Fired Up

Chapter Thirteen

Layla’s eyes bulged. Her heart nearly stopped.

Brodi let out a strangled squawk.

Todd rushed on. “Seems his first urban complex opened in Pittsburgh to great acclaim and with a huge penthouse party. He over-imbibed with a prescription cocktail and vodka. His housekeeper found him early this morning. Drowned in his own hot tub. Might have gone into cardiac arrest first. That’ll be determined by the autopsy, and all confirmed from a toxicology report.”

“The hell you say ...,” Brodi murmured. “OMG.”

Layla stared at Todd, myriad emotions slamming into her.

Some so joyous, she nearly bounded from her seat to scream Hallelujah! from the top of her lungs.

Some so bleak, she could have filled a bucketful of tears.

She had no idea which way the scales would tip, so she merely sat stock still. Tried to breathe. Tried to process.

Todd told her, “This means he’s never coming after you, Layla. Never, ever. Or your father. He’s gone, Layla. Down for the count.”

Her brain tripped. Her jaw dropped.

She pulled in staccato breaths.

Todd’s hand covered hers on the table. Gave a gentle squeeze.

Brodi was weeping, repeating, “It’s over, Layla. It’s over.”

It just wasn’t a notion she could reconcile in her mind.

“Take a look at my phone if you need to see for yourself,” Todd told her. “I have the breaking news pulled up on my screen.”

“It’s just . . . so impossible to believe . . . to . . . to . . .”

She didn’t have the words.

Tears pricked her eyes. She tried to blink them away, not wanting to make a scene.

She reached for her flute and sipped. And sipped.

Didn’t quell the ringing in her ears or slow the hammering of her pulse.

“This is just ... too much ...” Her voice quavered. Drops seeped out of the corners of her eyes.

“I know.” Todd’s hand squeezed a little tighter. Reassuringly. “But you can believe this, Layla. It’s fact.”

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.

For five years she’d been living in fear, even when rationality told her Christopher wouldn’t discover her new identity. Somehow, she’d just felt that he would. That the henchman he’d sent to her hospital room that one time would keep tabs on her. And ensure she never told her story.

But ... that was all over now. As Brodi still chanted between sobs.

Her ugly duckling/Cinderella trope was fully coming to fruition.

More than that . . .

“I can call my daddy,” she said on a sliver of air.

Todd nodded. “You worried that connecting with him would bring Courtland or his people to his doorstep. You don’t have to fear that anymore.”

“Beyond that,” she said, “I couldn’t call him when I was laid up. I could barely speak. When I finally got my voice back, I could have reached out to him, yes. It’d just been so long ... I didn’t know what to say. How to say it. How to say ... anything.”

There was no way she’d tell her daddy what had happened to her.

The convenient out had been that communications with her father had dwindled when she’d started at the firm. And had halted altogether when she’d gotten involved with Christopher. Therefore, it was a likely scenario that her daddy had accepted that she’d pivoted to a different “crowd” and didn’t have time for him.

Whether that was a true assumption on his part or not, she didn’t know. Whether he’d put any effort into trying to locate her when she’d gone full-on radio silent, she also didn’t know.

What was more prudent on her end was what she shared with Todd and Brodi.

“I could have called, certainly. Yes, my voice was different in New York—no accent and more formal. But I let that go. Reverted to what I was accustomed to when growing up. He would have recognized this voice.”

Christopher would not. He’d never heard her slight southern drawl.

“I was just too paranoid,” she confessed. “I also couldn’t see him because there was no simple explanation to give about how drastically my appearance has been altered. I’m literally unrecognizable. Jesus, Todd, it took a litany of ‘remember whens?’ from NYU in order for you to accept that I’m Tess Billings. You had such a hard time seeing through to that.”

“Definitely a jolt to the system.”

“I could have gotten my daddy there too,” she also admitted. “But not without telling him so much that would break his heart. All the things he’d want to know about my time in New York, which would wreck him.” More tears fell. She dabbed at them with her linen napkin. “I just couldn’t do it.”

