such a great start.
“‘Dear Lucky and Cassie,’” she repeated. “‘I need a favor, one I know neither of you will refuse. I’ve never asked either of you for anything, but I need to ask you now. Call Bernie Woodland, a lawyer in Spring Hill, and he’ll give you all the details.’”
Cassie flipped the letter over, looking for the rest of it, but there was nothing else. “What kind of favor?”
Lucky had to shake his head. He’d figured it had something to do with the rodeo business, but now that Dixie Mae had included Cassie, maybe not. Cassie had never participated in the rodeo, or in her grandmother’s finances for that matter.
He was also confused as to why Dixie Mae would have used Bernie for this. Dixie Mae no longer lived in Spring Hill. Hadn’t for going on ten years. Her house was in San Antonio, and she had a lawyer on retainer there. Why hadn’t she used him instead of Bernie?
“Did she say anything when she gave you the letter?” Cassie asked.
It wasn’t hard to recall this part, either. “She said a man wouldn’t be much of a man to deny an old dying woman her last wish.”
Remembering her words had Lucky feeling another flutter. Not a sexual one like with Cassie, but one that sent an unnerving tingle down his bruised spine and tailbone.
If it had been a simple request, Dixie Mae would have just told him then and there on her death bed, rather than using her final breath on the bull remark. Instead she’d used the dying card to get him to agree to some unnamed favor, and that meant this could be trouble.
Cassie must have thought so, too, because some of the color drained from her cheeks, and she pulled out her phone again. “I’ll call the lawyer.”
She stepped away from the coffin. Far away. In fact, Cassie went all the way to the back of the room, and, pacing behind the last row of chairs, she made the call.
Lucky was about to follow and pace right along with her, but his own phone buzzed. Because he was hoping Cassie would soon have some info on the favor, he was ready to let the call go to voice mail, but then he saw the name on the screen.
Angel.
What the hell? He wasn’t the sort to believe in ghosts and such, but if anyone could have found a way to reach out from beyond the grave, or the coffin, it would have been Dixie Mae.
Lucky hit the answer button and braced himself in case this was about to turn into a moment that might make him scream like a schoolgirl.
“Lucky,” the caller said. It was a woman all right but definitely not Dixie Mae. This voice was sultry, and he was about 60 percent sure he recognized it.
“Bella?” he asked.
“Who else?” she purred.
Well, she hadn’t been at the top of the list of people he expected would call themselves Angel, that’s for sure. Bella was more like a being from the realm opposite to the one where angels lived. Lucky had met her about three months ago after a good bull ride in Kerrville, but he hadn’t seen her since.
“I expected you to call me before now. Naughty boy,” Bella teased.
Now, that label fit. They had engaged in some rather naughty things during their one night together. But he’d never intended for it to be anything other than a one-nighter. And Lucky had made that clear, with very specific words—just this once.
He glanced back at Cassie. She was still talking on the phone. Or rather listening, because she didn’t seem to be saying much at all. Unlike Bella.
“Did you hear me?” Bella asked.
No, he hadn’t, but Lucky had his own stuff to ask her. “How’d you get my number? And who’s Angel?”
“Angel’s my stage name, remember?”
Oh, yeah. Now he did, thanks to her memory jogging. Bella aka Angel Bella was a wannabe actress moonlighting as a cocktail waitress at the Blue Moon Bar.
“When you were asleep, I added my number to your contact list,” she explained. “And I put your number in my phone to make sure we stayed in touch. Like now, for instance. I remember you saying you’re from Spring Hill, and guess who’s passing through town right now?”
Lucky didn’t think that was a trick question. “Look, Bella, this isn’t a good time. I’m at a friend’s funeral.”
“Oh.” She paused and repeated that “oh” again. “Well, darn. I’d really hoped to see you. Maybe in an hour or two? I could...console you.”
He bit back a groan. “Sorry, but I’m just not up to a good consoling.”
Especially Bella’s version of it. And especially not now. Cassie had started to talk, and though body language could be deceiving, he thought she might be arguing about something.
“I can see you tomorrow, then?” Bella pressed, and even though Lucky couldn’t see her face, he sensed she was doing a fake pout thing with her mouth.
Lucky was about to come up with a couple of excuses, but then he saw Cassie slide her phone back into her pocket. She didn’t come hurrying to him, though, to tell him about her conversation with Dixie Mae’s lawyer. She just stood there, her back to him.
“I gotta go,” Lucky said to Bella, and despite the woman’s howling protest, he hit the end-call button and made his way to Cassie.
“So what’s the favor Dixie Mae wants us to do?” Lucky asked.
Cassie took her time turning around to face him, but she didn’t actually look at him. Instead, she tipped her eyes to the ceiling as if seeking divine help.
Then Cassie uttered a single word. A word that Lucky was afraid summed up this mess that Dixie Mae had just dumped on them from the grave.
“Shit.”
CASSIE HATED TO rely on profanity to express herself, but she didn’t know what else to say after the conversation she’d just had with Bernie Woodland.
Why in Sam Hill had her grandmother done this?
“Do I want to know what Dixie Mae’s lawyer had to say?” Lucky asked.
That was an easy question to answer. “No.”
Apparently, though, Lucky wanted her to expand on that a bit. And she would. But first, Cassie had to locate the nearest chair and sit down. Sometime during that conversation with Mr. Woodland, her knees had lost all their cartilage.
Lucky cursed. It was a much worse word than shit, and he dropped down in the chair next to her. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Cassie nodded, swallowed hard. “There’s no need to panic. It’s something we can work out, I’m sure.”
Though the lawyer seemed to have a different notion about that last part. Still, he was wrong. He had
