Storm Warning, Season 2, Episode 2 Read online

  Patrick would have loved to have seen that. Logan hated making frou-frou drinks. “See? She was sending you subliminal messages.”

  Logan snorted. “Speaking of screaming orgasms, what’s going on with you and Marisol?”

  Patrick automatically looked around for her, found her across the yard near the badminton net with Marcus’s aunt, Hannah Grossman, Patrick’s cousin Tara, and a man he’d never seen before. They were all laughing at something he said, Marisol most of all.

  “Nothing,” Patrick muttered. “Literally nothing is going on with Marisol. I want more than she seems willing to give.” Although she seemed to be perfectly willing to give that stranger her undivided attention. And that laugh had to be fake. It was too perky. Flirty.

  Marisol was a lot of things...beautiful, smart, thoughtful...but she was not flirty.

  “So are you guys together? Not together? Friends with benefits?” Logan waved his hand in front of Patrick’s face, dragging his attention away from Marisol and the comedian. “Hey. You with me?”

  “Sorry.” He jerked his head toward Marisol. “Who is that guy talking to her?”

  Logan craned his neck and nodded. “That’s Ian Briggs. He’s the dude Marcus worked for in Montana.”

  “That’s him?” Patrick scrutinized him a little more, from his black jeans and shirt to his dark, wavy hair. “I’d heard he was in town. But I thought he’d be different.”

  “Different?”

  “You know, older. And ugly. Fat, maybe.”

  Logan laughed. “You’re just jealous because he’s hitting on the woman you may or may not have a relationship with.”

  “Funny, Logan. You’re hilarious.” Like Ian Briggs, the stand-up comedian. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to use the bathroom, and then I’m going to go rescue her.”

  Logan choked on his beer with a little too much drama and laughter. “From what? A good-looking, rich guy who’s built like an underwear model? Sure. Good luck with that.”

  Patrick flipped his brother the bird as he walked off, but he cringed when he saw his cousin Tara’s husband and the pastor of their church, Bryce, shooting him a scathing look. A scathing look that turned to flat-out anger when little Danny, walking next to his father, parroted Patrick and raised his middle finger back at him.

  Great. He was never going to hear the end of this. He could hear Bryce’s sermon already, and he hadn’t had a drop of tequila.

  Chapter Five

  When Brittany agreed to meet Marcus at the Johnson barbecue, it had only been because neither Ginny nor her father would be there. So when she’d seen Sebastian’s sporty little Mercedes parked along the side of the driveway, she’d nearly turned around and left. It was bad enough living with him after everything he’d done; she didn't want to see him during her personal time as well.

  People milled around, hands full of food or drinks as country music blared and smoke from the pig roast and a barbecue grill billowed into the clear sky. Balloons tied to the backs of chairs bopped in the breeze, reminding her of how she and Ginny had always volunteered to help set up, and their favorite thing to do was the balloons.

  A pang of sadness clenched in her chest. She missed Ginny so much. There was a hole in her life that nothing, not even Marcus, could fill. But every time she started to soften toward her former friend, she pictured her in bed with Brittany’s father, and all the anger and betrayal came roaring back.

  At least the anger numbed the pain.

  She strode across the grassy lawn toward the rows of picnic tables, raising her hand to wave at her aunt Celeste and Mary Louise Prager. Smiling despite the fact that her father was lurking somewhere, she dropped her arm and nearly bumped into some lady’s back. She instinctively opened her mouth to apologize, but snapped it shut when she realized the woman with a phone to her ear was her grandmother.

  “I just sent you two new photos,” Marylee said, her voice cracking like a whip. “Things are getting critical here. You’re needed.” With that, she tucked her phone into her purse, and Brittany hurried in the opposite direction.

  Marcus jogged toward her, and her heart fluttered. They’d been dating for a few months now, but she felt this way every time she saw him.

  “Hey.” He slowed, and she hastily took his hand.