“That’s a legitimate point for the past,” Todd told her. “Because you also wanted to protect him from Courtland. But now ...” He gave her a solemn look and asked, “Don’t you see the bigger picture here?”

She stared at him.

He said, “You get your entire former existence back. I mean ... aside from the facial differences. But Layla, you can have all your Tess Billings credentials back. Your high school diploma, your college degree, your work experience. And you can add Light Your Fire to your résumé, citing Layla Jenson as your stage name. You can return to financing. You can pursue your dream of being a broadcaster. You’re no longer confined.”

“And I do have the benefits of the facial differences,” she added.

Through her shock, she heard the doors swinging open for her.

This was not something she’d thought of the past several years because it was too far-fetched.

To let down her guard ... that was inconceivable. But now?

She didn’t have to look over her shoulder. She didn’t have to fear for her life—or for her father’s.

“Wow.” The extent of her verbal response.

On the inside, though . . . ?

Everything went haywire.

All the cracks and crevices within her were about to break wide open.

It couldn’t happen here.

“I have to go to my room.” She shoved back her chair just as the full tremors rocked her, so that she almost fell to her knees.

“Layla—”

Todd reached for her. But she made an immediate beeline toward the exit that led to the elevator.

“Layla!” Brodi called after her.

She barreled toward her escape. Jabbed her finger into the button numerous times as though that would bring the elevator to her faster.

Bile burned up her esophagus, and she pushed it down, though more teardrops fell. She swiped at her cheeks.

Brodi slipped through the closing doors in the nick of time.

She didn’t hug Layla, evidently sensing they’d both crumble to the floor.

But she held her hand.

They stepped out on their level, and Brodi got them into the room. Released Layla’s hand and let her dash into the bathroom. She collapsed before the toilet and heaved. Repeatedly.

Brodi was behind her, holding her hair. Mumbling, “It’s all okay now, Layla. That asshole got what he had coming to him. Arrogant fuckin’ prick. Those drugs were probably fueling him this entire time. And to mix them with booze? He must’ve thought he was invincible.”

That was perfectly accurate.

That was how he’d been able to attack her.

With no conscious, no soul.

And no worry over repercussions.

Not from a nobody.

Not from anyone or anything.

But that negative karma had finally caught up to him.

As Layla sat back on her heels, she heard Brodi at the sink. She returned with a damp washcloth that Layla pressed to her mouth.

Brodi sat on the tile with her, stroking Layla’s arm. More tears crested Layla’s eyes.

“This is the best day ever,” Brodi said. “You just have to take the time to release all the emotions. Everything that’s been bottled up inside you for so long.”

Layla nodded.

“Then really consider what this means. Todd’s right. You’re free of that wretched human being. You can move forward without all the doubts and the terror of whether he’s lurking in the shadows.”

Layla pulled away the small towel. Tried to get a full breath. Still impossible.

In a choppy voice, she said, “I need to absorb all this—it’s not resonating.”

“Right. Of course. Just keep in mind, Layla. You get to change your narrative.”

“That’s huge,” she said.

“For sure.”

Layla gave this some thought, but it was too fresh of a revelation to sort it out.

She told her bestie, “Go back downstairs. Enjoy dinner and champagne. Celebrate with Todd. Celebrate for me.”

Brodi’s eyes misted once more. She got to her feet and grabbed the box of tissues, handing it first to Layla, who snatched a few sheets. Brodi then blotted her own eyes before helping Layla to stand.

She went straight to the vanity and dug out her toothbrush and paste from the bag she’d brought with her from Avery’s house, knowing she’d be sleeping here tonight. Todd had wanted to get together for a production meeting with her and Brodi. But “breaking news” had prevailed.

Brodi propped her hip against the counter. Sniffled. And said, “I don’t really want to leave you.”

“I’m grateful for that. But I could use some alone time.”

Brodi nodded. “I understand.” Still, she looked reluctant to leave.

