Page 14 of Protecting What Is Mine

6

Mollie

Our second date starts off smoothly enough. Hank arrives at the house to pick me up, a full ten minutes before seven. And he comes bearing gifts. A lovely bouquet of wild flowers for me, a bottle of Chardonnay for Sam, and a new coloring book plus a big box of crayons for Vanessa. All of them are obvious conciliatory gestures, but they’re effective just the same. By the time Hank and I walk out the door, Sam and Vanessa are so focused on him, neither even remembers to tell me goodbye or wish me luck.

When we pull up in front of The Saddle, Hank shuts off the engine, quickly hops down, and hustles over to open my door and offer me his arm. We enter the bar and Hank is inundated with strangers saying hello, asking how he’s been, or how his brother’s getting on. I’m impressed by how unphased he seems by the chaos and how quick he is to politely introduce me and then excuse us from the fray.

The connection between us tonight feels every bit as strong as the first time. The evening is off to a great start, that is until the end of my second song. I come off stage and sit at our table to catch my breath after an impassioned attempt at “Crazy on You,” by Heart. Hank is at the bar getting another round of refreshments when someone slides out his chair and helps himself to the seat beside me.

I look up expecting to find some half drunk, misguided country boy hoping to swoop in and take my breath away. I’m prepared for that. I’m prepared to warn him that he’s sitting in someone else’s seat, and I’m even prepared to pull out the big guns and name drop who my date is, if need be. But I am not prepared…I am in no way even close to prepared to find a familiar pair of icy blue eyes staring back at me. My words freeze in my throat, leaving me unable to speak. A chill runs down my spine and I feel dizzy at the sight of him. I can’t fully process what’s happening.

How?

When?

Where?

So many questions in my head. But, the look on my face must say it all, because Clint props an elbow on the table and leans in close, making sure to be heard over the music.

“Been a long time, cousin. It’s good to see you too,” he says before sitting back and glaring at me with his signature cold stare and corrupt smile.

“What?” I struggle to find the words—seeing as my brain just exploded and all. “When…when did you get out?” I manage at last.

“A little while back.”

“How? I thought you had like, at least three years left on your sentence.”

He smirks. “What can I say? Thank God for an overcrowded prison system and time off for good behavior.”

I lose myself to the thoughts in my head. There must be a thousand of them, all colliding into one another.

Is he really back?

What about Sam?

Does she know?

Oh my…what about Vanessa?

Is he smart enough to leave her be?

Even he knows she’s better off with him far away from her, doesn’t he?

Or, is he here to try and weasel his way into her life?

“Excuse me.” A voice, strong and familiar with its deep tones, catches my attention. “You’re in my seat.” I look up to find Hank standing confidently behind Clint, a beer in one hand and an emerald green appletini in the other.

My eyes flit to Clint. He raises a brow and the edge of his mouth curls up as he slowly stands, turns, and squares off directly in front of Hank. “I don’t see a name on it.” The two men are less than a foot apart. Hank has a definite edge on Clint in height, and if Clint was still the man I used to know, they should be equal in build.

But they aren’t.

This version of Clint looks every bit like a man who’s spent the last five years shaping his body, preparing for war against whatever new arrival might be interested in making a name for himself. A man with nothing but time on his hands. Time spent pumping iron during his hour of rec time. And time spent sweating out pushup after pushup in his six by nine cell.

Hank looks to me. “Mol? This guy bothering you?”

I need words. Quick.

Clint steps forward, all but eliminating the gap between himself and Hank. “Don’t worry about her.” He thumbs in my direction. “She’s in good hands.” He sticks out his index finger and pokes Hank in the chest. “So, why don’t you take your cute little drink and go bother someone else. She and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

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