Casey’s blood was pounding in his temples and throat and fists, but he held himself steady. Kept his hands at his sides, well away from the gun. What had he expected, anyhow? An apology? A show of fear? This motherfucker had about two emotions, and neither of them looked a thing like regret.
“I’m feeling real hurt, here, Grossier,” Dancer said, brows drawn up in a false show. “I mean, I give you medical attention, out of the kindness of my heart—”
“So my brother would owe you,” Casey corrected.
“And I help your little business partner find those pesky old bones and clear his good name.” He meant Duncan. And true, Duncan had said he wouldn’t have gotten to the bottom of last year’s drama without John Dancer’s advice. “Now this is my thanks? I share a bit of innocent information—about a girl I got no obligations to, to a man who’d pistol-whip me as soon as ask twice—and I get your ass up in my face, demanding what, exactly? An apology?”
“You got some fucking nerve on you.”
“Your girl—your employee, or your fuck, or whatever she is to you—she okay? Did he hurt her?”
Casey didn’t reply, fuming inside. Guy had a point. Had something bad happened to Abilene as a result of all this, he’d have more than adequate cause to break Dancer’s teeth. But as things seemed to be turning out okay, he’d only look like a psycho if he got violent. He stepped back a pace.
“I’m fucking watching you,” he said, jabbing a finger in Dancer’s direction.
A smile. “I’ll be sure to wear my good panties, then.”
“Fuck yourself, Dancer.”
“Somebody has to.” He turned his attention to his cigarette, killing it with a long suck, then grinding the butt under his heel. That done, he turned his back on Casey and headed to the rear of his van.
Casey returned to the diner fuming. The bells jangled violently, pulling him up short. He cooled himself, hand seeking his lighter in his pocket, fingering the smooth corners, seeking calm. No doubt everyone in here had heard his shout and watched that interaction, and he felt their eyes on him now.
Casey rarely showed his anger. He didn’t feel angry all that often, in fact, and didn’t like the sensation. If an emotion was going to leave him feeling out of control, let it be euphoria or excitement or lust. Shame enveloped him in a breath. His dad had hit Casey and Vince when they’d been little. Not a lot, and never too hard, though there’d been a couple times when their old man’s hand had risen, open palm, knuckles out, only to get lowered again with a slow, purposeful effort. Casey shoved his own anger down, resenting this sensation. Resenting anything he found inside himself that painted him as his father’s son.
As he walked between the booths and counter, he heard somebody tell their friend, “I really thought he was gonna deck that pervert.”
By the time Casey reached Abilene, he was calmer, though he knew his cheeks and nose were red and condemning. He slid in behind the table, shifting his gun around as discreetly as he could.
Abilene’s lips were a flat, white line, and she watched him as he sat.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Just had some things to say.” He doubted she’d heard anything they’d said apart from the first shout.
“What’d he do to you?”
“He’s the one who told your ex where to find you. Sort of. Who told him to come after me, anyhow.”
“Oh.” Her gaze went to the back lot, but Dancer was gone. “That’s crummy, but I suppose plenty of people could have done the same. It’s not exactly a secret that I work for you. Or that we’re close,” she added softly, turning to free the baby’s head from her tiny hood. “Anybody from Benji’s could’ve told him as much.”
“That may be true, but trust me—that asshole still needed telling off.”
She shot him a look for the swear.
“Sorry. I’m angry.”
“I can tell . . . I’ve only seen you this angry once before.”
He frowned. He didn’t ever want her to see him this way. “When?”
“Last fall, when some of the rednecks were giving Duncan a hard time in the bar.”
“Oh, right.” Casey considered that, a tiny bit relieved. In that sense, he had his dad beat. Tom Grossier would snap if you annoyed him. Casey saved his rage up for when somebody disrespected or threatened his friends.
As that realization dawned, he felt the anger lift for good. And just in time—their food arrived then. He didn’t want those emotions here with him. Didn’t want them infecting the little bubble that he and Abilene inhabited here and now. He didn’t want to be like his old man or like James Ware or any other hard, angry man. He didn’t want to be how his brother had been, before Kim had shown up, so emotionally constipated he had to get into fistfights to vent himself. He didn’t want to be the kind of man that Fortuity demanded its boys become.
But he also had to admit, it had been way easier this past decade. Way, way easier when you didn’t have any commitments, nothing and no one you felt protective enough toward to tap into these macho bullshit lava rivers that flowed in men’s bodies, just waiting to erupt when a big enough fissure formed.
Fucking feelings, he thought, registering a rare and uneasy kinship with his brother and father. He turned his focus to his French fries, feeling hard and soft and completely bare-ass naked. Unarmed, even with the barrel of his pistol warm at his back.
Chapter 16
Drama at the diner notwithstanding, that afternoon was the most pleasant and relaxed time Abilene had passed in ages. After a stop at the drugstore, they drove around the county for an hour, taking in the landscape.
Even after only a week of being sequestered, she’d managed to forget how vast this place was. The sky seemed endlessly high, the badlands infinite. Freedom was nearly hers once more—not from the obligations of work and motherhood, but in simple ways. The ability to move as she pleased through town, and soon, the convenience of her own car.
Not that she’d be all that glad for these little trips with Casey to end.
Still, she’d get to work with him at the bar again, the place where their flirtation had blossomed to begin with, and soon after, their friendship. She might look naive, but she wasn’t dumb. She knew that every time they messed around, every time they spoke as they had in the car on the way to the diner, she was falling for him. It was dangerous, but so, so easy. More natural than any other crush she’d gotten tangled in. Her curiosity mounted by the day to know exactly what Casey had done to earn his record, and what he’d been up to since then, that he seemed unwilling to come clean about, even to his closest friends. If she was indeed falling, she ought to know. If you fell with your eyes wide-open, you at least knew what was waiting for you at the bottom. And who knew—maybe whatever he’d done hadn’t even been all that bad. Something forgivable.
Though in this situation, with Casey having made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t available for anything serious, it was more than she could ask of him. Even if she did uncover his past—whether it was nowhere near as bad as she feared, or unspeakably awful—it didn’t matter. It wasn’t down to her to decide to make this real. He’d told her straight up, it couldn’t ever be.
And maybe that’s a blessing in itself. It wasn’t as though Abilene was eager to share her own secrets. She shivered, watching the sun sink low over the mountains.
“Let’s head back,” she said. “I’d like to help Christine with dinner.”
“Sure.” Casey eased them onto the quiet highway’s shoulder, then swung east. “Nice to get out for a change?”
“It was perfect. The most relaxed I’ve felt in weeks.”
He smiled, eyes on the road. “I can tell.” He faltered on the final word, attention dropping to his lap for a second. Abilene caught it, then—the muffled hum of a buzzing phone.
“Pull over if you need to.”