A Home of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #4)(43)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Whoops.” She laughed at her own clumsiness, but her smile disappeared when a man yanked her into the dark hall, causing her to smack her head on the pay phone.

“Ow,” she complained. “What’s—”

“What kind of proof?” Whoever held her pinned between the phone and the wall smelled of alcohol and stale sweat.

Lucky blinked and tried to distinguish the face swimming above her own. She couldn’t make out the specific features, but judging by the man’s size, it had to be Smalley.

“What?” she replied in confusion.

“My father wants to know what you have.”

“So he sent his own son to find out the dirty details? Doesn’t he care about your opinion of him?”

“I don’t give a damn if he slept with your mama. You think that’s news to us? Well, it ain’t. He’s a man, and a man has needs. It’s that simple.”

“What about your mother’s needs?” she asked dryly, beginning to sober.

“It’s nothing against my mother. And I’m not gonna let you make it something, either. A man’s private business is a man’s private business.”

“Your father’s a public figure, which changes the rules a bit.” Lucky tried to jerk away, but he had too strong a grasp on her arm and seemed to be enjoying the way his jagged fingernails bit into her flesh.

Revealing wide-spaced, plaque-covered teeth that made her wonder how his wife ever kissed him, he grinned. “My father has an impeccable reputation, and that’s how it’s going to stay. It’s nothing that he slept with Red. Hell, everyone slept with her, even me and my brother. A whore’s a whore.”

Remembering the journal entry labeled “Graduation Night,” which included Jon and Smalley’s names, brought bile to the back of Lucky’s throat. She knew she was nothing like her mother, that she and Red had never understood each other, but that fact was never more apparent than at this moment. “Let go of me, you idiot.”

Grabbing her by the hair, Smalley banged her head against the pay phone—harder this time, so the dim light above them began to swirl and his voice ebbed in and out. “If you think I’m going to let a whore’s daughter ruin my daddy’s career, you’ve got another think comin’, sweetheart.”

Lucky’s knees buckled and she began to sag.

“Just remember—you’d better mind your p’s and q’s, little Miss Lucky, or your luck’s gonna run out.”

With that he let her go and she slid down the wall.

BOOT HEELS THUDDING on wooden boards cut through the fog in Lucky’s brain, and a swaying sensation nearly made her sick. But that wasn’t all that seemed strange. The music of the Honky Tonk was drifting away from her, along with its heat, leaving her cold and shivery and wondering why she felt so weightless.

Opening her eyes, she saw that she was no longer even in the Honky Tonk. She was being carried across the porch and through the gravel lot by none other than Mike Hill.

When had he come out of his corner to get her? What had happened?

Wincing at the pain that seemed to be keeping time with his footsteps, she squirmed so he’d let her down.

“Hold still before I drop you,” he said, his tone gruff.

Lucky stopped moving, but not because he commanded it. She’d realized almost instantly that she didn’t have the strength to stand yet and didn’t want to crumple to the ground in front of him. The cold, starlit sky spun around her, and nausea rose and fell in her stomach like great waves.

“What happened?” She let her head fall back against him because it suddenly seemed too heavy for her neck.

“Nothing too earth-shattering,” he responded, his voice rumbling through his chest. “From what I can tell, you got drunk and passed out and have a nasty bump to prove it. When you went to the rest room, you never came back. I nearly stepped on you when I went to see why.”

He was talking too fast. “I passed out?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Considering I’ve never passed out before in my life, yes.”

“That’s what happens when you drink too much.”

“I never drink too much.”

“You did tonight.”

She thought about that for a moment. “But am I supposed to have a hangover while I’m still drunk?”

“I don’t think alcohol agrees with you.”

“It agreed with me just fine until—” Suddenly, the memory of Smalley leaning over her, his hand squeezing her upper arm, came back.

“Until what?” he said, his breathing growing slightly labored as they neared his SUV.

“Never mind. Put me down. I’m fine. My car’s not far. I can make my own way home from here.”

He braced her against his Escalade while digging in his pocket.

“Mike?” she said when he made no move to release her.

“You can’t drive.” He came up with his keys and popped the locks.

“Then leave me here if I’m so drunk. I’ll go inside and get a cup of coffee, sit awhile until I sober up.” And try to avoid Smalley and his brother and father….

Mike managed to get the door open, then pushed her into the passenger seat of his SUV.

The interior smelled like aftershave and leather. She was tempted to close her eyes and lie back on the seat. But she remembered all too vividly what had happened the last time she’d let him take care of her—and how carefully he’d kept his distance since then.

Would you want to spend more time with me if I wasn’t Red’s daughter?…Yes.

Which meant the opposite was also true.

“If you’re not careful, you could be seen with me,” she warned as he fastened her seat belt. “And we wouldn’t want that. Other people might figure you sort of like me. You could lose head-honcho status in the We Hate Lucky fan club.”

He grimaced at her sarcasm. “You’re not a pleasant person when you’re drunk.”

“That’s pretty funny, since it doesn’t seem to make any difference whether I’m pleasant or not,” she said, but her head hurt too much to laugh—or even to angle her face to observe his response.

He hesitated as if he wanted to say something else. She glanced up expectantly despite the pain, but he simply clenched his jaw and slammed the door.

“What about my car?” she asked when he climbed behind the wheel.

“What about it?”