.

  I walked past Jack, who had a pile of clean towels in front of him to fold, and out into the lobby. No Harper. No Larry. I glanced out into the parking lot. Empty. She wouldn’t take the elevator to her apartment, which meant—

  Pulling out my key pass from my pocket, I slapped it against the wall sensor, then opened the heavy door to the emergency stairs. There, against the concrete wall, was Harper. Larry was looking down at her and stroking his knuckles along her upper arm. The scene was fucking odd. Larry in his workout clothes, a white muscle shirt and black shorts. He was gangly and had curly hair that was like a dark mop on top of his head—and on his chest. He had the physique of a runner; no amount of weight lifting would get him to bulk up.

  For a guy, he wasn’t hideous, but his personality was of a dead fish. A dead fish who wanted to get in the pants of any woman who was conscious. He might even try for ones who weren’t.

  They whipped their heads in my direction when I interrupted them. Harper didn’t have the look of a woman who wanted to fuck. No heated gaze, no lip biting or flushed cheeks, no aggressive hands. She just looked stunned to see me.

  Larry straightened, turned to face me. “Reed, I was just—”

  “Leaving,” I said, finishing for him. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stared him down. I didn’t want to lay him out, but I would if he didn’t step the fuck away from Harper.

  He lifted his hands as if he were being robbed. “Hey, she propositioned me.”

  I clenched my fists. Wrong answer. He was putting this whole thing on Harper. Yeah, he was a sucker for a beautiful woman, but she hadn’t been leading him out of the gym by his dick. I didn’t give a shit if a woman wanted to fuck. It was her prerogative as much as any guy, but Larry didn’t have to be a douchebag about it. Shaming Harper wasn’t the way to get beneath that pencil skirt.

  Larry narrowed his eyes and studied me then looked to Harper then back. “Are you—”

  “Going to kill you?” I asked, my voice taking on an edge it didn’t have before. “That’s up to you.”

  His eyebrows rose to disappear beneath his hair. He sighed, dropped his hands to his sides and moved past me to open the door. “Sorry, my bad.”

  I didn’t watch him leave, only waited for the heavy slam to know we were alone.

  Harper wouldn’t look at me. Her hands were flat against the concrete wall at her sides, as if it was holding her up.

  I looked her over, took in her prim work clothes, the way her hair fell forward to shield her face. “Do you really want him, Harper?”

  She turned to me, narrowed her dark eyes. “You have no right.”

  “If you really want to fuck Larry, I’ll go back and get him. Even apologize.” I paused, but she didn’t respond. “Do you want me to do that?”

  She pursed her lips. “No.”

  “You want to fuck?” I put a hand on my chest. “I’m right here.”

  Her mouth fell open, and she looked at me in outrage. She didn’t need to use fists to take me down, just that glare.

 
“I don’t want to—”

  “Then what were you doing with Larry?”

  “I…I—” She looked away, knowing I’d caught her in her own lie. “Just leave me alone.”

  She started to climb the stairs, but I grabbed her wrist before she made it far.

  “Oh, no. You approached Larry for a reason.” I tugged her, so she turned and faced me. With her on the steps, she was a few inches taller than me. “Does he make you wet, princess?”

  Her cheeks flushed, and she pulled against my hold. If Larry didn’t make her hot, then why did she go to him?

  “I’m not answering that,” she snapped. Every line in her body was filled with tension. I had to assume she knew no self-defense, otherwise she’d have broken my nose by now or worse, kneed me in the nuts. I turned my hips a little though, just in case.

  “Because the answer is no. You wanted to fuck him but weren’t interested.”

  “What’s wrong with that?” she countered, clearly offended. “What’s wrong with a woman wanting a quick release?”

  “Absolutely nothing.” The idea of seeing Harper come, hearing the sounds she’d make, made me hard. “You want to get off.”

  When she just crossed her arms and stared down at me with that stern librarian look, I’d had enough.

  I stepped up, leaned in and tossed her over my shoulder. I didn’t slow as I went up the stairs, even when she pummeled my back. I only set her down when we were in my apartment, door locked behind us.

  I sat down in my overstuffed armchair, took her hand and pulled her to stand before me. The apartment was sparsely furnished. I didn’t need much. There were no knick-knacks from trips, no family photos. Yeah, my dad never let me stop the car for a selfie together after he robbed a convenience store. No framed prints on the walls. I didn’t bring women here, so there was no one to impress.