SWNOVELS Chance: Chapter 13
Chance followedRory home after the Dawg was closed for the night. He’d stayed all evening, playing pool, listening to the band, laughing with his teammates—the ones who didn’t go home—and deflecting Amber, who’d gotten strangely more aggressive as the night went on.
Rory had barely spoken to him when she’d walked out the back door and found him leaning on her truck. He’d let her get away with it because they’d be at her house before too long.
She flipped on her blinker and went up the drive, him following right behind her. The grooves in the gravel in front of her house were gone, and he’d gotten nearly all the rocks out of her flowerbeds. Might be a few stragglers, but he’d look again tomorrow.
She parked and jumped out before he’d even turned off his truck. Alarm shot through him. He had a feeling—a bone deep feeling—that if he didn’t get up to that door before she was inside, she’d lock him out.
Cussing a blue streak, he shoved the truck in park and went after her, reaching her side just as she inserted the key in the lock.
All the lights were on inside, and the front porch was bathed in a warm glow. Rory’s face was pink and her forehead creased in thought.
She twisted the key and the door opened. He followed her inside and gripped her elbow before she could escape.
Because she was definitely bent on escape.
Rory whirled, her hazel eyes flashing, those impossibly long lashes making her look at lot more angelic than she in fact was.
“What the hell’s gotten into you?” he said.
She cocked a hip and folded her arms over her chest—after jerking her elbow free of his grip. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it was hearing from Amber that you said you’d been there, done that, and it was just okay.”
Chance winced. “That was last night.”
“Oh, and that makes it better?”
“No, but in fairness you were glaring at me from the bar and Blaze was telling me Emma wanted us to get back together, and I was trying to explain how there was no us and Emma didn’t need to get her hopes up. Amber wasn’t meant to hear it.”
“Oh, right, sure. I feel better now. Thank you for clarifying.”
He eyed her. The words were right, but the tone was wrong. “Rory, for fuck’s sake, what was I supposed to say? The sex was hot and you were a wet dream? You want me to talk that way about you to my guys?”
She still looked mad, but maybe she’d softened a little.
Maybe.
“Was it?”
“What? Hot? You know it was. And yeah, I’ve jerked off to memories of your tits bouncing as you rode me. None of those facts are things I’m telling anyone besides you.”
Her face got a little redder. She thrust her chin out and glared.
“Amber wants to date you. I want you to know I don’t care if you do. This pregnancy doesn’t change anything. You’re free to have a personal life, and so am I.”
He was going to strangle her. Put his hands around her neck and fucking squeeze. “I don’t want to date Amber,” he growled. “And maybe you could hold off on the dating until after you have our baby, huh?”
Not that he wanted her dating then either. He simply didn’t want to think about it. Pissed him the fuck off to imagine her going on a date, either right now or when she had a baby at home to take care of. Not that a woman couldn’t have a baby and date, but he was still planning to be in the picture so why couldn’t she just date him?
“We’ll see. I might meet someone.”
Chance closed his eyes. “Rory, I swear to God.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. God doesn’t approve and there will be no swearing when we have a kid around.”
He could only gape at her. She sounded so prim, but he already knew she could swear like a sailor. And some of the dirty things that had come out of her mouth during sex….
“I think we’ll be safe for the first few months or so. The kid isn’t going to repeat anything we say. Did you get an obstetrician from Emma?”
“Yes, she found one with a stellar reputation. I have to go to Huntsville, though.”
“I’ll take you. When is the appointment?”
“Tuesday morning. And I’ll take myself. I can still drive.”
“I know you can, but that truck doesn’t need to be on the interstate. Nor does it need to be in Huntsville traffic.”
“Clyde was driving to Huntsville before you were even a gleam of interest in your daddy’s eye. I think he still knows the way.”
He found it cute the way she named things in her life. Clyde the truck. Liza Jane the shotgun. She’d even named some of the deer who grazed in the fields. He knew that because he’d stood on the porch with her early one morning and she’d told him.
Buck, Bambi, Jack, Flame, Shadow, Marie, and Delaney. Delaney, of all things!
There were things about Rory that were endearing, and other things that exasperated him no end. He didn’t know what to do with her most of the time. Didn’t know how to breach that mantle of dislike she donned especially for him.
“I understand that, honey, but Clyde is probably a little tired of dealing with sports cars and speed demons at his age. Plus he doesn’t have airbags or ABS. I’d feel better if you let me take you. Or, if you refuse, at least take my truck and I’ll take Clyde to the range.”
Her expression had definitely softened. “I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
He knew better than to argue with her. If you pushed Rory, you got pushed back. If you let her turn it over in her head for a while, she’d come to the right conclusion.
He didn’t know what made her that way, but he knew that she and Theo had also lost their parents early in life. They’d been raised by loving grandparents according to everything she’d told him, and everything he knew from Emma. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, Rory hated to be managed.
But there were some things he wasn’t accepting. Like the idea she might meet someone else. Not if he could help it. He was going to be so present in her life that any other man would definitely think twice before getting involved.
He didn’t care to examine what that said about his future plans at this moment. He was just trying to get through each day, do the job, and protect his country. Not only his country, but his child and its mother.
“I’m going outside to get my duffel bag from the truck. You lock that door on me, I’ll pick it. If I can’t pick it, I’ll kick the fucker in.”
Her jaw flexed.
“I mean it Rory. I know you’ve had a shitty day, but I’ve had one too. I’m tired and I need to do a perimeter check before I can go to sleep. So first I’m getting that duffel and bringing it in, and then I’m walking out to the barn and checking things there.”
