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  “And what about you?” he asked. “What will you do when you need a man to touch—”

  “Pray. Meditate. Garden. Work. I won’t . . .” She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

  For the rest of her life? Had she hated sex? Without a mother or sisters of her own to talk to, had she been lost or scared or upset?

  Stopping at a red light, Cutter dissected Brea’s expression. There was something she wasn’t telling him.

  “Did Pierce hurt you?”

  “No.” Her profile tightened even more. “Leave it, Cutter.”

  His temper snapped. Why the hell wouldn’t Brea open up to him, tell him what the son of a bitch had done to her? She had shared most everything else in her life. Why wouldn’t she let him defend her? If that fucking bastard had caused her one iota of hurt . . . “I won’t let him get away with everything he’s done. He took advantage of you. He caused you anguish. Goddamn it—”

  “Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain.” Now she sounded mad.

  “Figure of speech, Bre-bee. And stop derailing me. I want to know every way he harmed you so I can make him pay for it. Now.”

  She shrank back into her seat. “Doesn’t it always hurt the first time?”

  “Other than that, was he too rough? Did he bruise you? Use you too hard? Too often?” Cutter ground his teeth, thinking of all the ways that fucking bastard might have damaged or shocked innocent Brea. “Did he spank you or bind you or—”

  “Stop.” She looked shell-shocked by his questions. “Whatever he may or may not have done, I’m still alive and in one piece. I came to him for help and he did exactly what I asked. Nothing else matters.”

  Cutter wanted to argue . . . but he also knew it would do him no good. Brea was a quiet, small-town good girl—until someone crossed her line. Then she unleashed a whole lot of saccharine smile, bless-your-heart warfare. And she utterly shut down. Brea might be a tiny thing, but she had a stubborn streak that far outpaced her size, so if he didn’t shut up now, it would be weeks before he got on her good side again.

  “All right. I won’t pry.” The truth would probably only make Cutter itch to bash in One-Mile’s face even more. “Just tell me what you want to do.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re trying to help. And I appreciate it. I shouldn’t take my worries out on you.”

  She was entitled, Cutter supposed. Her whole world was falling apart—because of him.

  “I need to think,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve suspected for a while that I was expecting. Still, hearing the doctor confirm it was a shock.”

  “I know. My offer stands. Getting married will quell the gossip. We can spin the wedding as two friends who’ve realized they’re in love.”

  “I hate lying to everyone . . .”

  “I do, too. But the truth will ruin you and tear your father apart. There are no good options here, so we have to pick the best of a bad bunch.”

  She swallowed. “How do we convince anyone that we’re romantic?”

  “One step at a time. Worry about you and the baby first. How many weeks along are—”

  “Thirteen.”

  Cutter swore under his breath. Academically, he’d known that. The hostage standoff had taken place during the heat of August. But the math brought home the fact that even if they married today, the minute her baby was born Sunset would be filled with speculation and innuendo. How much longer before her pregnancy showed? Right now, she looked the same to him, but that wouldn’t last.

  “Don’t take too long to decide or people will figure it out soon.”

  She nodded softly. “I know. Thank you. Do you have an assignment next week?”

  “Yeah. Originally, the Edgingtons scheduled me to keep an eye on a former FBI director who’s coming to New Orleans for reasons I’m not supposed to know or care about. But he’s rescheduled, so Jolie—you know, the clothing designer I worked for last week?”

  “The one whose offices you were almost killed in?” She sounded horrified.

  “You’re overreacting. I got whacked in the head.” While he’d been peeing. Then he’d done a face-plant on the floor. It wasn’t something he was proud of or wanted to repeat to his former military buddies. They’d die laughing. “Anyway, she asked me to go bodyguard some pampered celebrity for a week or two in L.A. But I’ll be back for Thanksgiving. I think we should get married then.”

  Brea looked pensive, her feminine features taut. “I would offer to divorce you after the baby is born but . . .”