Layla splashed cold water on her face and patted her skin dry. Then she hugged Brodi. For a lengthy spell. Choking them both up more.

But when she loosened the embrace and held Brodi’s shoulders, staring into her eyes, she felt sturdier.

“Tell Todd I’ll be fine. Know that I’ll be fine, Brodi. There’s serious emotional upheaval to work through, but you’re right. This is the best day ever.” She managed a weak smile.

Brodi breathed a sigh of relief. “You’ll bounce back. No need to hurry it; just digest it all. Breathe.” She groaned. “Easier said than done, I grasp that. Just ... take care of you.”

“I always do.”

“You’ve had way too much shit to deal with, Layla.”

“But that’s all over,” she said.

“Right. I’m going to touch up my makeup and join Todd.” She gave a decisive nod. Though it took her a few seconds to proceed.

“I’m okay,” Layla quietly averred. “Go.”

She did.

Layla remained in the bathroom, gazing into the mirror.

Her mind was a jumbled mess. Dozens of thoughts converged, and she couldn’t sift through them to home in on the salient points.

Thus, she gave up and went into the main room, bringing her cell with her, which Brodi had taken from her cross-body purse in order to unlock Layla’s door.

She slipped off her ankle boots and her clothes, putting on a pair of peach-colored satiny short-shorts with a matching camisole. She climbed under the covers, resting against the mound of pillows.

She wanted to cry some more.

She wanted to laugh.

But both would border on hysteria, she suspected. And that might not be containable.

Her stomach churned with uncertainty and excitement.

There were such contradictory feelings swirling like a cyclone within her that she didn’t know where to start in shredding them apart and piecing them back together.

As she contemplated this, her phone rang with the tone she’d designated for Avery.

A part of her thrilled over him calling. The other part wasn’t sure she’d have the right thing to say if she answered.

But of course she had to answer.

Unfortunately, he’d mastered video calls, and that had become his preferred way to contact her when they weren’t together.

Her phone was alongside her outer thigh, so he couldn’t see her face—specifically, her puffy and bloodshot eyes, and her red nose. She didn’t lift it. Just tapped the Connect button.

“Did Brodi tell you to call?” she asked, her voice raspy so that she winced. She wouldn’t be covering up her emotional state.

“No, I was just hating that you’re there and I’m here. But now I’m wondering what’s going on.”

She hiccuped. Wiped away another tear.

“Layla?” His curiosity was laced with concern.

“Don’t stress over me, cowboy,” she softly said. “I’m a bit of a hot mess right now. But in the end, I’ll see the silver lining.”

“I can hear something edgy in your voice, but I can’t see your face, darlin’. Why’s that?”

She got up the nerve to raise the phone.

“Aw, Jesus. What the hell, Layla?” he all but roared.

“It’s not bad,” she quickly said. “It’s actually good, Avery. It’s just ...”

Goddamn the flood of tears that threatened her eyes again.

“That’s not a happy cry, honey. I’ve seen enough of Riley’s ugly ones over losing an animal on the ranch—that’s what this is.”

He shot to his feet and grabbed his keys.

“Avery, you don’t have to come here! You have a pig to smoke for tomorrow’s segment!”

“I have it ready for stuffing and trussing for my rotisserie, and I’ll get it on the spit by three a.m. I have plenty of time.”

“Avery—” Her voice splintered.

“Darlin’, you look like you need me.”

Oh, dear Lord.

The drops continued to tumble along her cheeks.

“I do, Avery. I really do.”

Avery didn’t have these kinds of complications in his life for a reason.

The cook-off notwithstanding, he had more on his plate than just barbecuing. There was inventorying to do, budgeting, cooking/baking/serving supplies to inspect for chips or fractures or other defects—and he replaced them as needed. Not to mention ensuring cords of various hardwoods and piles of charcoal and lava rocks were ordered and delivered on time.

The spices had to be replenished as much as the meats and produce did. And with that came the need to plot out weekly menus.

Also, Avery and Ritchie were the cleanup crew.

All of this culminated in a tidy package demanding his tunnel vision.

