Chapter One
“Thanks for walking me to my car again, Hammer.” Brianna Adair waved at Jeff Hamm, a.k.a. Hammer, for his work as a bouncer at the club where she bartended, before sliding into the driver’s seat of her Jeep.
“You got it, Brianna. Be careful and remember what we talked about,” Hammer said with a wag of his finger. He might be six feet eleven inches of stacked muscle, but on the inside, he was all teddy bear. Unless someone crossed a line. Then, the Hammer dropped and he earned his nickname.
She adjusted the rearview mirror, checking for any signs the pickup truck from a couple of nights ago was around anywhere.
“If the jerk comes back, I go straight to the cops just like before.” Cranking the engine, she blew out a slow breath. Since she hadn’t been able to get a good look at the driver and there was no plate, the police report she’d filed had been pretty slim. She shook off the fear rising inside her, trying to convince herself that the mystery guy would not return for another round of stressful late-night bumper cars.
Adjusting the mirror again, all she could see as she pulled away was Hammer. The hulk of a man stood in the parking lot with his arms crossed, watching as she safely pulled away from work.
Her nerves were fried, and her pulse kicked up a few notches just thinking about the ordeal. Determined was her middle name. Actually it was Jayne but there was no time for reality. Point being, she’d been working at Cowboy Roundup for two years now and there was no way she was letting a drunk cowboy run her off a job that paid better than any other she’d had up until this point. Not that she planned to bartend for tips the rest of her life. Or even the rest of her twenties. If she was still mixing drinks next year, she’d consider the past two years a colossal waste of time. Working late nights in a skintight shirt and Daisy Dukes was a means to an end. And the end was coming soon. Thirty-seven more days. She’d be hanging up her bandanna for a laptop as soon as she finished her associate degree in website design.
She was so close that she could almost feel the nine-to-five. She’d be trading in white tennis shoes for heels and work lunches. So, yeah, she kept on slinging drinks and ignoring comments about her “perfect” backside and the sizable chest genetics had forced on her. Speaking of genetics... She took one hand off the wheel long enough to touch the necklace that had been a gift from her mother, a lucky charm in the form of a four leaf clover. Maybe some of the luck would rub off on her.
With wheat-colored hair and cobalt-blue eyes, Brianna was the spitting image of her mother, save for her mother’s bright red hair. Brianna could only hope her physical features were the only things she’d inherited from the woman. After her parents finally landed jobs at a ranch, so the family could be together after her father had spent most of her childhood working an oil rig, her mother had blown the new sense of security by having an affair.
To make a long story short, her parents had divorced but not before a move and a third attempt to “save” the family. So, the small Texas town where she’d tried to finally put down roots had ended up in the rearview faster than a cowboy could say tequila shot.
Her parents had given it a good go in San Antonio. The move had been meant to bring the three of them closer together and, if she was being honest, save her parents’ marriage. Going into her sophomore year of high school, the tension at home and the stress of the move finally caught up to Brianna. Her grades fell apart faster than her parents’ marriage.
At least they’d tried. Now her mother lived in Nashville with the lead singer of a country band. Not long after news of her mother’s remarriage circulated, Brianna’s father had an accident on the job and, for the next decade and counting, mostly drank while collecting disability checks and basically swearing off women.
So, yeah, her family was rocking it out. Christmases were awesome. And she realized the lucky charm hanging around her neck might not be so lucky after all. A literal sigh tore from her mouth at the bad memories. She loved her parents, don’t get her wrong. And she couldn’t blame them for trying to hold it together or how badly it fell apart. Many nights, she’d heard them arguing they needed to stay together for her. Marriage. Family. Commitment. Those words caused her to shiver involuntarily in general and made her a little bit nauseous to boot.
She brought her fingers up to trace the charm. The necklace—a sweet gesture from her mother to bring her daughter better luck than her own—reminded Brianna to stay the course in school and at her workplace after bouncing around from job to job. It reminded her that she didn’t have to take a traditional route in life and was probably better off if she didn’t as long as she didn’t crush anyone else’s feelings in the process. It reminded her of the love that could so quickly turn to misery.
Brianna had graduated high school. Barely. Not that she wasn’t smart, she’d just refused to get good grades. Looking back, she was trying to punish her parents but ended up hurting her own chances of getting into college. Oh, and she’d refused to take college entrance exams, too. So, you know, she was a real rebel. The only person who seemed to be hurting from her acts of defiance was her. She blamed it on the teenage brain, which, in her defense, hadn’t been fully developed at the time.
She’d been too stubborn to ask for help, even when she realized she needed it. Besides, her parents had had enough on their plates fighting day and night while getting divorced. That took a lot of time and energy.
Even though her mother had cheated on Brianna’s father, it was impossible not to feel like the woman had cheated on the whole family. At the very least, her actions had had a ripple effect. And wasn’t that so true in every area of life?
But, hey, Brianna wasn’t about to start feeling sorry for herself when graduation was around the corner. She’d managed to get through midterms and then straight through to working on big final projects caffeinated and on very little sleep because she’d had to take extra shifts at the bar recently. Good for her bank account and bad for the bags under her eyes.
A little concealer later, and she was ready for another night. The bartending phase of her life was winding down and she couldn’t be happier.
