Break The Line Page 2

  I hop off the pontoon and slide my eyes over the faces in the crowd. A kind-faced woman and a small boy are perched on the bench underneath a pine tree.

  “Excuse me, ma’am? My name is Benson Howell. Are you from this nice town?” I shake her hand.

  “Benson Howell!” The boy shouts from behind his melting ice cream cone.

  “Hi there.” I smile down at him, and his mom pats his thigh for him to quiet down.

  “Yes, Mr. Howell, what can I help you with?” she asks.

  “Please, just Benson.” I crouch down to my knees in front of the boy.

  “You like fishin’?” I ask him.

  “Yeah! My Uncle Larry takes me. I caught a four-pound bass last month all by myself. I’m gonna be a pro fisherman like you. Aren’t I, Mom?” the boy squeals excitedly.

  “Four pounds.” I whistle, showing him that I’m impressed. “Keep it up, buddy.” He bounces on the bench seat, and the lady looks at me with appreciation.

  “I hate to bother you, but can you tell me the name of the kind lady that owns this boat? I believe she is the Game Warden’s daughter.” I give her a half smile for good measure.

  “Fiery red hair and an attitude to match?” she asks, shaking her head.

  “Yes, ma’am, I believe that’s the one.” A laugh shakes its way through my chest.

  “That’d be Danni-Rose,” she says with a sad edge to her voice. I nod in appreciation before making my way back down to Jess.

  “Jesus I’m hungry,” he says, meeting me halfway down the pier. “Let’s get a ride back to the hotel and find us a fine southern meal.” And as we make our way through the crowd and up the shoreline, I can’t help but search for the fiery-haired girl with an attitude to match.

  Chapter Two

  Danni-Rose

  I could roll my windows back up. I could even turn down the music, so the sound isn’t bouncing off the pecan trees that line the road leading to my house, but I just don’t feel like it. A country voice is singing to me about another lover on her list while my fingertips drum against the steering wheel. I lean my face out of the Jeep window and smile, the summer breeze kissing my cheeks. Mrs. Smith is sipping sweet tea on her front porch, and her only response to my wave in her direction is a tight-lipped scowl at my “heathen ways.” I smile anyway and suppress a giggle. I still can’t believe that old biddy had the nerve to tell Mama about me and L.J. skinny dipping in Chestnut Creek senior year. The memory causes a fusion of grief and elation to pump through my heart, and my relaxed smile falters. Six years have passed, and it still doesn’t get any easier when I think of what happened that summer.

  The Jeep’s tires grind against my dirt driveway, and Beau is instantly on alert. He leans forward on his long front legs, padding down the white-washed porch at full speed. “Easy . . . easy,” I say, throwing my legs out of the truck. I crouch down into the dirt and scratch the matted fur behind his ears, avoiding his tongue darting out to greet me. Standing, I gaze across the long stretch of soybean fields toward Mama and Daddy’s house, and notice the old red pickup truck isn’t in the driveway. “Come on, boy,” I shout to Beau, slapping my bare thigh and trotting into my little green house.

  Immediately my eyes are drawn to the blinking light on the answering machine, the number 1 flashing enthusiastically at me.

  Danni-Rose, it’s Mama. We decided to go into town to watch the Awards for the tournament. I made a pie for lunch, and I snuck some in your fridge before we stepped out. Come eat dinner with us and Aunt Becky tonight at the Crawfish Barn if you don’t have plans. I’m sure the band would love to have you show up. Love you.

  I smile at her message, and then sprint to the fridge like a kid coming down the hallway on Christmas morning. “Don’t mind if I do, Mama,” I say to the empty room. The smell of cinnamon and apples mixed with a hint of butter fills the kitchen when I peel back the foil from the cold plate. I plunge the fork deep into the pie filling and close my eyes as the orgasmic burst of flavor envelops my tongue. My mama doesn’t run the town bakery for nothing. I swear the hands of God help her make these pies. Beau is panting at my feet, and I graciously drop a gooey apple onto the linoleum floor and watch him lap it up.

