Kristen Ashley - Games of the Heart

Then he waited a few seconds while listening to her breathe.

Then he asked softly, “You good?”

To which he got back a breathy, “Oh yeah, honey.”

He smiled into the dark.

Then, still breathy, he heard her whisper, “You’re good at that.”

She meant phone sex.

“Findin’, when it comes to you, I got a vivid imagination.”

He listened to her soft, sexy, musical laugh.

“Got work tomorrow, Angel, gotta let you go,” he whispered.

“What about you?” she whispered back.

“My turn next time.”

“You’re on.”

He smiled into the dark again.

She was over a thousand miles away but still, something to look forward to.

“You sleep good,” he ordered.

“Oh I’ll do that,” she replied, he could hear the smile in her voice and he was pleased as fuck it was him who put it there and how he did it.

“’Night gorgeous,” she called softly.

“’Night Angel. Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Awesome,” she whispered.

He chuckled, whispered back, “Later,” got the same word in return and his thumb found the button to disconnect.

Then he tossed his phone on the nightstand, rolled to his side, tagged a pillow and curled an arm around it.

It took the five minutes it took for his dick not to be hard for him to fall asleep.

But when he did, unconsciously, he did it smiling.

Tuesday morning…

Beau Lebrec drove his pickup up the dirt lane to Dusty’s place.

A place that used to be his place.

He could see the ranch-style house, the small, two stall barn where she kept her two horses and the same size shed where she made her pottery and kept her kilns. And that was all he could see. This was because his woman owned twenty acres sandwiched between two huge-ass ranches so the rest of what he could see was nothing but land.

Why she needed that land, he had no clue. She didn’t take care of it. She paid some Mexican to do it. She told him her horses needed room to roam and he reckoned this was true since her ass was in a saddle on one every day. She said it was her workout.

Why she needed another work out, he also had no clue. She did yoga and pilates, going into town to take classes twice a week and having a fuckload of equipment at home in one of her three bedrooms. She also went to some crazy-ass class she called a “boot camp”. She came back from this red-faced and sweating but grinning like an idiot then bitching all the next day that her muscles hurt. Though, when she bitched, she did it smiling like that was a good thing.

She did this shit with Jerra, her partner in crime. She said she did it so she could eat and drink whatever she wanted. And, fuck knew, Dusty Holliday ate and drank whatever she wanted. This was why, even with as busy as she always was, at her classes, with her horses, on her horses, digging in all her pots (she might not take care of her land but she liked to be outside with her flowers) and working in the shed, she never could shift that extra ten pounds she carried. He kept telling her to cut back on the tequila and chocolate. At first, she just smiled at him. Later, her eyes would cut to him and she’d tell him to go fuck himself.

Not nice.

He parked and got out, hearing her music coming from the shed. This did not mean she was out there working. She’d wander into the house and leave the music blaring from the shed. Again, he had no clue how she could create the pieces she created with rock and country blasting around her. He wasn’t into that shit but even he could see Dusty’s pottery was the fucking bomb. Then again, it would be with the price tags she put on it. But beauty like that, he thought, didn’t get inspired by rock ‘n’ roll and country.

He started with the house and the minute he entered he knew Yolanda had been there recently. Dusty did not give one shit about the state she kept her house in or how she took care of her things. He’d never met a woman who made such a mess and didn’t give a fuck about it. The only thing that got up her nose was the state of the kitchen. When she cooked, she made a God awful mess and she might leave that mess overnight but she’d clean it up first thing the next day. And she was always riding his ass to put his dishes in the dishwasher and to wipe down the counters.

He didn’t get it. If she didn’t have Yolanda coming in once a week to clean and do laundry, their bedroom would be knee deep in clothes and shoes and she’d go buy underwear before she’d do laundry. But she’d pitch a fit if he made a sandwich and left crumbs on the counter.

This shit stuck in his craw when he was living with her even if, while living with her, he got to bang her. One could say Beau had more than his fair share of women and without a doubt Dusty was the best he ever had. No other even came close. Since she lost her mind and kicked his ass out, he’d thought about it and decided his woman was complicated and he could live with that.

What he couldn’t live with was calling her when she was home in Indiana and having some guy answer the phone at six in the fucking morning then getting a visit from Hunter telling him to get over it and move the fuck on.

No.

Fuck no.

He didn’t need Hunter Rivera in their business. He never liked that guy anyway mostly because Hunter thought Beau was a dickhead and didn’t hide it so he didn’t need Hunter up in his business. And he didn’t need his woman playing games of the heart using some faceless guy in her hometown.

And she needed to know that.

He was done with this separation.

She needed to know that too.

He walked through the big living room into the enormous kitchen that fed off it. He could still hear the music but now he could see through the abundance of huge picture windows that Dusty was out in the shed at her wheel.

He was about to walk out the backdoor when he heard her cell go.

He looked down at the counter then moved to it and picked it up. On the display was a graphic of a phone ringing and under, it said, “Mike calling”.

Beau stared at the phone.

Fuck him.

Fuck him.

Mike. Jesus, fuck. Mike.

She’d just been back to The ‘Burg. And Beau knew all about Mike from The ‘Burg. Not only had Dusty mentioned him more than once in a soft voice, her eyes warm and sweet with memories but her fucking brother mentioned him too. Frequently.

Jesus. Fuck. She’d hooked up with fucking Mike from The ‘Burg.

