Three Times a Lady [Hell's Delight 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) Read online

  Lacey nodded enthusiastically. “Just ‘mean old bitch.’ But you, your dad was always a sweetheart, Autumn. I remember he used to always sing along with those old folk tunes, like Simon and Garfunkel.”

  Autumn finished the rest of her beer and slammed the glass onto the table. “Oh, God. I remember begging him not to sing at one of my birthday parties.”

  “I remember that.” Katrina nodded sagely.

  Both Autumn and Lacey stared quizzically at the gangling blonde. “What?” Autumn shouted. “How do you remember that?”

  “Come on! It was the same party we played that levitation game, you know, where everyone puts their fingertips on the person’s body and they magically float?”

  “Yeah!” said Lacey. “What’s up with that, anyway? I don’t understand how that works. Anyway, Autumn. You’re still looking into places to move him to?”

  “Yes,” said Autumn heatedly, tapping the waitress’s elbow as she squished by their table with a tray full of Buds. “You wouldn’t believe how detailed it can get, wanting to make sure every facility has the amenities you want. Of course, the biggest—glass of cabernet, please—the biggest hurdle is getting him to admit he needs to be moved. He just doesn’t see it, of course. I’ve talked to people who say they have to trick the patient into moving. I’m just not there yet.”

  Lacey’s face was appropriately crestfallen. “Oh, God.”

  What else could her friends say? Autumn was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Her brother Olin had done what he could, but he just couldn’t take any more time away from his firefighting job, especially with the dry season coming up. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing you can do. Hey, Devin sounds great!” Here was a great opportunity to obliquely bring up what she’d been dying to know for a month now. “I’ll bet he’s pissed he didn’t pick up the guitar until after all those Friday Experience friends of his hit it big.”

  Lacey must remember the power coupling of Autumn and Noel in those post-high school years. She probably wished, as Autumn did, that she’d recorded those seminal Friday Experience jam sessions in Mrs. Lindstrom’s garage. Who knew they would evolve into a world-class rock band? “Well, don’t forget, Devin left Sam Brannan early to run Hardscrabble. That’s why we never met him when you were with Noel.”

  There. She’d used the name Noel. This was exactly what Autumn had been waiting for—an “in.” She fidgeted with her empty beer glass. “Yes, Noel. I heard he’s staying somewhere on Devin’s ranch.”

  When Autumn looked back up at her silent friends, they were definitely giving each other the stink eye. Oh, God. Is it true? Did he secretly marry someone? Is that why he’s staying in this backwoods burg? Autumn gripped the edge of the table with fear. “What, what? Is he dead? Sick? What’s with the faces?”

  The band had finally finished the endless song about the cheating bastard who will pine some day and crave the love he threw away. It could have been written about Noel, although Autumn knew there were trillions of cheating hearts on the planet. Katrina didn’t have to yell loudly now. “You haven’t been in touch with him?”

  “Oh God, no, not at all. When I broke up with him, that was it. He always told me he didn’t stay in touch with exes, and he held true to his word. We never even texted again. And I haven’t seen him around since I’ve been back. Why? Tell me, what’s wrong?” Blood roared in Autumn’s brain, and the lyrics Devin had been bawling echoed. Noel will be tossing around at night calling out my name, too. He’ll be walking the floor because his cheating heart’s telling on him. No, I doubt it.

  “Oh, nothing!” cried Lacey, overly hearty. “I just thought you’d been in touch with Noel. Yes, he’s staying at Hardscrabble. He went on a world tour with The Friday Experience for several months, but now he’s back. He doesn’t come out much in public, as you can imagine. He’s writing songs for their next album.”

  “Oh, look!” bellowed Katrina, excitedly waving her arms like a crazed shorebird.

  Automatically, Autumn whipped her head around. Surely Katrina would only wave like that for someone as important and exciting as Noel. Autumn could barely admit to herself what she could never in a million years admit to her girlfriends. She pined for Noel Butler. She wanted him back. No, she didn’t. She tried not to even think about it because it was so far from being a reality.

