Chapter Sixteen
Oh, my God.
Oh, my God.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
Layla was frozen where she stood. Certain all the color had drained from her face.
She was shocked she still had a pulse. Shocked she was still standing, what with her knees knocking together.
What the everlasting hell?
She stared after Caleb Reed, wanting to retreat, to get far away from here, in the event he came back.
And yet she couldn’t trust her shaky legs to carry her so much as an inch.
The man had not seriously just told her to ensure Avery won the competition.
Yes, he had.
Being horrified and confounded at the same time was an odd mix.
It kept her immobilized until two women appeared in the hallway, heading to the restroom.
Layla forced herself into action, taking the exit Caleb Reed had. He was long gone, as was the vehicle he’d come in, evidenced by the lack of activity in the parking lot.
Though she maintained a weather eye as she unlocked the door to her rental, slid a gaze to the back seat—just to be sure no one was hiding out there—and then slipped behind the wheel.
She took the long stretch to the ranch, checking her rearview mirror for anyone tailing her.
There was a truck behind her, so she flipped on her opposite signal before the entrance to the TRIPLE R and pulled over across the way, letting the vehicle pass.
Her hands trembled as they gripped the wheel.
She waited for a spell, just to confirm the driver didn’t execute a U-ey and backtrack.
All clear, she turned onto the dirt road and plugged in the access code. The huge arms of the wrought-iron gate opened toward her. She crept through them, stopped, and allowed them to close with no one following her in.
Her stomach was still twisted; her nerves still tweaked. She had no idea how to tell Avery about what had just occurred. Hell, she hadn’t even told him yet about Christopher’s untimely demise—and what it meant to her today. And in the grand scheme of things.
Now she had to explain about his dad—and let him stew over what this might mean for him.
For her as well?
She continued to sit in the middle of the ranch’s main road, mulling this over.
She rehashed in her mind the entire conversation with Caleb. Considered his tone, which didn’t seem to be quite as menacing now as it’d been at the hotel. She tried to configure his physical placement too. Sure, he’d been too close for comfort. But he hadn’t crowded her.
And when he’d covered his heart with his hat ... she’d felt genuine emotion on his part.
I want my boy to win ... Ain’t got no one better on your roster who can do what Avery does. And the entire ranch setup ... that can’t be beat either.
The man had said those words with conviction—not with an underlying sense of greed that he’d gain something from Avery being named Best Bunkhouse Cook but from the belief his son was good enough to clinch the competition.
He’d also touched on that extra component Layla wanted to home in on when it came to the encompassing TRIPLE R and the family dynamic.
Her heartbeat slowed. The tremors through her body diminished.
But she was still tangled in uncertainty.
Catching sight of Chance with his crew and the herd, she took an offshoot and traveled to the ridge just above them. She got out of the car and walked through the ankle-high grass and the wildflowers to the split-rail fencing.
Chance saw her and called out to his lead, she presumed, “Keep checkin’ the tags on those cows. I’ll be back.” He galloped toward her, eased out of his saddle, and tied his horse. He tipped his hat. “To what do I owe the honor, Miss Layla? Finally come to your senses and realize I’m the prized stud on this ranch?”
She laughed, and it loosened some of the tension within her.
“I do appreciate your humor, Chance.”
He gave a playful frown. “Aww ... just can’t win you over, can I?”
“You know where my affection lies.”
“And yet ... here you are.” He eyed her with intrigue.
“Yes, well. I could use some advice. Related to your brother.”
“Now, sweetheart, don’t go dragging me between the two of you. If you’ve got something to say to Avery, you just speak your mind to him.”
She blew out a breath. “It’s not of the romantic variety, Chance. It’s about your father.”
His head whipped back. “Didn’t see that one coming.”
“If you’d stop flirting with me—”
“It’s harmless. For the most part.” He winked. Then asked in a more severe tone, “What does Caleb Reed have to do with ... anything involving you?”
“He’s been stalking me.”
“Are you fuckin’ shitting me?!” he erupted, hands flying in the air. So that he startled the horse. “Goddamn it,” he groaned. He soothed his steed and then returned his attention to Layla. “How did you find out?”
“He cornered me at the hotel.”
Though ... that wasn’t necessarily true, as she’d just mentally recapped. She was the one to back herself against the phone stall.