  She couldn’t, at least until her father was dead. Even then, he doubted her moral code would allow her to put asunder that which God hath joined. When Preacher Bell passed, Cutter knew he would have to take the reins and file the paperwork—and pray like hell she didn’t hate him for it.

  But there was no way they could be trapped in a loveless marriage for the rest of their lives. Regardless of what Brea said, she would want affection, romance . . . and yes, sex. He would have to let her go and risk her wrath so she could eventually have the full life she deserved.

  “We’ll worry about that later. For now, think about what I’ve said.”

  She nodded. “Can we skip lunch? I’m not up to it.”

  Brea wanted to be alone. Cutter didn’t like leaving her to fester, but he understood her. She needed time to draw inward and think.

  When he reached the street on which they’d both grown up, he parked between their childhood homes and leaned across the cab of the truck to kiss her forehead.

  She met him halfway and brought him in for a sisterly hug. “Thank you for everything.”

  “No, thank you. I wouldn’t be alive today without you.”

  Cutter couldn’t forget that fact for even one single day.

  * * *

  —

  After Brea disappeared into her house with a wave and a warning that he best call her from California, he walked to his mama’s house. The little cottage she’d built where her double-wide had once stood wasn’t much, and he did his best to repair it as needed whenever he came up this way. Despite working two jobs and raising a pair of rambunctious boys, she’d always kept the place beyond tidy. She was getting older now, and he and Cage sent her frequent gifts to make her life easier “just because.” Lord knew she would never accept a dime from either of them, despite the fact they more than owed her.

  When he strolled into the little living room, Mama was sitting in her recliner, knitting what looked like baby booties. His heart stopped, but he tried to act as if everything was completely normal. She wasn’t one to spread gossip . . . but she also didn’t have a poker face. Besides, Brea’s pregnancy wasn’t his secret to spill.

  Her eyes lit up when he walked in, and Cutter bent to kiss her cheek. “Hi, Mama.”

  “Hi, little boy.”

  He grimaced. It didn’t matter that he was a few inches over six feet and he’d already turned thirty over the summer. He would always be her little boy.

  “What are you making?” he asked.

  “Some things for Emily Danson’s baby.”

  “Isn’t her son about to turn one? Those booties won’t fit him.”

  “She’s expecting again.” Mama shook her head. “Don’t understand this generation. Nobody cares about having a husband before they have kids anymore.”

  He didn’t even try to reason with her. Nor did he remind her that she, better than anyone, ought to know that no husband was sometimes better than a deadbeat. Sweeney Bryant was set in her ways, and she was always right—if you asked her. Though Mama was stubborn, it had also made her strong enough to survive as a single, largely uneducated mother in a small town where jobs were scarce.

  “She’s moving back to Michigan to live with her parents. Right after she announced she was pregnant, Fred fired her from the diner. Said he needed to cut back everyone’s hours.” Mama’s face turned sour.
“Of course he gave me more hours on next week’s schedule.”

  And that was Sunset. If the town disapproved, they drummed the outcast away. Mama had done well here, getting by on a combination of others’ sympathies and her own grit.

  “You going to be all right?”

  “Of course, boy. I’m not ninety yet.”

  Not even close, and he wondered why, when his father had taken off for good nearly twenty years ago, she’d never even thought about remarrying—or even dating. Because she’d been too bitter? Or still somehow in love, despite how terribly Rod Bryant had let her down?

  “Just looking out for you, Mama.”

  She patted the hand he’d rested on her shoulder. “You’re a good boy. Speaking of married, when are you going to get hitched?”

  He shrugged, downplaying her question. “I don’t know. Maybe soon. Maybe never.”

  It had been his standard answer since she’d started asking him and Cage a few years back. Neither of them seemed so inclined, and it frustrated his mama. She made no bones about the fact she was ready to spoil some grandkids.

  Cutter sobered, thinking that she might have the chance sooner than even she suspected.

