FLOWERS and CAGES Page 4

  Dalton couldn't help his mother. No one could have. But he tried with Maggie. When they were younger, that meant chasing away bullies. Someone always seemed to be after her and—according to her and her tear-filled eyes—it was never her fault. Dalton hadn't asked a lot of questions. If someone pushed his sister—he pushed back. In his mind, that was what older brothers did. Older and wiser, Dalton understood that Maggie brought trouble on herself. Like their mother, she enjoyed the drama. Knowing that Dalton would clean up after her gave Maggie added courage to cause mischief and mayhem.

  After Dalton had left home, he sent a check whenever he could—guilt money. Maggie was upset at first, but soon she found a succession of boyfriends who—for a short time—were willing to play protector. It was a race to see which would happen first. They either grew tired of her games or Maggie decided she wanted a new toy to play with.

  Dalton had been in prison three months when Maggie wrote him with two pieces of news. Their mother had died—her liver finally gave out. And Maggie had gotten married. She didn't give him many details. Simply that his name was Norris Mayhue, they were moving to Buffalo where Norris had an amazing job waiting, and that she was blissfully happy.

  Dalton hadn't expected the marriage—or Maggie's bliss—to last long. Last month, Maggie and Norris celebrated their seventh wedding anniversary. Maggie always sounded happy, but with his sister it was hard to tell. As long as Dalton continued his practice of sending money every month—the amount had increased dramatically over the years—she kept her problems to herself.

  "We need to talk, Maggie. Someplace private."

  "Don't worry about it. Tilly and Sly are never here. They belong to the country club. If it isn't golf, it's tennis. In the evenings, they usually eat in the dining room and play bridge until after midnight." Maggie giggled. "The perfect in-laws. I haven't seen them more than five minutes at a stretch since we got here."

  The house looked comfortable. Too much seventies avocado for Dalton's taste, but to each his own. The sofa was a riot of flowers, the pattern carrying over to the curtains. Wall-to-wall carpet—not a sliver of hardwood to be seen—covered the floor. It was clean and neat. And made Dalton grateful for his dark oak and stainless steel.

  "Would you like a glass of ice tea?"

  Maggie would have continued to the kitchen if Dalton hadn't taken her arm and led her to the sofa.

  "I'm fine. Sit and catch your breath." Dalton took the chair opposite. "Where is Norris?"

  "Looking for work."

  "At this time of the day?"

  "It's all about networking. Especially in a small town."

  Dalton frowned. He thought this was a social visit. The fact that Maggie's husband needed a job was a surprise. Searching his brain, Dalton tried to remember what Norris did for a living. Hardware store manager? Or was it a feed store?

  "Was he laid off?"

  "No." Not meeting Dalton's gaze, Maggie picked at a loose thread at the seam of her blue cotton skirt. "He decided working at the Tool Shed had become a dead end. And those Buffalo winters." Maggie shuddered. "Norris decided it was the right time for a change. A fresh start is exactly what his career needs."

  "Is that why Norris sold the story to the tabloids?"

  "He didn't mean any harm, Dalton," Maggie said earnestly. "He wanted a little extra cash for the move."

  "By selling me out?" Dalton felt a wave of bitterness.

  The story didn't matter. Most of it was a matter of public record. It was the betrayal that rankled. Norris had married Maggie knowing that Dalton was serving time. At the time, it was a big story in Midas. One of the reasons they moved across the country was to leave the notoriety behind. Norris wanted a quiet life where nobody knew about Maggie or her jailbird brother.

  Not that any of that stopped Norris from taking Dalton's money.

  "I know the money was to keep us quiet, but—"

  "That's bullshit, Maggie." Dalton wouldn't let his sister rewrite history. "I hoped you—and Norris—would respect my privacy. But the money was a gift. My way of helping out. It was never meant to be a bribe."

  "I'm sorry," gasped, her eyes wide with what looked like concern. "That isn't what I meant. Honestly. It's just that things have been tough—financially speaking. The story gave us a little boost. Please try to understand."

