Redeem Page 5

  The man nods, clearing his throat a few times. By the time he speaks his voice is gruff. “He would be.”

  I chance a glance at Sam, having no idea what these people are going on about. The difference in her demeanor could not be more apparent. Her face has visibly paled, her eyes narrowed, her every muscle tensed and tight. Is she trembling?

  “Thank you,” she says, tone flat. It couldn’t be more obvious that she wants these people gone. But the dumbasses don’t take the hint.

  “And Wyatt?” the girl asks, her voice dropping a little as she leans in towards our table.

  Sam sways next to me, so violently I’m afraid she’s going to fall off her stool. I reach out to her but she jerks, placing both hands on the table to steady herself. She looks like she’s going to be ill.

  Before she can respond, before I can ask what in the hell is going on, the waiter returns. “Two Guinnesses and two Heinekens,” he says, placing each drink on the table. “Did you have a tab yet Sam or you want me to start one?”

  “A tab?” the girl asks, looking horrified. “A tab?”

  “Since when does Samantha Warner pay for drinks in this bar?”

  The waiter shots Sam a sympathetic look before turning to the couple. “She certainly doesn’t have to if she doesn’t want to.”

  “I want to,” Sam says, her voice like ice. “Thank you, Kris.”

  “I can’t believe this,” the guy is saying, shaking his head. His face has actually gone red. “I want to talk to Jimmy.”

  “Please don’t,” Sam cried, gripping the table in front of her with white knuckles. “I asked for the tab. Please!”

  I have no idea what’s happening here, no idea why these people care if Sam pays her own bill—nor can I think of any reason why she shouldn’t. And why is she so obviously upset about the whole thing?

  “Why don’t you just add it to my tab?” I ask the waiter, at a loss.

  Sam glares at me. “No.”

  “Look,” the waiter says, stepping slightly between our table and the two intruders. “If Sam wants to pay for a couple drinks it’s not any of our business. So let’s just move along, alright?”

  Their mouths drop open, the guy’s face reddening further. He looks even more pissed off. Before either of them can say a word, Penny and Lennon reappear. Her eyebrows raise slightly, and it’s obvious from the set of her face that she no abundance of good feelings for these people.

  “Jess,” she says, her voice almost cold. “Jed. Good to see you.”

  “Did you know that they’re making her pay for drinks in this bar?” Jess asks, her voice shrill. I notice that even in her anger her eyes still flick up and down Penny’s outfit, her nose scrunching slightly in distaste. I’m liking this chick less and less by the minute.

  “If Sam wants to buy a drink she can buy a drink.”

  “But Jimmy—”

  “Jimmy want’s Doug’s wishes followed,” Penny snaps. There’s that name again. Who in the hell is Doug?

  “Doug would want—”

  “You to leave Sam the hell alone.” Penny crosses her arms, placing herself between Sam and the others. That’s the second time I’ve seen someone do that, place themselves between Sam and discomfort. “She’s having a perfectly pleasant night, for once. So why don’t you move along?” She smiles in a way that does nothing to soften her features or her attitude. “Bye now.”

  The two shoot glances at Sam, who is staring at the table. Are those tears in her eyes?

  “I said bye.”

  They turn to go, both grumbling about Doug, whoever he is. Penny immediately moves to Sam, rubbing her back. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” she bites out, not looking up.

  “They’re just assholes, Sam. Don’t let it bother you.”

  “I said I’m fine.”

  Penny sighs, looking like the last thing in the world she wants to do is drop it. Instead she goes back to her side of the table, lifting her beer and taking a long sip. By the time she puts the glass down she’s smiling again, though I think I can still detect a tightness around her eyes. “Good beer. You know, this is the only place around you can get Guinness on tap. If you guys are stuck out here in the woods for weeks at a time I figure that’s pretty important information to have.”

  She winks at me. “By the way, I totally convinced your brother that country is the foundation of all good music.”

  “Oh, give me a break,” Lennon says. “You did not.”

  And then they’re off again, seeming to pick up their argument right where they left off.