  “You ain’t going to be young forever,” she reminded him.

  “I think I’ve got a little time.” He grinned at her. “Cage come home this week?”

  His brother was a cop in Dallas and worked some crappy hours, but he loved his job. He visited their mother whenever he had a few days free.

  Mama nodded. “He finished his shift at five A.M., then drove straight here. That boy is crazy, I tell you . . . He slept most of the morning, but I heard him rattling around his bedroom a few minutes ago.”

  “I’ll go drag his lazy ass out of bed,” Cutter teased. He could use a lot of words to describe his brother, but lazy wasn’t one of them.

  “Do that. And tell that boy I’ll make fried chicken for dinner if he can stay. How about you?”

  “Yeah, I don’t fly to Los Angeles until Sunday night.”

  “You be careful out west, you hear? Those people in California are crazy.”

  Cutter refrained from pointing out to his mother that she’d never even been to California. But again, she thought she knew best. So he just shook his head and swallowed the argument. “I’m always careful. Since I’m guarding an actress, I’ll be on the lookout for extra crazy.”

  That perked Mama up. “Who? Anyone I’ve heard of?”

  “You know I can’t say.”

  “Those people sure like their privacy and make you sign papers every which way to keep it,” she groused. “Maybe I’ll get to see your handsome face on TV or in a magazine.”

  The thought made Cutter shudder. “I sincerely hope not.”

  “You’ve never liked being the center of attention. But your picture on the checkout stand at Jasmine’s next time I go to the market might finally make Edna Greene quiet down about her son. I don’t know why she brags on him so much. He’s run twice for the state senate and lost.”

  With a chuckle, he headed out of the room and down the hall to the first of the small bedrooms at the end. The door was shut, but Cutter could hear the clink of metal and grunts of effort as he knocked.

  “Come in,” Cage called.

  Sure enough, when Cutter opened the portal, his older brother was pumping some of the old hand weights he’d had in high school and stashed in the closet. “Hey, bro.”

  “Hey!” Cage set the weights aside and hopped to his feet, giving him a slightly sweaty hug and a grin. “How’s it going?”

  “Good. You?”

  Cage shrugged. “Good enough.”

  “Mama seems like she’s doing well.”

  “You know Mama . . .”

  “Yeah.” His fond smile faded as he shut the door. “I need to talk to you.”

  Unlike Mama, Cage could keep a secret just fine.

  “Shoot.”

  After Cutter filled him in on Brea’s situation and his suggestion that they marry, Cage sat on the corner of his bed, mouth flattened into a grim line.

  “Say something.” Cutter didn’t ask for many opinions, but he always valued his brother’s advice.

  “You won’t like it.”

  “That’s never stopped you.”

  Despite the solemn vibe, Cage barked out a laugh. “Damn straight. Look, I know you feel responsible for Brea, especially since she laid her body on the line to save you. But something is up here. The fact that she won’t talk at all about what happened with One-Mile—”

  “She’s horrified, I’m sure. He’s a big, ugly-ass brute. He’s got no couth, no manners, and no honor. The idea of that man touching my little sister makes me want to hit him until his brains come out the back of his head.”

  “I’d help you with that. He is unworthy, at least based on what you’ve said. That’s not where I take issue. It’s with you marrying her.”

  “It’s not my first choice, but who else is going to take care of her?”

  “She’s a big girl, first of all. Second, she’s needed to stand up to her daddy for a long time. If he found out the truth, he’d say she was compounding a sin with a lie, and how does that make anything better?”

  Cutter saw Cage’s point. He hated doing anything strictly for appearance’s sake. But he didn’t see another way for Brea to preserve her reputation and keep her family intact.

  “So I’m supposed to just leave her for the wolves?”

