The Bribe (Calamity Montana)
The Bribe: Chapter 9

“I GOTTA GO.” Duke dropped his lips to mine.

“Not yet.” I latched on to his roped triceps, holding him before he could leave, and dragged my tongue across the seam of his lips.

He growled, dropped the bag he’d been holding and framed my face in his hands, taking the kiss to the next level.

I melted into him, wishing the sun weren’t up and he didn’t have to go to work.

Duke tore his lips away and dropped his forehead to mine. “Tonight. My house. I’ll text you the address.”

I panted. “Okay.”

“And we’re going to talk.”

I held back an internal cringe and nodded.

He kissed me once more, then swiped up his backpack and walked across the porch, jogging down the steps as I watched from the doorway.

I waved as he reversed his truck out of the driveway and down the gravel road.

My lips were raw. I was sore in places I hadn’t been sore in a long time. And I was unabashedly sated. This would be the perfect Thursday morning if not for the growing pit of dread in my stomach.

“Because Duke wants to talk,” I muttered, closing the door.

And I most definitely did not.

Sex had been an excellent way to avoid conversation this past week.

That or maybe Duke sensed I needed a reprieve and wasn’t ready. He’d given me time and so many orgasms I’d lost count, but his patience had been waning over the past few days.

Maybe if I showed up at his house wearing a coat and only a coat, I could buy myself just one more day.

Probably not.

Tomorrow was his day off and the one-week mark to our relationship. We hadn’t gone to his house yet, but I suspected he was going to trap me there until he knew everything there was to know about my past and why I’d come to Calamity.

I went to the kitchen for another cup of coffee, then took my mug to the living room, curling up in the couch and looking out the front window. Sunbeams streamed through the glass. Birds chirped, welcoming the new day.

Sleep had been sparse the past week thanks to Duke, and my eyes were heavy. He’d stayed here every night since the bar. He’d go to work during the day, then come here for dinner and spend the night exhausting me into a dreamless sleep. Despite the coffee, I’d been falling asleep in this exact spot every morning, indulging in a pre-breakfast nap.

One of the hidden gems in this whole run-away-from-your-life-and-create-a-fake-identity scheme was that I had nowhere to be. My habit of being perpetually late had cured itself thanks to the circumstances.

I closed my eyes, savoring nature’s peaceful morning song, and was ready to snooze when my phone rang in the pocket of my hoodie. I jolted up, sloshing a dollop of coffee onto my lap.

“Damn.” I blotted it with my sleeve.

Duke hadn’t learned about another one of my habits, that I spilled on myself constantly. That I’d made it through a cheeseburger and fries at the bar unscathed had been a miracle—though I’d refused to go anywhere near the ketchup bottle.

I dug out my phone, not surprised to see Everly’s name on the screen. The device only had two contacts, hers and Duke’s.

“Hey.” I smiled as I answered.

“You’re not dead. Then you’d better have a good explanation for not calling me yesterday or answering my texts last night.”

Oh, shit. “Sorry. I was, um . . . preoccupied.”

Everly and I had agreed to keep contact to a minimum, at least while I was getting settled and the media storm around my disappearance was blowing over.

I’d promised to check in every Wednesday, something I’d forgotten yesterday because apparently regular naps and sex were not only a good way to avoid conversation but also to forget you hadn’t called your best friend.

“Preoccupied?” she asked. “With what? Last week you said you were bored out of your mind.”

“About that. I sort of found something”—someone—“to fill my time. Do you remember Duke?”

“The hot cop from Yellowstone? Yeah. His face is a hard one to forget. Wait. Did you leave Montana? Are you in Wyoming?”

“No, still in Montana. It turns out he’s the sheriff here in Calamity.”

“No. Way.” She laughed. “Only you. So I assume you two are hooking up? You were getting laid last night, weren’t you? That was why you didn’t answer my texts.”

I giggled. “I was most definitely getting laid.”

“Bitch. How do you go into hiding and land a hot cop the first week? You and your lucky breaks.”

Everly was teasing but that didn’t stop the twinge of guilt from hitting hard.