  I look over at Sam. She’s still clutching the table, her eyes fixed on some spot on the wood as if her life depended on it. “Are you okay?” I ask in an undertone. She nods once, a jerky movement. I have a dozen questions for her—who were those people? Why is everyone acting like it’s a rarity to see her out? Why did they give a shit if she paid her own bill—did her father own the bar or something? Even if that was the case, why did they seem to take it as a personal affront? In the end, I only ask her one question—the one I wish I had never learned the answer to.

  “Samantha, who’s Doug?”

  She swallows once, hard, before finally looking up at me. Her eyes are dark and filled with a pain I don’t think I’d ever witnessed anywhere, on anyone.

  “My husband.”

  Chapter Four

  Sam

  I could have killed them both. That’s all I could think as they blathered on and on about Doug and how I shouldn’t have to pay for a drink in this bar. God. Why in the hell did they care? Seriously? Did they think that Jimmy’s years old promise that I would never buy a drink in his bar did anything—anything—to dull the horror of what I had been through?

  And they had to do it in front of Cash freaking Ransome, of all people. Like he was the kind of guy that would be in any way interested in the sordid little details of my life.

  I wouldn’t exactly consider myself a celebrity gossip hound. Occasionally I watched the Kardashians when in need of a little mindless, guilty-pleasure entertainment. Every so often I would grab a copy of People or InTouch while waiting in line at the grocery store. I figured I knew just enough about the Ransome boys without being a full out crazy fan.

  I knew, for instance, that Cash was a notorious womanizer. That his picture had been taken at the side of countless models and actresses, as well as your everyday, leggy blonde fan. The rumors about him and groupies were pretty much legend at this point. Last year a few women had come forward to share their dirty little secrets, claiming that Cash lied and manipulated to get them into bed before leaving without so much as a goodbye. There were never any indications that he’d been abusive or done anything that could be confused with harassment. It was clear he was simply a horny dude who used his fame, fortune, and good looks to sleep with a lot of women.

  In short, he was exactly what I was looking for.

  I hadn’t noticed he was in the bar until I went falling into his lap. Had I known ahead of time I probably never would have had the courage to approach him. But once I went stumbling right into him, once I realized who belonged to the broad, muscular chest I was now clutching, I thanked my lucky stars.

  Cash was a sure thing.

  It was a bonus that we seemed to be hitting it off. I would have been more than satisfied with a no-nonsense one-night stand. I certainly wasn’t looking for romance or anything. But rapport was nice. Flirting was nice. Those were the kinds of details that would add to the experience, not make it more awkward. And I knew all about awkward—about the guys that tried to spend the night. The guys that thought our fling would lead to dating. The guys that wanted to—shudder—talk. The guys that wanted more.

  I had a feeling Cash wouldn’t want more.

  And then Jess and Jed had shown up and fucked it all up.

  I knew they would bring up Doug the minute I saw their faces. They were doing that thing that I hated—that sympathetic, encouraging, patronizing thing. It was so good that I had
managed to get out. So good that I was in school. So good that I was somehow managing to put one foot in front of the other. Doug would be proud of me.

  I choke on a bitter laugh and have to take a long swig of my beer to mask it. The Guinness is smooth and bitter, exactly the way that I like it, and it seems to soothe my throat going down. But it does little to soothe my annoyance at the turn the evening has taken.

  I chance a glance at Cash, who has withdrawn to the far edge of his side of the table. He literally couldn’t be farther from me without falling off of his stool.

  Damn it.

  Why did he have to pick up on the name Doug? Why did he have to ask me who he was? Why couldn’t I have lied?

  Yeah, as if you could have ever lied about Doug.

  “If you want me to leave, I will,” I mutter into my glass.

  Cash shoots me a surprised look before glancing at our tablemates. Lennon and Penny are still hotly debating their musical tastes and appear not to have heard me announce that I have a husband.

  “I don’t want you to leave,” he says quickly. “I just…I’m confused, I guess.” He gives me a quick, rakish grin but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. “I always check for wedding rings on girls I want to flirt with.”

