It would not happen again.
* * *
DILLON JOINED HIS cousin Jamie in the locker room of the private boxing club he and his twin brother, Colin, ran. The club was frequented by Chicago’s elite athletes and every time Dillon came to town he stopped in to go a round with one of his cousins. The three of them had been fistfighting for fun since they were kids, spending the summers together at his family ranch in Montana.
Funny how even as an adult, there was nothing like a good fight to take the edge off. Though that wasn’t the only reason he was here. He had an appointment with Jamie who was an expert in family law.
“So,” Jamie asked as he stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist. “Gloria said no?”
“Nah. She’s playing hard to get.” Dillon unwrapped the tape from his hands.
“You really don’t understand women, do you, Dill?”
“Are you kidding? Women are like ornery bulls and this one is doing her damnedest to make me think she wants to buck me off. But what she really wants is for me to figure out a way to ride her.”
“You did not.”
“Did not what?”
“Just compare Gloria to a bull.”
“I like bulls.”
Jamie rubbed a towel over his wet hair. “An ornery bull.”
“The ornery ones are the best kind.”
Laughing, Jamie said, “No wonder you can’t get a date.”
Dillon rolled the used tape into a ball and tossed it into the trash can across the room. “Oh, I can get a date.”
“Not with Gloria. If she’s decided she doesn’t like you, she doesn’t like you.”
“Except that she does like me.”
“Right.”
“And she wants to see me again.”
“I don’t think so. Not this time.” Standing in front of the mirror, Jamie sprayed some shaving cream into his palm and spread it along his jaw. “I saw her face that night. After the fact.” He met Dillon’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “She doesn’t like you.”
Dillon stripped off his shirt. “And I saw her face that night, during the act, and she most certainly does like me.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night, Dill.” He made a pass with the razor, and tapped it off in the sink. “But she won’t go out with you.”
“You want to put your money where your mouth is?”
“What? You want to bet me that you can get a date with my wife’s best friend?” Jamie laughed as he made another pass with the razor along his top lip. “I don’t think so.”
Dillon yanked back the curtain to the shower stall and closed it behind him. “A hundred bucks,” he called as he stripped out of his shorts, turned the water on and stepped beneath the spray.
“Two hundred,” Jamie called, loud enough to be heard above the sound of the shower. “That should just about cover my hourly fee.”
Chuckling, Dillon used the soap in the dispenser on the wall to briskly wash off. It’d been a short bout and he and Jamie were pretty evenly matched. His jaw was still sore where Jamie’d clocked him, but he was willing to bet Jamie had some nice new bruises on his ribs. After showering, he dried off and dressed in his Wranglers and plaid shirt.
He checked out his image in the mirror, running a hand through his hair.
What was he doing here? There were plenty of good lawyers back in Montana. Of course, this was some sensitive business he had to take care of, not the kind of thing you wanted to share with just anyone, so it made sense that he’d come see his cousin, get his advice.
Then there was Red.
He’d sure as hell like to see her again. He’d planned on calling her when he first got home after the wedding, then all this shit with Kenny went down and he’d been distracted. And busy. Pretty near every waking minute had been taken up with hospital visits and looking after Kenny’s ranch. It had been damn hard watching his best friend deteriorate like that. The guilt only made it worse. He hadn’t had a lot of room for fun, redheaded thoughts.
But being back here in Chicago—well—his first thought upon landing was not on the will he was carrying, which it should have been, but on the redhead. Gloria-Rose Hurst. He liked the sound of her whole name.
Dressed, Dillon grabbed his jacket and the folder from the locker and went to find his cousin who was on the phone in the little office at the back of the gym.
“The pink ones,” he overheard Jamie say. “They’re my favorite.” Pause. “I know they don’t stay on long—that’s because you look even better without them but—”
Dillon cleared his throat.
“Oh. Gotta go. Love you, too.”
His cousin was so sappily married it was hard to take. Not that Jamie didn’t deserve it, Daisy was amazing, but Dillon was convinced it had to be at least partially an act. No one could be that in love.
“You sure you’re fine to meet here, or would you rather go to my office?” Jamie asked after hanging up with his new wife.
“Here’s good, if you don’t mind.” Dillon sat down across from his cousin and handed him a file from the folder. “This is most of it. The last will and testament of Kenny Wells.”
Jamie took the folder and met his gaze. “I’m really sorry, Dill. I remember Kenny. You two knew each other forever.”
“Yep.” Dillon sat back in the chair, wishing he had his hat to tip forward a little. He and Kenny had been best friends, though best friends didn’t do the thing that he’d done.
“What was it?”
He inhaled deeply. “Kidney cancer. Some weird strain that usually only affects men over sixty. It was aggressive.”
“No kidding. Gone in a month?”
Dillon nodded. “It went undiagnosed for too long.” Kenny had been complaining of back pain for over a year, but what bull rider didn’t have back pain? After he finally got the diagnosis, he’d only lasted four weeks. It was as if something devoured him from the inside out. And the worst part was, that damned image of Kenny lying in the hospice bed, looking like a skeleton, was the only image he was able to conjure of his best friend after knowing him for over twenty years.
“So, you’re the executor?” Jamie asked, going through the first few pages of the will.
“Yep.”
He went through the rest of the document, silently flipping the pages,