When it came to my career, I’d had lucky break after lucky break. Everly and I had both wanted to be singers. As little girls, we’d sung together while playing on the swings or combing our Barbies’ hair. I’d found my way to the spotlight, thanks to luck. Meanwhile, she was chasing the same dream, and luck had given her the cold shoulder. But she hadn’t let it get her down. She worked her ass off and wasn’t giving up.

Maybe if I wasn’t there to catch the breaks, they’d fall into her lap instead.

I hoped so. Everly was a talented singer. She had the pipes and the natural talent. She wasn’t into songwriting like I was, but she loved to sing, and if she found a song to take her to the top, she’d soar.

And the horrors I’d survived, the ones she’d witnessed firsthand, would keep her from making my same mistakes. From trusting the wrong people. From letting the world turn so upside down that her only choice was to run.

Run far. Run fast.

I was lucky though. I’d run straight into the arms of a good man.

“There’s more,” I said. “He, um, knows who I am.”

The line was silent. I pulled the phone away from my ear waiting for the—

“What?” she shrieked. “How could you tell him? That went completely against our plan. What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t tell him. He pulled me over the day I got here.”

“Christ, Lucy. Running late?”

“Yes.” My best friend knew me well. “Duke won’t tell anyone.”

“How do you know? He could be feeding you to the tabloids for a check. Do you have an exit plan? What are you going to do if a bunch of reporters shows up in Montana?”

“No, I don’t have an exit plan. But Duke isn’t like that. He won’t tell.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” There wasn’t a sliver of doubt in my mind.

Duke wouldn’t betray me.

“He doesn’t know what happened yet,” I told her. “But I’m planning on telling him.” Tonight, unless I could barter orgasms for more time.

She blew out a deep breath. “I don’t like this. I’m not trying to be mean here, so don’t get mad at me for what I’m about to say.”

“What?” I braced.

“You’re too trusting.”

She meant Meghan. And she wasn’t wrong. I had been too trusting.

Everly had never liked my assistant. I’d chalked it up to best-friend jealousy because Meghan and I had been close, but I should have listened.

I opened my mouth to tell her that Duke was different, but no matter how much I defended him, Everly would still worry. “I’ll be careful.”

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not.” I sighed. She was only looking out for my safety. “Anything else happen lately?”

“Nothing new. I’m still getting calls from reporters and I’m just sticking to the story.” The story that we’d invented together on our living room couch—I’d moved out and Everly wasn’t sure where I’d gone. “I don’t know if people are buying it but eventually they’ll get sick of the same answer.”

“Sorry for making you deal with it.”

“I don’t mind. You’ve dealt with enough,” she said. “Scott called. Five times.”

“He can go to hell.”

She laughed. “Funny. That was exactly what I told him too.”

“Ev. You can’t do that.”

Scott wasn’t her producer, because she wasn’t with a label, only singing freelance at the moment, but he was famous in Nashville. And he could crush her career, blacklisting her at any label with a single email.

“I don’t care. If Scott wants to try and sink my career, I’ll tell the world what he did. And I’ll call his wife.”

Something I wish I had the guts to do. Instead, I’d taken the high road to Montana.

“Have you looked on social media?” she asked.

“Once.” I’d ventured onto Twitter Monday, and after reading seven speculative threads, I’d closed the app. “Apparently I’m either in rehab or I had a mental break. One troll posted that I had to quit because Meghan had been the actual singer and I was only lip-synching her stuff.”

“People are assholes.”

“Truth. It doesn’t matter. I’m Jade Morgan now.”

“And how is Jade doing?” There was genuine concern in Everly’s voice. “Are you holding up okay?”

I glanced out the window, taking in the spectacular view of towering mountains in the distance and rolling fields of green and gold in the valley. “I think I found the right spot.”

It had only been a week, but I felt more at peace here than I had in years in Nashville. Maybe it was the lighter schedule. Maybe it was the quiet. Maybe it was Duke. Whatever the reason, Calamity was making its mark, gathering up the little pieces of my soul that had been shattered. Day by day, those broken shards were knitting together, forming a new me.