  He was a cheating heart back then, and he probably still was, now. That was probably why, at age thirty-nine, he’d never married. He had practically ruined her first year at UC Berkeley law school with his cheating shenanigans, and she had been forced to break it off with the love of her life in order to buckle down and concentrate on school. She had quit Hell’s Delight entirely to move to Berkeley so that nothing would distract from her studies. She had been passionately, madly in love with Noel, which is why she couldn’t understand why he couldn’t be faithful. Didn’t love conquer all?

  At age twenty, that had been the beginning of the end of her life. She had never met another man who affected her as deeply as Noel. In moments of deep honesty she had to admit that she had been washed up at age twenty regarding love. The only thing she could do was be a bigger success in her job.

  But it wasn’t Noel. It was just some tall dumbass, some fake goat roper loping along in his 501s and a belt buckle that was almost as blinding as Earl’s. Autumn automatically made a lip fart and eagerly sipped the wine the waitress had set in front of her. No one, not even a handsome cowboy like this guy, had ever been able to distract her heart from Noel. The cowboy had fine, aristocratic features, the bridge of his nose narrow and coming to a perfect point. He did have a beard and moustache but it was all neatly groomed, unlike any Hell’s Delight cowboy Autumn had ever seen. She tried not to look at his nicely nestled package when he sat in the chair Katrina had pulled up between herself and Autumn. The damned copper and silver belt buckle of a bronco had drawn her eye.

  Whatever. So all I know is that Noel’s in town.

  “How is that new greenhorn doing?” Katrina asked the goat roper. Katrina had married the other Jonas brother, Shane, living with him on the new Four One Five Ranch they’d carved out of Hardscrabble. So this guy wasn’t a fake cowboy, he was the real deal. Whatever.

  “He’ll do, I guess. He tends to linger in the animals’ blind spots, and he doesn’t seem to know much about flight zone. Guinness, please.”

  Boy, that attractive cowboy had gotten the waitress’ attention ten times faster than Autumn had. And he hadn’t ordered a Bud. Autumn sat up a bit straighter, took a bit more notice. Noel used to drink Guinness. It wasn’t your ordinary country and western bar beer. But maybe he’d ordered it because this was a St. Patrick’s Day celebration.

  “But is he moving them all right? That’s what Devin always wants to know,” said Lacey.

  “Oh, he’s moving them all right,” said the gorgeous cowboy. He looked far too refined and was far too well-spoken to be a real cowboy, that’s what had thrown Autumn off. “He moves them through the gates smoothly. He’s just green. He’ll learn.”

  Politely, Lacey leaned her boobs over the table and reached for Autumn’s hand. “Autumn, this is Ewan Nash. He’s the cow boss at Hardscrabble. Ewan, Autumn grew up with us. She…” Lacey paused, for some reason. “She used to know Noel. Now she’s an attorney for the DA’s office in Golden, Colorado.”

  Used to know Noel? Why would a cow boss know Noel? Autumn shook his hand graciously anyway, seeing as how his hot thigh was pressed up against hers. His long, artistic fingers were callused from reins, and his blue eyes dazzled with life. “Criminal attorney? Well. I’m sure you get this all the time, but maybe you could answer something for me.”

  Of course these questions usually annoyed Autumn, but for some reason she was suddenly in sync with this cultured vaquero. “Sure. Shoot.”

  Ewan proceeded to tell her about his brother’s predicament in Albuquerque, where they were from. Autumn didn’t so much listen to the dilemma—a predictable and simple one involving driving under the infl
uence of marijuana—as discern what it told her about Ewan himself. Born and raised in Albuquerque, their father was an engineering professor at the U of NM. Neither brother had followed their father’s wishes, Ewan first going into music producing, then cattle, and the brother doing something Autumn didn’t bother to listen to.

  She knew from over a decade of listening to stories like this how to peel away the subtext. She knew how to read a person’s face, their mannerisms. Ewan was still very emotional about his wife, but she was a wife no longer, whether dead or divorced. This trauma led to him switching careers. He was a highly sensitive, intelligent man. Autumn, as a practicing sapiosexual who was only turned on by a man’s intelligence, became alert in every cell of her body the more Ewan spoke about the weed situation. He used his hands to describe the mess his brother had gotten into.

  Autumn said, “Well, there’s currently a lot of doubt about the applicability of per se standards of cannabis impairment while driving.”

  “I see.” Ewan nodded sagely, and didn’t ask what “per se” meant.

