Chapter 1 #2
Hours later, the sun was about to set on the day as a lowslung black sports car rounded the corner of an unpaved road down in the flatlands.
The trailing rooster tail of dust was evidence of how fast the car was traveling.
The skid the car took as it cornered was proof of Casey Ruban’s desperate state of mind.
She’d been driving for hours, trying to think of a way out of her dilemma without having to acquiesce to the terms of her grandfather’s will.
By naming Miles and Erica as the recipients of his estate should she default, Delaney had been certain Casey would comply.
He’d been well aware of her disdain for the sycophantic life-style her half brother and half sister had chosen to live.
They were thirty years old. Both had college degrees. Neither saw fit to use them.
Therefore, he had surmised that Casey would ultimately agree to his conditions.
And he also knew Casey had no special man in her life, which would most certainly make Lash the prime candidate to fulfill the terms of the will.
But he hadn’t counted on Casey’s total defiance, or the wild streak of rebellion that had driven her deep into the Mississippi Delta.
A short while later, the sun was gone and it was the time of evening when the world existed in shades of gray, faded by distance or muted by overlying shadows. Ahead, Casey could just make out the blinking lights on what appeared to be a roadhouse.
The fact that Sonny’s Place was in the middle of nowhere was of no consequence to her. What mattered were the number of cars and pickup trucks parked outside the building. It stood to reason there would be a large number of men inside.
Blinking back a fresh set of angry tears, she gritted her teeth, focusing on the decision she’d made. As she accelerated, her fingers gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles turned white.
She turned into the parking lot in a skid, slamming on her brakes and barely missing a truck parked beneath the widespread limbs of an ancient oak. Gravel spewed, spit out from beneath the wheels of her sports car like a bad taste.
Casey killed the engine and was out of the car before the dust had time to settle.
There was a defiant tilt to her chin and determination in her stride as she started toward the entrance, yet when she stepped inside, a moment of unrefined terror swamped her.
Dank air, thick smoke and the scent of stale beer hit her in the face like a slap.
And then Lash’s smirk flashed in her mind and she let the door swing shut behind her.
* * *
Ryder Justice sat with his back to the wall, nursing the same beer he’d bought over an hour earlier. He hadn’t really wanted the drink, he’d just wanted a place to sit down.
The months and the miles since he’d walked out on his family and his business had long ago run together. He didn’t know what day it was and didn’t really care. All that mattered was staying on the move. It was the only way he knew to stay ahead of the memories that had nearly driven him insane.
A few words with the man at the next table had assured him he’d be sleeping on the ground again tonight. He was too far from a town to rent a room, and too nearly broke to consider wasting the money.
A grimy ceiling fan spun overhead, stirring the hot, muggy air without actually cooling it.
He lifted the long-neck bottle, intent on draining what was left in one swallow when the door flew open and the woman walked into the room.
Her appearance was sudden, as was the swift jolt of interest he felt when she lifted her hand to her face, pushing at the black tangle of her windblown hair that had fallen across her forehead.
She was taller than average, and the kind of woman who, at first glance, seemed on the verge of skinny.
Except for the voluptuous curves of her breasts beneath the black, clinging fabric of her dress, she appeared shapeless.
And then she turned suddenly, startled by the man who came in behind her, and as she did, the dress she was wearing flared, cupping slim, shapely hips before falling back into loose, generic folds.
Ryder’s interest grew. It was fairly obvious that she wasn’t the kind of woman who frequented places like this.
Her movements were short, almost jerky, as if she were as surprised to find herself here as the men were to see her.
And although he was some distance away, he thought she looked as if she’d been crying.
Who hurt you, pretty girl? What drove you into the flatlands ?
The beer forgotten, he leaned forward, studying her face as one might study a map, wondering what—or who—had backed her into a corner.
And he was certain she’d been backed into a corner or she wouldn’t be here.
He knew the look of desperation. It stared back at him every time he looked in a mirror.
And like every other man in the place, he sat with anticipation, waiting for her to make the first move.
