Against the Wind, Season 2, Episode 1 (Rising Storm) Page 2

  “She’s lucky you’re there for her,” Joanne said softly. “You’re a good man, Marcus.”

  The tips of his ears turned red. “Geez, Mom.” He pecked a kiss on her forehead. “I gotta go. We’ll figure out the job stuff later.” He turned and loped out of the room. Then she heard the front door close.

  Okay. What now? Perhaps she should head to town and buy a paper. There had to be somebody in Storm who’d hire her, even though it would displease Marylee Rush.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  She stiffened and lifted her head, listening.

  Another knock.

  Oh, for goodness sakes. If Hector returned, he sure as hell wouldn’t knock. She quickly stood and smoothed back her hair, hustling to open the door. Her mouth gaped open. “Tate? My, ah, sister isn’t here.”

  Tate Johnson drew off a black cowboy hat, leaving his blond hair ruffled. The lawyer was cool, collected, and very handsome. “I’m not here for Hannah. We broke up, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”

  Joanne bit her lip. “Yes. I, ah, heard.” Hannah had slept with Tate’s brother well over a month ago. “I’m sorry about that.”

  Tate shuffled shiny loafers.

  “Oh my, please come in.” Where in the world were her manners? She stepped aside and tried not to wince at the threadbare furnishings. Well, at least everything was clean. “Take a seat, Tate. Can I get you anything to drink?” She had to have some soda somewhere.

  “No, thanks.” He stepped inside, tall and broad, to take a seat on the sofa.

  She hesitated only a second before following him and sitting on Hector’s ripped old recliner. “Um, what can I do for you?”

  Tate smiled, and for a moment, her breath caught. She’d forgotten what a handsome man he was with a whole load of charm. “I need your help,” he said, his voice deep.

  Her stomach clenched. “Tate? I really can’t get involved in Hannah’s love life. I’m so sorry she hurt you, and I’m assuming she did, but it’s really not my business.” What had Hannah been thinking to sleep with this guy’s brother? Although, Tucker and Hannah truly did make sense together. They should’ve gone about it a different way. “I’m sorry.”

  He smiled and sat back on the sofa, his pressed black pants looking as out of place as his perfectly ironed dress shirt. “I’m here on business.”

  Joanne stiffened. “What business?” Oh God. Tate was a lawyer. Was Marylee suing her for something? What would she do? Joanne couldn’t afford an attorney. “This is a mistake.”

  Tate held up a hand. “Joanne, I’m not here to hurt or scare you. This is the deal. I’m running for mayor, as you might know, and I need somebody to manage, well, me.”

  She couldn’t move. “Huh?”

  He chuckled. “I have a campaign manager, and I have various staff, but I need somebody to be my personal assistant. Somebody who can make sure I stick to the schedule, have speeches prepared, and even ensure my tie matches my suit. I think you’d be perfect.”

  “Why?” she breathed before she could even think it through.

  He lifted one eyebrow and focused in on her, giving her all his attention.

  She caught her breath. For years, she’d known the Johnson boys, but this was the first time she could actually see the ambitious lawyer in his element. “Did my sister put you up to this?”

  “No,” Tate said simply, his gaze direct. “Your sister has nothing to do with this, and believe me, if she asked for a favor, I’d say no way in hell.”

  Landmine there. Joanne’s mind spun. “Then why?”

  Satisfaction tilted Tate’s full mouth. “You’re good at what you do. Oh, I’ve watched you work for Marylee. You’re organized, dedicated, and smart. You know how to stay in the background and get things done. I need that.”

  Joanne shook her head. “You don’t understand. Marylee fired me. If you’re running for mayor, you definitely need to stay on the Rushes’ good side. Hiring me won’t do that.”

  “I don’t care.” Tate leaned forward, all intent. “Marylee fired you because of your daughter and not because of your skills. If she challenges me, I’ll just explain or even lie that it was a favor to your sister.” He grinned. “Either way, my campaign is better off with you helping.”

  Joanne’s mind spun, but her heart leaped. She could do the job, without question. It was time for her to take control of her life and stop letting everyone push her around. “I accept.”

