Page 59 of Silver-Tongued Devil
She gasped. “You wish.”
“I wish what? I’ve got what I wished for. You know, in football, we call that thing you do trash talk. I don’t talk much trash myself, because it’s always seemed to me that the person who looks trashy is the one doing the talking.”
“What?” There were two spots of red on Ingrid’s porcelain cheeks.“I’mtrash? Melody and me? Ask Dakota who’s trashy. Ask yourgirlfriendif she remembers who tried to steal my boyfriend. Ask her who else she got, or who got her. I have a feeling you might be surprised.”
Half of Dakota wanted to run. The other half, though, had cowered for way too long in this town. She was done. “I didn’t steal your boyfriend,” she told Ingrid. “And if we’re asking here, why don’t you ask yourself why you married a rapist, and why you’re still making excuses for him? Ask yourself what that makes you.”
Ingrid’s mouth was opening, then closing, but Melody had no such problem. “You littlebitch,”she hissed at Dakota. “You were trash then. You’re trash now, and everybody in this house knows it. Everybody’s laughing at you. Why don’t you get the hint?”
Blake’s arm was around Dakota again. “There’s that word again,” he said. “You know what? I wanted to take my lady out someplace special tonight, show her something as beautiful as she is. I thought this was it, but it turns out not. This is what I call a downright ugly view.”
To Dakota’s horror, Michelle Schaefer, alerted by some hostess-vibe to the catastrophe on her deck, had somehow come to join them. “Dinner’s almost ready,” she said. “Does everybody have a drink?”
Blake addressed himself to her. “It’s real rude of me to show up and then take off, ma’am, but to tell you the truth, my stomach’s upset. Something not sitting right, making me sick. I’m afraid Dakota and I can’t stick around for dinner after all.”
“Oh, no.” Michelle looked rattled for once, her gaze darting among the four of them. No doubt seeing Dakota’s blazing eyes and the steam coming out of her ears, Melody all but hopping up and down on her toes, and Ingrid with her hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry.”
Blake was already shepherding Dakota back into the house. “I sure don’t want to cause a scene,” he said over his shoulder. “We’ll try it again sometime. Small group, so my stomach can handle it. It’s a little sensitive.”
He didn’t stop, either. He took Dakota right out of the house, strode around to the passenger side of the car, pulled the door open for her, and slammed it after her. Then he jockeyed forward and back to get out of the tight spot, swung around the drive, and was on the road. All without another word.
Blake controlled himself. That was the guy he was. Which was why he had to get out. Right now. Watching Dakota standing so tall, refusing to let anybody take her down, when he was the one who’d taken her into that lion’s den… it was killing him.
He pulled out of the Schaefers’ driveway, watched for the next turnoff, and took it. He put the SUV into Park, rolled his shoulders once, and told Dakota, “Right. Two choices. I’ll take you out to Heart of the Lake for dinner, or we can pick something up and go out on the boat, let the lake carry the ugly away. It’s up to you.”
She said, “Boat, please.” Still holding it together.
“You sure? Because you’re beautiful, and I’d purely love to show the rest of this godforsaken town that I’m the guy with you.”
“Ah,” she said, all her dryness back again. “But would we actually get to eat, or would you call somebody out again?”
“Well,” he admitted, “there’s that.” His hand was fisting right now, in fact. He relaxed it with a deliberate effort.
“If it’s my choice,” she said, “I choose the boat. I need some… peace.”
“Right.” He pulled out his phone, dialed, and waited. “Hey,” he told the woman who answered. “This is Blake Orbison. I’d like to pick up some food. Uh… hang on.” He held the phone away from his ear and asked Dakota, “Fish? Or what?”
“Fish is good,” she said.
Blake put the phone to his ear again. “Thanks for waiting.” He closed his eyes and recalled the menu. Advantage of all those years memorizing a playbook. “I’d like a couple orders of salmon, an order of scallops, and asparagus for two people. And a bottle of the best white wine you’ve got, whatever goes with that food. Chardonnay, I guess. And there’s a hundred dollars for you and another hundred for the cook if that’s ready for me in fifteen minutes.”
He hung up, and Dakota said, “Whoa.”
“Money works for some things.” He put the car back in gear and headed toward town. “I’m going to wait to ask until you get into some of that peace, but I’ll just say—what a snake pit.”
“I was thinking a shark tank,” she said. He looked across at her, and she smiled. He’d have sworn she’d felt sliced into little pieces back there, but she was smiling now.
He tried to think of something else to talk about, but his patented line of charm seemed to have deserted him, and Dakota didn’t seem to mind, so he shut up. When he got to Main Street, he pulled into the bank lot and said, “Hold on. ATM.”
“Oh, man,” she said. “You mean you don’t carry a wad of large bills at all times? I’m strangely disappointed.”
He laughed. “Yeah, well, so am I. Just close your eyes for a minute so you don’t notice me doing this. We’ll pretend I’m suave.”
That helped, and when he got to the Heart of the Lake, his foodwaswaiting, even though the place was jumping. He told the hostess, “You’re saving my life here. You don’t know how much,” handed over his credit card, and peeled off ten twenties.
“Happy to help,” the woman said. “And the cook says, ‘Any time.’”
Finally, he was walking down the pier, unlocking the gate to the marina, stepping onto the boat, and putting a hand out for Dakota, who was carrying the wine. She asked, “Should I take my shoes off? For the deck?”