  "All you needed to do was call, Maggie. Have I ever turned you down when you needed something?"

  "Norris…" Maggie blinked, trying her best to summon up a tear. Dalton had seen their mother do the same thing more times than he could remember. "He's a proud man, Dalton."

  Not too proud to sponge off his parents. Or Dalton. The cash Norris received from the tabloid story was pocket change. He could have easily gotten more. A lot more. Suddenly, Dalton had a sickening thought.

  "Is there more to come, Maggie? More stories?"

  "I—" Maggie reached out, taking Dalton's hand. "Would it be so bad?"

  "That answers my question."

  Dalton wasn't worried about the truth. There were no deep, dark secrets that would destroy his world. But the tabloid rags weren't interested in the truth. With Norris feeding them information—real or made up—the embellishments could go on for months. It would be annoying. Possibly embarrassing. None of that would matter if Dalton were the only person affected. He had friends—his true family—back in Los Angeles. They would weather it together as they did everything else. But why should they have to?

  "How much to kill the stories?"

  "I don't know."

  Dalton had to hand it to Maggie. The way she wrung her hands and bit her lip. He could almost believe she felt something bordering on distress.

  "Have Norris call me." Dalton needed some fresh air. "And make certain he does it soon. Tomorrow at the latest, Maggie."

  "I will." Maggie followed him to the door. "I'm sorry, Dalton."

  Taking a deep breath, Dalton met his sister's gaze. "So am I."

  Dalton didn't know what he felt. Anger? Damn straight. But more at himself than Maggie. He should have taken his friends' advice and stayed in Los Angeles instead of dragging himself to fucking Arizona. He had convinced himself that he had to see his sister's face when he asked his questions. All he got for his troubles was a broken-down car and a splitting headache.

  The best thing would be to check into the only decent hotel in town. Take some aspirin and settle in for the evening. With any luck, Norris would grow a pair and call him tonight. He could be done with this mess and on his way back to civilization.

  That would be the best thing to do. Or he could say the hell with what was best and make the most of a royally fucked-up situation. Dalton ran a hand over the soft leather armrest, a speculative smile playing across his lips. He knew what his friends would say. Ryder would urge caution. Ashe would do the same—while encouraging him to have a little fun. Zoe would simply shake her head and call him an asshole whose brains were located in his dick.

  They would all be right.

  Picking up his phone, he scrolled through his contacts, stopping on the last—and newest number. Dalton paused, but only for a second. Hitting the keypad, he waited.

  "Hello?" The sound of Colleen's voice told Dalton everything he needed to know. He felt his shoulders begin to relax. Calling her had been the right decision.

  "What are you doing for dinner?"

  "Having it with you."

  Dalton grinned. Definitely the right decision.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DRESSING FOR A date with a rock star was no different than dressing for a date with a farmer. Or a lawyer. Or a park ranger. Or… Colleen chuckled. She had her first date at the age of fifteen. Eleven years later, the variety of her suitors was impressive for a small-town girl. Men liked her. And she liked men. She enjoyed the conversation. Sometimes, if the chemistry were right, she enjoyed the sex.

  The full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door didn't lie. Colleen looked good. She was
a woman comfortable in her skin—flaws and all. Did that mean she wouldn't have changed something if the genetics gods had given her a menu of options? Sure. Who wouldn't? But she liked her body. It was strong and resilient. It allowed her to work long hours without breaking down, and her legs looked damn fine in a skirt.

  Doing a final twirl, Colleen gave herself an approving nod. She didn't dress up often—unless her date sprang for a night in Phoenix. However, she enjoyed putting on the ritz. Not to impress Dalton, but herself. He had traveled the world. Beautiful women threw themselves at him—literally. Colleen smiled when she pictured Dalton stepping over bodies on his way to a waiting limo. Inside? Gorgeous females draped in satin and silk.

  No, she wasn't trying to compete. She simply wanted to look her best. And if Dalton's killer blue eyes flared with appreciation? Win/win for Colleen.

