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I wander past the pool table over to the sliding doors and flick the light switch. Light floods the back yard. Or compound. Or whatever it is. It’s big, has firepits and a brick enclosure for barbecuing. A couple of picnic tables are placed haphazardly, and off to one side is an outdoor two-story playground set for kids – slides, netting, a swing. There’s a garage in a corner with a single sliding overhead door and a few other smaller buildings. One looks like a tool shed, another, bigger one, is probably used for storage.
The fresh cool air greets me as I step outside and walk carefully towards the construction in the far corner. My heels are meant for floors, carpet, and pavement, not the ruts and little rocks that are hazardous to my ankles should I stumble.
Lullaby’s corral has already been partially built and I’m impressed by how quickly things get done around here. The lumber for the paddock is resting by the fence and a small barn has already been framed. There’s a water trough and several hay bales to one side as well as what appears to be a secure barrel of oats. Lullaby will have everything she could possibly desire. Now all I need is my sweet girl here and I can rest easy.
I smile as I turn back to the clubhouse, then falter when I see a light leaking through the window high on the wall in Hangman’s office. It wasn’t there when I came outside and it’s weird to me that Hangman would be here at this time of the night. Still, I don’t know the man well enough to be familiar with his comings and goings. If it is Hangman, I need to thank him for what he’s done for Lullaby. I also know he wants to talk to Wendy and me about the DEA agents. Maybe this is an opportunity to start the conversation.
He's an impatient, autocratic man who fills up a room with both his body and his presence, but he doesn’t make me nervous. In fact, despite his blustering, I quite like him. I imagine the two of us bonding over a beer as we wait for Lullaby, talking about my day, planning a course of action to lure the DEA agents out.
Of course, I know that’s not going to happen. He’s the most misogynistic man I’ve ever met. He credits the women in the club with brains, but at the same time, isn’t interested in their opinions. Still, he seems to have no problem sending them into the line of fire when it’s needed. I want to think that his behaviour is mercenary, but it’s no less than what he expects from the male members in the club.
I think of Trigger. Commanding and protective. I like how possessive he is of me. I like that he respects my intelligence and fortitude. That he respects what’s important to me, and that he thinks I’m beautiful. He’s the perfect man for me.
Refocusing, I decide that, at the very least, I should say hello to the president so he doesn’t think I’m shunning him. I pick my way gingerly back to the clubhouse, flick the outside light off, then head to the office. “Hello, Hangman,” I say as I approach.
There’s no response. The office is empty. “Hello,” I call, pausing in the doorway, reluctant to enter Hangman’s domain without him inside. “Who’s in here?”
My words hang in the air for about ten seconds, then Chrissy’s head pops up from behind the desk.
“Chrissy!” I exclaim. I have this stupid image of Hangman down on the floor with her, but I quickly dismiss it. I don’t think Hangman’s the type to move in on another man’s territory.
Chrissy is pale and her arms tremble as she uses Hangman’s desk as a prop while she climbs to her feet. “Evanee. What are you doing here this time of night?” Her words are hesitant, her tone hollow.
I think she owes me the bigger explanation, but I reply anyway. “Trigger and Rider are bringing my horse over.”
“Why aren’t you with them?” she asks suspiciously.
She doesn’t realize she can’t push me around. “Why should I be?” I tilt my head at her. “What’s going on?”
Chrissy doesn’t immediately answer as she drops her eyes to her fingers, which are sliding back and forth across the surface of the desk.
My penchant for long silences is to wait them out.
Finally, she says, “It’s really stupid.” She draws the words out, pausing in between them, then tugs at her ear lobe. “I was in here earlier with Fender.”
I blank. “Fender?” I’ve met so many new people in the past few days that I’ve lost track of who’s who.
“My husband. You were introduced.”
“Right,” I say with a nod. “Nice guy.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “I lost an earring somewhere.” She tugs at her ear lobe again. “In the clubhouse.” Her face reddens and she blinks. “They were my mom’s.”
There’s sadness in her eyes, but it still doesn’t answer my question. “They must be special to get you up in the middle of the night.”
She smiles sheepishly. “They’re all I have left of her. I was laying in bed, obsessing about it. Restless.” She gives a small helpless shrug. “Fender told me to go and look for it. He was grumpy that I was disturbing his sleep.”
What a stellar guy, I think acidly. Kicking his wife out of bed in the middle of the night instead of getting up and going with her, or better yet, distracting her by dining on her pussy. Then I wonder if she’s telling the truth. Besides the two of us, there’s no one else here but Stark. Maybe home is not so happy and she’s seeking comfort in tall, dark, and hostile manning the front gates.
Or maybe it’s more than that. After all, he’d have had to let her in, so he’d know she was here. Maybe they’re working together against Hangman.
I quickly reject that possibility because if they were plotting something, Stark would have warned Chrissy of my presence.
Or maybe, Evanee, you’re overthinking it all. Maybe it really is about a lost earring. “I can help look for it.”
She shakes her head. “I’ve looked everywhere I was today. The last resort was Hangman’s office.”
“Okay.” I hear the engine of my car and my heart leaps. “I have to go. Lullaby’s here.”
