Into the Storm (Signal Bend #3)(74)

“Unless…”

The same thought bowled Show over. He thought of her desperation, the way she’d begged him not to leave. “Jesus f*cking Christ. I gotta get back there.” He jumped off the stool.

Isaac got up, too. “You need backup?”

“No. No. I don’t—I’ll call if…if she did something.” She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. He ran to his bike and headed back to the B&B.

oOo

He kicked up gravel pulling to a stop in the lot, then ran inside as fast as he could. He’d intended to head straight to Shannon’s apartment, but he pulled up short when he saw the girl—what was her name? He couldn’t remember—sitting on one of the sofas, her arms crossed over her chest and one leg crossed over the other, swinging. She was staring at the floor, looking upset. The day was warm, and she was wearing a kind of lacy white sweater thing, denim cutoff shorts, and battered brown cowboy boots, showing long, lithe legs. His first instinct was a concern bordering on the parental for the skin she was showing. That gave him some pause.

He heard Shannon’s voice in the office, and his heart steadied its rhythm a little. He couldn’t make out what she was saying, or to whom she was speaking, but she was here and okay enough to be in her office, talking to somebody, and that was good. That was something. Where they went from here, he did not know.

To the girl, Shannon’s daughter, he said, “Hey, missy. Y’okay?”

She focused on him, and he could see that she recognized him from the previous afternoon. But she didn’t answer him. He nodded and headed for the office.

He pulled up short again, in the little nook just outside the open office door, when he heard an unfamiliar male voice and realized that Shannon was arguing with this man. And by the sound of it, they weren’t in her office but in her apartment. That door must be open, too. Who would she have in her apartment? He took a step to go through the office door, but pulled up yet again, hearing the man say: “It was the right thing, Shan. You need to come back to Tulsa. You need to be home. This place? A crappy little bed and breakfast? It’s beneath you. These inbred hicks are beneath you.”

Shannon’s voice was ragged and weak, but Show heard the bite of her anger. “I am these hicks, *. Tulsa’s not home. Tulsa was never home. This is home. You had no right to do what you did.”

“I did it for you. I did it for us. This isn’t you. You’re not seeing straight. Maybe you got a little biker fever. But Shan, sweetheart. I know you. You’re Tiffany and Cartier. You’re Jimmy Choo and Dior. I can give you all that. You belong in my Mercedes, not hanging off the back of some damn Harley.”

Show knew who it was. That trussed up * from last fall. The one who’d spent a weekend with Shannon and made her so sad the following week. Show’s hands coiled into fists, but he stayed put, listening.

“God. Listen to yourself. You are not half the man that biker is. You couldn’t begin to be able to understand how much better he is than you.” She paused, and then, more quietly, she asked, “How do you even know about him, anyway? God. You’ve had me watched.”

“I was making sure you were safe, that’s all. I love you. I know you don’t like me to say it, but I still do.

I gave you your space, though, and waited for you to realize that you’re too big for this place. But then she came to me, and I knew what I had to do.”

“You know why I didn’t want you to say it, Keith? Because I knew I could never love you. I never felt anything stronger than affection for you. My home isn’t with you. My home would never have been with you. Even if I had stayed. I love him. I love the biker. I love this town. I love this little inn. I love Show.

I’m his old lady. And I’m not going anywhere. Even if all this has ruined what I have with him, I’d rather be here alone than in Tulsa with you.”

“That’s not true. I know you love me.” There was a sharp edge now to the *’s voice that jangled Show’s nerves.

“No. I don’t. I never did. I liked you. But that’s gone, too, as of now.”

“You’re lying. You’re lying. Stop lying!”

“Keith, no. Get ba—” The rest of the word cut off abruptly, and Show turned and stormed through the office door. With the apartment door standing open, he could see Shannon and Keith, near the breakfast bar. Keith had his hands around Shannon’s neck, and she was clawing at them, her face going purple.

Roaring in outrage, Show leapt at him, grabbing him by his neck and yanking him back, pulling him free of Shannon and throwing him to the floor. He kicked the bastard hard in the side, then turned to Shannon as Keith writhed, gasping, on the floor.

He took her face in his hands. She looked f*cking terrible. “You okay?”

Still gasping, she nodded.

“Get some water, then sit down. I’ll be back.” He started to turn back to the bastard curled up on the floor at his feet, but, feeling a qualm, he asked Shannon, “Outsiders around other than them?” She shook her head.

Good. He had trash to take out. He didn’t understand everything that was going on right now, but he understood that this son of a bitch had put hands on his old lady. He’d had about enough of that bullshit. He bent down and grabbed him by the collar and arm, dragging him to his feet.