everything reverts back to normal.
I’m just relieved it’s over and we managed to pull this off without starting a fire.
Well, not one that isn’t connected to a suspicious number of nerve endings.
It takes a good while to cross the room. Nearly every patron stops to say congratulations, or asks me a question about starting design work, and to thank Ridge for the open bar.
We’re almost to the door when another man walks up to us.
“My compliments to both of you, and thanks. The entire town’s gonna be talking this up forever.” He frowns, tugging on the bill of his hat. “Say, those newshounds you mentioned...they’ll do anything to get the scoop, won’t they?”
Ridge nods, but rather than answer, says, “Grace, this is Jess Berland. I bought my truck from his dealership when I first moved here.”
“Right, sorry,” Jess mumbles. “It’s real nice to meet you, Grace. I didn’t mean to be rude, I just...”
“You weren’t being rude,” I say, concerned by how he’s frowning.
“I was just asking because I stepped outside for a smoke earlier. Saw two guys near your truck.”
My insides freeze.
“They might not have done anything, but it looked kinda funny to me.” Jess digs around in his pants pocket and pulls out a key ring. “Here, take my ride. Just traded my old one in for something better, doesn’t even have its plates yet. It’s parked out back. I’ll have yours towed to the shop and check it over in the morning.”
“Funny how?” Ridge asks, sizing him up.
Jess shakes his head. “Well...it was pretty damn obvious. There was a dude climbing out from under your truck while the other guy stood lookout. They didn’t see me because I’d gone out the back door and walked around the side of the building.” He rattles his keys, still holding them out to Ridge. “Seriously. Take my truck, man.”
“How will you get home?” I ask.
He laughs. “Aw, hell. I’m related to half the people in here. I’ll get a ride.”
Ridge takes the key ring and passes over his own set of keys. “Thanks, Jess. I appreciate it.”
“Not a problem! I’ll check it over real good for bugs—uh, surveillance devices,” Jess says, quickly darting a look around the room before leaning in. “I saw it in a movie once.”
Ridge gives him his best poker smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing like that. Just a few nosy-ass reporters who never learned to mind anybody’s business.”
“I’ve been watching, made sure you didn’t leave until we talked. Sorry it wasn’t sooner. I got held up by Arthur Snowden talking about how he almost cut his finger off fixing his wife’s washing machine last night.” Grinning, he tells me, “Arthur has a frequent flyer card for the clinic. He’s a walking accident and loves to tell everybody about his last ER visit.”
Nodding at me, Ridge says, “Your truck’s out back?”
“Yep. You might as well use the back door so you don’t have to walk around the whole building.”
Jess and Ridge talk about checking the truck as we move to the back door.
As we cross the patio, where there’s a tall outdoor heater blasting hot air, we say good night to several people, including a hefty-looking man with one hand wrapped in gauze—the infamous Arthur, I assume.
My stomach has been gurgling with dread ever since Jess told us about the men near Ridge’s truck.
I can’t believe I thought this would work.
Clay’s goons are wolves, plain and simple. Trying to scare them off might just make them more determined.
After we climb in a white pickup with Berland Auto Deals painted on the doors, I say, “It was Pete, wasn’t it?”
“Probably. A prick with a name like Jackknife seems destined for crappy jobs,” Ridge says. “I’m glad our announcement worked.”
Confused, I look at him. “Did it? How do you know?”
“Jess is a good guy. By showing up tonight, he saw those busy little fucking bees buzzing around the truck. Proves we’ve got someone else on our side looking out for us. And now we have a bar full of fine people who’ll spread our engagement news far and wide. By the end of the weekend, everyone in Dallas will be on the lookout for unfamiliar faces, thinking they’re reporters coming to shake them down.”
That’s...not half bad.
I lean back, letting it sink in.
“You ever lived in a small town?” he asks, looking over, his eyes dancing with blue mischief.
“No. Our farm was outside of the city, but still close enough. The nearest town was a suburb. It was different from