  Chapter Two

  Tate left Joanne’s home and jumped in his black SUV, heading into town for something quick to eat. Once again, he’d forgotten breakfast. He punched in a phone number on his cell phone.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s a done deal. I offered her the job, and she accepted,” Tate said, turning toward Murphy’s Pub to drop off his new flyers for his mayoral campaign and hopefully bum a sandwich.

  “Thanks,” Sheriff Dillon Murphy said over the line.

  Tate nodded. “Oh, cousin. You are definitely going to owe me one.”

  “Agreed. Besides, after she’s worked for you a while, you’ll owe me a favor. Joanne will do a phenomenal job for you.”

  Tate grinned. “That’s your dick and not your brain talking, but it doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” He and Dillon weren’t just cousins, they were friends. That meant they didn’t need to mess around with niceties.

  “I’m sorry about any flack you’ll face from the Rushes.”

  Tate lost the smile. “That’s all right. At some point, I need to distance myself a little bit. First to get away from the scandals, and second to show that I’m my own man. This is one way to do it.”

  “Yeah, I get that. Do we need to talk about Tucker and Hannah again? I mean, have you tried to forgive your brother?” Dillon asked after a long pause.

  “There’s no forgiveness, and no, I do not want to hash this out again. Not unless we have a gallon of Cooder’s moonshine to split between us.” Even now, the wound was still too raw, and he was too angry to talk it out.

  “Cooder’s moonshine is illegal, dumbass,” Dillon snorted. “I’m the sheriff, and you’re running for mayor. It’ll have to be good old Jack Daniels when you want to hash this shit out.”

  “When I’m ready, you’re the first guy I’ll call.” Hell, it had been that way almost since Tate was born. When Tate had fallen off the monkey bars at a family picnic at the tender age of six, Dillon had all but carried him to his mother, and then later sworn, on the soul of every dead person who’d ever died in Storm, that Tate hadn’t cried at all. Not one tear. Of course, he’d sobbed like a wounded old lady.

  Tate pulled to the curb next to the pub, and there was Dillon, leaning against his squad car, grinning.

  Tate sighed and jumped out. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “We’re meeting for lunch,” Dillon responded with a head jerk toward the restaurant.

  Tate should never have given Dillon his schedule for the day. He crossed around his vehicle to the sidewalk. “I told you that I’m fine.”

  “Yeah. Fine. Except it’s been over a month since you found your brother in bed with your girlfriend, and you’re still working like a fiend. I mean, why the hell wouldn’t you be fine?” Dillon asked.

  Tate stomped inside the pub with the damn sheriff on his heels. “You’re a busybody, Dillon Murphy.”

  “Isn’t that the truth,” Logan Murphy, Dillon’s youngest brother, said from behind the bar as he wiped the polished oak to a fine shine. “The guy has to know everything about everybody, and then he has to figure out a plan to fix everything.”

  Dillon shot his brother a look. “We can move on to you and your problems, if you’d like.”

  Logan held up both hands in mock surrender. “No. Bug Tate for a while, would you? We have clam chowder almost ready in the kitchen. I’ll go grab a couple of bowls.” He disappeared into the back room.

  Tate scooted around a high booth, wishing he could escape into the kitchen. “How’s he doing?”

  �
�Shitty.” Dillon hefted around the other side. “He’s angry and hurt and still won’t talk about it. Won’t even think of going to Ginny and giving her a chance to really explain. Poor kids.”

  Tate reared back. “Explain? What is there to explain? She got knocked up and then lied to everyone about the father, especially Logan, who wanted nothing more than to protect her. Talk about a betrayal.”

  Dillon sighed. “I get the feeling we’re not talking about Logan right now.”

  Heat flashed through Tate. “No, I guess not. I had the perfect girl, one I loved, and my brother slept with her. They’re both adults, and they knew exactly what they were doing.” Not in a million years would he have expected either Hannah or Tucker to do such a thing. Sometimes he still couldn’t wrap his mind around it.

  Logan reappeared with two steaming bowls of soup and quickly added a couple of micro-brews to the table. “Bye.” He deserted them for the back room again.

  Tate looked around. At this time of day, before lunch, the pub was empty save for the two of them.