The rage visibly tore through Chance, try as he might to control it.
Through clenched teeth, he said, “If you’re going to ask me not to mention this to Avery, you already know I’ll say no to you, Layla. This is not something I’ll keep from my brother. Or from Jack. From anyone on this ranch. Your safety is now on the line.”
“Yes,” she repeated. Then shook her head. “Maybe.”
His gaze narrowed.
She was about to expound on all she’d dissected minutes ago, but the sudden thundering of hooves had her sparing a glance over her shoulder and up the ridge where Avery came barreling toward them on his horse.
“Fuck,” she murmured. Gazing back at Chance on the other side of the fence, she said, “Here comes the cavalry. He’ll want to know what we’re talking about, and neither one of us can lie to him.”
“You came to me because you what to hear how to manage this piece of garbage without bringing Avery into the equation—distracting him from the cook-off.”
“You’re smarter than you let on, cowboy.”
He smirked.
Avery slowed his pace as he reached them. Then he flung his leg over the saddle and hopped to the ground. He tied the reins to the top railing and gave both Layla and Chance an inquisitive look.
“Something I should know about here?” he asked in a gruff voice.
“Oh, for Chrissake,” Chance huffed. “I couldn’t steal her away, even if I put my best effort into it.”
Layla closed the space between her and Avery, kissed his clenched jaw, and whispered, “You’re well aware of this.”
He harrumphed.
She laughed softly.
“No sense in getting turned inside out over us,” Chance told him. “You’ve got real fish to fry.”
Avery’s eyes rolled upward. Then landed on Chance. “Yeah, but no. Ain’t got fish on the menu today.”
Chance seemed to do a quick rewind and then nodded. “Right. Can’t use a figurative term with the word ‘real.’”
“He gets brighter every day,” Avery quipped. “Honey, give him another forty years, and he’ll be as ripe and wise as a turnip that’s still on the truck.”
She stifled another laugh. “Be that as it may, now that I’ve had a convo with him, I’m thinking I might be mistaking your dad’s intentions.”
“My what now?” Avery turned rigid—like that.
“Sweetheart,” Chance said to her, “you should let me teach you the subtle art of easing people into uncomfortable situations.”
She shot him a frustrated look. “I had to give this due thought first, Chance. Not be strictly reactive. Then I discussed it with you. As I did—saying it all out loud—I started to form a different opinion of this scenario.”
Her gaze shifted to Avery. She explained the entire scene at the hotel, while he paced and hissed with fury. Ripped off his gloves and shoved them in his back pocket.
Then he gently clasped her shoulders.
“Did he hurt you?” he quietly demanded, with enough worry and aggravation to bring a tear to her eye.
“No, Avery, he didn’t. He didn’t touch me. Just told me he wants me to make sure you win,” she stated. “And now that I have some distance from the incident, I have this sense that he wasn’t implying what I thought he was.”
“How so?” Avery asked.
She sighed. Shook her head to clear it. Then told both him and Chance, “I assumed he was threatening me, pressuring me into a scam. So that I’d cheat on your behalf, Avery.”
“But you can’t do that. You wouldn’t do that,” Avery averred.
“Correct on both counts, cowboy. And he wasn’t outright encouraging me in that direction.”
She gave this even more thought, reaching deep into her soul for this one.
“He was telling me to make sure that I did do what I could to help you. Keep you focused. Bring in whatever elements that are acceptable. He just wants you to be recognized for your talents, Avery.” A hint of empathy and emotion seeped through her veins. She added, “He told me to go see my own daddy. That you never know how much time you have left with someone. That wasn’t a threat either. That was a life reminder. And perhaps ... there’s something in his life that’s got him feeling it’s too short for bad blood.”
“That is all on him!” Chance roared.
“I don’t disagree,” she said. “It’s just—”
“Layla.” Chance gave her a stern look. “You are sweet as a peach, darlin’. I adore the hell out of you for that. And I know you want some roses and sunshine to chase away the dark cloud that is Caleb Reed. But please don’t buy into his manipulation.”
“Remember what I said, honey,” Avery commented. “He’ll turn on you on a dime. Be a silver-tongued devil one second and a rattlesnake with a venomous bite the next.”
