Page 12 of Halfway to Hell
“A guy who likes M&M’s in his buttered popcorn.”
The words settled over her like a warm blanket. Her shoulders eased, the knot in her chest loosening. Monday had told her the same thing and said.“Ifhe doesn’t say that exact thing, run fast.”
A smile flickered at the edge of her mouth. “I like chocolate in my popcorn, too.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Sunday. I’m Texas. You can call me that or Ange … your choice.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, voice quieter now, but steady.
“Have you eaten yet?” he asked, hoping the answer was no, because he was starving.
“No, just got coffee.”
“Are you hungry? Say yes, because I am.”
“Yes,” she replied with a small smile, feeling more comfortable with Texas by the second.
The waitress returned, setting his coffee down and completely ignoring Sunday.
“Sugar, you know what you’d like?” she asked Texas, her tone sticky-sweet.
Texas gave her a charming grin. He knew how to handle a salty old broad like this one. “Sweetheart, could you give us a minute?”
Sunday watched as the woman placed a hand on his shoulder with just a little too much familiarity. “You take your time, sugar,” she said, voice suddenly syrupy. Then she sashayed off, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking across the linoleum with every step.
Texas picked up the coffee cup and took a slow sip of the black brew. When he set it down, his eyes met hers with quiet certainty.
“Sunday, once we finish breakfast, we’re heading to North Bay. I’ve got friends there. Good people who’ll put us up for the night.”
He saw the flicker of worry cross her face, the tension she tried to hide behind a calm expression.
“I wouldn’t take you there if it wasn’t safe,” he added gently. “You’ve got my word on that.”
“How do you know my sister?” Sunday asked, her tone careful but direct.
She needed to know. The dynamic between this man and Monday mattered. How well did her sister actually know him? Was he truly a friend, or was he just someone hired to get her to Montreal?
Texas didn’t flinch.
“The club I’m affiliated with owns the bar where she works part-time,” he said simply, meeting her eyes.
He didn’t see why the details mattered. What mattered was that he was here, doing the job. Getting Sunday safely to Montreal. Getting her back to her family.
“You mean the strip club,” Sunday said, the sarcasm slipping out before she could stop it. Maybe it was the way he said her sister’s name—too familiar, too easy.
Texas didn’t miss a beat. “It’s still a bar, Doll.”
His tone was calm, not defensive, just matter of fact. He wasn’t taking the bait.
Feeling like crap for how it sounded, Sunday rushed to explain, “Please don’t think I’m being a snob. I’m not. She’s just always referred to it as a strip club. Monday’s always bartended in places like that. Says the money’s great. I just…” she sighed. “I don’t know why she still bartends.”
She could hear herself rambling and mentally begged herself to shut up.
Texas tilted his head, curious. “Why would you say that?”
“I mean, Monday’s a traveling nurse. She works all over the place.”
“I don’t have an answer for you,” Texas said, setting the menu aside. “You know what you’re having?”
