Freight Trained Read online

  It took a lot for Abby to lose her temper, she had the patience of a saint—she was a schoolteacher for goodness' sake—but as the tight knot in her stomach turned into a burning ball of anger, she felt her temper rise. She took a deep breath, thinking before she spoke. No sense making an emotional mountain out of Cole's indifferent molehill. "Don't worry, I get it. I won't be bothering you again."

  She heard him shout her name as she moved quickly out of the barn, but she didn't stop. Her throat felt tight, and her vision started to blur. This, this feeling right now, was why she never stepped out of her box. Silly to have forgotten. You didn't forget, you just thought he was worth the risk. Abby snorted, "Yeah, well, I won't be making that mistake again," she mumbled, to herself.

  She was through the front door and halfway to her car when a tug on her arm spun her to face a glaring Cole. His anger made her temper rise. What right did he have to be angry? As she'd said, she may be shy and quiet, but she didn't let people walk all over her. She had a backbone, damn it, and when pushed, wasn't afraid to show it. "Oh, no you don't!" She poked him hard just below his diaphragm which caused her finger to bend back at an odd angle when it encountered his abs of steel. "You don't get to be angry."

  He looked down at her finger, still jabbed into his chest, a slow smile spreading across his face. "So my little mouse has claws."

  "I'm not your little anything." God, this guy ran hot, then cold, then frickin' hot again all in a span of minutes. She was done with his damn yo-yo tactics. She tried to tug her arm out of his grip but when he didn't release her, she shouted, "Let go."

  "Not until you let me explain."

  She gave her arm a vicious tug that forced him to let go or risk hurting her. "Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, well," she threw her arms out to indicated herself, "you know how the saying goes. Don't bother explaining, I'm done listening. This was all just a big mistake."

  He flinched, it was subtle, but she saw it. She thought about taking back the words, sorry the moment they left her mouth but no, it was better this way. She was better off splashing around in the kiddie pool before jumping off the high-dive into the deep end.

  She jogged the last distance to her car, got in, and slammed the door. Her keys were still in the ignition so with a quick twist, she started the motor and with a grinding crunch of gravel, took off for home.

  "I'm not sure this is a very good idea." Abby looked down at the halter top Maggie insisted she wear and cringed. Not only could she not wear a bra because her whole back was exposed, but it also revealed a two-inch band of her belly. "I feel practically naked."

  "Stop fussing with it," Maggie said, knocking Abby's hands away from the hem as she tried to tug it down. "You look hot."

  "Can't I wear a sexy top that I can at least wear a bra with?"

  "No, and would you stop," again she swatted at Abby's hands. "You're going to stretch it out."

  Stretching it out sounded good to Abby.

  "We talked about this last night. You promised you would do exactly as I say."

  Abby sighed, she did promise that. But in her defense, she was still getting over her disastrous encounter with Cole only a few hours prior. Abby ordinarily wasn't one to share, but when Maggie had called to invite her out for a night of dancing with her and the girls, she could tell something was wrong and after a back-and-forth exchange—Abby learned Maggie could be very persuasive—she finally divulged the whole embarrassing debacle.

  "You admitted yourself, you're shy and hesitant and need me to lead you down the right path." The right path or the dark path? Abby was seriously rethinking that outgoing-and-vivacious Maggie was the one to emulate.

  Abby looked at herself in the full-length mirror hanging on the back of her closet door. She had to admit, she looked pretty darn good. Maggie had done some complicated braid and twist thing to her hair to create a crown around her head and went a little heavier with the make-up she typically wore, making her usually dull-blue eyes pop. The halter top was black but had a silvery shine when reflected by the light and was paired with low-rise, ankle-hugging, skintight jeans that thankfully had enough spandex for comfort. Shoes, her favorite accessory, she had a plethora and selected a black, suede platform pump with a four-inch heel and a cute bow at the open toe.