She nodded. “I heed these warnings. But my gut is now telling me something different, Avery. He only seemed ominous at first because I’ve lived on the edge for five years, waiting for someone to steal behind me and take me by surprise. He did just that. Only ... not to harm me. Hell, he had the opportunity to whisk me out the side door. No one would have stopped him or even seen him—there was no one else there.”
This infuriated Avery further, making him jerk his hat off and rake a hand through his hair. His jaw worked. His shoulders squared.
She rested a hand on his upper arm and said, “I do have lessons from when I was younger, and my daddy helped me to see people—either for being genuine or for being grifters. I understand your father has always been the latter. But in hindsight, I grasp there was a solemnness to his actions and words today. He wants you to win, plain and simple.”
“So he can swoop in and con Avery out of the cash—that’s plain and simple!” Chance bellowed. “He’ll extort you, little bro. Claim he’ll go public with Layla and her show not being on the up-and-up. Putting her career and her reputation—Todd’s and the crew’s too—in jeopardy. So that you’ll cave and give him what he wants. Money.” He pinned Avery with a firm look. “It’s always about the money. Every single time. And you know this.”
Layla’s breath caught in her throat over his vehemence.
“Or he’ll come up with some cock-and-bull story about needing help with a made-up medical condition,” Chance continued. “That could be what his ‘life’s too short’ premise is all about.”
“That’s a fair point,” Layla concurred, finding her voice.
Chance glanced down at her and said, “I know you have a big heart, and you hold Avery’s—and this ranch’s—best interests in that heart. But I know my dad. And he’s no saint, Layla. If your initial instinct was that it was a threat, go with it.” His gaze landed on Avery again. “And we protect her.”
“Never said I wouldn’t.”
Chance strode to his horse, unhitched him, hoisted himself into the saddle, and galloped off.
Layla was back to being sick to her stomach.
She stared at Avery.
He swept his fingers along her temple. Kissed her, and whispered, “Never think twice about having returned to your values. You want to see the good in people. But like you said, you’ve got instincts, and you’ve been trained well. Don’t let my family drama mislead you, honey. This isn’t just a misunderstanding that ended in implosion. All facts are grounded in reality and are indisputable. He sold us out before. He’ll do it again.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead.
“Avery—”
“Honey, I have this next competition to prepare for. You can go up to the main house, or you can join me at the bunkhouse to get Ritchie rollin’. Hell, you can just take a long bath in my house. Whatever you want. Just do me a favor and stay on the ranch. You shouldn’t be out and about if my dad’s in town.”
“I’ll join you,” she said. “My take on this scenario compared to yours and Chance’s doesn’t mean I’ll do anything risky.”
“I’m holding you to that, darlin’. As will the family. They’ll be by your side. And hoping you let them look after you.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
He kissed her tenderly and whispered, “Too late, honey. And we’re all good with that.”
She stared into his eyes. They were glowing with warmth and depth. Also ... concern.
“I promise I’ll behave,” she said. “I’ll go to the chuck hall with you.”
“Go on up to your car, then.”
He gave her a pat on the butt to lighten the mood.
“That borders on patronizing, cowboy.”
He winked. “Not when I’m just lovin’ on you, honey.”
He returned to his saddle and loped off.
Layla watched him go. Feeling heart palpitations at the sight of him on his horse as they headed toward the bunkhouse.
It took her some time to get herself together. Then she climbed the ridge and got into her car. She dropped the vehicle, her suitcase, and her tote off before walking to the chuck hall.
The strain between her and Avery lingered. Ratcheting up her anxiety over the issue with Caleb.
But they got through lunch and cleanup. Then Avery and Ritchie worked on the venison for supper.
The smoke was so delicious as it hovered in the air, Layla hung around the fringes just inhaling the aroma.
The judges came in, and she remained far from them. Her concentration was on asking Avery and Ritchie the right questions, while also staying out of their way as they dealt with windy conditions when a stiff breeze rustled the leaves on the trees and swept through the outdoor facility. They had to maintain their pit temps.
While being served, The Three noted the right bark and tenderness, meaning Avery got all the textures perfect. His sides were winners too.
Judge #1 said, “What’s also commendable is your overall presentation. You have wonderful facilities here, with all the bells and whistles.”
“There are some things we’d like to add to improve efficiencies and up our skill set,” Avery admitted.
“As it currently stands,” Judge #2 offered, “y’all have created a welcoming environment and one that shows a high regard for your staff.”
