FLOWERS and CAGES Read online

  Famous or infamous? Dalton supposed the two went hand in hand. He was grateful that the rest of the world had long ago moved past his jailbird days. All they cared about were his music skills. The way he played the drum or the quality of his latest composition. In Midas—specifically at The Thirsty Raven—Dalton's notoriety was frozen in time. From the look of the framed item Willard perused, not only frozen but well documented.

  "That was you?" Scratching his head, Willard looked Dalton up and down. "I remember somebody scrawnier. And shorter. You have a growth spurt?"

  "No, sir," Dalton laughed. "Just older and filled out."

  Suddenly, Dalton was glad for his impromptu visit. There was nothing malicious in Willard's words. The man was genuinely perplexed. He couldn't remember the last time his appearance elicited anything but frenzied excitement. If nothing else, his visit to Midas had reminded him that not everyone was impressed by fame—no matter how hard earned.

  "Can I get you something to drink?" Looking at ease, Andy clapped him on the back. "You'll forgive me if I don't remember your poison of choice."

  "Honestly? I would be a little creeped out if you did."

  Andy chuckled. Willard seemed to find the poor attempt at a joke over-the-top hilarious.

  "As I was saying," Andy said, drawing Dalton away from the bar and a braying Willard. "What would you like? On the house."

  "Nothing. Thank you, Andy." Dalton felt awkward asking, but it was why he stopped. "Would you mind if I take a look out back?"

  "You mean where…?" To Dalton's relief, Andy left it at that. "Sure. Take your time. But before you go, could I get your autograph?"

  Andy scampered to his office, returning with a CD—the band's first. One signature and a few pictures later, Dalton hoped one of the shots of himself, Andy and Willard would replace the old newspaper clipping behind the bar. He was philosophical enough to understand that wasn't likely. The Thirsty Raven had one claim to fame. It wasn't much, but it was all they had. Plus a couple of freshly minted selfies of the owners and the infamous man himself.

  Walking from the darkened bar to the glaringly bright parking lot was a shock—not just to Dalton's eyesight. Pulling out his sunglasses, he waited for his senses to adjust. Whatever he had expected. Anxiety. Anger. Regret. None of it appeared.

  Though Dalton could see the farce play out, it was as though it happened to someone else. He wasn't that person anymore. He always said that given the chance to do it again, nothing would change. Yes, he would always defend himself if he believed himself in physical danger. But the rest? The blasé attitude about sleeping with a married woman? The hothead bristling with ambition and immaturity? The belief that he was invincible? That man no longer existed.

  Something else Dalton realized as he relived the brief, but monumental chapter of his old life. He wouldn't be the man he was today if he hadn't lived through the mistakes. Unlike many of the inmates he had met, Dalton hadn't just survived. He flourished.

  It was a good life. Better than good. And the past—important as it was—no longer held any power over him. Maybe he owed Maggie and her husband thanks for getting him back to Midas. Unwittingly, they had forced him to take stock. Of the past and present. The future was wide open. The possibilities bright and endless. How many people could say that with any conviction?

  Conviction. Dalton laughed at his own unintentional joke. Prison humor wasn't part of his usual repertoire. It had to be a good sign.

  Hoping to stay on a roll, Dalton rounded the bar, unlocking the T-Bird. Climbing in, he took out his phone. He hadn't expected to find a message from his sister, but it would have been nice. With a resigned sigh, he scrolled down his list of contacts and tapped her number.

  Perhaps Maggie had come to the realization that the time for games was over. More likely, she believed she could manipulate him the way she had when they were kids. Either way, after ignoring him for two days, she had finally answered. The first words out of her mouth told him that nothing had changed. His sister was incapable of taking responsibility for her actions. When in doubt, put the blame on anyone—or anything—else.

  "I've been trying to get in touch with you, Dalton. Why haven't you returned my calls?"

  Dalton's head fell back, his eyes closing as he counted to ten. Here we go.

  "That crap isn't going to fly, Maggie. I called you. Repeatedly. Not the other way around."

  "Really? Honestly, Dalton. I called and called. You know me, I'm helpless when it comes to technology."