  Well, she was ready as she'd ever be. She really had no idea what she was getting herself into. All she knew, they were going dancing and had to drive an hour to get there. Guess there would be no slipping out the back door to sneak home if she hated it. She would be stuck, at the whim of her friends. She seriously debated taking her own car.

  "Stop fighting this. Loosen up, and you'll have a good time, I promise." Abby peered at Maggie through the mirror. If she looked closely, she was sure to see little horns poking out of the front of her head.

  With no way—that she could see—of backing out, she slipped her ID, credit card, and phone in her back pocket and pulled a sweater from her closet with the hope no one would notice if she kept it on all night.

  The town of Belen had a population of seven thousand, about seven times that of Jasper Falls, and while it wasn't a screaming metropolis, it was large enough for several honky-tonks—as Abby soon learned they were called. They found a spot in the parking lot of an old, rustic building that looked like an oversized barn. A large neon sign glowed the name Dusty's but both "S's" were out so it read Duty, which seemed pretty fitting to Abby, as she found the entire excursion a chore.

  The girls all climbed out of Ellen's silver SUV. It was a warm evening, but even so, Abby lurked behind the back of the truck, trying to discreetly slip into her cardigan sweater. The ever diligent, Johnny-on-the-spot Maggie was quick to commandeer said sweater, snatching and tossing it on the backseat before locking and slamming the car door with a smirk and a challenging raised eyebrow.

  "Okay, ladies, are you ready to get your groove on?" Ellen asked, beeping the locks on her SUV.

  A chorus of rowdy whoops intermingled with a few shrill whistles was the answering response and with a resigned sigh, Abby turned to follow the crowd through the parking lot.

  Maggie appeared at her side, linking their arms. "Before we go in, there are a few rules you need to know."

  Abby gave her a small, disbelieving smile. "There are rules?"

  "For the Abby-is-going-to-have-fun-tonight plan to work, yes."

  "I'm not sure your definition and my definition of fun are the same things."

  Maggie gave her arm a hug. "Abby-Abby-Abby, trust me."

  Figuring Maggie was an unstoppable force, she decided to give in graciously. Who knew, maybe she'd have fun. She was willing to try for one night at least. "Okay, what are the rules?"

  "Rule number one, you must do as I say, when I say it."

  Abby opened her mouth to object, but Maggie held a finger up, edging her words in first. "And no arguing."

  Abby snapped her mouth closed with a scowl.

  "Rule number two, and this one is very important." Maggie's expression turned serious, her eyes losing their teasing sparkle. "You drink only drinks that I or one of our girls put in your hand, and don't drink anything you've left unattended."

  "I wasn't planning on drinking."

  Maggie's eyes got that sparkle again. "Oh, but you will. Don't forget rule number one," she said, with an evil eyebrow wiggle.

  "I must do as you say, and I suppose you're going to tell me to drink."

  "Right you are, Abby girl," Maggie hooted. "Last rule, no leaving with any man. This is girls night. We all come together, and we all leave together. No woman left behind and all that jazz."

  Abby started shaking her head before Maggie even stopped talking. "I wasn't planning to."

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sp; "Planning and doing are two different things, but don't worry," Maggie patted her arm, "I know you won't break the rule. It was mostly invented to keep Deb in line." She tipped her head back and laughed.

  Abby's ears were assaulted the moment she hit the door, made worse when she actually walked through it. Country music blared from some unknown source that she'd yet to detect. Not a fan, she had no idea of the song nor the artist, she only knew it was an upbeat, lively tune. Not to be outdone by the music, the packed roomful of people, shouted, yelled, cheered, whooped, and hollered to be heard by their fellow companions.

  The interior was much the same on the inside as the outside, old, rustic. Signs decorated the walls. Some advertising various brands of liquor, while others cautioned patrons "No spitting on the floor" or "Beware: men consuming alcohol." A large bar filled a good amount of space and had a crowd three rows deep surrounding it. The mirrored wall behind the bar had rows of glass shelving that reached the ceiling, holding hundreds of liquor bottles.

