His Old Lady - Debra Kayn Page 0,86

with a handful of clothes. Looking at Curley, he said, "Tracy's."

That's all he needed to know. His MC brother understood the need to get Faye out of the bloodied dress and got Tracy's extra set of clothes from the duffle on the back of his Harley. He was thankful for the help.

Standing Faye up, he whispered in her ear. "Put these clothes on. They belong to Tracy."

Faye moved quickly, not arguing. He stood in front of her, sheltering her from the eyes of the others. Though she wasn't aware of everyone in the room. She only wanted to get the dress off.

Once she was covered with clean clothes, he walked her outside. Priest followed. A crime had been committed here, and the whole place would need to be swept for any clues of Cal getting shot before they dispose of the body.

"Uh, Curley?" Priest put a hand on his shoulder. "There's stuff upstairs."

He held Faye to his chest and covered the side of her face and her ear with his hand. The less she knew, the easier it would be on her.

"What kind of stuff?" he asked.

"Pictures." Priest's gaze flickered to Faye. "A lot of pictures. He'd planned this for a long time. There's also a Polaroid of the greenhouse fire. We found her in time, brother."

He looked away, trying to get control. If Cal wasn't dead, he'd kill him again.

"Get rid of them," he said. "Don't give anyone a reason to link this to us."

Priest nodded. "Take your woman home."

"Call me when it's done." He walked Faye toward the parking lot.

Frank pulled in. Glad to get Faye out of here, he put her in the car while Frank walked to Curley's Harley, planning to follow them home.

He was halfway to Missoula when Faye broke the silence. "You came back."

"I'd never leave you."

She stared straight ahead. "Promise?"

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Promise."

Chapter 38

Faye

Four days after Curley killed Cal Williams, Faye sat in the backyard, on the deck swing, wrapped in a blanket. She held Curley's hand against her stomach, not knowing how to explain to him that she had no idea how she would go on with her life.

How would she go back to work, pretending that she got caught in someone else's sick nightmare or how she was responsible for Cal's death? Even though Curley had shot him to protect her, it could have easily been the bullet from the pistol she'd taken.

She'd pulled the trigger.

Everything had happened faster than her mind could accept. Even now, days later, it all seemed like something that had happened to someone else, not her.

"I don't know what is wrong with me." She sighed heavily. "I swear, I'm okay. You don't have to hang around the house with me if you have somewhere else you'd rather be, or the club needs you. I'll be fine."

"I know you're fine." He squeezed her hand. "I want to be here."

"What about Promise?"

"What about it?"

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "You hired me to work, and I've been moping around the house for four days."

"The job can wait."

She rubbed her cheek against him. "I'm sorry for being so much trouble."

He kissed the top of her head. This was the most they'd talked since before he'd left to go on a run with Tarkio. She had a lot to say and ask but had no desire to hear the answers.

"It's like I have so many feelings inside of me that want to come out when I thought I would never see you again, and I watched you ride away from the lounge. At that moment, everything was crystal clear in my mind. I wanted nothing more than to tell you everything. Now, I don't know...I can't find the words." She lifted her head and looked at him. "I don't think you have a clue how much I love you."

Curley looked out at the field. She'd probably upset him. They promised to be open and honest when he finally decided to honor their relationship, and she was letting him down.

"I know," he murmured.

"Do you?"

"I felt it when I sobered up long enough to realize my cock was inside you, and I'd fucked a seventeen-year-old. I could see what it meant to you. It made me angry that I would ruin you before your life had even started." Behind his beard, his Adam's apple moved.

"I was almost eighteen."

"It doesn't matter," he said gruffly.

"You do know that girls can get married at sixteen years of age in Montana,