One of the cameras was out and he needed to see if the battery had died prematurely. There hadn’t been any visitors to the property tonight, other than the neighbor who closed the chickens in. He knew because he’d installed the app to his phone so he’d get alerts too. Not that he was telling her right now. That was yet another thing she’d get pissed about.
Rory sighed and rubbed her forehead. “You know where the spare key is. Take it. I’m tired too, and I want to go to bed. Just don’t do anything to make Gramps’s stuff collapse on your head. I won’t know about it until morning, and that’ll be too late to save you.”
“Honey, I’ve tiptoed through minefields and survived. Don’t worry about me.”
She blinked and he gritted his teeth for saying too much.
“Real minefields? Where?”
“I was in the military, Rory. We went places where people wanted to protect things like drug operations. Mines are an effective way to do that. But with the right equipment and tools, you can avoid getting blown up.”
“Nothing in the sheds will blow up, but it might topple. So be careful. That’s all I was trying to say.”
He grinned at her because he knew it would annoy her. Especially combined with what he said next. “Careful or I’ll think you like me.”
Her expression went blank. “Not at all, Chancey Pants. I just don’t want to have to explain your demise to the police.”
He tapped a fist to his chest. “You’re all heart, honey. Do what you gotta do and don’t wait up. I’ll be fine.”
Chance retrievedthe duffel and set it by the couch. He could hear the water running in the bathroom and he stopped for a second, listened. He heard movement so he knew she was fine.
“Paranoid,” he muttered as he went into the kitchen to grab the spare key from the drawer. But with her diabetes and this pregnancy being new, he worried about her having another episode like she’d had this morning. He hated to think about her being alone if she did.
Still, hovering over her wasn’t going to do a damned thing except piss her off.
Chance slipped out the back door and headed for the barn. He’d ordered the new cameras and hard drive he needed to beef up the surveillance on this place. It hadn’t been cheap, but he’d already decided he was giving Rory a bill that didn’t reflect the true cost. He had to charge her something, because she’d get pissed if he didn’t, but it wasn’t going to be accurate.
And he wasn’t caving in to her demands for invoices. Last time he’d done it because he’d been involved with her, thinking maybe they had something that could be good for them both, and he hadn’t wanted to rock the boat.
This time he didn’t give two shits what she thought.
It was dark tonight, but the sky was clear and the stars shone brightly. He walked toward the barn, listening for any sounds that weren’t right. Coyotes yipped in the woods, and a barn owl screeched. There was also the call of a chuck-will’s-widow, which was similar to a whippoorwill’s call. He’d heard both growing up in Mississippi and learned to distinguish them in hunting trips with his dad.
His gut tightened at the thought of his dad. He’d been a big man, handsome and strong, and he’d taught Chance to hunt and fish. They took weekend trips together with his dad’s hunting buddies, all converging on a cabin in the woods to hunt game. He’d loved those trips with his dad.
His mother was a different story. She was mercurial. Sometimes she was happy and full of life and other times she had a hard time getting out of bed. Chance hadn’t understood about depression back then. All he’d known was he couldn’t count on her to do anything she promised she’d do. Sometimes she did, but most of the time she didn’t.
The ball of anger and guilt in his stomach weighed on him heavily, even after all these years. What had happened wasn’t his fault, even if it still felt like it. He’d had enough counseling to know he wasn’t to blame, but he still felt like he’d lit the match.
He shook the memories away and stalked the path between the house and the barn. The chicken coop was quiet as he passed. He stopped to listen for the rustling of feathers. When he finally heard it, he kept going.
The barn was a big, weathered structure that used to be red but was now sun-washed and faded. It had a gambrel roof with a bright square of red, white, and blue painted in a block design on the loft doors above the breezeway entrance. He’d asked what it was and Rory told him it was a barn quilt. Apparently, there were hundreds of barns in Alabama with these squares, all different, and there was even a barn quilt trail complete with a website and a map. People drove around looking at them from the road, which he found odd, but whatever.
Chance listened for sounds out of the ordinary, but there was nothing. He took out his flashlight when he reached the structure and ran it over the building and the entry way. He was looking for things that didn’t belong, wires or signs of activity. The camera he’d installed was beneath the quilt and accessed from the loft.
But it wasn’t there. The base was, but the camera was gone.
He shined the light around the entrance. Something flashed in the grass and he went to examine it. The camera had been shattered where a large projectile had pierced it. A chill rolled over him as he gingerly picked up the biggest chunk and turned it over. He knew what had shattered the casing, knew he’d probably find the bullet buried in the wood where the camera had been.
Some asshole had shot the camera down, but why this one? They’d been careful about it, too. Hadn’t gotten into its field of view before disabling it. He knew because he’d looked at the feed up until it went dead to see if anyone had sabotaged it on purpose.
They had, but they hadn’t left visual evidence.
He went through the barn, looking at the empty stalls where cows and pigs had once lived. Then he climbed up to the loft, which wasn’t empty as he’d originally thought when he’d first come out here. It was one of the repositories of Rory’s grandfather’s junk. There were old bicycle frames, old glass bottles, signs, and pieces of farm equipment and other tools and implements. It was almost like a museum, except without the care and cleaning to display the pieces properly.
There was nothing out of place that he could tell. Still as junky and musty as ever. He opened one of the loft doors and shined the light across the ground, over toward the coop and then sweeping back in the other direction. Whoever’d shot the camera had done it from over there.
But that wasn’t the worst of what they’d done. He knew why they’d disabled the camera.
“Shit,” he breathed as he looked over the destruction.
The garden where Theo and Rory grew produce and herbs for the Dawg was fenced to keep deer out, but the fence didn’t matter now.
The plants had been cut to the ground. Everything was gone.