The Best Friend Zone

“Jesus. You’re being, like…cased?” I only know that word from watching TV mysteries and I’m not even sure it’s right.

He leans forward, giving me this feral look, those huge, powerful hands folded in front of him.

“Yes. I just wanted you to know so you’ll be extra cautious. Always keep one eye in the back of your head.

Eep.

My throat feels dry as cotton and I reach for the shake again.

“Um, I’ll try,” I whisper, still trying to process everything.

“Please do. And you call me whenever you’re going around these parts with the goats. Pickups, drop-offs, tune-ups, whatever. I want to know about it, you hear?”

I nod firmly.

That guy today was a major creepazoid, but the others were all nice, normal people. It seems like overkill.

“I don’t know, Quinn. Seems like I’d be calling you nonstop for every job. You don’t have time for that, do you?”

He sits back in his chair as the waitress arrives and asks how the meal was. We both give her rave reviews as she takes the plates away to box up our leftovers.

“Trust me.” While pulling out his wallet, he looks at me. “I do have time for that. Besides, it won’t be forever. In a few weeks, I’ll have the house ready to sell and you’ll be healed up, safely back in Chicago.”

I don’t like the sound of that one bit.

Sighing, I pick up my purse. “I’m paying, remember? I owe you one.”

Before he can object, I stand and speed-walk to the cash register near the door. There, I lay out my money on the counter, tell the waitress thanks again, return to grab our food, and walk to the door.

Quinn tries to give me cash as we walk outside, and I push it back in his hand.

And by push, I don’t even move him an inch, but I hope he gets the message.

“Quinn, no. Dancing was not only time consuming; it paid pretty well, especially in Chicago.” That’s a small stretch, but I was comfortable, especially living at home without the city’s brutal rent.

If I had to pay my parents back for the lessons they’d shelled out money for over the years, I wouldn’t have a dime to my name, but he doesn’t need to know that.

And right now, Quinn Faulkner also doesn’t need to know I’m a little freaked over this inmate with a grudge, either.

Not scared for me.

For him.

6

Goat A Helping Hand? (Faulkner)

Talk about a botched plan.

Shit. Why had I told her any of this? Why did I decide to open my big mouth, much less run it to an early grave?

Why the hell can’t I have one—just one—nice, easy, laugh-it-up evening with Tory Three Names like old times?

It’s like we’re frigging jinxed.

The whole threat feels like a curse, anyway.

I put Jake Pickett in jail to rot years ago. Now his brother Bat is paying for any and all intel on me, probably planning to hire a hatchet man to put the axe in my skull if he doesn’t do it himself whenever he gets out.

That doesn’t mean I need to spill my guts and scare the living shit out of the little lady, though.

It’s just…fuck, it’s Tory.

Way back when, when we were the summer munchkins, I’d been able to talk to her like nothing. Confide in her. Joke about any dumb thing.

I’d been sent up to Gramps’ place for the entire summer that first time because Dad had it with my shit. I’d been suspended for fights at school three times. He barely talked the principal into stopping short of expelling my dumb ass.

The year before, my ma died and my dad remarried awful fast. Far too quick for my liking.

I hadn’t been a happy camper at all.

Truthfully, I’d acted out like the teenage punk I was, so I got a one-way ticket to Dallas to cool my heels. I’d told Tory all about it one day, and she’d listened, without judgment or advice.

Just listened with her heart.

I guess that’s what I was hoping would happen here again. Especially when the stakes are a little bit higher than me working through some family grief.

If Bat Pickett comes calling with a mark on my head, then I just became radioactive to everybody close to me.

I climb in the pickup feeling like mud, shut the door, and turn to her.

“You aren’t in any danger, Tory. Not yet. I promise I won’t let anything happen.” My words come out strained, this growl that surprises even me. “I’ve got people who can help, and I’m gonna take care of this. Didn’t mean to get you all stirred up over nothing.”

“I’m not worried about being in danger, Quinn. This is Dallas, North Dakota. Not Dallas, Texas. Not even Heart’s Edge…did you hear about the insanity that happens out there?”

Damn her, I smile.

“Yeah, who hasn’t? If only I could hire a couple of those Montana boys to lick that shady fuck behind bars. But I’m thinking they’re enjoying their retirement.”