  I hold out my left hand, showing him my bare ring finger. “No ring here.”

  “But I thought…did you say you had a husband?”

  I sigh, trying to do the math in my head. Is it worth it? To go down this road, tell him the messy details, open myself up to his curiosity and pity? I didn’t want any of this, not tonight. Tonight was supposed to be about escape. And here I was, about to tell the hottest guy I had encountered in years all of my dirty secrets.

  You could just leave, I tell myself. Take the out; walk away. I might even be able to find another worthy distraction somewhere in this bar. I look up at Cash, his messy brown hair, just long enough to flip up over his ears. That tight t-shirt, displaying a muscular chest and great arms. I know that a lot of girls, Penny included, go for his brother. Daltrey is blessed with the more typical rock star looks—tall, lanky, somewhat thin with taut, wiry muscles. I mean, he certainly isn’t bad by any stretch, but I prefer the look of Cash. He might be shorter and stockier, but he looks more like a man to me. And I like a good-looking man.

  Am I really willing to walk away from that? Over a few little details from the past?

  “Doug was in the army,” I say simply, trying to keep any emotion from my voice. The best way to keep this from getting complicated. “He was in Afghanistan less than a year after our wedding. He was captured on a patrol. They, uh, never found his body…but they found his partner. He’s, um, presumed dead now.”

  I look up into his deep blue eyes, darker than the famous icy hue of his little brother, and see the thing I was dreading. Shock. And pity.

  “I’m so—” he begins, but I hold up a hand.

  “It’s okay. I mean, it sucks, of course. But…it’s been years. Seven years, to be exact. Once he was presumed dead, we all said our goodbyes.” I can’t refrain from a bitter smile. “Held a funeral and everything.”

  “Had you…did you know him long? You said you were only married a year…”

  “We were in school together.” I can hear the dead tone in my voice, the flatness that I always hear when I talk about Doug before the wedding. Somehow, that’s always been the toughest thing to get into—the years we had, growing up together, before he even considered joining the service.

  Cash reaches over and takes my hand and I feel like crying, but not over Doug. The sparks I’d been feeling whenever we touched are gone. “I’m really sorry.”

  “So am I,” I tell him, releasing his hand to take my beer. “But like I said, it’s been a long time.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. “So, uh, what was that thing about the drinks?”

  I roll my eyes. “Doug was pretty popular around here. Football captain, homecoming king. Everyone loved him. Star son of West Wood, you know? People took it pretty hard. Back when he was still MIA the owner of this bar told me that I would never pay for a drink here.” I shake my head. “It’s stupid.”

  “I think it’s nice.”

  I scowl at my beer. Sure, it sounds nice. The poor worried wife of the hometown hero should be taken care of, right? Even if that means reminding her every day of what she’s lost. Even if that means continuing to tie her to someone who is never coming home. Someone she hasn’t seen since she was nineteen years old. Someone who she can never, ever move on from.

  A familiar wave of guilt washes over me, the same one that appears whenever my thoughts seem to resent Doug. I sigh, reaching for my beer again.

  “You know what I think?” Cash says, sliding a bit closer to me. His hand snakes out and takes mine, moves it under the table where he squeezes it tight, holding it on his knee. “I think that you look like you need a bit of a distraction.”

  I gape at him, surprised. Some of those sparks are starting to surface again where our skin meets and I fight back a shudder. “You do?”

  He nods, his expression serious even though his eyes are flashing. “I do. I think you need to spend a little time with someone who has no idea how awesome Mr. Hometown Hero was.”

  I stare into those twinkling blue eyes and feel something lurch inside me. Penny would have told me it was my uterus, gearing up for what was sure to be a fun night. But this sensation is different—and somewhere more in the vicinity of my heart.

  “I think you’re right,” I whisper, my voice low and raspy, filled with some emotion I don’t want to examine. “Might that person be you?”

  He leans closer still, his serious expression giving way to the kind of smile I’m sure has caused more than one woman at a Ransom show to throw her bra on stage. “I’ve been told I’m very good at the art of distraction.”

