Picnic in Someday Valley (Honey Creek #2)(64)

“I’ll watch over Marcie. Piper is safe in Honey Creek, but ask her to leave her office before dark. I’ll put a tracker on Leon. If he gets within ten miles of Honey Creek, I’ll be standing behind him.”

The two men stood and shook hands. Brand followed him to the bike. “This conversation didn’t happen, Ranger.”

“This conversation didn’t happen. If I see you again I won’t recognize you, but if you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

Brand nodded and pulled a plain white business card from his pocket. It had numbers in black ink, nothing more.

“My number.” Brand stepped away.

Colby started the Harley and drove toward town. He was almost twenty-four hours late and couldn’t tell Piper where he’d been this morning. He hoped she’d be in a forgiving mood; after all, she’d told him to come home and that had to mean she was over being mad at him.

On the way to Honey Creek he thought about how calm Brand had been. He’d expected him to swear and threaten to bash bald Leon’s head in for frightening Marcie, but Brand slowly reasoned out the facts.

Brand hadn’t even asked Colby about his black eye. He just said the law could go after Leon for selling drugs or theft. That would put him in jail for a few years. If they could charge him with being a serial rapist, they could put him away for life.

Brand hadn’t made a single threat, but Colby had a feeling if Leon was found guilty but somehow got away, he’d just disappear.

Colby laughed, thinking of something an old ranger told him. Some people just deserve a free ticket to hell.





Chapter 40


Marcie


In Mr. Winston’s quiet old house, Marcie slept the day away. Pecos and Kerrie were at the hospital and Mr. Winston, who’d become part of their family, was either with them or out spreading the news that Kerrie’s baby was born.

Brand had disappeared without waking her hours ago, but he left a text on her phone. Would you be open for a date? Pick you up before sunset.

It was almost dark when she texted back that she had to play at Bandit’s tonight. Wayne was expecting her.

In what seemed like a blink he texted back. I’ll meet you there. I may be late, don’t leave the bar until I get there.

Marcie smiled. Brand didn’t even know about the guy who was threatening her—he was just protecting her. He was a good man and he kissed great. She usually wasn’t attracted to good men, but she’d make an exception with Brand. He didn’t drink. He didn’t cuss. He must be a health nut because he worked out like a madman.

Most of the men in her past had been passing through. They spoke of adventures and told her how hot she was. A few left without remembering her name when they said goodbye.

But Brand was different. He was stable, quiet. She could almost believe he was a virgin who knew little about the world. If it wasn’t for the scars on his body, she could easily believe he’d never left the valley. She’d only seen the scars from a distance, but whatever hurt him had been bad, real bad. No wonder he didn’t like to be around people. When they’d been at the bar in Honey Creek, she felt he was on guard. He didn’t take a deep breath until they stepped outside.

As she played to an almost empty bar at Bandit’s, she thought of him holding her as she’d slept. Any other guy she knew would have felt her up or tried to have sex, but not Brand. He seemed to really care about her.

But, she’d been fooled before. One rising star in country music had told her when she was eighteen that she was his soul mate and he’d love her for the rest of their lives. He even wrote a song about her. Two days later he left with her money and didn’t bother to pay the week-long hotel bill they’d run up.

Tonight, in the dusty bar, her songs were sad as she thought back over her short-time lovers and almost friends.

Halfway through her last set and Brand still hadn’t shown. Marcie decided she’d ask Wayne to walk her to her car, then she’d drive straight back to Honey Creek. She wasn’t upset that Brand didn’t show up. Knowing her luck, she would have been surprised if he had. He’d probably forgotten about asking her for a date.

As she played, letting the music relax her, she noticed a group of men move from the pool area and head for the bar. They were laughing. None of them looked familiar except one tall, skinny bald guy bringing up the tail of the migration.

The music stopped. She couldn’t move. She simply stared at the boots of the men passing. All wore steel-toed work boots like linemen or riggers wear. All but one. He wore an old pair of western boots. The heels were worn down and muddy. The leather uncared for.

She watched those boots walk closer. She knew who was coming.

The man who’d frightened her earlier walked closer and dropped a dollar in her tip jar, then whispered, “When I come back to you for a second round of fun, I’ll cut you in the same places while I take you. A scar is easier to open when the first wound isn’t completely healed. If you don’t fight or scream too loud, I might only cut you in a few new places. You can’t hide from me, Marcie. I’ll find you. No one cares about trash like you. We can play our little cutting game all night. I’m in no hurry. So, move back to your trailer to make it easier on me, or I’ll make it hard on you.”

Marcie closed her eyes and heard him whisper, “Go back home tonight where you belong and leave the door unlocked, or you’ll be real sorry.”