  Dillon dug into his soup with a happy hum. Then he straightened. “You didn’t love her.”

  Tate’s mouth gaped open. “Sure I did.”

  “Humph.” Dillon downed half his beer.

  “You’re not on duty, are you?” Tate groused.

  “Nope.” Dillon ate more soup. “All right. Tell me what you loved about Hannah.”

  Tate’s chest heated, and he ate some of the soup. “She’s perfect. Beautiful, genuine, well spoken.” In fact, she’d look great next to him on any podium.

  Dillon snorted. “What else? I mean, what sets her apart from other women? What drives you crazy about her that you wouldn’t change?”

  Tate frowned. “Nothing. She’s ideal.”

  “Geez. She sounds like a cardboard copy of the perfect politician’s wife,” Dillon drawled. “The woman is even from an influential Storm family with an impressive pedigree.”

  “Is that bad?” Tate snapped.

  “No, but it sure as shit isn’t good. Where’s the excitement? The romance?”

  Tate sipped the potent beer. “What are we? Sixteen?”

  Dillon sighed. “No, but we’re not ninety, either. What does Hannah want in life? What’s her biggest fear? Strongest memory? Largest dream?”

  Tate studied his friend. “What’s your damn point?”

  Dillon shrugged. “I’m just saying that if you really loved the woman, you’d know the answers to those questions. I’m your cousin and best friend, and I know those answers about you. You want to rise to power and make changes within the political system. Your biggest fear is failure in front of everybody, and your strongest memory is of when you and Tucker got caught in that barn fire. Finally, your largest dream, one you won’t admit to anybody, is the White House.”

  Tate rested his head back in the booth, his gut churning. “Okay, so you know me. Are you secretly in love with me or what?”

  “Or what,” Dillon said dryly. “But I’ll bet you dollars to donuts you can’t answer those questions about Hannah. She’s a great woman, but you liked who she could be, what you could make her, and not who she really is.”

  Was it true? Had Tucker seen what or who she really was? The woman was crazy about animals and she liked ranching. Two things Tate didn’t have much interest in. He turned his focus on his cousin. “What about you, buddy? You asked me to hire Joanne Alvarez for my campaign. She’s a married woman you’ve been in love with since high school. When are you going to finally make a move?”

  Dillon’s expression lost all humor. “You just said it. She’s married. Besides, we’re just friends.”

  “Right.” Tate scrutinized Dillon over his beer glass. “I found it odd that her asshole husband, who liked to use her as a punching bag, found the drive and energy to actually leave town. I wonder what made Hector finally get up and go?”

  Dillon looked him directly in the eye. “Who cares? So long as he’s gone and doesn’t come back, I don’t think it matters why he left.”

  “That’s what I figured.” Tate leaned forward. “Listen, I know I’m the last person who should be giving advice, but if she ever finds out you had something to do with her husband leaving town, and that you never told her about it, she’s going to be furious. That might be something you can’t fix.”

  Dillon slowly nodded. “I know, but having her safe, alive, and hating me is better than seeing her in the ground, dead and broken. I’m at peace with that decision.”

  “Shit, Dillon. You didn’t kill the asshole, did you?” Tate’s mind spun.

  Dillon snorted. “Of course not.” Yet something on his face said if that had been the last way to save Joanne, he would’ve done it. “He’s out of town. That’s all.”

  Tate shook his head. “Women.”

  Dillon nodded as he finished his soup. “Good talk. I think we’ve covered it all for now. At least until we can escape to the cabin with a bottle or three of Jack. Plan a weekend, because we’re heading out soon. For now, are you working on your campaign?”

  “Yeah, I’m handing flyers out to businesses, and then I need to get headquarters set up. We’re using a conference room in my law office—the one downstairs.” Tate shoved from the booth and placed his dishes on the bar.

  “Let Logan take care of the dishes,” Dillon said, grinning.

  Tate chuckled and followed his cousin outside only to stop short.

  Tucker leaned back against Tate’s car, arms crossed, his jeans faded and his hat weathered. “We need to talk.”

  Anger slammed into Tate, and he whirled on Dillon.