  The cloying heat of too many bodies in one space had Abby actually grateful that Maggie had stolen her sweater. For modesty, her pride would've forced her to wear it, and heatstroke could have been a real possibility.

  A flash of something from the corner of her eye caught her attention. A tall, big-haired blonde, glam-a-zon in a kick-ass, skintight outfit, strutted on rhinestone, platform sandals across the room. Abby, as well as most people in the room, watched her progression as she walked to the bar. Like the Red Sea parting, a line of sight opened, giving her unhindered passage to the front of the bar.

  "We managed to snag a table in the back. Come on," Maggie said, as she latched on to Abby's arm.

  Abby still looked in glam-a-zon's direction. The crowd had swallowed her up, but the top of her teased, blond hair was still visible. Stunned and maybe a little in awe, Abby turned to Maggie and blurted, "Who the heck was that?"

  "Heidi Summers."

  Still sharing, Abby said, "I want to be her when I grow up."

  "No, you don't."

  "What, why?" Heidi was confidence personified. Anyone who could strut around, head held high with such assurance, had it going on.

  Maggie leaned in closer to be heard without yelling. "Because she's here every Saturday night and never leaves alone." Maggie stood back up, one eyebrow raised in a "do you get the picture" gesture.

  Abby looked back, trying to get another glimpse of Heidi. Yeah, she got the picture, and although she could never see herself having sex with strange men every weekend, she still couldn't help but want the confidence to do so.

  She felt another tug on her arm, gaining back her attention and followed Maggie to their table. It was small, and there was no way two more people would fit at it. Maggie proved her wrong. Grabbing up two extra chairs from a nearby table, she shoved them in at an angle then motioned for Abby to sit. A waitress in a barely-there outfit arrived, setting a large tray of shot glasses filled to the brim with a golden liquid on the table that all the women lunged for in unison.

  "Here."

  Abby looked down at the drink Maggie placed in her hand. "What is it?"

  "Tequila shot."

  Abby watched as Maggie brought her glass to her lips, tilted her head, and swallowed its contents in one go. She looked back down at her drink. "I've never had strong spirits before." She'd had a beer once but didn't like the taste so never had one again and a few glasses of wine at the wedding of a distant cousin but never hard liquor.

  Maggie laughed and when Abby gave her a puzzled frown, she explained, "I've never heard anyone call it spirits before. Sounds so proper."

  Abby felt her cheeks heat, and she lowered her head.

  Maggie jabbed her with an elbow. "Hey, don't be embarrassed. It's cute."

  And by "cute" Abby was sure she meant weird. An image of Heidi, strutting in her rhinestone sandals popped into her head. Abby was sure she had never been labeled a "cute" anything.

  "Okay, Abby, drink it down."

  She gave Maggie a skeptical look.

  Waving a finger, Maggie said, "Remember rule number one."

  Abby raised the glass, giving it a sniff. Scrunching her nose in distaste, she said, "I don't know if I can drink this."

  "I won't lie, the first shot will be rough, but the second will go down a lot smoother."

  "I have to drink more than one?"

  Maggie eyed her up and down. "Your size and weight, never drinking before, I'd say three shots should be good. Loosen you up without getting you totally shit-faced."

  Abby raised the glass to her lips, closed her eyes, and mimicking Maggie, tipped her head back, drinking the shot in one swallow. Then promptly lost her breath. Her eyes flew open as the liquor burned its way down her throat. Finally, after several long seconds, she was able to take a deep breath, which in turn started a round of uncontrollable coughing.

  The table erupted in laughter and for once, she was so focused on regaining proper function of her lungs, she didn't care she was the center of attention. Maggie handed her a glass of water that she gratefully took, guzzling its contents to soothe the burn.

  Once she regained her composure, she glanced around the table noticing all the girls smiled at her, real smiles, not fake, snide, or calculating ones (even bitchy Deb), and Abby found herself smiling back. "Well, that certainly hit the spot." The table erupted into another round of laughter and this time, Abby joined in too.