  Dalton could almost see Maggie's wide-eyed innocent look. Over the years, she perfected it. However, his sister had used it too often on him. Overexposure had rendered him immune.

  "It doesn't matter."

  "Good," she breathed with a giggle. "I knew you would understand."

  "No, Maggie. It doesn't matter because we've hit the end of a very long, frustrating road. I felt guilty for a long time, and you played on it. More power to you. The money I paid you was to make me feel better. But no more. I hope Norris finds a good job because starting today, you're on your own."

  "You don't mean that."

  From the lilting tone of her voice, it was obvious Maggie didn't believe him. Not that Dalton blamed her. He always caved. Why should she think he would change? Little sister was about to learn a necessary lesson—the hard way. Dalton had his breaking point. And she had shattered it. Humpty Dumpty had a better shot of getting put back together again.

  "Consider the cash machine closed. Permanently. However, if you need me, I'll be there. But don't push your luck, Maggie."

  "Dalton…" That whine. The exact replica of their mother's. It was Dalton's fingernails on a chalkboard.

  "Look on the bright side. It costs a lot less to live in Midas than Buffalo. You're already ahead of the game."

  "But—"

  "Take care, Maggie."

  Dalton's only regret was that he couldn't say, I love you, Maggie. It would have been a lie. However, he did want his sister to have a good life. To find peace with herself. If he could do it, there was hope for anyone.

  Starting the car, Dalton's thoughts turned to something—someone—more pleasant. Colleen. He got a kick out of her reaction when he invited himself to her mother's birthday party. He gave her props. She could have protested. Or insisted he not attend. Instead, she rolled with the situation. It was an admirable quality. Just one of many. Whatever Colleen's faults—and Dalton was certain she had them—she wasn't a whiner. Just the thought lifted his spirits again.

  Now, he thought as he pulled onto the street, he needed to buy a gift. What had Colleen told him? Earrings. That was it. Big and bold.

  STRETCHING, COLLEEN WINCED when she felt her back pop. At the moment, all she wanted was a blissfully cool shower, a juicy hamburger, and Dalton. Preferably naked. The bath she could manage. If luck were on her side, Rich would have the charcoals on the barbecue blazing and the beef sizzling. As for Dalton? He was on his way to pick her up. The naked would have to wait until after her mother's birthday party.

  Looking at her watch, Colleen figured Dalton's ETA to be about fifteen minutes. When she called him almost an hour ago, there had been a jauntiness in Dalton's voice. Feeling anything but, Colleen asked what had happened to brighten his day.

  "I'll tell you when I see you," he said.

  In spite of her crappy day, Colleen ended the call with a smile on her face. Dalton seemed to have that effect on her. As she set her phone out of harm's way, she caught sight of Dole—obviously eavesdropping. Realizing that Colleen had caught him, he turned, knocking into a tool cart and sending most of them to the floor. Without pausing, he shuffled back to his office.

  Before calling it a day, she cleaned up the mess Dole had left her.

  "That's it," Colleen said, sticking her head into his office. The smell of sweaty man, Royal Crown Cola, and tuna fish filled the room, making her nose wrinkle. The tiny electric fan did nothing to alleviate the problem. It simply
continually redistributed the offending odors. "I finished aligning the Cadillac's steering column. Anything else can wait until tomorrow."

  "Wait." Dole didn't move fast very often. His body—and his disposition—weren't in the proper condition. But now and then he could be surprisingly agile.

  "I don't have time, Dole."

  "Collier Langley is on his way. There's a knock under his hood. I told him you would look at it."

  As much as Colleen wanted to make a nasty comment, she made a herculean effort, keeping her opinion of Collier's knock to herself.

  "Call him back. I won't be here."

  "Too late. He's here."

  Dole sounded strangely gleeful. It was no secret that her boss coveted a friendship with Collier. He made no secret of it. Just as Collier made no attempt to hide his contempt for Dole. Collier's sudden car emergency had a bad smell to it. Worse than Dole's office.