  “Just keep walking,” she said, speaking in a near whisper. “I don’t want my grandmother to see us—”

  “Brittany.” Her grandmother’s shrill voice called out, and she groaned as she turned around. Marylee raked her gaze up and down Marcus’s body, her mouth pinched in disapproval. “Oh. Hello, Marcus, I didn’t realize you were working today.”

  “He’s not working,” Brittany ground out.

  “Of course.” Her hand fluttered up to her pearl necklace, the epitome of overly dramatic pearl-clutching. “I’m so sorry. Sometimes it’s hard to tell when one is dressed for tending cattle.”

  Clearly, the gloves were off and her family wasn’t even pretending to tolerate Marcus. He squeezed her hand, a silent message to not engage. For some reason, he didn’t want her to fight with her family about him, especially in public. So as much as she wanted to go off on her grandmother for the passive-aggressive insult, she let it go.

  For now.

  “Why are you even here?” she asked. “You think barbecues are dirty, smoky, and crawling with bugs.” Even as Brittany said it, Marylee swatted at a mosquito.

  “Your father and I stopped by with some staffing and advisor recommendations for Tate. I was just leaving.”

  “Good. No one wants you here.”

  Marylee’s eyes turned icy. “Young lady,” she snapped. “Your father and I have put up with your insolence for months now because of...the situation. But it’s about time you—”

  “The situation?” Brittany broke in, incredulous. “That’s what you’re calling it?” She laughed bitterly.

  “As I was saying,” Marylee said in her imperious, scolding voice that used to make Brittany shake in her shoes, “it’s time for you to grow up and start thinking of someone besides yourself for once. I am your grandmother, and I deserve respect.”

  The I-am-the-family-matriarch-and-you-must-bend-to-my-will thing would have worked on Brittany only a year ago. But so much had changed since then. She’d had her world turned upside down and her eyes opened, and in the new, harsh reality she now lived in, her grandmother was a villain.

  “I’m sorry, Grandmother, but I can barely look at you and my father, let alone respect you.” She yanked on Marcus’s hand and dragged him away from there before she started screaming.

  “I need a drink,” she growled, but Marcus pulled her in the opposite direction of the beverage table.

  “I have a better idea,” he said. “This way.”

  She let him lead her down the path toward the stables, fuming the entire way. She was so angry, in fact, that when they walked around to the rear of the stables, she nearly ran into Kristin Douglas as she slipped out of one of the side doors.

  “Brittany!” Kristin’s cheeks went beet red as she clutched her chest in flustered surprise. “Hi. I was just...you know, looking at the horses. I’ll see you back up at the house.” She brushed past them and hurried up the path.

  “Was that weird?” Brit glanced between Kristin’s retreating form and Marcus. “That was weird, right?”

  “Which part?” He twined his fingers with hers and led her around back.

  Figuring his question was rhetorical, she didn’t answer. She was too busy trying to not step in horse crap.

  “Where are we going?” The earthy smell of horses and dirt and wood filled the air more strongly with every step. “Why didn’t we go through the front?”

  “Because this entrance will take us inside the hay room.” He grinned as they ducked through the door. “I wanted a little privacy.”

  “Oh—!” She broke off as he spun her against a wall of hay and then pressed his long, lean body against hers. “Oh.”

  His smile made her sw
oon—honest to god swoon. The impish glint in his mocha eyes said he knew it. He was so cocky sometimes.

  She loved it.

  She loved it even more when he dipped his head and kissed her like there weren’t fifty people roaming around outside. He tasted like powdered sugar and almonds, which meant Marisol must have brought a batch of cookies to the barbecue, but there was nothing sweet about what he was doing with his tongue.

  Suddenly, he broke off the kiss. “Did you hear that?” He cranked his head around, and from over his shoulder she got a glimpse of someone slipping out of the stable.

  “Who was that?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Ranch hand, maybe. I didn’t get a good look.”

  Realization dawned, and she grinned. “I’ll bet that was why Kristin acted so strangely. She was out here with a man.”

  One dark eyebrow shot up. “You think?”

  “I hope.” She trailed her finger over the hard planes of his chest, wishing they were somewhere much more private. “She seems lonely.”