  “It’s really unclear what blood level of THC constitutes actual impairment. It’s way more difficult to quantify THC impairment like they did with drunk driving. THC levels in the blood stay high way after the subject has sobered up, and the field sobriety tests are very subjective. You could argue he toked up as much as a week beforehand and cast reasonable doubt, arguing that his ability to drive wasn’t impaired.” The brother had been pulled over for a broken taillight.

  One corner of Ewan’s mouth quirked up. His shoulder-length auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail but the bangs that hadn’t grown out enough feathered his jawbone, giving him a sensitive, thoughtful look. “I like your way of thinking, counselor.”

  Autumn perked up even farther. Ewan knew lawyers were addressed as “counselor.” “It’s well worthwhile fighting.” And I am somehow going to find a way to get into this cowboy’s jeans.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Devin boomed into the mic from onstage, the fringes of his western shirt swaying as he paced. “There have been a lot of rumors and alleged sightings the past few months. I want to put these rumors to rest once and for all.”

  The crowd mostly shut up at this. Devin could only refer to one thing. Autumn tore her eyes from the smexy cowboy, too, but not before she shared a look of understanding with him. Understanding of what, she wasn’t sure. But she felt she knew Ewan Nash now.

  Devin continued hollering. “I’m sure you all know that the rumors involve my old buddy, Noel Butler—”

  At that, the crowd of maybe two hundred hooted, fist bumped, and high fived so heavily that Devin’s next words were drowned out. It didn’t really matter what he said, anyway, because Noel Butler himself was suddenly onstage, flailing his arms like a madman and shrieking war cries.

  Autumn had been dreading this moment for fourteen years, and now it was here. Of course, she’d seen piles of photos of Noel in the ensuing years, so she’d charted his maturity, his ripening. He’d shaved off his long nineties locks in favor of a brushy look like a soft porcupine. She knew he’d always been a bit near-sighted so instead of contact lenses he’d adopted some rimless, blue-tinted almost wrap-around glasses. And he’d never been the tallest fellow in the crowd, which Autumn knew was the reasoning behind his embracing of the “brothel creeper” style of shoe.

  But he was gloriously magnetic, the most outgoing, charismatic charmer Autumn had ever laid eyes on. And his star hadn’t dimmed in the past decade. It had grown brighter, far brighter, so bright she was blinded, and tears sprang to her eyes. Even if the spotlight literally hadn’t been on him, he would have sucked in everyone’s attention like moths to a flame.

  “Good evening Hell’s Delight!” Noel crowed into the wireless mic. He launched immediately into one of his recent hits, probably saving the babble for afterward. Noel did love to babble.

  The booming of the bass vibrated the very floor. The Pit o’ Dummies wasn’t equipped for this sort of arena rock—and Devin’s usual brand of country and western didn’t rock quite so heavily, either. Because Noel no longer attempted to play an instrument, he was forced into quite an athletic workout onstage. Autumn didn’t want to recall how together they’d worked on some of these routines, some of which ended in surfing imaginary crowds.

  The crowds were no longer imaginary, with Noel and his group selling out stadiums across the globe. The potency and meaning of what she was witnessing was smacked into Autumn’s brain when she noticed dozens of smartphone screens lighting up, everyone texting and tweeting about the Pit’s happening. Within five minutes a riot would break out. This was why this was probably Noel’s only number before he’d bail, and suddenly Autumn wanted to bail first.

  She had been the first to bail on their relationship fourteen years ago. She was not going to sit here pining, longing, and yearning for the love she’d lost. It was Noel’s own damned cheating heart that had ruined their exciting, love-struck relationship. She had to be the one to bail first from that sinking ship. What was left of her pride wouldn’t allow her to be dumped by a cheater.

  Now Autumn leaned her boobs over the table. “I’ll be right back,” she yelled at her girlfriends. They nodded, probably thinking she was going to the can, but Ewan held her by the wrist.

  He didn’t take his eyes from the stage, but he yelled, “Can I see you later? I’d like more details on how my brother should proceed. Coffee?”

  “Sure. Here’s my card.” Now Autumn could stalk from the club with pride. No one had discovered her dirty secret—that she craved Noel again. And she’d seemingly scored the most smoking-hot cowboy to ever rock an oversize western belt buckle.