“We couldn’t ranch without ’em, sir.”
Judge #3 told him, “I was particularly pleased with your buffet table settings. Those beautiful platters made the venison more elegant, and the entire aesthetic was eye-catching. Also respectful of your cowboys and ranch hands.”
“My aunt’s been modest about the value of her pottery, but I have to agree that it livens up the meals.”
“This has been a great series here at the TRIPLE R.” Layla stepped in as The Three prepared to depart. “We have one final segment to go with bunkhouse cook Avery Reed and ‘Right Hand’ Ritchie. We’ll see y’all tomorrow for tempting treats straight out of the Dutch ovens. Go on now—light your own fire.” She gave her signature pearly smile.
One of the cameramen let them know when they were clear and the outro credits were rolling.
Layla had such a good feeling about Avery’s segments, the smile didn’t fade. Not even with thoughts of his dad hanging in the balance.
She sidled up to him and said, “Make me a promise, cowboy.”
“Anything, honey.”
“When you win, do or buy something nice for yourself. Not just what will benefit the chuck hall, but you.”
“Layla, whatever benefits the chuck hall, benefits me. All of us.”
She couldn’t argue with that logic.
So she didn’t.
Jack and Jillian—who were in attendance again—congratulated Avery, with Jack saying, “Willet Hayes has nothing on you, cuz. Even with bison on the menu.”
“I’m not going to let my guard down,” Avery commented. “His food sounded to be spot on.”
“But his presentation was nothing like yours,” Jillian pointed out. “Nor were his sides as ambitious as yours—I can say that about the other contestants as well. And the judges know this is actual standard fare for you to serve. You couldn’t have just pulled out those ovens on your first rodeo, with everything at the right cooking times, without having done this over and over. I think that’s a key factor.”
“Definitely not my first rodeo.” He chuckled at her terminology.
“I’ll make a cowgirl out of this woman yet,” Jack teased.
“Well, I was only a transplant in Seattle,” she reminded him. “I came from the Southwest.”
“And I appreciate you supporting us,” Avery commented. Then he clapped his hands together and said, “Now, Ritchie and I have some cleaning to do.”
“That’s our cue to exit,” Jack replied.
“Figures,” Avery mocked him.
Jack laughed. Then told Layla, “We put your groceries in the fridge. Y’all have a good night.” He winked conspiratorially.
When the place was cleared out, Avery asked, “What was that all about?”
“I’m making you supper tonight. You finish up here—then come see me at the house.” She kissed him in her flirty way. Then whirled around and flounced off, swaying her hips and putting ideas in his head that went well beyond eating. Hell, he could forgo any meal when she was around.
But he still had work to do.
“Let’s get to it, Ritchie.”
An hour later, Avery came through his front door, hung his hat on the rack in the foyer, took the step down into the living room, and crossed to the kitchen, propping his shoulder against the wide opening. He admired the view of Layla at the L-shaped kitchen island, her back to him. She wore one of those body-clinging lacy nighties and a G-string. In lavender.
Something about the soft colors she selected and the way they complemented her blonde curls and her honeyed skin, and all her luscious curves, had his heart constricting as much as it made his cock twitch.
Down, boy.
She was in the throes of a fragrant creation that also had his stomach clenching.
His own cooking didn’t stimulate his appetite too much because he was always focused on the prep and the outcome. The latter of which he did take pleasure in, of course. It was just that he had laser focus when it came to his job.
Well ... except when Layla was present.
It took all the willpower he possessed to keep his eye on the ball when she was standing next to him, interviewing him, her alluring scent wafting under his nose to compete with BBQ, her lashes batting in an inviting way. Her smile sweet and sexy at the same time.
And while his mind was on “sweet,” his senses became more attuned to what she was whipping up, with Garth playing in the background.
Which had him chuckling because he didn’t think wild horses could drag his attention away from the visual before him. Though, technically, his gaze remained. On her ass.
She glanced over her shoulder, her brow hitching.
He said, “There’s nothing patronizing about me enjoying what you have to offer.” He pulled in a long breath. Let it out at a slow, measured pace. “Damn, darlin’. You get the juices flowing.”
She turned to face him. She hadn’t even bothered with an apron.
A low groan tore from his lips. His gaze roamed her body, landing on her nipples, puckered against the dainty material, and her chest rising and falling—pretty much in time with his.
