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“I just need to talk to her about a project.” Beau grabbed his helmet. “But I hear what you’re saying.”
“Okay,” Shane said, his gloved hand on the door handle. “You ladies done bonding? Let’s get this done. Something’s up with Bobbi and she was more than a little pissed that I took off first thing this morning.”
Shane disappeared outside and the crowd reacted. Beau watched as Gallagher slid onto Beau’s bike, revved it a few times and then steered it around the garage, with two of his security detail following in a black SUV.
The crowd jostled near the driveway, but before the SUV had even passed the garage to head toward the laneway out back, the paparazzi were on the move.
Beau secured his bag to the bike while Logan opened the large overhead door. He got on Shane’s Harley and roared out of the driveway, the remainder of his security detail keeping the locals at bay as he made his escape.
Less than five minutes later he was at The Grill, his boots thudding up the steps as he pushed his way inside. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the dimness and with relief, he noted it was as empty as the parking lot.
Duke, the owner, lifted his head from the paperwork in front of him as Beau made his way over to him.
Duke sat at the bar. “Can I get you anything?”
“Nah.” Beau had called the man half an hour ago so the man knew what was up. “Is she?”
“She’s in the kitchen but I have to warn you. She’s in one hell of a mood.” Duke’s handlebar mustache quivered a bit as he frowned. “I hope you know what you’re doing and I hope…” Duke muttered something and glanced toward the kitchen doors.
“Is there something else you want to say?”
Duke’s gaze was still on the kitchen doors. “None of us want to see her hurt.”
Another warning.
Maybe in another time and place Beau would have taken them personally, but how could he? These folks were looking after one of their own—their loyalty and concern was admirable.
He wondered if Betty knew how much her family and the town loved her?
“I know,” Beau answered. “You gonna be okay if I steal her away for the day?”
Duke nodded. “Good luck with that. She’s in a mood. It might take a small miracle to convince her to leave with you.”
“Thanks for the heads up.” Beau headed toward the kitchen and paused with his hands on the door.
His shoulders ached from tension and his gut was jittery. This wasn’t just about the movie anymore. It was about making things right.
He just hoped that Betty Jo would let him.
Chapter Twenty-one
BETTY’S BLACK MOOD didn’t improve when she glanced up from the prep table and spied Beau standing just inside the kitchen. Heck, it could have been Jim Morrison standing there and she wouldn’t have cracked a smile—and he was her number one, favorite dead guy.
God, she felt like shit and had barely slept. For the first time in years, she’d been haunted by the memories of that long ago night. The images, so fresh it felt as if she was back in that shed. The sensations—cold, rough hands across quivering skin. The fear. The helplessness.
Who knew that all that shit was still there? Hiding beneath the surface of her skin like a disease. And now? Now it oozed from her pores, sliding down her body like tiny rivers.
What she wouldn’t give for a hit of something strong. Something to make her forget. Something to dull everything.
The old Betty would have been all over that shit, but the new one? The new one wouldn’t let her. The new one had kept her from calling Matt and asking him for a hit. The new one had kept her from reaching for that damn bottle of vodka in the dining room cupboard.
The new one had shown up for work on time.
But the new one was angry, filled with so much rage that her fingers shook and she put down the knife in her hand afraid she’d cut herself. Nice to know that all that money spent on therapy was wasted.
“Hey,” Beau said, a note of hesitation in his voice.
“What do you want?” she snapped.