Jade.

“I miss you,” Everly said.

“I miss you too. Tell me what’s happening with you.”

We talked for an hour about the album she’d been working on for months. Next week, she had time in a studio to start recording. She hummed the melody to one of her favorite songs, then gave me a couple of options for a hook and asked me which I liked best. I listened, rapt, ignoring the piece of my heart that longed to be in her place.

I still hadn’t been able to bring myself to think about music yet. For years, I’d open my mouth and the first thing that escaped was music. For weeks, since Meghan, there’d only been silence.

After Everly and I said our goodbyes, I skipped my nap and wandered upstairs for a long shower, then spent the day tidying the farmhouse.

And fretting.

Everly’s concern had come from the heart, but it sent my head into a tailspin. Was I too trusting? Yes. Should I have an exit plan? I couldn’t imagine leaving Calamity at the moment. But what if reporters did show up looking for a story? The farmhouse was secluded and isolated. One of the reasons I adored it was because it was nice to have space. But if a news truck pulled into my driveway, I’d be stuck.

Once the cleaning was done, I pulled out my laptop and logged in to each and every one of my social media accounts. Without checking them, I deleted all my notifications and messages just in case.

Then I sat in front of the TV, not paying any attention to the sitcom on the screen as one hour passed into two. The paranoia I’d had my first days in Calamity had returned. I drew the blinds over the living room window to hide. To worry about what was to come.

Tonight, Duke would ask the questions I didn’t want to answer. I’d relive the fear and pain of the past six months, something I wanted to avoid, even if it only lasted minutes.

I knew him well enough to predict his reaction. He’d get mad. He’d want to step in and help. And I’d have to beg him to leave it be. I only wanted it to disappear.

My phone dinged, a text from Duke with his address and a note to come over whenever I was ready.

Stalling would only make this harder, so I shoved off the couch and walked out the door, taking my purse, which I’d stocked with a few things to spend the night, and driving across town.

My fingers drummed on the wheel, my anxiety spiking, as I followed my navigation app. I’d pictured him living in town, nestled in a quiet neighborhood, surrounded by the community that he loved so much. But Duke’s house was on the edge of Calamity, where neighbors had space from one another. The properties on this road were bordered by open wheat fields.

Duke’s turnoff was marked with a boulder, his house number etched into the stone. I nudged my Rover off the street and onto a driveway lined with trees. Beyond their trunks was a lush and sprawling lawn. The gravel crunched under my tires as I drove past tree after tree, the towering branches and green leaves providing a canopy down the straight lane.

Then his house appeared and a wave of surprise shoved my worries aside. His home was not at all as I’d expected.

This was no bachelor pad. This was a home. A family’s home. I parked in front of a three-car garage with a sturdy basketball hoop standing in the cement pad beside the third bay. Two whiskey barrels with potted petunias bracketed the hoop’s base, the yellow and white blooms in desperate need of deadheading.

Opposite the garage was the house itself. The brick on the rambling rancher had been painted white. The cedar shutters had been stained a chocolate brown that matched the pillars on the front stoop.

Who knew my boyfriend was so trendy?

The front door opened as I hopped out of the Rover. Duke stepped out, still wearing his olive-green sheriff’s shirt tucked into a pair of jeans, but he’d taken off his boots and was standing barefoot on the welcome mat.

He looked so domestic and relaxed. His arms were crossed over his chest and he leaned against the door’s frame, his lazy stance belying the sharp eyes eating up every one of my steps across the sidewalk.

I’d opted for a pair of skintight jeans and a tank top with thin straps that crisscrossed at my shoulders.

No bra.

He’d soon find out I hadn’t bothered with panties either.

“Nice place, Sheriff.”

He grinned as I stepped in close and stood on my toes, waiting for him to come the extra inch.

Duke unfolded his arms and took my face, kissing me much like he had on my own threshold this morning, leaving me breathless and smiling and aching for more. He boggled my mind and tangled up my heart in the best possible way.

Never in my life had I longed to be with a person the way I craved Duke’s presence. I’d take him every minute of every day. I was hoarding our moments together, locking them deep in my heart.

