I should tell Hannah about Jedd’s suggestion.
“You never know the things you’ll find when you tear down an old wall,” Rehab Dad states, lifting his mallet to demo old plaster. “But the unknown never holds me back.”
Hannah’s feet patter down the stairs, and the fear of losing her holds me hostage. I decide to keep silent about Jedd’s proposal, dismissing the possibility of change, and get lost in my second favorite home improvement program.
Chapter Four
[Jedd]
The Pink Pony is just what one would expect in a strip club: dark corners, a haze of smoke, and bright highlighter-pink lights over a dim stage, plus ladies disrobing. A carousel pony on a pole takes center stage. It’s the day after my failed attempt to bargain with Beverly Townsen, and I’m here to see Hank Weller, not the naked girls. I’ve had my share of buckle bunnies over the years—groupie sorts for rodeos—but quickly burned out on the disconnect with women only wanting one thing with a cowboy warrior.
As I sit at the bar, vaguely recognizing the song with an 80s beat, I can see the legs of a girl in the reflection of the mirror mostly crowded with liquor bottles opposite me. I lower my eyes. I don’t need to see something I shouldn’t see. These girls are young enough to be my offspring.
“What’s up, man?” Hank’s cheerful greeting breaks into my thoughts. At nearly thirty, he has a twinkle in his eye along with a sly smile.
“Hey.” A week ago, I came to this club to inquire after my missing brother, my reason for returning to Green Valley after a twenty-year hiatus. Boone is…different. When he’d stopped answering my calls, I’d worried, but not overly. When my sister had called me, the panic in her voice told me it was time to return. Vernon knew Boone frequented the Pony, and he recommended I come here for information. Tonight, I have other questions.
“What do you know about Beverly Townsen?” I question, my curiosity getting the best of me.
“I know her daughter works for me, so she’s off-limits.” His warning is clear, but that isn’t what registers. Her daughter works here? No wonder her momma was nasty about the stripping industry. I hold nothing against stripping, but I can see how a mother might not want it as her daughter’s chosen profession.
“Why didn’t you tell me before?” I ask.
“You weren’t asking.” Hank isn’t wrong. When I’d first come to the Pink Pony at Vernon’s suggestion, we discussed my missing brother. It wasn’t up to Hank to hand over a list of the girls he employed.
“Crap.” I really got off on the wrong foot with Beverly, and that idiom makes me think of her feet. She collapsed before me. Her daughter mentioned crutches. “Did she recently hurt herself? Beverly, I mean, not the girl.” Hannah was her name, right?
“You sweet on Mrs. Townsen?” Hank teases. The nomenclature is a reminder that Beverly is married, or was, to one of my nemeses.
“If I was, I wouldn’t be sharing that information with you before mentioning it to her, but I’m curious about the Townsen land.”
Hank’s brows rise. “I don’t pass out information for free.” He nods at my glass, which is almost empty. He gave me a freebie the other night when I mentioned my time in the service. A beer on the house for my dedication to our country. Tonight, he’s not so generous with either the alcohol or the information.
“She’s about your age, isn’t she?” Hank hints. Uncertain of the insinuation, I’m quickly learning he’s a business shark, but does that mean he’s a matchmaker as well? I doubt it, even if parading barely-clad woman constitutes his income.
“Her land?” I question again, tipping a brow at my only interest in Beverly.
“It’s not for sale,” he states, crossing his arms as if defending his answer or the Townsens. His expression turns serious as his eyes focus behind me. “I’ve been trying to help them for years.”
His eyes soften a bit, and I wonder about the story behind him hiring Hannah. Without forking over more money than I care to spend on liquor, I don’t think I’ll get any details.
“I’ll give you fair warning, new friend. Beverly is one tough woman. She had to be with old Howard, and her daughter’s even tougher.” Hank’s eyes leap up to the stage again, and I stiffen, nervous Hannah might be the next act. Her naked body is not something I want to observe. “If you’re just looking for land, I could recommend a few other places.”
“I want that property,” I interject, my indoor voice probably louder than it needs to be. Between the ringing in one ear and the thumping bass in the other, I’ve spoken with a passion I haven’t felt since before viewing the property. It’s been too long, my heart sings.
“Hmm.” He shakes his head as if he’s all-knowing, and he might be as he is familiar with my brother. Changing the subject, he brings up my younger sibling. “Anything on Boone?”
I’m sensing this establishment’s owner might have looked out for him a time or two. I shake my head. Nothing’s turning up on him, and nothing’s making sense about his disappearance. Where are you?
“If you have a mystery, I’d suggest an introduction to Cletus Winston. He knows everything about everyone in this town. Perhaps he knows something.”
“Cletus Winston? Don’t know the name.”
Hank eyes me suspiciously. “Winston? His mother was an Oliver. You said you were from around here.”
Oliver? “Bethany Oliver?”
Hank slowly smiles as recognition dawns. “She married Darrell Winston, an Iron Wraith.” A what? The name sounds like a motorcycle gang.
“Cletus is her third son.” There’s pride in Hank’s speaking of this man, and I assume they are friends.
“I’ll look him up,” I mention, although I don’t know that I will.
“He’s easy enough to find. He owns Winston Brothers Auto Shop.”
I nod in gratitude for the information, and then we fall silent for a moment as Hank watches the goings-on behind me. I refuse to lift my head, suddenly worried I’ll see something of Hannah Townsen I shouldn’t. A naked peek of her slender body is only going to remind me of her mother when she was younger, and I don’t need the reminder.
I’m here for the land, not the lady.
Still, my thoughts keep returning to Beverly. The way she looked at me was a toss-up between wanting to scoop out my innards and lick up my sternum. Either way, the image of her hands on me has been doing things to me for the past twenty-four hours.
“Whatever you want to know about Beverly, you could always just ask Hannah. Although I don’t think she’ll be so forthcoming in passing out particulars about her momma, either.” Another clear warning. “She’s protective of her.”
The statement rings with pity and sympathy, both of which I surmise tough Beverly Townsen would hate. I called her Bee as I was leaving because the name is fitting. Her tongue stings like the pesky pollinator. Wonder what else it could do?
The thumping bass behind me abruptly ends, and a hesitant, sporadic clap applauds the performance. Hank’s brows scowl as he stands to his full height. He nods at something, or more likely someone, and I take another sip of my beer. A nice cold one in a chilled glass is a luxury I never take for granted. I rap my knuckles on the bar for Hank’s attention.