“What happened then? Where is he now? Still making movies?” she asks softly.
“I left Hollywood a few years later. Bought the ranch and decided to never look back. As for Hammond…he’s dead. Someone shot him in his penthouse when he was already practically a vegetable. A father of one of the underage girls he’d coerced into sleeping with him to become a star.”
“Wow.” Grace lowers her eyes, swiping a hand over her face. “Maybe he deserved it?”
“Maybe,” I agree.
She’s quiet for a moment, this frigid silence between us before she speaks again. “Is that why you’re so willing to help us? Does this remind you of that?”
When I saw Jackknife Pete touch her that first night, it was definitely a trigger, but it’s changed since then. It’s become more than angry instinct.
And helping Grace can’t fully rub away the blackness on my soul.
Not after what I did to that fuck, even if I can’t say I regret it.
I shake my head, answering her question.
“No? Then why?” She’s looking at me like I hung the moon and the stars, even if she doesn’t understand why.
“Because I like you, Grace. And I like your old man. I’d like to believe everybody deserves a second chance, whatever their mistakes.”
17
No Dreams Too Small (Grace)
I sit quietly as Ridge signs the paperwork for the new pickup he’s just purchased.
A royal-blue one, four-wheel drive, but not a dually.
Jess said because today is Saturday, his mechanic isn’t in, and won’t be able to have the brake lines replaced on the other one until early next week. He’d told Ridge that he could just keep his pickup as a loaner, but Ridge said no.
He’d just buy another one, a backup.
I’m floored by how easily he picks up a brand-new vehicle. Though I realize fifty grand must be like change under the sofa for a billionaire.
I don’t even know if he’ll keep it long term. He’s clearly doing this to avoid getting Jess sucked in deeper.
My mind isn’t focused on Ridge’s new truck, or his shiny black Centurion credit card that I thought I’d only ever see in movies.
I’m stuck on everything he told me on the way to town. About his mother and that hideous man. And about how much him relaying all of that tells me about him.
His life has been complicated, yet despite his woes, he’s grounded, so sure of himself.
Unlike me.
I’ve never been totally confident in anything, living on thin ice with a group of killers haunting me for my whole adult life.
“Do you use Alicia Mills for insurance?” Jess asks.
“I do,” Ridge says, handing over the papers he’d signed.
“I’ll let her know you bought a new truck, to add it to your insurance,” Jess says, glancing at me. “She’s my sister-in-law. I’ll be seeing her at my house for lunch real soon.” He glances at the clock.
I nod.
“Have you two had a bite yet?” he asks.
“No,” Ridge answers, taking my hand. “Or breakfast for that matter. We’re heading to the café now.”
“Come to my house instead.” Grinning, he continues. “Please? My wife was jealous that she wasn’t at the bar to see the show you put on. I’d earn more in brownie points by bringing you two home for lunch than I ever made in commission off selling you the new truck.”
Ridge laughs and glances at me.
I smile, nodding. I think I’m starting to see the benefits of small-town living.
Everyone treats you like you’re family, extended branches spiraling out of the same big tree.
“You sure we wouldn’t be imposing?” Ridge asks, tilting his head.
“Absolutely not. Amy is gonna be thrilled!” Jess stands. “Follow me. It’s only a few blocks.”
“It’s okay with you, isn’t it?” Ridge asks once we’re in his new truck.
I take a deep whiff of new car smell, basking in the fresh, pure scent.
“I’m cool with it if you are.”
“We don’t have to go if you’re worried it’ll—”
“It’s fine, Ridge. Seriously.” I smile, reaching over to thread my fingers through his.
This is all part of his grand plan.
Become part of the community ASAP so if Clay’s men show up, we’ll hear about it, and they’ll have to hear about us being happily engaged. Ridge claims extra eyes and ears are nothing but an asset in this situation.
I’m trusting he’s right.
Besides, from what I’ve gathered about what went down in Dallas between North Earhart Oil and its old rival, the people here have developed a hawkish sense for freaky, suspicious people.
If it hadn’t been for Jess spotting those goons and speaking up…
I shudder to think how it might’ve turned out. Far less happy than our night actually did.
He may very well have saved our lives.
We arrive at the Berland home a few minutes later.
It’s a cute pastel-blue two-story home that looks well taken care of, right down to the freshly painted porch and the little wooden raccoon statue giving a welcoming wave. Amy, Jess’ wife, is a brunette with an infectious smile, and definitely in the hostess-with-the-mostest category.