Just in case it all came crumbling down.

“How was your day?” I asked when he let me go.

“Fine. Normal. I did paperwork all day and fielded three phone calls from city council members who were checking in after last week’s crash. They wanted to make sure Grayson was doing all right.”

“Aww. That’s nice.”

He shrugged. “Just how things are in my town. We look out for one another.”

My town. Someday I wanted to call it my town too. Maybe it already was.

“How is Grayson?”

“Doing all right. I’m keeping a close eye.” Duke took the purse from my hand and slung it over his shoulder. Then he gripped my hand and led me into his house.

The smell of garlic filled my nostrils as I stepped inside. Past a rug in the entryway and a line of empty coat hooks, hardwood floors led us to the kitchen. A large window overlooked the sink, which was probably where Duke had been standing when he’d spotted me coming down the drive.

An island in the center of the kitchen made the room a horseshoe. The cabinets were white, the countertops a speckled granite. My fingers begged to run themselves over the glossy surface. “This is beautiful.”

Duke set my bag in a small nook beside a tall cabinet I assumed was the pantry. “I bought this place years ago and have been slowly fixing it up.”

“Did you do this yourself?”

“Nah. Kase, my buddy who owns a construction company in town, did all of it. He did the design stuff too, so don’t give me any credit. My only requirement was that it was updated, comfortable and functional. I didn’t really care to pick through paint samples and carpet swatches, so I recruited my sister and she worked with Kase to design it all.”

“Ah. Well, your sister has lovely taste.”

“I’ll pass that along.”

Two things melted me in that moment. One, that Duke would talk about me to his sister. That I was significant enough for him to share with his family. And two, that Duke had created a home. A sanctuary to live in, not show off.

I’d been surrounded by material people for years. Everything was about the size of their house and the model of their car. The label hosted an annual Christmas party and I’d walk in the room and be instantly sized up. People who needed to up their social status would bring me glasses of champagne and compliment me on my dress. Those who thought I was beneath them would turn up their nose and snicker at my lack of jewels.

Duke’s humble roots were winding around my ankles and I was loving their firm grip.

“I’ll give you the tour later,” he said. “The main floor’s been done for about two years. But be warned, the basement is still the original eighties style because the only thing down there is my home gym and I don’t care much about the wallpaper when I’m working out.”

“Now I can’t wait to see it.”

He grinned at me and jerked his chin to the fridge. “Water and beer are in there. I picked up a bottle of red if you want that instead.”

I spotted an amber beer bottle beside the sink so I helped myself to the same. “Can I help?”

“No. You just relax.”

“That’s all I’ve done today.” That and worry. But I stayed on my side of the island, sipping from my beer as he threw a towel over his shoulder and dug out a cutting board and knife. Then he started pulling vegetables and a bundle of lettuce from the refrigerator. “What are we having?”

“Steaks are ready for the grill. Potatoes are in the oven. Thought I’d whip up a salad too.”

“You can cook?”

“I can cook,” he said as he began slicing a tomato. Judging by the smell of the potatoes roasting, dinner would be delicious.

He chopped in his bare feet, looking sexy and charming and completely at ease in the kitchen. Knowing that he was king of this house like he was king of the town was a total turn-on. One day, if the music returned, I was absolutely writing a song about this man.

Duke Evans deserved one hell of a song.

I wanted to immortalize him into lyrics. The same way I’d done for my father.

“My dad cooked,” I said. “Not all the time but often. He loved coming home early from work a few days a week and beating Mom to the kitchen. He’d strap on her floral apron and go to town, make something fancy for us.”

“What was your favorite thing he cooked?”

“Tacos. They weren’t fancy but Mom loved tacos. And Dad loved Mom so we ate a lot of tacos.”

I smiled, thinking about how he’d pull out her chair and drape a napkin over her lap. Then he’d bring her a plate of tacos and act like it was escargot.

“My parents had this silly little thing,” I continued. “My dad was the master of cheesy, over-the-top gestures. If there was a chance it could make my mom blush and giggle, he’d do it. Then afterward, he’d ask her if it was cheesy enough. She’d rate him on a scale of cheddar at best”—I raised my hand above my head, then lowered it past my waist—“to American singles at worst.”