“Now you’re just torturing me,” he murmured.
He ripped apart his flap and tossed his shirt aside. “You don’t mind that I’m a little sweaty, do you?”
“Oh, God, no,” she said on a sigh.
“And I’m not interrupting what you’re cooking?” he asked as he unfastened his belt buckle while strolling toward her.
“Hot-and-sweet Italian sausages are simmering in the slow cooker, after I grilled them and got nice marks and the right coloring.”
“I was going to make that for you.”
“But you’ve had your hands full.”
“They’re about to be fuller,” he whispered as he palmed her breasts. His thumbs skimmed over the beaded centers, and he felt the shiver run through her.
Her nails dipped into his biceps. “You have just the right touch, cowboy.”
“You inspire me.”
She bit his lip. “Feel free to ravage me.”
“That is always on my mind.”
His mouth crashed over hers. He kissed her deeply, tasting chardonnay and the hint of the basil and oregano she was using with the sausage.
One hand remained on her breast, massaging, while his other arm wound around the small of her back.
She melded to him, and that spurred him on.
His finger and thumb rolled her nipple, then pinched lightly. Jolting her.
She moaned into his mouth. Rubbed herself against him.
His cock pulsated in wicked beats.
There was no way they were making it to his bedroom.
He lifted Layla into his arms, and her legs twined his waist. He carried her to the end of the table, kicking away a chair with his foot. He set her on the sturdy wooden top, pushed her hem up, and whisked off her panties.
While she popped the button on his jeans and slid the zipper down its track, he nabbed the condom from his wallet.
“Oh, with the foresight,” she mused with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Think we’ve established I have difficulty keeping my hands off you.”
“I do find that to be incredibly appealing.”
“Mm, don’t get me started on what’s appealing.”
She kissed him with the delicateness that made him crazy. That had him warring between wanting to drown in her soft, feathery kisses all night or bury himself in her heat and moisture.
Either would be fine with him. She was so damn tempting, he just let the moments sweep them away.
Eventually, she murmured against his lips, “I chose the slow-cooker method in case you were feeling frisky. No need for me to tend to this part of the cooking process.”
He let out a low laugh. “I’m more than frisky, darlin’. I’m burning up.”
“We should get you out of your clothes.”
“We should get you out of yours.” And with that, he divested her of the nightie.
Then he shoved down his jeans and boxer briefs.
She wagged a brow at how ready he was for her and said, “I’m just as primed.”
“Good to know. Can’t wait another second.” He sheathed himself.
“Nothing more exciting than that, cowboy.”
He eased into her, and she flattened her feet to the table, her toes curling around the ledge for support.
His arm encircled her lower back again, and she gripped his biceps. Her pelvis tilted, raising her a tad off the table and angling her hips so that he could start a slow, smooth rhythm, sliding along her tight, wet canal. Inching deeper and deeper into her.
“Like that,” she murmured. “Take your time.”
“Got no choice,” he confessed. “Baby, you squeezing and teasing me will send me over the edge in no time flat.”
“I love that.”
He pumped into her. Knew when he hit that magical spot because she clutched him fiercely with her inner walls and moved with him. Her head fell back. His teeth scraped over her neck, his tongue soothing. Then he suckled, and she moaned.
His cock thickened.
He stroked quicker, with more force.
“Yes,” she mumbled. “Oh, God, yes.”
He slipped his hands under her and cupped her ass cheeks. Drove into her.
Her arms wound around his neck, holding him close.
“Take us there,” she whispered in his ear.
He thrust and gyrated with a natural finesse that she sparked, and then felt her body tense. She contracted around him. He grunted.
A second later, she cried, “Avery!” and fell apart.
He was right behind her, everything within him exploding.
More than just physically.
It took him a minute or so to get his bearings as he stared at her.
She smiled, her tiger eyes glowing.
“Jesus,” he said. “What you do to me ...”
“It’s mutual,” she told him in a languid voice. “So don’t wonder whether I have designs on someone else, cowboy. We aren’t ideal or fated, and yet ... I’m only interested in you.”
A complex statement. One he felt straight to his soul but couldn’t rectify.
He gazed at her for a while longer, cataloging everything about her sultry expression and the honesty in her shimmering irises.
Then he gave her a tender kiss.
