His Wicked Mouth Page 3

  I walked through the banks of slot machines and my eyes flickered to the screens of each. I tried to find ones that looked like they were on the brink. I decided to return after I ate to see if I could go ahead and get the day started by gambling away some more money and more of my dignity.

  It wouldn’t be much of a stretch. Usually, I was fairly successful on both fronts.

  The buffet was almost deserted, which I liked. It meant I wouldn’t have to make nice with anyone. I grabbed a plate and walked down the line, filling it up with a little bit of everything that looked good. On reflection, I grabbed another plate and filled it up, too.

  I brought my plates over to the table closest to the door leading out onto the patio. Leaving them there, I went over to the coffee machine and filled up a mug. Standing right there next to the machine, I drank it down, then filled it again. Augmenting it with plenty of cream and sugar, I carried it over to the table.

  Before sitting down to eat, I went out onto the patio and lit up a cigarette. The first wasn’t enough, so I followed it up with two more. When the urge was gone and I felt some energy coursing through me again, I went back inside and sat down to eat. I wasn’t thinking about the food. I was thinking about going to the bar and getting a screwdriver to bring with me over to the slot machines.

  It would help me drown away the afternoon and slide me in tonight.

  Chapter 4

  Annabelle

  I had been looking forward to Sunday all week. Working on the farm, there was no such thing as taking a day off every week. I was lucky if I got a chance to take the day off on Christmas or Thanksgiving. But Sundays were always a bit slower for me. I worked hard every day of the week to make sure I could have that day be at least a little bit more relaxing.

  Especially now that I was doing my best to take care of Dad and get as much pressure off him as possible, my plan didn’t always work out. But that week, I was especially determined. I was meeting up with one of my closest friends, Bridget, for Sunday brunch. Of course, there was no mention of a brunch to Daddy. That would just cause an uproar protest over my ability to go eat quiche and ham while he wasted away on homemade granola and the protein smoothie I made him that morning.

  Instead, I just told him I was going out to see Bridget. He waved over his head and told me to tell that sweet girl hello for him. He might be getting on up there in years and struggling with his health, but my father was nothing if not a charmer. I kissed his bald spot and told him I would be back later.

  Usually, I worried about him when I wasn’t going to be at home. Just to run up to the grocery store could cause me to ponder the feasibility of adding some of those nanny cams throughout the house. Maybe not so much the feasibility, considering I knew for sure I could install them myself. And there were enough knick-knacks and nooks and crannies in every room I could have every inch monitored without him ever knowing.

  It was more about the morality of the situation. I might be home to take care of him and help him live the best life possible, but I wasn’t supposed to be babying him. He was still a grown man and had plenty of zip and independence left in him. He probably wouldn’t appreciate finding out that I had smuggled a tiny camera into the eye of one of his fishing trophies or up in the corner of the ceiling.

  He would definitely not appreciate how I could access it on my phone. But there were definitely moments when I considered it. It would make me feel better to know I could peek in on him and see that he was doing all right during the day. Not to mention I could check to make sure he wasn’t creating snack stashes throughout the house to break into as soon as I left.

  At least when I headed out for brunch, I felt more comfortable than usual. I timed the outing to when I knew Daddy would be doing his drive around the property. Every day, he insisted on driving around the farm, checking up on everything to make sure it was all right. That included making sure the fences were secure and didn’t need fixing, the animals were healthy, and the crops hadn’t been wiped out by a spontaneous plague.

  In the back of my mind, I knew that he did it because of bad experiences he had in the past, but it still made me smile to myself when he headed out. I made sure to pack him a bag of raw vegetables and fruit and some crackers with hummus. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he had actually developed an affinity toward the hummus. He called it garlic bean goo, but I was taking my victories where I got them.

  I headed into town and met Bridget at our favorite little diner. The hostess led us over to one of the booths along the far wall and offered us coffee. We both eagerly agreed, and she made her way to the kitchen. It didn’t take long for her to come back with two well-worn white mugs full of steaming black coffee and a little pitcher of smooth, rich cream.

  “How’s your father doing?” Bridget asked, shaking a couple of those little pink packets between her fingers.

  I cringed. “How do you put that stuff in your coffee?”

  She knitted her eyebrows together in a questioning look. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It’s just a little paper packet full of chemicals,” I said.

  “Better for you than sugar,” Bridget said.

  “Actually,” I said, “it’s not. It’s terrible for you. And it tastes gross.”

  She laughed. “All right, let’s not judge me on my coffee-flavoring choices. Didn’t anybody ever teach you not to bully?”

  “Don’t think of it as bullying. Think of it as deep concern for your insides.”

  Bridget laughed again and shook her head. “My sweetener choices aside, are things getting better with Hugh?”

  “It’s pretty much the same old same old,” I said. “I’m trying to do everything the doctor told me, but as you can imagine, Dad isn’t the most receptive to everything. He never stops. He always wants to be doing something. The doctor warned he was pushing himself too hard and might end up hurting himself, but he isn’t listening. If he doesn’t lose some weight and get his heart stronger, he can push himself right into a heart attack or a stroke. But he refuses to ever take a break or just put his feet up and relax.”