  Collier Langley was an attractive man. Not tall or short, he kept his body trim. Though, by the look of his forearms, Colleen suspected that under his perfectly pressed Chinos and oddly eighties-style Ralph Lauren polo shirt, he had the muscle tone of a twelve-year-old boy. His light brown hair was beginning to thin at the top, a fact that he overcompensated for by fluffing what was left into a modified pompadour. White-toothed smile had future politician written all over it. In other words, bland and obviously insincere.

  "Hello, Colleen. You're looking as beautiful as ever."

  Collier hit on every woman he met. Like a dog salivating at the tinkling of a bell, he would have done Pavlov proud. For years, he had been after Colleen. She knew it was her utter lack of interest that kept him coming back. Periodically, he made the same pass. Periodically, she turned him down.

  However, Collier tended to avoid her while she was at work. He might not be picky about his sexual partners, but he had his own warped standards. He preferred them clean, perfumed and ready for action. At the moment, Colleen was a sweaty, grungy mess. Beautiful? Hardly.

  Why had Collier chosen now to turn on his oily version of charm? The bad smell radiating from this meeting was getting more and more rank by the second.

  When Dole snickered—actually it was more of a laugh/snort hybrid—the light bulb went off in Colleen's weary, hard day's work diminished brain. Why hadn't she thought of it sooner? This wasn't about a knocking engine. Or how sexy she looked with limp hair and motor oil smudged across her chin. It was about Dalton. And Dole's pathetic attempt to score brownie points with Collier.

  "You should leave," Colleen stated calmly.

  Colleen was proud of her cool demeanor. Inside, the temperature of her blood had spiked. Already flushed from the heat, it was hard to read her mood. Her bright red cheeks were usually a dead giveaway that trouble was brewing. However, if Collier had bothered to look, he would have noticed another warning sign. Her blazing green eyes. A smart man would have backed away. Instead, the fool moved closer, putting his arm around Colleen's shoulders.

  It proved what she had always suspected. Mensa would never come knocking at Collier's door.

  "You look like you could use a little fun, Colleen. With a real man."

  To emphasize his point, Collier settled his groin against Colleen's hip. The bulge in his pants wasn't huge, but she got his point. It was time for Collier to get hers.

  "Do you think I'm a fool?" Colleen smiled, but there was no welcoming light in her eyes. In one smooth movement, she slipped free of Collier's arm, grabbing a pair of pliers. "What did you think was going to happen? Was the plan to use me to create a replay of seven years ago? Is there a police officer waiting to arrive just in time to play witness as you goad Dalton into throwing a punch?"

  Colleen's rapid fire questions seemed to throw Collier off his game. As she advanced, he retreated. He wasn't used to a woman turning him down—or standing up to him. Looking over his shoulder for Dole's support did him no good. The other man had retreated to the safety of his office where he could watch how things played through a crack in the barely open door.

  Collier didn't possess much backbone, but he managed to scrounge up enough to attempt to push back. Halting before Colleen pushed him out of the garage, he straightened to his full height.

  "Why would I give a damn about Dalton Shaw? He's nothing but a meaningless musician. A speck under my shoe."

  "I'm certain Judge Langley has pointed out that Dalton could be a huge thorn in your political future." Colleen looked Collier up and down with every ounce of contempt she felt. "Does Daddy Dearest know what you're up to?"

  The flash of concern that passed over Collier's face told Colleen everything she needed to know. The clunky attempt to take Dalton down didn't seem like Judge Langley's style. It was too in your face. Too poorly thought out. There were too many things that could go wrong. Not the least of which was Colleen. She had a pair of pliers, and she wasn't afraid to use them.

  Knowing that Dalton could arrive at any second, Colleen decided it was time to end this farce. She chose a way that would make Collier think twice before trying anything like this again. As a bonus, it felt damn good.

  "Think about this." Colleen clamped the pliers around the now flaccid bulge in Collier's pants. Not too hard. Just enough to have his eyes bulging with pain—but mostly concern. "If you ever come near me or Dalton Shaw again, I will make certain you live the rest of your life sans balls."

  "You wouldn't dare." Collier yelped when Colleen tightened her grip. "You'll go to prison. For a lot longer than your boyfriend."

