Desert Ice Daddy. Dana MartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
watchin’ my boy? Playing with your Mexican friend?”
She knew better than to respond to his accusation when he was like this. Her gaze landed on the mugs. “I’m making coffee. Would you like some?”
He took a step forward, none too steady on his feet.
When had he changed from the charming, full-of-life rodeo cowboy to the bitter man he was now, one who regularly got drunk by noon? Once upon a time, he’d been her knight in shining armor, or so she’d thought.
He’d dazzled her with his larger-than-life personality, his outrageous courting and endless promises. Having just inherited money from his father, he’d shown her a side of life she had never known. He’d showered her with gifts and attention when Flint was one hundred percent focused on building a business out of nothing, and Akeem, the man she had a major crush on, always kept himself frustratingly out of reach.
Gary had introduced her to the fast life, and they had been happy for a while. By the time she figured out that they weren’t as much in love with each other as they’d thought, Christopher was on his way. Then Gary had run out of his father’s money and had no idea how to make more. The drinking began. When Flint had become more and more successful, the demands for her brother’s money started. And when after a while she refused, hatred and verbal abuse followed. Then more.
“I miss you, you know,” he said with drunk melancholy and walked around the table, put on that rodeo cowboy smile that used to make her heart beat faster, flashed those strong teeth.
She turned to the coffeepot, hoping some caffeine would sober him up.
“If your brother helped us, we could make it together. We should try again, babe.” He pressed against her back and put his hands on her waist. “We could make that little girl you wanted.”
She slipped out of his hold, away from the stench of stale beer on his breath. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get you a cup.”
He followed her to the cupboard, looked around. “We can even live here, if you want to be close to your family. Flint would put up a decent house for you if you asked.”
Here we go again. She put the dirty dishes into the sink in the corner and set the two clean cups on the table. If Gary was willing to move to the ranch, that meant he must have run up enough debt to have to worry about losing his house. She felt sorry for him, but she knew now that she couldn’t help him. God knew, she had tried. Truth was, nobody could help him until he was ready to help himself, until he was willing to acknowledge his problems.
Gary didn’t want help to kick his beer habit. All he wanted was money. Flint’s money, to be more specific.
“I know you miss me, babe.” He grabbed her from behind and crushed her to his chest, dipping his mouth to her neck.
His touch was…irritating. She had trouble remembering a time when it had made her feel anything but disappointed that she had fallen for his seduction in the first place. She’d been young and naïve. Time had cured her of both those problems.
She pushed away, had to put effort into working herself loose. She turned to make sure he would see in her eyes how serious she was. “We’re divorced, Gary. I’m not coming back.”
“Why the hell not?” Anger melted the smile off his face. “You screwing someone else?” His voice rose. “That Mexican?”
She tamped down her anger and frustration. She so didn’t need this right now.
“I was generous letting you have the boy.” His blue eyes flashed. “But you ain’t takin’ too good care of him. Maybe when they find him, I’ll take him home with me.”
Her heart clenched, a brand-new wave of fear obliterating all other emotion. She’d been given sole custody, but only because Gary agreed. If he brought it to a fight…
She would smile if it killed her. “Please.” She tried to placate him, the role she’d grown into over the years.
And not for the first time, she considered that maybe she should have been fighting all along. Maybe she should be yelling back that he’d given up Christopher only because he didn’t feel like taking care of him. He didn’t want to be staying home instead of hitting the bars, didn’t feel like giving up his beer money to support his son. But she had, from the beginning, always chosen the path of backing down, of accommodation, because giving Christopher a home with as much peace and normalcy as possible had always been her first priority. So she had compromised, had put on a good face and covered up for Gary as much as she’d been able to.
“Please,” she said again. “We agreed. You don’t have time to watch him. You’re looking for a job. I’ll ask Flint to help.” Preferably out of state. “Please.”
“Please like hell!” he shouted and grabbed the end of the table, sending the two mugs crashing to the floor, tipping the table after them.
The door slammed open the next second, startling her worse than the table had. She had expected that. But she hadn’t expected Akeem, who stood in the doorway with the sun at his back. His gaze went to Gary first, then to her.
“You need any help in here?” He stepped inside, his shoulders held rigid, his jaw tight.
A whole new level of tension filled the air as she looked between the two.
A dangerous glint was coming into Gary’s eyes as he stepped forward. “Yeah. You can help by getting the hell out of my business and staying the hell away from my woman.”
She could smell the fighting hormones in the air and couldn’t fully trust the men to control themselves. “Just bumped into the table. It was an accident.” She stepped between the two.
Akeem said nothing, just straightened the table then squatted for the china shards, placing them in his palm. It appeared that, for her sake, he wasn’t going to push the situation, but he wasn’t going to leave her alone with Gary again, either.
Which meant that Gary shouldn’t stay. She couldn’t count on him not to pick a fight, and she couldn’t handle that now on top of everything else. But she couldn’t in good conscience send him home in his car. He was a jerk, but he was Christopher’s father. And even if he weren’t, nobody should drive in his condition. Him not caring about his own life was one thing, but there were others on the road.
She glanced toward the main house through the open door where the cops were probably all set up for whatever call might come in. God, she couldn’t think about that. She pressed the heel of her palm to her sternum. She wanted to stay here, needed to stay here. She took Gary by the elbow. “I’ll get someone to drive you home.”
He shrugged her off. “Like hell,” he muttered and was about to say more, but her cell phone’s sharp ring cut him off.
Everyone went still, the tension doubling in the room, which was a feat, all considered. Her fingers trembled as she flipped the phone open and lifted it to her ear.
“I want you to bring the cash to Route 109, keep driving until further instruction. We’ll be expecting you on Thursday morning, at seven. Come alone or your son dies. Tell anyone and your son dies. Be late and your son dies. Get the picture here?”
Her throat was so tight she could barely say the single word, “Yes.”
Today was Monday, was all she could think. She couldn’t bear the thought of them having Christopher for three more days. He was just a little kid. Didn’t they realize what they were doing to him? Didn’t they know that he might never fully recover from this ordeal? And even three days…
“I don’t think I can get that much money that fast.” She knew for sure, in fact. Flint had money and would give it to her without question—and this once, she wasn’t too proud to ask—but he didn’t keep his money in cash. She knew—she handled his accounts. He kept some cash for emergencies but nowhere near two million dollars. His money was in horses and land, neither of which could be made liquid in a matter of days.