  Dalton's call had been a surprise. A very pleasant one. Colleen had already slipped into her favorite around-the-house shorts and t-shirt, debating whether to heat up the oven for a pizza or stay cool with a sandwich. Not the most exciting evening, but it suited her mood.

  When the phone rang, Colleen debated ignoring it. What was voicemail for if not to avoid family and friends? But at the last minute, she gave in. Seeing it was Dalton perked up her mood considerably. Until she remembered that he was in possession of her prized car. If he had totaled her baby, there would be blood.

  "Hello," Colleen answered cautiously.

  "What are you doing for dinner?"

  A tingle of anticipation zipped through Colleen's body. Zing. Zip. Zowie. The pizza could stay in the freezer for another less-promising evening. What was she doing for dinner?

  "Having it with you."

  Glancing at the clock, Colleen realized that Dalton was due at any second. Slipping on a pair of strappy sandals with wonderfully high heels, she walked to the bathroom. She wasn't a frilly girl, but feeling feminine came in many forms. Besides, there was as much power to be found in a pair of high heels as scuffed up work boots.

  Leaning close to the mirror over the sink, Colleen did one final survey. Makeup? Good. All she used was a bit of powder, some mascara, and a touch of color on her lips. Hair? The dark auburn tresses hung in natural waves across her shoulders. She rarely found the need—or the patience—to do more than a wash and go. There had been plenty of time for it to dry. With a quick flick of her comb, she was ready to go.

  The sound of the doorbell put a smile on Colleen's lips. Feeling like a kid about to open a beautifully wrapped package, she hurried to the door. Humming, she reached for the knob and burst out laughing.

  "Is it me?" Dalton checked his fly. "All zipped up. Though if that made you laugh, my ego would be in shreds."

  "Come in." Colleen moved to the side. "I was laughing at myself, not you. Though I hope your ego could withstand a chuckle or two."

  "Trust me, no man wants to hear a woman chuckle at his… zipper."

  Sexy. Gorgeous. And a self-deprecating humor that was hard to find—and completely irresistible. Dalton Shaw just went from yummy to mouthwatering.

  "I don't do sex on a first date."

  "Me neither."

  Colleen crossed her arms and waited. Dalton looked as if he planned on waiting her out, then, to her delight, he grinned.

  "Honestly. I will admit to screwing around—in my younger days—with women I just met. But if it's a date? Nope. I save myself for at least the second or third."

  "In your younger days, old man? What are you? Twenty…?"

  "Nine."

  Colleen gasped. "Decrepit."

  "Thirty is old man territory for a rocker."

  Slowly, she circled Dalton, checking him out. What she saw was so far from an old man it wasn't funny. His long legs nicely filled out the faded denim of his jeans. Add a trim waist. A flat stomach. And those arms. Dalton's t-shirt wasn't tight in a look at my amazing body kind of way. However, the sleeves circled his biceps, emphasizing the size and shape.

  Old? Hardly. There wasn't a man alive—at any age—that would balk at trading bodies with Dalton Shaw.

  "You're practically falling apart in front of my eyes."

  Because she couldn't resist, Colleen rested her hand on Dalton's upper arm. She didn't squeeze. It was more of a pet. Nice kitty. Meeting his gaze. Oh, my. Colleen swallowed. More like a big, dangerous, full-grown panther.

  "Like what you see?" Dalton purred.

  "Yes." What was the point of lying? Dalton knew when a woman was interested.

  "We could skip the date."

  "Food or sex?" Colleen licked her lips, drawing Dalton's attention.

  "That's right."

  Dropping her hand, Colleen stepped back. It wasn't easy, but it seemed like the right move.

  "Food?" Dalton asked with a sigh of regret.

  It was the glint of good humor in his eyes that almost changed Colleen's mind. If he had pushed his advantage, the evening would have ended quickly. Most likely with Dalton in the hall clutching his balls. The fact that he wanted her but was willing to let her set the pace? If she were so inclined, Colleen would already be half in love.

  "It is chicken fried steak night at The Sidewinder."

  "The Sidewinder? I don't remember it."

  "Have you been to Midas before?