  “That’s not what he’s used to,” Bridget said. “He’s been working every day of his life since he was able to walk. He doesn’t know what it means to just take it easy.”

  I let out a sigh. “I know. But he has to start putting some effort into it. He can’t keep pushing himself so hard. Other than that, though, he is actually making some progress. He’s been eating what I prepare for him, not without complaints and acting like it’s under pure duress, but at least he’s eating it. And he’s been drinking water instead of beer and soda all the time.”

  “There you go,” Bridget said. “That’s better than nothing.”

  “It is,” I said. “I know that’s a big change for him. I just wish he didn’t resist so much. This is all for him. I’m just trying to make sure he stays as healthy as he can.”

  “You’re a good daughter,” she said. “I don’t know anybody else who would be willing to completely sacrifice everything the way you have. And I’m really glad we finally got a chance to come out and sit down together. I miss you. I feel like we haven’t seen each other in forever.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  She was right. I really had given up pretty much everything to take care of my father and the farm. I sacrificed a lot of my hobbies and pastimes I used to love, and definitely my relationships, to be there for him and make sure the farm stayed afloat. My daddy worked hard and put everything of himself into the farm work, but the truth was he just couldn’t do it on his own anymore. That responsibility fell on me.

  I was happy to do it. It was my birthright, my legacy. But I would be lying if I didn’t say sometimes I got tired or thought about other things that I could be doing in life. I was willing to put all that aside, though, to make sure he had everything he needed and keep the farm going strong.

  One day, that farm would be mine, just like it was my grandfather’s and his father’s. It was one of the old
est farms in the area, and we were proud of it. That was more than worth pausing some other elements of my life for now.

  But I couldn’t be expected to have nothing outside of my work. I was happy to take a little bit of time and hang out with Bridget. Other than Sawyer Montgomery, who had been my best friend for as long as I can remember, Bridget was my closest friend. I confided in her and always had a good time with her. Even if she couldn’t quite understand my life or what I was willing to do.

  The waitress came by again and asked for our order. I happened to know we supplied the eggs for the diner, so I was happy to order a quiche with a fruit salad. Bridget went full bore with biscuits and gravy, country ham, and a side of grits.

  Sometimes, it amazed me how she was able to stay as slim as she was. Maybe that was why she didn’t mind guzzling down the little pink sweetener. She could eat anything and everything she wanted and never gain a pound, so why would she think food additives had any effect on her?

  I wouldn’t say it out loud, but I definitely coveted her biscuits and gravy. Most of the time, I did my very best to convince myself taking care of my health was more important than the delicious flavors I grew up with. Especially considering my family history, I tried to keep my diet clean and nutritious as much as possible. But sometimes I couldn’t resist. I just didn’t tell Daddy.

  Some girls tried to hide lascivious affairs and tattoos from their fathers. I hid carbohydrates and fat.

  “So, on to happier and more exciting things,” Bridget said. “Are you excited for Vegas?”

  The upcoming trip for our mutual friend Vivian’s bachelorette party had been on the calendar for a few months. As soon as she got engaged, she started hinting that she wanted to do a bachelorette weekend in Vegas. A friend of ours from college was living out there and had been trying to get us to come out. The bachelorette party was the perfect opportunity, so all of the bridesmaids got together to plan the trip for her. At first, it was just an exciting prospect. But that was when it was an abstract idea far in the future.

  Now it was coming up quickly and I was starting to have some reservations.

  I shrugged. “I’m a little bit worried about leaving Daddy,” I said.

  “It’s only for three nights,” Bridget argued. “How bad could it be?”

  That made me laugh. “My father has the ability to get himself in some serious sticky situations in an hour or less. Now imagine what he could do with seventy-two of them. There is a lot of potential there.”

  Bridget reached across the table to rest her hand on mine. She looked into my eyes, her expression more serious than usual. “You deserve a break, Annabelle. He knows that just as well as anybody else does. He would want you to go and relax and have some fun. You really do deserve to do something for yourself every now and then. Besides, it’s a bachelorette weekend. How many of those is Vivian going to have?”

  We both laughed and I shook my head, refusing to get led into that quicksand. The truth was, Vivian was fantastic and I adored her as one of my small group of girlfriends. But “bridal” wasn’t one of the ways I would describe her. Maybe I was completely wrong, and I hoped I was, but I just couldn’t envision her settling down and being anybody’s wife.

  But if it was anybody in this world who she would try for, it was her fiancé, Robert.

  The waitress came back with our food and set it down in front of us. I smiled as I picked up my fork, even though my inside was tied up in knots. Leaving my father for that long gave me anxiety, but I also agreed with Bridget. I did need a break and a bit of fun. And my father probably needed a bit of a break from me, too.

  This trip would be good for everyone involved.