And said, “I love you, Layla Jenson.”
Her heart swelled. Her eyes misted.
“Again,” she murmured, “mutual.”
Her palm pressed to the side of his face, her thumb sweeping along his cheek.
“I know that won’t keep you here forever,” he said.
“In a perfect world, we’d be perfect together.”
“Making me hate the imperfect world.”
Her lips brushed his. Against them, she whispered, “Nothing we can do about that, cowboy. We’re living with our personal circumstances. Some good, some tumultuous.”
“Yeah, about that ...” He let out a sharp breath, withdrew from her, and tidied himself up. Only put his boxer briefs on, though. For which she was grateful. He slid her G-string up her legs. Handed over her nightie. And said, “I still don’t know what went down the other night.”
“Let me get the peppers and sausage. I’m trying them with the farfalle you suggested.”
She got to her feet and went to the granite counter to fill the bowls she’d already set out.
Meanwhile, Avery refilled her wineglass and poured chardonnay into the one she had for him. He set the table with place mats, linen napkins, and silverware at the opposite end of where their quickie had taken place.
“Sit,” Layla instructed. “Let me serve you.”
She brought him a dish, cranked shredded parmesan on the top, smiled provocatively, and then went back for hers.
“This broth has the right seasoning,” he commented. “And those sausage coins are juicy looking.”
“Taste the peppers and onions,” she said as she joined him.
He did. Nodded. And told her, “You like them one or two degrees just after the limp snap.”
“So they’re not crispy. Nor mushy or slimy.” She cringed. “Can’t stand it when they cross that fine line and lose so much of their flavor.”
He eyed her closely and asked, “You ever consider doing your own cooking show?”
“Please. Smoke a turducken? I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
“That’s modest but untrue. You presented all the right questions while I was preparing mine.”
“Okay, so I read recipes,” she said. “I also learn from the contestants every season. Plus, I have my own concoctions from years past, on the farm. However ... I really like the hosting part. Kindly remember I was once a wallflower.”
“That’s still not something I can wrap my mind around,” he admitted. “But I do hear what you’re saying. And that’s why Light Your Fire suits you.”
“In some ways, yes.” She didn’t say more, just sampled the meal and allowed Avery to do the same.
When he slid a sly gaze her way, she laughed.
“Sun-dried tomatoes and spinach,” he said. “Excellent additions. And you think you couldn’t have your own show.”
He let that comment linger as he dove in.
Every now and then, he mentioned something a little different that she’d done with the flavor profile.
When he’d polished off his first helping, he told her, “That you didn’t toss all of this in with the pasta that’s still on the stove tells me you’re going to hook me up with the key ingredients on a roll.”
“You like it toasted?”
“Honey, I think I’ve made it evident that I enjoy everything you have to offer.”
“So diplomatic.” She kissed him, then left the table to assemble a second dish for him.
Which he devoured as she ate her pasta.
Afterward, they stored the leftovers, started the dishwasher, and retired to the living room.
Avery built a fire while she clicked through streaming movies on the TV and decided on one.
She brought him a bowl of rainbow sherbet and a glass of wine—both for them to share. She curled up in his lap with a lightweight throw over her legs and served him a few bites.
He snickered and said, “You’re not even paying attention to the movie.”
“Purposely dove into one I’ve already seen. So I can concentrate on you.”
Her lips drifted over his jaw and down his throat. He had an arm around her while holding the bowl in his other hand. She held the spoon. And, on occasion, remembered to feed him. Then she’d reach for the chardonnay on the sofa table behind them, and they’d sip.
At one point, he hit the mute button and got serious.
“Tell me about the other night, in your hotel room.”
Layla hadn’t been avoiding this discussion. Just seemed that other things had cropped up and pushed it to the back burner. A night out at Luke’s cantina. Avery’s dad arriving in town. The competition.
And her still having to decipher all the implications brought on by Christopher’s shocking overdose.
But Avery should know what she was dealing with and all the complex variables.
So she bucked up.
“Big doings in New York, cowboy.”
His muscles tensed.
She was quick to say, “Don’t get riled. There’s a happy ending to that particular story.”
His gaze narrowed.
“The guy ... my ex,” she started, then drew in a breath. “He’s dead.”
Repeating that continuously made it more real in her mind.
So she added, “Very dead. Like ... dead-dead.”
