Can't Hardly Breathe. Gena ShowalterЧитать онлайн книгу.
the bar. She’d moved in a couple years ago to take care of Earl, who’d later died of cancer.
What seemed to be millions of cars littered the parking lot. Inside the smoky, two-story warehouse, crowds of people stretched wall-to-wall. A few months ago, Ryanne had begun selling a house-made fruit cocktail moonshine; now patrons came to the Scratching Post in droves.
Directly behind the counter, a narrow hallway led to offices as well as a secret stairwell guarded by a weathered door and some kind of weird-looking digital lock. Lyndie punched in the code known to very few people, and together they climbed to the top, where they found another lock. This time, Lyndie knocked.
When you lived above a bar, you had to take precautions.
“Come in,” Ryanne called from inside.
Lyndie punched in a second code and entered the apartment, Dorothea at her heels. The sound of clanging pots and pans drew them across the great room and into a spacious, industrial kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances, everything chrome or stainless steel.
The scent of maple and bacon saturated the air, and her mouth watered. Her stomach growled.
The gorgeous Ryanne bustled from stove to sink. She had long, dark hair, even darker eyes and flawless golden-brown skin. In a pink tank top and skinny jeans, her hourglass figure was on perfect display.
A cloud of steam rose from the pan, painting her in a dreamy haze as she looked up and smiled in welcome. “Good girl, Lyndie. You managed to corral us a wild filly.”
Me? Wild?
“Yes, ma’am, I surely did.” Lyndie patted herself on the back. “I didn’t even have to hog-tie her.”
Dorothea loved seeing the reserved redhead come out of her shell. “I’m not that bad,” she said, only to sigh. “Okay, I’m worse. Sorry.”
“Hey. Don’t worry about it. We understand.” Lyndie gave one of Dorothea’s fallen curls a tug. “Your heart is still in the process of mending.”
She offered a half smile, which was all she could currently manage. Lyndie and Ryanne knew the bare bones about her past: she’d gotten married and divorced after Jazz cheated on her. The pair had no idea she’d discovered the affair only because Jazz’s girlfriend had wanted Dorothea out of the picture. They had no idea she’d walked in on the couple mid-act and had run out of the apartment in horror—only to fall down a flight of stairs.
And lose her baby.
A knot tangled in her throat. Don’t think about the baby.
Too late. The memories had been banging on the door of her mind, waiting for a chance to overtake her. She’d been five months pregnant, but because of a wonky cycle and a few extra pounds, she had only just found out.
Falling down the stairs had caused her to deliver her precious baby prematurely. Though the little girl was already dead, she’d had to give her a name. She’d chosen Rose. Rose Holly Connors.
Rose...dead...beyond hope.
A pang in her chest. Dorothea flattened a hand over the tattoo on her breast. She would forever carry her baby close to her heart.
If Rose had survived, she might be walking by now. Pang. If she’d gone to term, she might be crawling. PANG.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Lyndie asked her.
“Excuse me. I need to use the bathroom.” Fighting tears, Dorothea shut herself inside the small enclosure. After splashing cold water on her face, she breathed in and out with purpose until her heart rate calmed and the pangs subsided.
By the time she rejoined her friends, she had her wayward thoughts back under lock and key.
Lyndie smiled at her before settling on a chair behind the counter. “You and me, Dorothea, we’re the first two members of the very exclusive Broken Hearts Club. Ryanne, honey, you need to pick a man, marry him, then have your heart broken by losing him. Then you can join us.”
Ryanne munched on a crunchy piece of bacon. “Sounds like a perfectly sane reason to begin and end a marriage. Consider me on board.”
Dorothea sat next to Lyndie and raised her hand, as if she were a student eager to give an answer. “Oh! Oh! I get to be your maid of honor, and I get first pick at the groomsmen.”
Her dark eyes sparkled. “Sorry, chica, but me and my imaginary guy are eloping. There’s no way I’m doing the white dress and flowers thing.” She shuddered with distaste. “I’m saving my money to travel the world and—Wait a sec. Did you say you want to do a groomsman?”
“Ohhh. Good catch.” Lyndie bumped Dorothea’s shoulder. “Spill!”
“Okay, okay, but first...” She extended her hand to shake. “Let me introduce you to New Dorothea. I’m fun, spontaneous and wild, and I plan to hook me a man-fish. A really hot one!” Daniel had turned her down, yes, but there were other man-fish in the Testosterone Sea. “My first requirement is easy. He has to live in the city.”
No one else in Strawberry Valley would see her naked. That way, she could walk the streets with her head held high rather than cringing in embarrassment.
“Hook you a—” Ryanne burst out laughing, and Lyndie grinned.
The sight of her friends’ amusement warmed Dorothea. As much as she’d missed the town, she’d missed this. No, she’d missed this more. Since her return, she’d mostly stayed cooped up inside the inn, too afraid to live, blaming her shattered relationship with Holly and her failure with Jazz. No more!
“You got anyone in particular in mind?” Ryanne asked.
Her cheeks flamed with heat. “Not yet.” Next time, she would pick a sure thing. For a relationship, not just sex. She would prove to Holly—and herself!—that men could stick around for the long haul.
Lyndie leaned over to snag a piece of bacon. “How can we help?”
“I don’t know. Point out the good ones, I guess?” So far, her bait had only hooked a shark.
“Whoa.” Ryanne spread her arms. “You’re saying good guys aren’t just a myth, like assassin werewolves and millionaire vampires?”
Lyndie snorted. This time, Dorothea was the one to laugh. Ryanne had always loved video games involving fantastical nocturnal creatures.
“Good can be a mask for evil,” Lyndie said when Dorothea sobered. “If you find an honorable man—hello, oxymoron—never let go.”
“I won’t have to worry about hanging on to him,” Dorothea replied. “Because he’ll be too busy clinging to me!”
Ryanne wiggled her brows before pouring a glass of orange juice. “I bet there will be plenty of hotties at the spring festival next month. You guys going? Way I hear it, Daniel Porter’s company is overseeing security, and Jase Hollister, Beck Ockley and Lincoln West are bringing friends to run the kissing booth.”
Beck Ockley, the husband of Harlow Glass.
He’s so rich, her mom once said, he buys a new boat whenever he gets the old one wet. Too bad he’s as dumb as a box of rocks. Only a fool would choose to spend the rest of his life with a woman like Harlow.
Carol refused to believe Harlow had changed. “Maybe,” Dorothea finally said. Not to see Daniel in action, of course, but to check out that kissing booth. “Scratch that. Yes.” She nodded. “I’m going, and you guys are, too.”
Lyndie’s nod held a scootch less enthusiasm. “Fine. I’ll be your incompetent wingwoman.”
“Bet I’ll be more incompetent than you.” Ryanne grabbed a carton of milk and a stick of butter from the fridge and asked Dorothea, “How do you want your eggs?”
Mimicking a meme she’d read earlier, she said, “In a cake, please.” She’d run five miles this morning,