“Because that’s not really cheese.”

“Exactly.” I pictured Mom’s smile when she broke the news that his efforts were mediocre mozzarella. And heard Dad’s laugh when he scored the elusive holy swiss.

Duke set down his knife and braced his hands on the counter. “What happened to them?”

“Car accident. It was about three months after I moved to Nashville. They went out to a movie one night and never came home.”

He dropped his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I shouldn’t have told you about the accident.” His jaw clenched. “Probably brought it all back. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. I was happy to listen.”

He shook his head, pinning me with his blue eyes. “It’s time, baby.”

“For the potatoes?”

“No.” He came around the island and put his hands on my shoulders. “Time for you to tell me what’s going on.”

“Oh,” I muttered.

“Gotta know what I’m dealing with here.” His thumbs stroked my skin. “I wanted to give you some time. Give us some time to just sink into this thing. But I don’t like that I’m walking through a minefield with a blindfold on.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath, ready to launch into it from the beginning, when the doorbell rang.

Duke’s eyebrows came together and he dropped his hands, tugging the towel off his shoulder. He tossed it behind him to the island, then he strode from the room, leaving me and my beer with a short reprieve.

Why was I so nervous about telling him my story? When I’d told Everly that I trusted Duke, I’d meant it. There was no way that man would betray me. But a part of me wanted to keep my secrets locked up tight. Maybe I feared he’d think less of me.

Yes, I’d been stupid. I’d given up too much control to the wrong people. A woman was dead and it was because of me.

But it hadn’t been my fault. None of it had been my fault. At least, that was what I’d been telling myself for weeks.

So why did I feel so guilty?

“You walked here?” Duke’s voice carried down the hallway, echoing before his footsteps. He came around the corner from the entryway but he wasn’t alone.

Travis followed behind him. “Mom grounded me from the car.”

“Why?”

“Because I—” The second he spotted me in the kitchen, Travis’s face turned to stone. He must not have realized it was my car in the driveway. I doubted he’d make that mistake again.

“You remember Jade?” Duke nodded to me as he went back to his cutting board.

“Yeah.”

“Hi.” I smiled and waved, hoping a friendly face would thaw the boy a bit.

It didn’t.

He scowled at me and then glared at Duke. “Is she here for dinner?”

Duke answered with a hard glare. Had it been aimed at me, I would have dropped to my knees and begged for sweet mercy.

Travis wasn’t fazed. Without a word, he spun around and stormed out of the house, marking his exit by slamming the door.

I jerked and, when the sound stopped reverberating through the house, looked at Duke. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to come between you two.”

“Don’t apologize. He’s going to have to deal.”

“Okay,” I muttered, feeling like a wedge driving a boy and his role model apart.

Duke returned to cooking and though he didn’t admit to it, Travis’s attitude dampened his mood. He chopped the salad toppings with a bit too much force, squishing the tomatoes with every slice. He yanked the pan of potatoes from the oven to give the spuds a turn, almost rolling one onto the floor.

And the conversation from before Travis had arrived was over.

It was probably for the best. It would be hard enough to tell Duke when he was in a good mood. Grumpy Duke would freak the fuck out.

When Duke went outside to grill the steaks, I followed him to the deck. “Would Travis normally have stayed for dinner?”

He nodded. “Yeah. He comes over once or twice a week. We eat. Play hoops or watch a game.”

The comfort and ease with which Travis had entered the house spoke of how many times he’d come here. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey.” Duke came over and wrapped me in his arms. “Don’t. I want you here. Travis will come around.”

“But—”

“Lucy, it’s fine.” He let me go long enough to drop a kiss to my lips. “Let’s forget about it. Have dinner. Go to bed.”

“Are you going to ask me to stay?”

“Wasn’t planning on asking but you’re definitely staying.”

I smiled. “Good thing I brought my toothbrush.”

Sex would take his mind off Travis.

And buy me one more day to avoid the inevitable conversation.

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