Chapter 3
H ere she was again, doing something her better judgement told her not to do. “No! Stop! Drive away, you idiot!” Dalia’s brain screamed at her. This was dangerous. She must keep her anonymity. But she could no more walk away from this poor slop than from a crying child or stray puppy.
The beleaguered bride-to-be sat on a ledge outside the front door of Babette’s Gentlemen’s Club, sobbing her heart out. She’d fainted inside, revived, and left with another woman. But here she was all alone needing help. Most of all she needed tissues.
Dalia put her truck in park, hopped out, and went over to the pitiful girl.
Her shift had ended, and she’d intended on making a quick getaway like always to try to cleanse her karma of the fetid aura of that hellhole.
Too bad she hadn’t managed to drive off before seeing this sorry scene out front.
She scrounged around in her giant bag to come up with a package of tissues and handed them over.
Teary, almond-shaped, hazel eyes gazed up at her.
“Th…Thank you,” the young woman said through a hiccup.
She might be pretty, but it was hard to tell with her skin all puffy and red around her eyes, her mascara running down her cheeks, her hair in a tangle, and the fake bride veil hanging sideways off her head.
“He, he cheated on me with my best friend and with a strip, stripper. Oh. You’re a stripper, too.” The hazel eyes looked Dalia up and down in her red get-up with a denim shirt thrown over it. “Sorry. You must have, you know, boyfriends here, too.”
At least the crying had stopped but the gal was drunk. Very drunk. This had no doubt been the worst night of the poor thing’s life.
“Do you have a ride home?” Dalia asked, ignoring the insinuation that she, too, had sex with men there.
“Huh?”
“Home. You need to get home. You’re not driving, are you?”
“Oh. Nuh uh.” The drunk pointed aimlessly. “I, um, was with her . The bitch who screwed my fiancé. I don’t know where the other one with the car is. They’re gone.”
Dalia scanned the area. She did not want to put this person into her truck. But she also did not want to leave an inebriated young woman alone in front of a strip club where even drunker, horny men came and went.
The front door of Babette’s Gentlemen’s Club burst open and a man flew out, landing on his hands and knees.
The bouncer, deputy sheriff Brody McIntyre from Dalia’s hometown, followed.
“Don’t come back,” he yelled. The man scrambled to his feet and ran off.
Brody turned to re-enter the building and noticed the two women. He stopped and stared.
The drunk bride-to-be chose that very moment to pass out again.
Simultaneously, Dalia reached down to grab her and Brody ran over to help lest she fall and hit her head.
Their arms and hands tangled as they caught the woman.
Dalia backed away, alarmed at the thrill that ran through her at his macho touch.
He picked the woman up in his arms. “She’s breathing but she might need to go to the emergency room.”
“Hi. I’m Kenyon.” The woman came to and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re handsome. Will you marry me?”
“Ah, that would be no.” Brody looked pleadingly at Dalia. “Seems like she’ll be fine after all. What should I do with her?” He held her out as if Dalia should take her.
“How the hell should I know? I don’t know her.”
Brody turned to one side then the other while Kenyon snuggled into his chest. He was obviously at a total loss.
“Okay,” Dalia said, giving in. “I’ll take her somewhere to call someone.”
“Good.” Relieved, Brody followed Dalia to her truck and carefully settled Kenyon into the passenger’s seat while Dalia hopped in on her side.
“Aren’t you coming?” Kenyon slurred through the open window when he closed her door.
“No, miss. This fine young woman here will find help to get you home.”
“Oh. I don’t have a home. Not now. I lived with the bastard. I refuse to go to him .”
“Well, then, what about your parents?”
“ Shhh. ” Kenyon attempted to put a finger up to her lips but missed. “We must not tell them. They can never know.”
Dalia had become anxious to get out of there. This proximity to a man who might figure out who she was made her nervous. She could only hope the red wig and glittery makeup were doing their job of keeping her incognito.
Brody tapped the windowsill and spoke over the passenger to the driver. “Okay. Bring her back here if you can’t get help and we’ll figure out something else. Good luck, Dalia.”
He backed away and watched as she drove off, leaving Dalia stupefied that he’d known who she was all along.
“Damn it all to hell,” she whispered, devastated that her cover was blown. “Men. They’re nothing but trouble.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Kenyon said. “But I wouldn’t mind marrying that one back there.” She pointed with a wobbly finger. “He’s hot!”