  “What do you say, Beau? Crawfish Barn or clear out my DVR tonight?” I tilt my head at him in question before sealing the plate up and shoving it back in the fridge. The clock above my kitchen sink says less about the late afternoon than the sun casting its tangerine glow through the front windows. The town will be alive tonight. It always is when the fishermen come to town. I feel the muscles in my neck tense at the thought, and my forehead creases. Damn fishermen. I toss the dirty fork into the sink, deciding that whether it’s the crawfish that call to me tonight or my pajamas, I’m at least going to wash the lake water out of my hair.

  I slide my phone into the speaker dock, and a folk singer’s raspy voice blends with the steam rolling into the bathroom. My rosemary shampoo lathers into my hair and smooths its way down my body. I lean my head back against the cool tiles of the shower, wishing I didn’t have to be so angry about it anymore.

  The fishermen always come, usually twice . . . sometimes three times a year. And every time the memories find their way out of the hiding place I shove them in. I can’t help the bitterness I feel toward the anglers. The hatred. I don’t really feel guilty for the way I treated . . . was it Benson? The way his muddy-brown eyes widened at the thought I might tell my daddy about his reckless driving. But it wasn’t all his fault. He just happened to need the wrong girl to tow him in.

  I towel off and throw on an old tank top and boxer shorts, then twist my hair high on my head. Dog hair sticks to my bare feet as I make my way across the hall and into my bedroom. “Dang it, Beau,” I holler across the house, and I make a sour face. I throw a pair of jeans on the bed and realize I’ve subconsciously decided on dinner with my family. A cold beer might do me some good anyway. I grab my phone and pound out a text to Liza, “Crawfish Barn, Corona Light, and a couple rounds of pool?” I pull out a navy plaid top and a pair of cowboy boots before making my way into the bathroom.

  My phone dings to life while I swipe the mascara brush through my lashes. “You bet! See ya at 7:00.” My mood is getting increasingly better by the second.

  * * * *

  As expected, half the town is jam-packed into the mid-size barn turned restaurant. Christmas lights are strung across the large wooden beams along the ceiling, and the entire restaurant is a sea of picnic tables smashed together. The Whiskey Bayou Boys are perched on an old handmade stage toward the back of the restaurant. The fiddles, banjo, and guitars have everyone tapping their feet. Upstairs in the “hay loft” are the pool tables and dart boards. Buckets of crawfish, corn, and smoked sausage are plopped down in the center of each table. If you want to order anything else, then you might as well find another establishment.

  “Pass me the hot sauce, baby.” My dad stretches his hand across the table and I give it over. I pinch the crawfish head between my fingers, and my mouth waters when it snaps off. It’s been too long since I’ve enjoyed a night out.

  “I don’t wanna hear you mutter a single complaint tonight about heart burn.” My mom gives my dad a stern look as he douses the entire crawfish in hot sauce. He winks at her and tosses it into his mouth, making a sound of pleasure while he chews.

  “You sure look pretty tonight, darlin’,” my Aunt Becky shouts across the table moments before the band fires to life on the other side of the room. I smile and give her an appreciative nod.

  “It’s the blue, it always makes her eyes shine.” My mama smiles at me, and pats my hand beside her.

  “She gets it from her mama.” Daddy gives Mama his best smirk.

  “I still don’t want to hear any complaints from you tonight. No use in trying to butter me up now. And you best hope we have a bottle of antacid at home, because the drug store is already closed for t
he night.” Mama swats at his hand. But Daddy ignores her, reaching around and placing his arm across her shoulders.

  “All right, all right.” He hands the hot sauce back across the table, and I can’t help but laugh at their banter.

  The song comes to an end and the singer places his lips to the microphone. “Now if my eyes aren’t deceiving me, I believe I see Miss Danni-Rose here tonight.” The patrons of the restaurant begin cheering and clapping and I smile behind a pull of my beer bottle.

  “No way. Not tonight, Rickey!” I holler out across the barn, knowing I’ll more than likely give in. I’m two beers down, and the easy-going nature of the town is washing over me like a warm bath, replacing the anger I felt earlier in the day.