Beau’s hand tightened around the phone and he waited until it stopped ringing. He was jabbing his finger on the screen to go to her recent calls when he heard the phone beep in his hand saying Mike had left a voicemail. He saw the recents list show that this was call two from Mike.

Fuck him.

He went to her voicemail and hit go then put the phone to his ear.

Then he heard a man say in a gentle, deep voice, “Hey Angel. I got a minute to talk. You’re around, call back. You’re not and it’s later, call back anyway. Later honey.”

Angel.

Honey.

Fuck him.

He deleted the voicemail and shoved her phone in his back pocket.

Then he stomped through the kitchen, out the backdoor and to the shed.

Twenty minutes later, he was in his pickup with a cruiser trailing him, his eyes to his rearview mirror seeing Hunter Rivera with his hands on his hips standing outside the shed next to Dusty who had her arms crossed on her chest. Both were watching him drive away.

His mouth tight, his eyes went to the road then back to his rearview mirror to take in the cruiser.

His official escort off Dusty Holliday’s property.

Fuck him.

* * *

“Rivera,” Mike greeted.

“Mike, got an update you’re not gonna wanna hear, bro.”

Mike jerked his chin up to Merry then he twisted in his chair, aimed his eyes to the floor and ordered, “Talk to me.”

“Well, you gave me the greenlight on Sunday, I didn’t delay. Gave the good news to my woman, got my reward and, feelin’ happy, went out and had a word with Beau. Honest to Christ, thought he got me. Now it’s Tuesday morning and I’m drivin’ back into town from bein’ out at Dusty’s place. Beau showed.”

“Fuck,” Mike whispered.

“Yeah,” Rivera agreed. “So I hauled my ass out there and figured since he wasn’t listenin’ to her or me, it was time to make it official. So I brought a cruiser with me.”

“Good call,” Mike muttered.

“Yeah,” Rivera repeated. “Me and my boys in uniform made it crystal that he’s not welcome on Dusty’s property with Dusty standin’ there confirming this info. Beau looked displeased. I shared that there would be no further dickin’ around with this and, he tried that shit again, my advice to Dusty would be to get an RO. Seein’ as Dusty was standing right there, she was available to confirm immediately a restraining order would be her next step. So, I shared that this RO would include not only him not gettin’ near Dusty’s property but also Dusty or phoning her or using any electronic communication of any kind to hassle her. Again, Beau didn’t look pleased. But he had a seriously pissed off Dusty on his hands as well as three police officers. He saw the wisdom of gettin’ his ass in his pickup and gettin’ gone.”

“What’s your gut say?” Mike asked, knowing exactly what his was saying after hearing all that shit.

“My gut says that Dusty’s property is out of town. Not out of our jurisdiction but she’s not in the town proper and thus not an easy drive-by. So my gut says I’ll be calling some friends at the County Sheriff after we’re done and cluin’ them in. Between the Sheriff’s boys and my boys, we can keep a better eye on her. That said, no way this is twenty-four, seven. She’s out of town and sittin’ on twenty acres so no one close and she’s not prone to lockin’ her doors ‘cause, lucky for us, crime ‘round these parts, especially out in the boonies where Dusty lives, isn’t prevalent. So I told her to keep her doors locked, including on her truck when she’s in it and including when she’s awake and in the house. I also told her to keep her music down when she’s workin’ so she can be more aware. This mornin’, he snuck up on her. She was so into what she was doin’ and had her music on, she didn’t see him comin’. That shit stops today. And I’m also gonna have a word with Javier who comes a couple times a month to look after her land and Yolanda who comes every week to look after her house to keep their eyes open.”

That was a lot and because it was, this did not make Mike feel good.

“You think he’s that big of a problem?” Mike asked quietly.

“No. But I think I was a cop in Dallas for ten years and I saw shit that you, also bein’ a cop, are probably one of the few who would believe. Safe is a fuckuva lot better than sorry.”

“I’m with you, man,” Mike muttered then spoke louder when he asked, “How was she when you left her?”

“Pissed as all hell,” Rivera answered immediately. “Luckily it’s boot camp day so she can go with Jerra and work it out doin’ lunges and squats and whatever-the-fuck they do.”

Mike blinked. Then he asked, “Boot camp?”

“You don’t got those up there in the Hoosier state?”

“Yeah, we do. Just that Dusty does not have an ass that says she goes to boot camps.”

Thankfully.

“Uh…neither does Jerra. Lucky for you and me, bro, we got our hooks into the whole package. A handful and I mean that literally and thank God for it daily. But under all that soft she’s got power which means she can grip tight. You get what I’m sayin’?”

He got it. Saturday and Sunday, he got it a number of times.

“Oh yeah,” he muttered.

“Yeah, I know it, bro. Only one reason a man’s up in a woman’s business after a funeral hook up and that reason ain’t because he’s nostalgic about his ex-girlfriend’s kid sister who he fucked on the good Samaritan errand of takin’ her mind off her loss.”

Mike started chuckling. Dusty was a straight shooter and it appeared she surrounded herself with the same thing.

“Right,” Rivera went on. “I got calls to make to cover the ass you’re tappin’. Gotta go.”

“Thanks, Rivera.”

“I’d say you’re welcome but I think you get I’m not doin’ this for you.”

“I get that. Thanks all the same.”

“Still, donuts, bro.”

“Look forward to it.”