Lady Luck (Colorado Mountain #3)(13)

He didn’t respond.

“It was me they targeted, f**k, anyone would have gone down,” Tate told him. “Don’t get buried under that shit. Rise above.”

Again, Walker didn’t respond.

Jackson waited for it then gave up.

“I’ll keep diggin’. Call you back. It’s tomorrow. When’s the wedding?”

“She’s shoppin’ for a dress.”

Or at least he hoped she was. He gave her a wad of cash and he had the valet ticket. The ticket was not insurance. All he had was hope she wouldn’t bolt but he wouldn’t blame her if she did. The fact that she didn’t walk out the door when he gave her the chance still surprised him. It sucked but he had Shift to thank for her not leaving. She was desperate, he played on that. He didn’t like it but it worked in his favor and he had a mission, he was focused, so he used it.

That said, this was done, he’d set her up and, she was smart, she’d go onto a life where she never again had to make desperate, f**ked up decisions like marrying an ex-con she didn’t know.

His response got a low chuckle from Jackson then, “I’m sure she is.” Pause then, “I suspect she’s good people, you’re marryin’ her so I’m glad she gave you a second chance, saw through that shit, knows what she’s gettin’.”

She had no f**king clue.

Time to move on. So he did, out from under the awning and down the sidewalk toward the jewelry store.

“How’s Jonas?”

“Growin’ so fast, Laurie can’t keep him in clothes.”

“Laurie?”

Pause then, “Fuck, man, forgot. I got married.”

Walker stopped dead and he heard someone behind him let out a squeak and scuttle around him but he didn’t move.

“No shit?”

A definite smile in his voice before, “No shit.”

“The woman from the news,” Walker stated.

“Yeah.”

He tried to remember if he’d seen any photos of her when all that shit went down with Tate and that serial killer who had kidnapped his woman and stabbed her with the intent to rape her with that knife before he killed her which, luckily, he didn’t get around to doing. They’d reported it on television and during a variety of sports commentator shows considering Tate had a very short-lived career as a linebacker in the NFL.

He’d watched it in the joint, seen photos of Tate, none of his woman.

But it didn’t care if she was butt ugly. She wasn’t Neeta, Tate’s old bitch from high school and on and off for what seemed would last an eternity. Fortunately, it didn’t and Tate got shot of her and could talk about being married with a smile in his voice. Unfortunately, Neeta had been one of the victims of the serial killer Tate tracked down. Neeta was so much of a pain in the ass, she was the definition of a cunt, just a shade better than Misty but not by much. Still, no one deserved what went down with her.

Except, maybe, Misty. And he knew thinking that made him a dick and he didn’t f**king care.

“Told her about you,” Jackson said in his ear. “She’s already conspiring with Maggie, planning a celebration for your return.”

Fuck.

“Not necessary,” Walker said as he started walking again.

“Don’t fight it, Ty. When Laurie’s in the mood to be friendly, no one can stop her. And you know Maggie.”

Terrific.

“And, trust me, she cooks for you, you’ll wonder why you even considered fighting it,” Tate went on.

At least that was something.

He pushed open the doors and hit the plush interior of the exclusive jewelry store. The clerks looked up at him and he noticed two go pale. They were the men. The women had a different reaction.

They always did. Though they’d rethink their reaction if they knew he was an ex-con and what he was sent down for.

He didn’t care. All he cared about was it was air conditioned. Spending five years in a correctional institute in southern California he’d had enough hot to last a lifetime. It sucked it was the beginning of summer. Even his hometown of Carnal in the Colorado Mountains would get hot.

But when winter hit… heaven.

“Gotta buy a ring, Tate,” he muttered into the phone, going direct to one of the women who was smiling slow, turning fully to him, not knowing she was about to make one f**k of a commission.

“Right,” Jackson replied.

“Got a new number. This is Lexie’s phone. I’ll text it to you.”

“Right,” Jackson repeated.

“Later.”

“Later and Ty?” he called.

“Yeah.”

“Congratulations, brother. Be happy.”

“Right.”

Walker flipped the phone shut.

Chapter Three

Signing Bonus

I sat in the passenger seat of my own car, the glossy, violet and ice blue cardboard folder that carried our wedding photos and a large envelope with our marriage certificate was sitting on my thighs, a huge bouquet of roses was in my hand, the Vegas traffic was heavy, Walker was driving us back to the hotel.

We’d been married by Liberace. Not the real one, obviously, since he’d passed. A fake one. I didn’t know you could be married by Liberace. I knew Elvis would marry you, Liberace, no.