  “Awww. Come on now, Danni, you don’t want to disappoint the fine citizens of this town. What do you say, folks? You feel like hearing Danni-Rose sing to us tonight?” Again, the barn comes to life with applause. I stand to my feet and the noise level raises another decibel.

  “That’s my baby,” my dad yells to the table next to us as I scoot my way past them.

  “One song,” I say, holding up my finger to Rickey, approaching the stage. He reaches his hands down and pulls me up with a grin stretching across his entire face.

  He steps away from the microphone and holds his hands out in front of him for me to take his place. I wave over to the other band members, and they return with a smile. I curl my fingers around the microphone, feeling the cool metal against the palm of my hand. It’s been too long, but something in the air tonight has me feeling free, more than I’ve allowed myself to feel for quite some time.

  I scan the faces of the room, and it’s then that I see him. That fisherman is tucked away in a corner booth, and his brown eyes are boring holes into mine. I feel the smile melt off my face, and I’m instantly set on fire with anger. I watch when he pulls a tumbler of dark liquid and ice to his lips, and I swear I see him smiling behind it. Why do I keep letting this guy get to me?

  I step away from the microphone and walk over to Rickey. “How about we spice it up a little tonight, boys?” I ask.

  “Come on, Danni, they love when you sing At Last” Rickey says, with a slight pout to his lips.

  “No, you like it,” I say, teasing him. “Besides, the town is energetic tonight.”

  I can tell I’m wearing him down. “Let’s play Secrets & Lies.” Rickey waits for a moment and then a smile the size of the Grand Canyon returns to his face. I can already feel the banjo making my hips sway.

  I step back up to the microphone. “Ya’ll feel like dancing tonight?” The room erupts. I look over to the bar, and I see Liza has perched herself on a barstool. She’s sipping on something fruity. Her blonde hair and ample chest draw the attention of every male within fifty feet of her, including the guy that was with Benson earlier in the day. I frown and shake my head ‘no’ at her, satisfied when she waves him away. He sulks back to the corner booth and the fisherman’s full lips spread into a laugh at his friend’s expense. Something about his smile has the corners of my mouth threatening to upturn, and I look away abruptly.

  The beat of the drum pounds inside of my chest, and the guitar chords strike to life. I ease the microphone to my lips and feel the hum in my throat when the words tumble out of my mouth and fill the air of the Crawfish Barn. Within seconds, everyone is up on their feet. Some of the people are clapping along, most of them are dancing.

  I look over to my table. My family is on their feet, and Daddy is twisting Mama back into his arms. I watch while her auburn hair tosses back when he dips her. I look over to Liza, waving off another man who has no doubt offered to buy her another round of her favorite drink. And then I look over to Benson. I watch his lips twitch as he brings the glass back up to his mouth, he swallows hard and never takes his eyes off mine.

  I keep my eyes on his, cutting him to the core with a glare when the chorus notes twang into the summer air, and I sing my favorite line as a warning:

  I know your dirty little secret,

  the one I shouldn’t tell.

  But I’m not a keeper of the darker things,

  it’s a path paved to hell.

  Chapter Three

  Benson

  Her voice is throaty, with a rasp to it that makes goosebumps travel up my back. I can’t help but watch her. I’ve tried to look away, several times, but something about the way her mouth moves commands all my attention. The last thing I expected to encounter tonight was her and her siren voice. I honestly just wanted a hot meal and a cold beer. I certainly didn’t come here looking for the murderous look she’s shooting my way, but then again, I’m not too mad she’s looking at me to begin with. “Hey, Benson . . . isn’t that—” Jess begins.

  “Yep . . . that’s her.” I say, without taking my eyes off her lips seducing the microphone. She’s obviously still pissed at me, though it doesn’t really make much sense. What plans did I mess up for her out on the water today?

  “Man . . . if looks could kill,” Jess jokes, and elbows my side.

  “Did I say something when I was coming to that I should be apologizing for? I’ve never seen someone so bent out of shape about having to tow a boat in,” I say, turning to look at him. He still has his eyes glued to the blonde at the bar. “Give it up, man. She already sent you packin’,” I say, laughing at his failed attempts to reel her in.