  "I'll have a jury of my peers. In a town this size, there's bound to be at least one woman you've screwed. Or her husband." Colleen smiled as though she relished the thought. "I'll walk, Collier. Hell, they'll throw me a parade."

  The sweat rolling down Collier's face had nothing to do with the Arizona heat. It took all of twenty seconds and a slight twist of Colleen's wrist before he caved like a termite-infested floorboard.

  "Fine," Collier ground out. "I'll stay away."

  "It's good to know you have a few brains under that overly styled hairdo. Now, be a good boy and join Dole in his office. Stay there until Dalton and I are well out of sight. Understood?"

  Colleen wasn't a fool. She knew that the chances of Collier letting the indignity she had served him today pass without recourse were slim to none. She could see the murder in his eyes as he closed the office door behind him. But for now, she had diverted a potentially disastrous situation the only way she knew how. And just in the nick of time.

  Dalton honked as he pulled the T-Bird to a stop outside the garage door.

  "Ready to go," he asked, leaning out the open window, a carefree grin on his handsome face.

  "Perfect timing." Colleen shucked her coveralls, placing them in the trunk of the car before sliding into the passenger seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a police car parked down the street. One of Collier's cronies, no doubt. Her jaw tightened. So she had been right about everything.

  "You look beat." Concern in his blue eyes, Dalton lightly touched her flushed cheek.

  "It was one of those days." And then some. It took some effort, but Colleen mustered up a smile. "It's looking up."

  Brushing his lips across hers, Dalton eased out of the parking lot. "I hope that has something to do with me."

  "You. The promise of a cool shower. And food. I need food."

  Settling back, Colleen closed her eyes, breathing freely for the first time since Collier's arrival at the garage. She doubted Dalton would appreciate her efforts on his behalf. He struck her as the kind of man who liked to take care of his problems on his own. Well, too damn bad, buddy. There was no need for Dalton to find out what she had done. And with any luck, he would be out of Midas and safely back in Los Angeles before Collier mustered the courage to retaliate.

  Colleen would miss Dalton. More than she liked to admit. She had hoped he might stick around longer than originally planned so they could enjoy each other's company. Howev
er, after today, Colleen realized that for Dalton's sake, the sooner he left Midas, the better.

  Opening her eyes, Colleen turned her head. Dalton Shaw. So handsome. So funny. Infinitely kind. Outrageously sexy. As though sensing her attention, he glanced her way. And oh, those killer blue eyes. Feeling a little tug at her heart, Colleen reached for Dalton's hand, not the least bit surprised when he didn't hesitate to lace his fingers through hers. This might be her last night with him. She wasn't going to spend it worrying about Collier or the future.

  One last night? Colleen was going to make certain it was one neither of them forgot.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THERE WERE MANY modern conveniences Colleen believed she could live without. Indoor plumbing was not one of them. The thought of trudging out to do her business—winter, spring, summer, or fall—over a hole in the ground was a big hell no. Given no choice, she supposed could get used to it—maybe. However, the ability to enjoy a shower with hot and cold running water after a long day at work, was a pleasure she would fight to the death before giving up.

  The world was a brighter place as Colleen turned off the taps than fifteen minutes earlier when she had wearily turned them on. Full blast and goosebumps-inducing cold. Toward the end, she amped up the heat to rinse the shampoo from her hair. Colleen smiled as she reached for a towel. Never underestimate the power of excellent water pressure.

  Walking from the bathroom, Colleen headed down the hall. It was the only one in the apartment, but her place was small and didn't lend itself to guests—another plus. Going out to socialize meant she could leave whenever she wanted. Bad date? Adios. Obnoxious friends? See ya. Her home wasn't luxurious. But it—and her bathroom—were hers and hers alone.

  However, there was something to be said for finding six feet plus of sexy man lying on her bed. Dalton was propped up against her headboard. Right where she left him. Shoes neatly placed on the floor at the end of the bed. His white cotton shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his long legs stretched out, Dalton looked up as Colleen walked into the room. She could get used to a sight like that.