Except that lightning just flashed out of practically nowhere and storm clouds started rolling in. She hadn’t checked the forecast in a few days—mistake number one in a place like Texas—but she didn’t remember there being any rain in it. The zipper was broken on the door of her secondhand Jeep, Code Blue, named for how many times a month it flatlined on her. Not exactly vintage enough to be classified as a jalopy, her vehicle was so old that it didn’t have Bluetooth technology or a USB port. It was paid for, though. And that was all that mattered in a vehicle. Comfort was optional. Reliability preferred. But complaining did little good to reverse a situation. Trust her, Dad had done plenty of that when Mom had left.
Real change in someone’s life took focus and hard work.
The funny thing was that she would have loved driving this beast in the two years she’d lived in Katy Gulch. She could imagine having her friends pile in and go mudding after a good rain.
That was the old Brianna. The girl who knew how to have fun. The girl who had an easy smile, as her wild hair—hair that she ironed now—flew into the wind carefree.
Code Blue sputtered and she thumped the floating gas gauge. Seemed okay but it was hard to tell. Brianna was looking at buying something more modest now as she socked away new-car funds. If she couldn’t get something brand-new, she’d settle for new-to-her. Something more conservative. And something that wouldn’t let the rain in while she drove to an office job on a nine-to-five.
And speaking of rain, a couple of droplets hit the windshield. Of course. Her time at Roundup was coming to a close and these last few weeks were going to take her for a ride. Well, saddle up, baby, because she wasn’t going to let a little water bring her down. There’d been enough wet blankets in her life, and she was so done with negativity.
Famous. Last. Words.
The downpour came on like a tsunami. There was so much rain that her canopy literally ripped a little bit more. Of course, the water came in on the driver’s side where she sat, dripping on her face and shirt. She put her left hand up, trying to hold the canopy together so she didn’t get flooded.
She shook her head, and rain flew everywhere. So, yeah, more of that Adair luck was kicking in. So much for the charm.
Determined not to let a little rain get to her, she refused to give in. She kept smiling, working hard not to let herself get in a mood. She forced her thoughts away from the jerk who’d pinched her bottom when she’d left the relative safety of the bar to clear a table because her busboy hadn’t had a break since he’d shown up. Neither had she, but that didn’t count. She could handle it. Her busboy was barely legal and there was no way she was going to work that poor kid’s fingers to the nubs.
She could sure use a tall glass of wine about now as she flipped on her windshield wipers, which basically sloshed water around. She needed new blades. The next thing to fail her was the antifog mechanism. All of which she’d promised to get fixed once finals were over.
She needed to make a list of things that she’d been putting off. She’d driven past the dealership every day this week, looking at that powder-blue four-door sedan, thinking how nice it would be when she was no longer at the mercy of Mother Nature as she drove to and from class or work.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw headlights as she passed Maple Road. A pickup truck sailed around a corner, scaring the crap out of her. The vehicle zoomed up to her bumper, pulling up so close she gripped the steering wheel tighter as she readied for impact. No. No. No. Not this again.
Brianna managed to swerve into the next lane when he roared up a second time. She strained to get a look at the driver’s face. She couldn’t make out who was behind the wheel. She had half a mind to pull over or next to him and give him a piece of her mind except that would qualify her as too stupid to live.
Road rage was one thing. This guy, if it was the same one, had come back for seconds. A bad sign.
Instead of going head-to-head with Pickup Jerk, she decided to see if she could lose him.
Come on, baby. She could only pray that Code Blue wouldn’t fail her now. A fork in the road was coming up and she figured that would be the best time to make a move. She slowed down enough for the jerk to get close to her bumper again, then pushed Blue as fast as she would go.
At the last minute, she cut the wheel right. The maneuver worked. Pickup Jerk veered left just like she’d wanted him to do.
Before she could celebrate, she saw his brake lights in the rearview mirror. He would catch up to her if she stayed on her current path. Dread settled over her, but she knew exactly what to do. Head straight to the cops. She’d mapped out the closest substation after the last encounter.
This time, she was ready.
“Go ahead. Follow me now.” Brianna drove the couple of blocks to the substation with the truck on her tail. It tapped her bumper a couple of times, jerking her head forward. Whiplash was not going to be her friend later.
This guy needed to have his license revoked. A night in county lockup might make him question his decision behind the wheel.
Her shift had been long. All she could envision was getting home to a hot bath and a soft bed. She was so done with that job it wasn’t even funny. So, picking up a stalker in her last month at the bar wasn’t exactly high on her list. And she would take this incident very seriously.
As she pulled into the parking lot of the police station, Pickup Jerk must’ve realized where she’d just led him because he peeled off in a hurry. Not exactly his smartest move, in her opinion.
At the angle she was sitting, his license plate was just out of sight. She almost turned around and tried to follow him except that Hammer had warned her not to do that. After tonight, she might just grab a shotgun and leave it inside her Jeep.
Okay, bad plan. She couldn’t even zip the door shut. There was no way she could leave a shotgun in her vehicle. Knowing her luck, Pickup Jerk would steal it and shoot her with her own gun.
So, yeah, that wasn’t happening.
Now, the question was whether or not she should follow through with going inside and filing another report. She was so tired that her bones ached and all she could think about was a hot bath and a warm bed. Nothing sounded better than going facedown on her pillow and it wasn’t like she had anything new to tell the officers inside.
Except that this was serious. All her warning bells flared at the fact this man had returned for a second battle. He seemed to know where she worked, and he could follow her home. An involuntary shudder rocked her at the thought.
All right, she decided. She’d go inside and file a report again.
As she sat idling in the parking lot, the hairs on the back of her neck pricked. The feeling of eyes on her caused an uneasy sensation to creep over her. She had the sensation people got when they said a cat walked over their grave.
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