  Dalton waited while Colleen picked up her purse and set the lock on the door. Holding out his arm, he nodded.

  "We had a gig here about seven years ago."

  "I—" Colleen stopped in her tracks.

  "You…?" Dalton's face didn't betray any emotion.

  "I spent that summer in Phoenix taking classes. By the time I got back, you were gone."

  "Up the river." Dalton patted her hand. "In the big house?"

  "I think you were standing trial."

  "Ah, yes," he nodded. "Good times."

  "Sarcasm or bitterness? Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference."

  Dalton stopped beside the T-Bird. To Colleen's surprise, he burst out laughing.

  "That was a joke?" When she nodded, Dalton threw his head back and laughed again—harder and longer.

  "That was my first attempt at prison humor." Colleen figured she might as well push her luck. "Are all ex-cons so jovial about the subject?"

  Wiping the moisture from his eyes, Dalton let out a sigh.

  "Hell if I know. But I wouldn't test the theory. I met some mean bastards in the pen. They hit first. Gender doesn't matter."

  "I knew a guy like that. Gender did matter. He gave a new meaning to women and children first."

  That drove the smile off Dalton's face. Carefully, he cupped Colleen's face in his hand, his thumb lightly caressing her cheekbone.

  "Has someone hit you?" Dalton's look was a breath-catching combination of tender and fierce.

  "No," Colleen reassured him, her hand gripping his wrist. "I had a friend in high school. Her father knocked her mother. And her sister. And her. Then she picked a boyfriend with the same habit."

  "What happened to her?"

  "She married the bastard and moved to Albuquerque. Last I heard she had two daughters. In a perfect world, her boyfriend changed when he became a husband and father."

  "The world isn't perfect."

  "No."

  Colleen felt a stinging at the back of her eyes. She wasn't going to cry, but it became a close thing when Dalton gathered her near.

  "I don't hit women. I would never knowingly hurt a child. But, Colleen?" Dalton lifted his head, looking her directly in the eyes. "The crime I stood trial for? I was guilty."

  Colleen waited for Dalton's revelation to change the way she felt, but it didn't happen. His arms comforted her. She felt protected—safe. She believed he had a dangerous streak. She didn't doubt his words. He had been guilty. Colleen wasn't foolish enough to trust her instincts completely. She didn't know this man and her hormones were on high alert—wanting him could be clouding her judgment. Dalton could turn out to be one
of the bad guys. But for the moment, she didn't think so.

  "Do you want to talk about it?"

  Smiling, Dalton shook his head. "You never say what I expect."

  "That, my friend, is a compliment of the first order." Brushing her lips against his, Colleen moved away before either of them could take it further. Caution was never a bad thing. "Let's go to dinner. I lost my appetite. Now it's back."

  Dalton helped her into the passenger seat. As he walked around the car, Colleen marveled that it didn't feel odd to sit here while he sat behind the wheel. Maybe today's heat had fried a bit of her brain. Or it might have been Dalton. Either way, she buckled her seatbelt and relaxed.

  "Chicken fried steak?"

  "And a frosty margarita."

  It sounded like heaven. Or as close as she could get in Midas, Arizona.

  THE SIDEWINDER WASN'T exactly jumping, which was fine with Dalton. He wasn't worried about someone recognizing him. It happened all the time. But that was for his music. His arrest had been big news in Midas. It had been carried out in a very public manner. Dalton had no idea where all the police cars had come from. The flashing lights lit up the night sky. That was not something quickly forgotten.

  "This used to be a dentist's office," Colleen informed him as their waitress showed them to their table. "Dr. Painless. He lasted less than a year."

  "I wonder why?"

  "I know. Dr. Feelgood is a cliché, but the curiosity factor alone would have pulled in a few patients."

  They gave their drink orders. The waitress left, giving them time to decide on their meal.

  "I don't know why I'm looking. I always have the special."

  Dalton peered at Colleen over the top of his menu. "Wednesday chicken fried steak."

  "Thursday spaghetti and meatballs. Friday varies. Usually some kind of fish." Colleen wrinkled her nose.

  "Not a fan?"