  * * * * *

  Cole strolled into the bar, well, technically it was the general store by day but at some point someone had put tables in the back for the locals to sit and have a drink at the end of a long day. The tradition most likely started with a couple of the old-timers gossiping over a couple of beers and over time grew into the local hangout. Cole went because it was the only place in town to buy a beer and not have to drink it alone.

  He tipped his chin to Rich Crenshaw and Sheriff Sam Brody before taking the empty seat at their table. "Been here a while?" he asked, indicating the six empty beer bottles littering the table.

  Rich picked up the full beer in front of him and took a swig. "Been here a couple of hours. Ellen's out for the night. Went to Dusty's."

  Cole raised his brows. "And you didn't go with her?"

  "Said it was ladies night, no boys allowed or some shit like that."

  The Sheriff gave a loud snort before taking a sip of his own beer.

  Rich gave him a dirty look. "What?"

  But it was Cole who answered. "That doesn't bother you?"

  Now it was Rich's turn to snort. "Nah, she's with a big group. The usual girls plus the new gal, Abigail O'Neal."

  Cole's back stiffened. He'd driven by Abby's house not ten minutes ago. The place had been dark, all the lights off, but her car had been in the drive. He assumed, even though it was only nine, she was in bed for the night.

  "Was up at her place the other day," Rich said, taking a swig of his beer.

  "Who? The O'Neal woman's?" the Sheriff asked before Cole had a chance to.

  "Yeah, she seems real nice. Was having trouble getting her water on. It was a quick fix, not a big deal, unlike the current project I'm working on."

  "Problems?" the sheriff asked, picking up his beer and settling back for a long conversation.

  "Yeah, been working up at the Henderson's. Seems their...."

  Cole lost track of their conversation. His sole focus now centered on Abby at a bar overflowing with dick-headed piranha looking for only one thing. Fuck it. This being noble crap was a load of horseshit. He obviously didn't know how to be a nice guy because a rage was building inside him at the thought of Abby vulnerable at some dive bar. He smi
led to himself, rippin' off heads then fuckin' his girl sounded like the perfect way to spend the rest of his evening. He abruptly stood. "I gotta go."

  "What? But you didn't drink your beer," Rich said, looking up at the now towering Cole.

  Rich may be fine with his girl gallivanting around by herself with no male protection, but Cole sure the hell wasn't. He slid his beer across the table. "It's all yours."

  Chapter Seven

  Abby couldn't stop laughing. Deb (yes, bitchy Deb) was shaking her thing on the dance floor, and Abby thought it was hilarious. She was creating quite a crowd—mostly guys trying to inch their way into her vicinity—and she soaked up the attention. Abby and Jane were the only two left at their table, the rest of the gang were scattered about, and Abby had lost track of them long ago.

  Sometime earlier, at about her third or fourth shot, she had morphed into a more outgoing version of herself. She felt relaxed and carefree, and her hazy, drunken mind wondered why she couldn't feel this way without the benefit of liquid courage.

  Maggie appeared out of nowhere, two drinks in her hands. She handed one to Abby. "You ready to get your thing on?" she asked, with a nod of her head in the general direction of the dance floor.

  Abby shook her head vigorously. "I don't dance."

  "A couple more of those and you will." Maggie pointed to Abby's drink.

  That was enough incentive to stop drinking. Abby looked down at the shot she held and thought, fuck it, brought the glass to her lips and downed it in one go.

  "Now, that's what I'm talking about," Maggie whooped.

  "Ladies."

  Abby turned in her seat, looking behind her. Three men had approached their table all dressed in western garb—jeans, long-sleeved, snap shirts, and boots—wearing welcoming smiles. Abby was quick to note, they were all good-looking, but the tall one in the middle was especially cute. He gave her a wink when she stared at him maybe a bit too long. She quickly faced forward in her seat to hide her flaming cheeks.