Now he had the competition to think about.

And Layla.

For all his responsibilities, he couldn’t let whatever was happening between the two of them capsize his ship.

And yet . . .

He told her, “You hang tight, honey. I’m on my way.”

He was out the door in a flash, driving his truck into town.

Brodi was just coming out of the hotel restaurant with Todd as Avery strode in.

She said, “You are too amazing, Avery Reed.” She gave him the room number, though Layla already had.

Avery’s gaze slid to Todd, who assured him, “It’s not bad news. Don’t look so grim. She’s sliding into an adjustment period.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Brodi gripped his forearm. “Just listen to her. This is a twist no one saw coming.” She kind of hopped about, doing that vibrating thing of hers.

Trying to clarify the situation, Todd explained, “Layla’s whole life just changed. Again.” He extended his hand to Avery. “Thanks for caring enough about her to be here.”

They shook. Then Todd dragged Brodi away.

Avery took the elevator. He stalked down the hallway to Layla’s room and rapped on the door. Feeling a crushing weight on his chest, which she obviously saw on his face and in his eyes when she flung the door open.

“No, no, no,” she instantly insisted. “Don’t wig, Avery.” She threw her arms around him. “It’s not tragic—not for me anyway. It’s everything I wished for and nothing I can make sense of at the moment.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, darlin’.”

“I know. It’s just ...” Her voice trailed off. She sobbed against his neck.

He held her tight. Led her to the armchair and eased into it, her in his lap.

“Let me try to tell you ...,” she said.

“Take your time.”

This seemed to bring her around. She stared at him.

“Oh, fuck. You really shouldn’t be here.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry, Avery. You don’t need to be caught up in my drama. You have so much more to be thinking about than me.”

“Considering I’m caught up in you, honey ...” He grinned. “I’m caught up in everything about you.”

She kissed him.

Out of the blue and with so much passion, it took him by surprise.

He had no clue what was causing her trouble. And yet ... her searing lip-lock indicated she wasn’t grieving. Something else was the issue.

He ignored for the moment that whatever that something else was had her looking like she’d cried a river. He didn’t believe for a second that it had anything to do with her dad. She would have told him straightaway. And again ... she wasn’t mourning.

Currently, he shut his mind off to all the queries plaguing his brain.

And kissed her back.

She worked the buttons on his shirt, making him regret he didn’t have the snaps that took her no time flat to release.

His hand slid under the thin material of her top, and he palmed her breast, kneading gently. His thumb swept over her puckered nipple, and her body jolted.

He could take this slow with her, but he wanted her naked, immediately. If not sooner.

He unraveled from her so he could lift her into his arms and carry her to the bed, the covers already turned down. He whisked off her nightclothes, though not without admiring her in them for a few seconds.

Then he peeled his attire off and joined her—not before grabbing the condom in his wallet, a habit he now had in the event they ended up somewhere other than his bedroom. Like the dock.

He brushed her long bangs from her temple and stared into her red-veined eyes, which coiled his gut, until she smiled sweetly.

“I’ll be okay,” she promised. “Just in need of your company tonight.”

That was a knife to his heart.

If she’d been in Cheyenne or wherever she was headed next week and the week after that, he couldn’t get to her this fast. If at all ...

Deserting the ranch wasn’t an option. Even with Ritchie’s help. That was too much for his assistant to take on by himself, serving all those cowboys three times a day. Jack and Chance would pitch in, of course. But they had their own obligations. As did the others.

Avery knew where his place was. A key issue unto itself.

Though he closed down his brain once more because he was here for Layla. Briefly, yet if it kept the smile on her pretty face, that was worthwhile.

He kissed her teasingly and whispered, “I’ll just pretend you were missing me.”

“That’s not a stretch, cowboy.”

Her nails grazed his arm up to his shoulder, then his neck. Threading his hair.

She took a deep breath and murmured, “Finally.” Like she hadn’t been able to get a full one in.

This torqued his insides further.