Yesterday, she’d even found the wherewithal to check out the news links Todd had sent her as a personal affirmation.
Avery stared at her. “How?”
“Became a victim of his own success, I guess. Overly celebrated with booze and pills. Didn’t wake up from his victory lap.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yep. It’s super bizarre. But not uncommon, especially in high-stakes sales. There were plenty of associates fueled by coke or other substances. So. He’s one more person who probably should have spent some time in rehab.”
“And yet ... the fact that he didn’t—”
“Is to my benefit,” she said.
She approached the most difficult part of this conversation.
She told Avery, “I feel unchained from that part of my life, mostly. Still have one shackle to release, but I’m working on that.”
“The surgeon you owe?”
“I bear no ill will toward him, Avery. He did his job, and I’m paying him for it. There’s nothing shady there.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “If I were to win the grand prize ... would that money cover the rest of your debt?”
Tears instantly sprang to her eyes. Her heart wrenched over his generosity. Over his concern for her.
“Quite heroic of you, cowboy,” she whispered against his lips.
“I’ll find another way to pay Jack,” he said. “And he’ll understand. Hell, he doesn’t want me to pay him at all. But I feel the need.”
“Avery ...” She gave him a faint kiss and told him, “You’re just too much. Wherever you and Jack land is between you two. As for me ... I have a payment plan with the surgeon. He gets that I can’t reel in cash like fish.”
Avery scoffed, with a strained intonation, at her analogy.
She added, “He was a Good Samaritan. Just not a pro bono one. And again. I got what I requested.”
Avery grimaced.
“Don’t stress on this, cowboy. I’ve been doing fine. And I have some golden nuggets in a file that might pay off the remainder.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” She blew out a breath. “Seems that not being terrified of someone hunting me down to make sure I never tell my story has generated a lot of opportunity for me.”
He whisked away a few drops that had trickled down her cheek.
“So no need for the tears,” he quietly said.
“Those are for you being so sensitive and caring,” she told him. “Nothing quite like a hunky cowboy with a heart of gold.”
He chuckled. “You bring out my good side.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Avery. I didn’t inspire you wanting to cover your daddy’s debt. That was in your brain long before I came along.”
“So about these new opportunities ...,” he prompted.
“Those. Well.” She accepted his need for a subject change. “I can stick with the show after this season, and it’ll be all mine. Or I can do something totally different. Hell, I can aim for a prime-time slot on a different platform. Sky’s the limit now. Which is weird.” She shook her head. “Because I always wanted it to be, and it never was. Till now. I’m not quite sure what to do with all that.”
“Sounds a bit overwhelming,” he concurred.
“And exhilarating. However, for now,” she said, anchoring herself in the moment, “I have to keep my feet on the ground, not have my head in the clouds. I have a season to wrap. Maybe that’s the other component of what your dad was saying—because he overheard my conversation with Todd and Brodi and got the gist of it all.”
Avery groaned, presumably over the mention of his father.
“I’m just making the point that I can’t lose sight of what I’m doing right now,” Layla said. “We still have your last meal to film, and it’s our final chance to make you shine. Which reminds me—you need to call Riley. I’m thinking that having her on set will be a fabulous enhancement. She’s entertaining and easy on the eyes. And perhaps a little snippet of Jack and Jillian, with Ollie playing court jester, would liven the dessert segment. Also, including Hunt and Ale in the frames adds to an entire family rallying around the cowboys after supper.” She nipped his lower lip, flirtatiously. “Then there’s you. Plus, Ritchie. Swear that boy has his own legion of fans forming.”
“Ritchie?”
“Believe it.”
He seemed to mull this over. “I sorta can. Something about that kid—man—draws you in.”
“Part of that is his respect and admiration for you,” she said. “Other part is that he’s honest and cute.”
“‘Cute’?”
She winced. “Geez, don’t tell him I said that. Not cute, like a baby chick. Though ... kind of. Shit, I’m taking this from bad to worse.”
Avery gave her a commiserating look. Stroked her hair. And said, “Honey, we are all over the board tonight. I wouldn’t mind carrying you upstairs to bed, and we’ll wade through the rest of this in the morning.”
“I do like how you think, cowboy.”
They left the bowl and the glass and settled in his bed.
They still didn’t have any answers or resolutions.
But for now ... they did have each other.