  “I’m lonely too.” A naughty grin turned up the corners of his mouth as he swept her into the sectioned-off area at the back of the stables and lifted her onto a stack of baled hay. He remained standing, moving to settle himself between her spread legs. One hand came up to caress her cheek as he leaned in, bringing his mouth to hers...

  “Marcus?” Joanne’s voice rang out, and they froze. “Are you here?”

  Marcus put his finger to Brittany’s lips and shook his head. His message was clear; he didn’t want to spoil this time alone, not even for his mother.

  “Joanne?” The new voice belonged to Dillon Murphy. Ugh. Was the party moving to the freaking stables?

  “Dillon.” Joanne sounded winded all of a sudden. “What are you doing here?”

  Heavy footsteps thudded on the concrete floor. “I followed you.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  The footsteps came to a halt. “Well, why are you here?”

  “I dropped off some paperwork for Tate.” There was a tremor in Joanne’s voice now. Was she nervous?

  Very quietly, Marcus peeled away from Brittany and climbed up on the hay bale stack to peek over the top. She joined him so they were shoulder to shoulder, looking down on where Dillon and Joanne were standing a foot apart, their body language indicating that there was more going on here than just a casual conversation.

  “But why are you in the stable?” Dillon asked.

  “I’m looking for Marcus.” Joanne gave a cursory glance around. “Travis said he saw him here.”

  Travis? Brittany frowned. She hadn’t even seen her uncle yet, let alone here at the stables. Had Travis been the man they’d seen slipping out of the building?

  “Why are you looking for Marcus?”

  Joanne huffed at Dillon’s question. “Is this an interrogation, Sheriff? Are you looking for Marcus? Because he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “Whoa.” Dillon’s head snapped back. “Joanne, what’s going on? Where is this coming from?” When she didn’t answer, just looked away, Dillon reached out and tilted her face toward him in a gentle, loving gesture that stole Brittany’s breath. “Hey. Whatever it is, you can trust me.”

  “When I’m with you, I can’t trust myself,” she whispered.

  Brittany glanced at Marcus for his reaction, but his expression was unreadable. When she looked back to the couple, she let out a surprised gasp at the sight of Joanne and Dillon kissing. It only lasted a few seconds before Joanne shoved away from Dillon, her face etched with misery.

  “I’m sorry,” she rasped. “I can’t do this. I’m married.”

  Dillon stepped closer, not giving an inch. “Hector’s gone, Joanne. You’re free.”

  “No, I’m not.” Her voice was pleading. Desperate. It broke Brittany’s heart. “There’s such a huge focus on our family now. I can’t be seen with you, and I refuse to sneak around.”

  “You can get a divorce,” Dillon said, a note of desperation in his voice now. “Even if you can’t locate your spouse, you can file. I checked.”

  Joanne smiled, but it faltered within seconds. “I still need to stay away from you. If Hector were to ever find out we’ve kissed, if he came back...” She shook her head, and at her side, her hand trembled. “He’d kill you.”

  “Joanne—”

  “Don’t.” She held up her hand to stop him. “I need to go home. I’ll talk to Marcus later.”

  “Wait. You never said why you’re upset.”

  She hesitated, but a few heartbeats later, she dug into her purse and pulled out her phone.

  “It’s about Marcus.” She handed it to Dillon. “I wanted him to see this news piece before somebody blindsides him.”

  “Jesus,” he murmured. “This is...bad.”

  “Those damned Rushes,” Joanne said, and Brittany’s gut twisted. What had her family done now? “I wish I still worked for Marylee so I could scrub the toilet with her toothbrush, fill her shampoo bottle with hair remover cream, and then quit my job when all the phones are ringing.”

  Dillon cocked a dark eyebrow, but his voice dripped with approval. “You’re downright diabolical.”

  She gave him a sly smile. “How do you think I got back at Hector when he pissed me off?”

  Laughing, he handed the phone back to her. “Come on. I’ll walk you back up to the house. Marcus will get past this.”

  Get past what? Marcus’s expression still didn’t offer any clues except that whatever they were talking about wasn’t news to him.