  The night hadn’t been a total loss. She needed to give up things she had no control over. She headed for the exit sign.

  Chapter Two

  It was just another day for Noel, albeit one where he’d decided to “come out” in Hell’s Delight. He’d played the Cape Town Stadium, jammed with folk artists at Azteca Stadium in Mexico City, and his voice had rattled forty thousand seats in Buenos Aires. But Noel was, for once, just a tiny bit nervous because he was making his first public appearance in Hell’s Delight, California. He figured he should give back something to the town that had done so much for him. First in his seminal years in Lars Lindstroms’s garage, now here again.

  He’d originally just returned to Hell’s Delight from sheer burnout. Noel was tired of the bad mattresses, one night stands, and terrible instant coffee of hotels, and he noticed he’d been drinking more wine and beer, too. He wanted to recharge his batteries for a month before the next tour. He had a realtor looking for a house to rent. His mother had died in Dublin of cancer when he was thirteen, so his father had moved him and his brother Paul to Hell’s Delight to start over. His uncle owned a BMW repair shop, so his father learned the trade. Then three years ago his father had also passed of the same kind of pancreatic cancer. Paul was down in LA being a damned good session pianist, so all Noel had left was his uncle.

  He’d been talking to the realtor at the Grounds for Insanity coffee house—every shop seemed to have a cute name in Hell’s Delight—when a painfully handsome guy had approached him to say hi. He turned out to be Devin Jonas who had dropped out in high school to care for his dad’s ranch. They had bonded incredibly just like old times, and Devin had offered Noel a house on his property.

  Noel had stayed three months. Reluctantly he’d gone on the four-month tour with his band, but he’d come right back. Now it had been another three months and he had no inclination to leave again. It was a fruitful period of his life, writing songs and riding horses. One day they’d ridden so high into the Sierra they’d been able to see the remote blue monoliths of Yosemite.

  Noel still had his board meetings for his charities and his political conferences. He flew out a couple times a month for those things. But he was surprised how content he was being back in this old mining town. He even went incognito down Jack London Street a few times, dr
essed like Fidel Castro in a fake beard and black shades. He’d gone to Positive Vibrations for a few sex toys, although of course even Fidel Castro couldn’t risk being seen buying those. He’d talked about wineries with some lesbian bikers at the Halfway Inn. And this was not his first appearance inside the Pit o’ Dummies, but before, he’d just drank Guinness.

  Ultimately, though, Noel wanted to be the kind of guy who could walk down Jack London without a riot breaking out. There had even been talk of him joining the baseball team, the One Tree Hills. He had not been bad at it in high school, although at only five foot ten he wasn’t the best runner. No, he wanted to make Hell’s Delight his home base, to build a recording studio and a house here. His bandmates were even starting to come around to the idea. They could fly their own private jet into Sacramento International.

  So there he was, just wailing away, blaring the lyrics he’d sung so many times.

  Pain

  My heart has been consumed

  My head is not in tune

  You back away for fear of it

  While I’m trying to face up to it

  This was one of The Friday Experience’s oldest songs, and Devin and his country band chugged along admirably. It was a basic blues progression that any country and western band could handle. All of Friday’s songs were basic if you looked at their sheet music. It was what the guitarist Clayton could do with one of Noel’s songs in his hands that made the band. Noel knew he was nothing but a pulpit-pounding philanthropist without Clayton. He was just a bleeding heart, glad-handing politicians and schmoozing with coalitions to ease Haitian suffering. Anyone could sing.

  When Noel saw the smartphone screens lighting up all over the Pit’s audience floor, he started planning his exit. He had no bodyguard in Hell’s Delight, although a couple of big doofus ranch hands had accompanied him on his communistic forays downtown. He would just have to put his fate in the hands of good human nature when he would dive off the stage and swim for the exit door. Between the roaming beams of alternating red and blue stage lights, Noel’s heart was warmed to see Ewan Nash. The lanky cowboy had promised to come in from the range or leave his herd in the control of some green hands just to witness Noel sing. Ewan even wore the tacky, overlarge belt buckle Noel had bought at that rodeo. That time Noel had been disguised as a circuit preacher in a floppy hat. This would be Ewan’s first time seeing Noel perform, even in a small cheesy venue like this that still smelled of cig—