  Chapter 5

  Garrett

  One week later

  It had been a long evening and one I was quickly starting to decide would be one to forget. After losing more money than I came in with at the casinos, I wisely cashed out and headed down the Strip looking for something else to occupy my time. It wasn’t like there was a shortage of other options besides gambling.

  Everything from mega-stars of decades past doing residency in giant hotels with arenas built in the bottom, to sleazy dive bars that advertised karaoke and strippers, Vegas was full of every kind of distraction available. I loved it.

  At least, usually I loved it. That night, I found myself wandering farther and farther down the Strip, away from the glitz and glamour I had grown accustomed to over the last however many months and toward the rougher, tougher bars. The places the bikers and the gangs and the strippers’ boyfriends hung out. Places where strangers were met with suspicion rather than wide smiles and silicone invitations to have a cheap steak if you got the two-drink minimum.

  I let my feet take me where they wanted to go. I wasn’t drunk and was aware of my surroundings, so I wasn’t worried about being mugged or jumped. Things had gotten just a tad boring, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t kind of looking for a fight. Things had been too nice recently.

  My shoes crunched on the gravel of the parking area as I made my way without thinking much about it to a standalone bar. It was unusual for too many bars this way to not be sharing a building with other places, but this one stood out on its own, the backdrop of the desert behind it and bikes parked all around it. There were bound to be some bad dudes with bad attitudes inside. That seemed just fine.

  When the door opened, the rush of hot air surprised me. It was as if the bar hadn’t had air conditioning ever and instead relied on opening a door every once in a while to let the pressure go out with it. I assumed this meant that the drinks on hand would be suitably warm and cheap and the women that came here would be too. Either way, I would probably have both.

  I sidled up to the bar, finding an open stool near the front, and sat down heavily. A few glances my way told me that I was being watched, but I didn’t care. Holding two fingers up, I got the attention of the surprisingly cute bartender and she headed my way.

  “Need a drink?” she asked, her voice scratchy from what I assumed were years of smoking. She couldn’t have been more than thirty, but she had the look of a girl who had seen a lot very young.

  “Whiskey and a beer, thanks,” I said. Normally, I threw a “please” on the end of that, as I was raised to do, but something about this place told me if I started whipping out full pleases and thank yous that I’d have more trouble than I could ask for. Thank god I had left the rhinestone-cowboy shirt at the hotel.

  I sat there for some time, nursing the beer as I put back a couple of whiskies. I found the combination soothing and often mixed the two but not usually at a bar so far away from where I stayed. It was a good way to get a buzz fast, while still being able to monitor and maintain. I didn’t want to get hammered, but I certainly didn’t want to remain completely sober either.

  “Who are you?” a voice asked near my ear. It was sultry and dark, like chocolate raspberries, and I turned my head enough to take in the woman standing next to me.

  She was short, and her hair was a dirty blonde, but her figure was outstanding, and she seemed more natural than the girls farther back up the Strip. Where they were put together by the best doctors money could buy, this girl seemed like the universe made up for what she was going to experience in life by stacking her from the bottom up.

  “Garrett,” I said, noticing that the words were already slurring a little. I needed to be more careful about how fast I was putting away the dark stuff.

  “Well, Garrett, you mind if I sit beside you?” she asked.

  “Not if you let me buy you a drink,” I said.

  She smiled and looked over her shoulder. I couldn’t tell who in the crowded bar she was looking at but I assumed it was a girlfriend somewhere. Girls often came up to me to get a free drink, and I usually didn’t mind. The excitement of the conversation was usually enough to consider the price of the drink as the price of the entertainment. Sometimes, it led to a lot more value than the drink.

  “Sure,” she said, climbing
up on the stool beside me. “I’m Nadine.”

  “Hi, Nadine,” I said, calling for the attention of the bartender again.

  “Hey, Sarah, whiskey sour,” Nadine said, obviously familiar with the girl behind the bar who wore no nametag I could see.

  “You come here often?” I asked and cringed. Even tipsy, I knew how that sounded.

  “I do,” she said, seemingly unfazed. “Sarah is the best. She will take good care of you if you tip her like she’s worth.”

  “I find that’s true of most people,” I said, downing the rest of my whiskey and motioning for another.

  “What are you implying?” Nadine asked, suspicion in her voice.

  “Not that,” I said. “I just mean people are better to you the better you are to them. Means as much for tipping a bartender as it does for having a nice conversation with a good-looking woman.”

  “Is this your idea of a nice conversation?” she asked, sipping on her drink.

  “I’d like to think so,” I said.

  “Well, I appreciate the drink, but I think my friend is calling for me,” she said, making a move to hop off the stool.

  “Hey, why don’t you ask her to come over here?” I said.

  “What did you say?” came a rumble from behind me and Nadine’s eyes grew wide.

  “It’s fine, Hawk, really,” she said in a pitch that was rather higher than the one she had been using.

  “Hawk?” I asked as I turned around and went eye to chest with a mountain of a man.

  “That’s me,” he grumbled more than said. “And Nadine is my girl. What did you say to her?”

  “Oh, I was just making conversation,” I said, and suddenly, I was airborne.