  “Then why in the hell are we still in this bar?”

  His eyes widen a bit, as if I surprised him. “You want to go?”

  I nod. “I don’t think the kind of distraction I need can happen here in public.”

  He swallows once and then again, opening his mouth three times before he manages to speak. Something about surprising this man, this international sex symbol, has my heart soaring.

  “I think I’ve had too much to drive. And Len and I came in the same car.”

  I lean close enough to whisper in his ear, making sure to brush it with my lips and feeling a thrill when he visibly shivers. “We can walk to my place from here. One of the benefits of a small town.”

  He does that swallowing thing again, this time darting his eyes toward Penny and Lennon, who now seem to be arguing about beer. “And your cousin?”

  “She can take care of herself.”

  Before he can think of any more points to argue, I stand, digging through my purse for a twenty, which I throw on the table. Penny looks up, surprised. “That’s for my tab. Will you make sure Kris gets it?”

  She shakes her head at me, her eyes shooting death glares. I know exactly what she’s thinking. Don’t do this, Sam. It never works, Sam.

  But I don’t care. Maybe I’ll feel like shit in the morning, the way that I normally do. Maybe the regret and the guilt and the fear will press in on me in that familiar, suffocating way.

  But is that really different than what would happen if I went home alone right now? I know exactly what is waiting for me in that apartment—echoes of a little boy’s laugh. Memories of his presence. And, always, the overpowering silence that reminds me that I’m alone.

  I look down at Cash, who appears not exactly sure what to make of this situation, and grab his hand, pulling him up with me. As our fingers touch again I feel it—that little shower of sparks. And from the flash in his eyes I think maybe he feels it, too.

  No, I’ll definitely take my chances with the hot rock star.

  ***

  “So, this is it,” I mutter, bending to grab a few pair of shoes I had tried on and discarded while getting ready to go out a few
hours before. It feels weird to have him here, in the middle of my basic, boring little living room. He probably lives in a damn mansion. I once watched an entertainment show that interviewed the band on their tour bus, which had definitely been about a million times more impressive than this place. The sooner we get into the bedroom, preferably with the lights off, the better.

  But Cash seems in no hurry to rush off to bed. Instead he walks to my bookshelf, checking out the movies that are there. “I take it you like Judd Apatow.”

  I shrug. “He’s funny.”

  Cash nods, still reading the spines of my DVDs. “Totally. Are you a Knocked Up kind of person or a Forty Year Old Virgin kind of person?”

  “More like a Superbad kind of person.”

  He peeks over his shoulder to grin at me. “Nice.”

  “So.” I don’t know how to tell him we should get the show on the road without coming across as a massive slut. He seems perfectly content to sit out here and browse my DVD collection. “Want a beer?” I finally ask, thinking some more liquid courage is in order if I’m going to shamelessly drag him to my bed.

  “Sure.” I find a few Labatt’s in the back of my fridge and bring one out to him. I stop short in the doorway. He’s bending over the DVD player, a thick burgundy disc case in his hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  He grins up at me, looking much more like a little boy than a famous Lothario. “I cannot believe you have the Lord of the Rings extended editions!”

  “You like Lord of the Rings?”

  He nods, going back to fiddling with the controls. “It’s my favorite series ever.” He pauses, as if realizing he commandeered my DVD player without asking. “Uh, do you mind if I put this on?”

  “Actually, I wasn’t planning to watch much TV tonight,” I say in my sexiest voice. I hold out the beer. “Why don’t we sit down and get comfortable?”

  “Oh.” He glances back down at the disc. “I just thought we could chill out, you know? Chat a little.”

  I nod encouragingly toward the couch. “Why don’t we do that—minus the hobbits and orcs.”

  He grins again and stands, following me to the couch. I sit as close to him as I can without being in his lap, folding my knees up under me on the couch. His gaze on my leg lets me know that my dress has slipped up to mid thigh as intended. I hand him the beer, taking a swig of my own.