* * *
A half dozen dirty yellow lightbulbs dangled from a sagging fixture in the middle of the room. Only four of the bulbs were burning, cloaking the fog of cigarette smoke and dust with a sickly amber glow.
Heads turned and the understated rumble of voices trickled to a halt as Casey’s eyes slowly adjusted to the lack of light.
When she was certain she’d seen the location of every man in the place, she took a deep breath and sauntered into the middle of the room, well aware that each man was mentally stripping her—from the black silk dress flaring just above her knees to the opaque black stockings on her legs.
Behind her, she heard the bartender gasp then mutter the name Ruban. She’d been recognized! Her lips firmed. It would seem that even down here in the Delta she was unable to escape the power of Delaney Ruban’s name.
Smoke drifted, burning her eyes and searing her nostrils with the acrid odor, yet she refused to move away. She turned slowly, judging the faces before her, looking for a man who might have the guts to consider what she was about to ask.
The bartender interrupted her train of thought.
“Miss, is there something I can do? Are you having car trouble? If you are, I’d be more than glad to call a tow truck for you.”
There was nervous fear on the bartender’s face.
Casey knew just how he felt. Her own stomach was doing a few flops of its own.
She shivered anxiously, and at that point, almost walked out of the room.
But as she turned to go, the image of Lash Marlow’s face slid into her mind.
It was all the impetus she needed. She turned again, this time putting herself between the men and the door.
“I need something all right,” Casey said, and when she heard her voice break, she cleared her throat and took a deep breath. This time when she spoke, her words came out loud and clear. “I don’t need a tow truck. I need a man.”
The bartender grabbed a shotgun from beneath the bar and jacked a shell into the chamber as the room erupted.
Wide-eyed, Casey spun toward the sound.
The appearance of the gun was enough to quiet the ruckus she’d started, but only momentarily. When the bartender began to speak, she knew her chances of succeeding were swiftly fading.
“Hold your seats, men. That there is Casey Ruban. Old Delaney Ruban’s granddaughter, so unless you’re real tired of living, I suggest you suck it up and stay where you’re at. This shotgun won’t do nearly as much harm to you as the Rubans can.”
“I heard he’s dead,” someone muttered from the back of the room.
“But the rest of them aren’t,” the bartender said.
Casey spun toward the men in sudden anger. “Let me finish.”
At that point, they were so caught up in what she’d said, they would have let her do anything she asked.
“I need a husband.”
Someone cursed, another laughed a little nervously.
Casey chose to ignore it all. “I’m willing to marry the first unattached man who’s got the guts to stand with me against my family.”
When no one moved or spoke, hope began to die. This was a crazy idea, as crazy as what Delaney had done to her, but she couldn’t bring herself to quit. Not yet.
With an overwhelming sense of hopelessness and a shame unlike anything she’d ever known, she lifted her head, selling herself in the only way she knew how. She started walking, moving between the tables, staying just out of reach of the daring men’s grasp.
“I’ll live with you. Cook your food. I’ll even share your bed.”
Total silence reigned and Casey could hear their harsh, rasping breaths as they considered taking her to bed and suffering the consequences. If this hadn’t been so pitiful, she would have smiled. It would seem that Delaney was going to win after all.
A sound came out of the shadows. The sound of chair legs scraping against the grit and dirt on the old wooden floor, and the unmistakable rap of boot heels marking off the distance between Casey and the back of the room.
She squinted against the smoke and the harsh, overhead glare, trying to see, and then when she did, felt an overwhelming urge to run.
The man had don’t care in his walk and the coldest eyes she’d ever seen.
Their deep gray-blue cast was the color of a Mississippi sky running before a storm front.
An old, olive drab duffel bag hung awkwardly on the breadth of his shoulders, as if it had to find a place of its own somewhere between the chip and the weight of the world.
He was tall, his clothing worn and ragged. But it was the still expression on his tanned, handsome face that gave her pause.
Before she had time to consider the odds of winding up facedown and dead in a ditch at some murderer’s hands, he was standing before her.
Casey took a deep breath. Murderer be damned. Her grandfather had already signed her fate. At least she was going to be the one who controlled the strings to which it was attached.