  The band stops playing, and I see the large-bodied lead singer help her down from the stage. The people are standing and clapping, and several customers in the far corner hold their fingers to their lips for an appreciative whistle. She waves over to a table, toward a woman that is no doubt her mother. She has the same deep red hair, and the woman looks at Danni the same way my mama looks at me when I win another tournament.

  Danni takes off toward the bar, and toward Jess’ blonde that he’s still staring at. “Man, quit staring, you look creepy,” I say, as I snap my fingers in front of his face.

  “The women in this town sure are good-looking, huh?” he asks, but I think it’s rhetorical.

  “I’m going over there. I don’t know what I did to make her day so shitty, but she’s going to accept my apology before I leave this place,” I say, standing up and tossing back the last sip of my double-oaked bourbon.

  “Well, you got a week to make it happen. Unless the parts for the motor show up sooner,” Jess says with a disgusted tone. “You know we are going to miss the Elite, right? You should be more concerned with that, than that spitfire over there,” he says, tossing his hand toward Danni.

  “I’m not thrilled about it, but we won today. We can take a week off.” I walk away from the booth, and I hear Jess’ chair slide on the old wooden floor. I stop and turn around, rolling my eyes, “Don’t be an idiot. I’m trying to get back in this woman’s good graces,” I say, and Jess holds his hands up in surrender.

  Danni sees me approaching the bar and instantly swivels her stool so that her back is turned to me. The blonde is snickering beside her, and I can’t help but wonder what Danni must be saying. “Hey pretty lady,” Jess says to the blonde as we approach the bar. He props his elbow up on the wooden bar top and smiles broadly at her. I turn around and widen my eyes at him. I swear Jess’ mouth has gotten me in more bar fights than I’d like to count.

  “That’s doctor pretty lady,” the blonde says, without even turning around to look at him. The shock on Jess’ face causes me to laugh. Serves him right. Danni is sitting on the stool beside her, and she’s trying to hide a smile behind her beer bottle.

  “Good evening, ladies. Well, that was quite a performance,” I say to Danni and her friend.

  “Angler,” Danni says tightly and nods her head, still not looking directly at me.

  “Let me buy you another beer, as a thank you for your help today,” I say, trying my best not to sound like I’m hitting on her. I’m not convinced that I’m not.

  �
�I’m good here,” she says, finally turning so I can see her face. Under the Christmas lights her eyes remind me of the ice-blue glaciers I saw while salmon fishing in Alaska last winter.

  “Come on, Danni . . . let me make up for it,” I say. She looks conflicted about something.

  The blonde turns to look at the person begging her friend for the chance to buy her a beer. “Hey, I’m Liza.” She extends her hand for me to shake. I see Danni’s foot twitch and Liza grimaces when Danni kicks her between the stools. She might be beautiful, but she isn’t stealthy.

  “Dr. Liza?” I ask playfully.

  “Just Liza,” she laughs, “but yes, I’m the veterinarian around this town.”

  “Yep. Well, thanks for the offer, Bobby, but I think we are good on drinks,” Danni says.

  “Benson,” I remind her. I know what she’s doing. On any other occasion, I would take the rejection, her sour-ass mood, and make a beeline back to the comfort of my corner booth. But for some reason I can’t let it go. There’s more to this chick and the anger she has toward me, and I want to know what it is.

  “Fisherman,” she says, with some sort of hidden meaning behind it that I can’t place. I shake my head and smile at the ground.

  “She always like this?” I ask Liza, jutting my thumb toward Danni.

  “Just toward out-of-town fishermen,” she says, giving me another piece of the puzzle that is Danni-Rose.

  “I’ll make you a deal? Play me and my dumb-ass buddy in a round of pool. If I win, I get to buy you and the lovely doctor here one more round, and you have to accept my apology. If you win, I’ll not only leave you alone, I’ll pick up your tab for the entire night, and then leave the restaurant for good,” I promise her.

  She turns to Liza with a sly grin on her face and slams her empty beer bottle down on the counter top. She hops off the bar stool and holds her hand out in front of her for me to shake. “You have yourself a deal, angler,” she says, and her friend is laughing hysterically.