But her lips skimmed over his, and she said, “Just knowing you were on your way calmed me. And, yes, I realize that only convolutes our situation.”

“Seems unavoidable.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

“I am too,” he said.

“Yet here we are.”

“Beats the hell out of being alone in my bed.”

She sighed. “I’m not sure I could have made it through the evening without wearing a hole in the carpet from pacing. I felt too anxious. Too wired. Too pulled in a thousand directions.”

“And now?”

Her eyes glistened.

Her entire demeanor softened, as did her sensuous curves beneath him.

“Now I can breathe, cowboy. Now I can let my past tortured thoughts disintegrate. Let the newly undefinable ones simmer until I’m in a better frame of mind to wade through them.”

“I’ll admit I don’t understand all of this.”

“I don’t expect you to understand, Avery. Just ... be with me tonight.”

“That I can do, honey.”

His mouth captured hers. He kissed her long and deep. Continued kissing her, until their chests rose and fell in time with each other, and she draped a leg over his hips as he sank into her heat and moisture. Until they were moving together in a sexy rhythm. Until all the sensations coalesced and erupted.

Until they found bliss that alleviated some of the tension, the strain, the uncertainty.

Thishe could comprehend. And accept.

Avery hated leaving her. It was becoming a hugely conflicting emotion for him, but it was also something inescapable.

He kissed her bare shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Get more sleep. I’ll see you for the lunch competition.”

He slipped from the bed and got dressed.

Before he reached the door, she sat up, pressing the sheet to her chest. “Thank you for getting me through the night, cowboy.”

“It’s still the middle of the night, darlin’. Close your eyes.”

“I apologize for you losing some sleep.”

He chuckled. “Don’t even bother with that. Havin’ you in my arms just charges me more for this competition.” He winked. Touched the brim of his hat. And made his exit before he caved to another round with her.

He drove back to the TRIPLE R, showered, then joined Ritchie at the chuck hall. His assistant had donned a brown leather apron, so Avery followed suit—not missing how that made Ritchie’s chest swell with pride.

Avery felt serious tugs on his heartstrings, for numerous reasons.

He appreciated how devoted Ritchie was.

He reveled in how enticing Layla was, how easily she gave herself over to him, not shying away from the excitement and the emotion that consumed them both.

He also cherished the offering he found on his cowboy buffet table while Ritchie was starting the fires in the trenches that would burn for hours before they put the pig in the pit.

The box had Avery’s name on it, and inside he found a new collection of his aunt Brett’s serving dishes with a colorful, decorative, southwestern-themed glazed shell.

There was a note.

He swallowed down a lump before he even read it.

Dear Avery,

I made these special for you and the wranglers. Never wonder if your contribution isn’t as valuable as anyone else’s. No one ever worries over whether our cowboys are treated to the best meals. In fact, a day doesn’t go by when we don’t hear compliments from them about how the chucks get better and better. You do this for them—and for us. Every day. And we are blessed to have you.

Love, Aunt Brett

He turned away for a moment.

Well, fuck.

He drew in some breaths. Squared his shoulders. Tried to tamp down the burning sensation in his lungs.

No, it wasn’t the first time his aunt—or anyone else—had commended his efforts. And, yes, she had good timing with the contest, and using this as a means to express that paying his dad’s debt wasn’t warranted, even if she didn’t actually write those words. He felt them in his bones.

She wasn’t trying to remind him of his Why either.

She was just giving him a gift. As she did on occasion with her pots for flowers that spruced up the chuck hall. With her mortars and pestles for mixing spices, and the mortar-styled ramekins with matching mini ladles for serving. He was slowly building an assortment of ornate accessories, and he couldn’t deny that adding these platters would make his buffet table shine. Not just for the show but long after. A tribute to him. To Ritchie. To the cowboys.

He cleared his throat, turned back to his assistant, and said, “Why don’t you get these cleaned up, and I’ll tend to the fires.”

Ritchie peeked inside the box. “These are great!”