  “No, but you’re not responsible for her. Just like you’re not responsible for me or Mama or Widow Bennett. Don’t interrupt me and don’t tell me I’m wrong before you finish hearing me out,” he insisted when Cutter opened his mouth to retort. “Sometimes, you’re driven by the ghost of Rod Bryant. He was a fuckup at everything. And no matter what you do, you can’t make up for his shitty behavior.”

  Yes. Charming and irresponsible as hell, their father had been the sort of man who’d stay as long as the fun and the booze were flowing, but the moment it came time to pay the check, he’d suddenly vanish.

  “I’m not trying to,” Cutter insisted.

  But the jibe hit awfully close to home. Mama had accused him of trying to fix everyone’s ills because he wanted the town to remember that he’d become dependable and responsible . . . and forget that he was good-time Rod’s boy. Was anything so wrong with that?

  “Bullshit. You want to help Brea? Let her grow up. Her daddy hasn’t and he never will. Give her money if she can’t make ends meet while she finds clients in Lafayette. Babysit when she needs a hand or an afternoon to herself. Offer to be with her when she gives birth, and take the tyke to a doctor’s appointment if he gets a snotty nose. But you can’t sacrifice your entire fucking life so that Brea doesn’t have to tell Preacher Bell the truth. And you have to realize that you can’t make up for our father’s sins.”

  Grinding his jaw, Cutter absorbed Cage’s every word. The situation wasn’t that simple. “Friends don’t turn their backs on friends during their time of need.”

  “I agree, but with you it’s a sickness. You barely spoke to Widow Bennett when you started mowing her lawn every Friday after her husband passed because she couldn’t. And you did it for six years.”

  “So?”

  “When are you going to start living for you?”

  Cutter resisted the urge to yell. Mama would get suspicious if he raised his voice, and it wouldn’t solve anything. “You can be a selfish prick if you want. That’s not me. If Brea says yes, are you going to be my best man or not?”

  “Of course.” Cage’s voice gentled. “I’m always on your side, which is why I’m worried. It’s all well and good for you to help Brea. I even admire it. But I want you to be happy, too, you know.”

  As much as his brother irritated him sometimes—didn’t all siblings do that to one another?—he never doubted t
hat Cage had his best interests at heart.

  “I’m good, bro.”

  “Now you are, sure. Between work, Mama, and all your do-gooding, you keep busy. It’s not today I worry about. Think of tomorrow. What will you do when you look up and realize you didn’t do what you wanted with your life?”

  “Not going to happen.”

  Cage sighed in exasperation. “Yeah, Mr. Blinders? What are you going to do if you’re coupled up with Brea but you fall for someone else?”

  It was probably a valid question, but he figured if he hadn’t been remotely stricken by Cupid in thirty years, he was safe. “That’s not going to happen, either.”

  “I hope I’m there when you realize you’re wrong.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Sunday, November 9

  Bel-Air, California

  $250,000 to keep your dirty secret quiet. Bring the money next Wednesday. Location and time to follow.

  Shealyn West darkened the display on her phone and paced her rough-hewn balcony from one end to the other in bare feet.

  She was terrified. When the text had first come from a private number last week, she had been unable to fathom who could have obtained her phone number or what they could possibly blackmail her with. The attached video had quickly made the threat obvious and horrifying.

  Her trouble was deep, and she didn’t see a way out. She resisted the urge to yell at the world. It wouldn’t do any good. She swallowed the sense of violation, too. Worse, she couldn’t tell anyone in her “glamorous” Hollywood life the truth, especially not Dean, aka Tower Trent, her “boyfriend” and co-star on the fan-crazy nighttime drama Hot Southern Nights. Even Sienna, her PR whiz, would bless her out and have her jumping through press-related hoops. But Shealyn also feared the price for her gullible stupidity would be everything she’d dreamed of as an ambitious girl.

  What option did she have, except to bring in a professional? Once the money drop was done, her problems would go away. At least she hoped so. Nothing in this town was a guarantee. And nothing was real, not like back home. Shealyn felt as if she was learning that the hard way.