  Dillon held up both hands. “Not me. I swear.”

  Tucker chuckled. “Nobody called me, brother. The town isn’t big enough to hide your SUV.”

  “Don’t call me brother, you backstabbing prick,” Tate growled, his hands curling into fists. For so many years, his brother had been his closest confidant and his best friend. When and how had they grown so far apart?

  “Guys? You can’t do this in the middle of the street,” Dillon said.

  “We’re not doing it anywhere else.” Tate shoved his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t wrap them around his brother’s neck. “What the hell do you want?”

  Tucker flushed. “I saw your rig and wanted to see how you were doing. I’ll even apologize for the zillionth time, if it’ll mean anything to you. Hannah and I got caught in the moment, and we should’ve done it a better way. We should’ve talked to you.”

  We. Tucker and Hannah were still a we? “So you’re still going strong?” Tate asked, his voice hoarse. He’d tried to stay away from his brother to keep from knowing that one shitty fact.

  Tucker swallowed. “I don’t know exactly what we’re doing, but I care for her, Tate. The real her and not who somebody else wants her to be.”

  That sounded almost exactly how Dillon had put it. What the hell? Nobody thought his feelings for Hannah had been real? “You’re my brother, Tuck. Yet you didn’t think twice, now did you?” What kind of shithead did such a thing to his own flesh and blood? Who the hell was Tucker? “I don’t even know you.” Why were they rehashing this yet again?

  Tucker ripped off his brown cowboy hat and clapped it against his dusty jeans. “I did more than think twice. In fact, I thought about it all the time. Hell, I thought about her all the time. But I tried to stay clear of her. Then, watching you, I knew you didn’t love her. Not really.”

  “Yes, I did,” Tate spat.

  “No. She loves animals, you don’t. You love the limelight, she doesn’t. You want a political career, and she wants to get her hands dirty foaling a calf. This isn’t a case of opposites attract. Neither one of you is right for the other.” Tucker’s eyes burned a dark blue. “I’ve given you plenty of time to be angry at me. If you stop being pissed, you’ll see the truth.”

  “The truth?” The blood rushed through Tate’s ears, heating his entire head. “Oh, I see the truth. You’re a dick, and I’ll never trust you again.�
��

  Tucker paled. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Oh, and don’t you forget, brother.” The words spewed out of Tate so quickly he couldn’t grasp just one. “That lying whore warmed my bed first. She’s screamed my name, and I’ve made her beg for more. In fact, you’re probably getting fifths or sixths and not even sloppy seconds.”

  Tucker moved then, faster than Dillon could intercede. His right cross exploded pain through the side of Tate’s face, throwing him back against the building. He’d barely hit the brick before lunging up and tackling Tucker into the side of his truck. The metal dented with a satisfying crunch.

  Tucker connected with a gut shot, and Tate retaliated with an uppercut to the jaw, flashing pain across his knuckles. Tucker’s head snapped back and smacked the truck.

  “You asshole,” Tucker snapped, wrapping both arms around Tate’s midsection and crumbling the two of them to the ground.

  Small stones cut into Tate’s hip.

  “Knock it off,” Dillon yelled, trying to grab the backs of their shirts.

  Neither man paid any attention.

  Tate clipped Dillon with an elbow, but he and his brother continued to roll on the pavement, throwing punches. Cartilage crunched. Blood sprayed.

  Agony roared through Tate, not nearly as harsh as hearing his brother and Hannah were still together. Shouldn’t the excitement of the affair have diminished?

  Several cars stopped on the street, and gawkers got out.

  Dillon tried again to separate them, yanking them both to their feet. Tate punched out, Tucker ducked, and Tate nailed Dillon in the nose.

  Blood spurted across Dillon’s face. “Damn it,” he bellowed.

  Sirens echoed in the distance, coming closer.

  Tate didn’t care. He kept dodging and punching. Tucker spun a kick into his side, and he crashed into Dillon, knocking his cousin down. Seeing red, Tate jumped up and pummeled his brother in the face with a series of punches.

  Tires screeched to a stop.

  Bootsteps pounded.

  Tucker tackled Tate again, slamming him into the pavement. Pain rippled down his back.