“Following that prep, I need you to set out all our burlaps. We’ll have to soak them for tomorrow’s venison roasts. Along with our woodchips.” The dampness would be paramount for keeping the lean meat from drying out or becoming too tough.

“I’m on it.” Ritchie carefully hefted the box of platters and took them into the hall.

Avery added thickly splintered applewood to his pits, needing them to get good and hot before he started his pig. He’d be cooking the mammoth animal over an open flame for several hours, and he wanted a nice sear right off the bat. The fat would trickle down as the pig slowly rotated, flavoring and tenderizing the meat.

In addition to all of this, Avery and Ritchie had to get breakfast going.

They had plenty of time, so Avery said, “Let’s start a campfire hash with eggs and campfire bread with berries in the secondary pit. I’ll do pancakes with sausage and bacon on the griddle and grill.”

They had all the lighting they needed outside, despite it still being dark.

The morning progressed as usual, with the exception of Avery checking on his skewered pork at the right intervals.

He sent Ritchie for a nap before they got lunch around, for the cameras. When Ritchie returned and tied on a new apron, Avery made a quick trip to his house to shower and change.

Everything was moving along fine when the production crew showed up.

And Layla strolled in.

Goddamn.He rolled his eyes and grinned.

She was a vision in a white eyelet dress that had short sleeves and a flared hem. Her brown leather belt and matching cowgirl boots complemented the outfit. For the first time since they’d started filming, she’d left her hair in the loose curls he liked, her bangs flipped over to one side, falling against her temple in a sexy way.

She’d clearly dealt with her weepy eyes because they were glowing vibrantly.

Her glossy lips were damned tempting.

In fact, it took all the willpower he possessed not to swoop in and haul her up against him. Kiss her senseless.

But The Three joined the group. And Avery and Ritchie had a pig to “assemble” as their demonstration and they also had to pull the cooked one from the fire they’d been monitoring all morning.

Yet . . .

Layla in her flirty dress, with her fluttering lashes ...

Christ. He still didn’t know exactly what had gone down last night to prompt the waterworks. But there was a lighter air to her today. She was a fresh breeze through the outdoor facility, all soft and shimmery. And that got his heart pumping and his testosterone spiking.

He took command of his commentary, though it ebbed and flowed with her interviewing. He showed off his sweet potato casserole with marshmallows, candied walnut spring salad with thinly sliced apples, pineapple bread, and traditional pig pickin’ cake.

His overall presentation was precisely what he was shooting for, with the right char to the pork and a tender inside. The side dishes had an extra wow factor displayed on his aunt’s platters.

Layla admired the buffet table and said, “You’re bordering on a restaurant instead of a chuck hall here, Avery.”

“Oh, darlin’, it’s always going to be a chuck hall. Just doesn’t have to be a generic one. And my aunt Brett likes to punch things up a notch. She gives pottery classes in Serrano and has an online store.”

He didn’t think he was pushing boundaries by sharing this. Neither Layla nor Todd seemed inclined to think differently.

So he moved on.

“Family includes everyone on the ranch,” he told the audience. “We all rely on one another. We all help one another. We’re all focused on the greater good. And we all reward each other, in whatever capacity we can.”

Layla sighed as she stared up at him. Not finding words, apparently.

He chuckled and said, “Now I have to get this food in front of the judges.”

“The ...? Oh, right!” She snapped out of her daze. “Absolutely right, cowboy!”

She shifted out of the way.

Not that he minded her nearly melting into him.

But he did want to complete today’s challenge.

After that was done and everyone went their separate ways, he drove her up to the main house, where Jack and Jillian were filming their show at the outdoor kitchen adjacent to the patio.

When that segment wrapped, Hunt and Aunt Brett cleaned the stations. Ale played with Jillian’s dog in the lush lawn. Garrett and Mindy disassembled their production equipment and discussed marketing opportunities.

Jack joined Avery on the patio to sip beers.

Layla slid into a barstool at the long counter.

Avery still didn’t know what last night was all about. But perhaps she needed to discuss it with Jillian first?