  “He shouldn’t have to get past anything,” Joanne said. “I adore Brittany, but I can’t see things ending well for her and my son. Sebastian and Marylee will never let it happen, and I fear the lengths they’ll go to. I see how they destroy political opponents, people with power. Our family doesn’t stand a chance if they bring everything to bear on Marcus.”

  “You know I’ve got your back, Joanne. Yours and Marcus’s.”

  “I know.” Joanne smiled at him, but worry darkened the crescents under her eyes.

  They walked out, together but far enough apart to not raise suspicion, leaving Brittany confused and shaking. She couldn’t even look at Marcus, but she could tell by his silence that he definitely knew what his mother and Dillon had been talking about.

  “What was it, Marcus? What did she show Dillon?”

  He sighed and tapped on his phone, bringing up a political site. When he handed her the phone, she looked in horror at the article on the screen. The author made Marcus sound like a violent, drug-addicted fiend, and it made her sound like a victim who, despite her parents trying desperately to help, refused to leave her abuser. Never mind that Marcus had never hurt her. Not even close.

  Her eyes stung with tears. “My God,” she whispered. “They’re never going to stop, are they? My father and grandmother are going to keep hitting you over and over.”

  “I can handle myself, Brit,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about it. No one cares about that stupid article. Half the town already thinks I’m a worthless criminal, so it’s not news.”

  The idea that anyone could believe Marcus was worthless made the tears start to flow, and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. “I’m just so sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with this because of me.”

  He reached out and caught a tear with one finger, his touch so tender that it only made more tears fall. “I’ll deal with it just fine if it means I get to keep you.”

  He was so sweet, but deep down, she had her doubts. What his mother had said was true. Her father and grandmother would never give up on trying to destroy her relationship with Marcus, and she worried about how far they’d go. She’d seen them take down their political opponents without mercy. Worse, she’d seen them enjoy going in for the kill. It had never really bothered her before...after all, she’d grown up with it, knew the political world, and understood that it was a dirty, dirty business.

  But now that her blinders had come o
ff, she could see clearly for the first time in her life. And the truth of the matter was that her family was ruthless, bloodthirsty, and Marcus was in their crosshairs.

  Chapter Six

  Marisol was having the best time at the barbecue. Things had been so crazy for so long, and this day of doing nothing but enjoying herself felt like a little slice of heaven. She wished Ginny had come, but she understood why her sister had stayed home. There were too many unfriendly faces—hostiles, as Luis called them, as if the townspeople were monsters from his video games. Ginny didn’t want to deal with the whispers and cold stares, but mostly she wanted to be as stress-free as possible for the baby’s sake.

  At least Luis had come along once he heard that Mallory and Jeffry would be here but Lacey Salt wouldn’t. He was still angry at her for lying about their relationship, and Marisol couldn’t blame him. Lacey was a good kid, though, and Luis was generous with his forgiveness, so Marisol figured they’d be friends again soon.

  She looked over at where he was playing a spirited game of badminton with Mallory, Jeffry, and Mary Louise, but then Ian, standing next to her, said something funny and she had to laugh.

  God, he was...forbidden. Yes, that was the word for him. There were too many obstacles in the way, from the logistics of where they lived, to the limited amount of time she had for a relationship, to the fact that she was sort of dating Patrick.

  Patrick, who had been nothing but wonderful and patient with her, and who wouldn’t understand if she so much as looked in another man’s direction after she’d been so insistent that she didn’t have the ability to commit to anyone.

  She’d actually tried to avoid Ian when she first saw him a couple of hours ago, and aside from a polite smile and a brief hello, she’d been successful in her avoidance. But then, while she was chatting with Hannah and Tara, he’d walked up and introduced himself to them, and that fast, she was trying to talk without sounding like a complete idiot.

  “How do you like our little corner of Texas?” Tara asked him after taking a sip of her iced tea. Marisol had tried to talk her into a cup of the homemade sangria she’d brought, but Tara rarely drank. Especially not when Bryce was around.