Chapter Two

"Hello, porch," Violet greeted when she got home later that evening. "Hello, front door." She inserted her key in the lock and turned it. "Hello, house."

She walked inside and flipped on the lights. A full-fledged grin split her face. God, it was good to be home.

Better than that, it was good to have a home.

She had her Uncle Curtis to thank for that. Back when he'd been giving away Walker land to the town, he'd had the forethought to provide for future Walkers. It was why she and many of her cousins had their own houses when real estate was in such short supply.

The small, eighteen hundred square foot house wasn't anything spectacular, but it was sturdy and clean and hers. The best part was that her mother wasn't living in it.

Not that Violet didn't love her mother. She most certainly did. However, Daphne was likely the nuttiest, kookiest, most illogical woman in existence. And being that Daphne thought it wise to entertain brief affairs with her husband—a.k.a. Violet's dad—now that he had a girlfriend … well, that was just plain creepy.

And her Dad. Jeez. Don't get her started on that man.

"Hello, Harry and Hermione," Violet crooned, walking over to pet her favorite felines.

As they always did, Harry and Hermione gracefully walked the length of the couch along the back before hopping onto the arm when she approached.

"Harry, did you get bigger while I was gone?" She scratched behind his ears, then did the same for Hermione. "And Miss Priss, did you keep him in line today?" Her tail swayed back and forth, and Violet was positive her eyes glittered with mischief.

She'd adopted the two Maine Coons when they were only five months old. They'd been living with a lady her sister Amanda worked with. Evidently, the woman had started acquiring cats after her divorce and mistakenly believed that more was better. Turned out the woman's elderly male Persian hadn't been keen on the idea of having babies in the house and had started acting out, so she'd had no choice but to re-home them. Amanda suggested Violet get a pet to keep her company. Although reluctant at first, it hadn't taken all that much to talk her into it.

Best decision she'd ever made.

"You guys hungry?" she asked. "Although I'm thinkin' we might need to switch to diet food soon."

Before she brought them home, Violet had read up on Maine Coons. From her research on the internet, they were one of the largest breeds. Relatively speaking, that hadn't sounded bad. How big could a house cat get?

Then she saw pictures on the internet. She'd thought those images were photoshopped. Turned out they weren't. Not all of them, anyway. Thankfully, Harry and Hermione weren't breaking any records, but that didn't mean they were small. Harry clocked in at a whopping twenty pounds and thirty-two inches from nose to tail. Hermione was smaller, but not by much. At fourteen pounds and thirty inches long, she could hold her own when they wrestled.

They were so big Violet had resorted to getting the vet to come to her because carrying them around was impossible. Even the thought of putting them in a carrier and trying to lug that thing into the vet's office made her arms hurt. Thankfully, Kennedy, the vet, happened to be her cousin Sawyer's wife.

"I met a guy today," Violet told them as she prepared their dinner. "Simon Jennings."

Harry meowed.

"No, no. It's not like that. He's just a guy. Totally not my type. Nice, you know. Probably too nice. But he is smart. Has to be to do what he does."

Hermione brushed up against her leg.

"Exactly. We're not interested in smart or nice, are we? No need to worry about him hanging around. He isn't attracted to me. You know that. The curse ensures it. If he's not an asshole, he won't venture into my orbit."

Unfortunately.

While she wished she had a fine-tuned radar to warn her of men to avoid, her track record was atrocious. From the first boyfriend she had in sixth grade to the guy she dated three months ago, Violet had consistently zeroed in on the losers. Thirty-one in total. Oddly, it was one for every year she'd been on the earth. A coincidence, of course. It wasn't like she'd set out to date that many men.

Fortunately, she'd been far more discerning in choosing which ones to have sex with. Only three had made it onto that list, which sadly equaled about one every five years—give or take—since she gave up her virginity when she was seventeen.

Statistically speaking, she was once again due for some extracurricular fun. However, she opted to stick with her battery-operated boyfriend for the time being. It only seemed logical after she found her last boyfriend hitting on another woman while waiting for Violet to arrive at the bar.

It had been their third date.

Turned out that B.O.B. was far more reliable when it came to finding satisfaction.

As for the curse … well, that had been passed down from her mother. Daphne had married the biggest loser in town, and for the past forty years, she'd let him walk all over her like a cheap rug. Violet could say that about her own father because that was what he was. A loser. A crappy father, an even worse husband. She loved him, sure. That was also a curse.

Fortunately, Violet had managed to beat the curse up to this point. She'd made a vow never to get too serious about a guy so she didn't end up having her heart broken by an asshole who didn't deserve her. The same couldn't be said for her older sisters. Whitney and Amanda ignored all the warning signs and ended up regretting it.

"Don't worry," Violet told the cats. "I don't plan to see Simon again. He's only in town for a short time, anyway. He's workin' on…"

She wished she'd bothered to ask because her curiosity had been piqued since he stepped out of the store.

Which reminded her…

"Here you go," she said, setting the bowls on the floor before snatching her cell phone and dialing her best friend.

Elana Buckley answered on the first ring. "Hello?"

"You sound distracted. You still workin'?"

"Hey, girl. No. Thank God. I'm actually doin' the dishes. I forgot yesterday."

"You forgot?" Violet laughed because Elana didn't forget anything.

"I know. Sad, right?" The rush of water silenced in the background.

"You talk to Spencer today?"

"No. You?"

"No." She usually saw Spencer Elliott, the third leg of their friendship tripod, at least once a day since he worked out of the real estate office next door, but he'd been MIA today.

"You wanna grab a drink?" Elana asked.

"How about dinner instead?"

"The diner?"

"Moonshiners."

"You know they don't serve dinner, right?"

"Fried pickles are a perfectly good dinner staple," Violet defended.

"If you say so. Twenty minutes?"

"Thirty."

Elana laughed. "You just like to be difficult."

"It's in my genes."

"You gonna call Spence, or you want me to?"

"I'll do it," Violet offered because she knew Spencer wouldn't say no when she told him she had gossip.

"Perfect."

"See you there."

Before the call disconnected, Violet was heading for the bathroom to freshen up.

Half an hour later, Violet was sitting next to Spencer and across from Elana in one of the booths at her favorite bar—it also happened to be the only one in Coyote Ridge—sipping mango daiquiris while their fried pickles were being prepared.

At first, she'd found it strange that Moonshiners was making food, but then she'd gotten her first taste of their fried pickles. She was addicted. Since their menu consisted of about four things, it wasn't like she had much choice, but it worked for her. And Elana and Spencer didn't seem to mind.

"How's work?" Violet asked Elana. "Any exciting cases to share?"

"You said you had gossip," Spencer grumbled, his voice low. "It's the only reason I'm here."

"No, it's not," she countered, elbowing him in the shoulder. "You're here because you don't have anyone to play with."

"How do you know?"

"If you did," Elana spoke up, "you wouldn't be here."

Spencer's eyes narrowed. "You two talk about how to gang up on me when I'm not around?"

"We absolutely do," Violet deadpanned before turning her attention back to Elana. "Work? Exciting shit. Go."

"There isn't any. Thank God," Elana huffed as she sipped her drink. "It's slow for the moment. After … you know…"

Ah. Right. After the kidnapping.

"How is JJ doin'?" Spencer inquired, referring to Jessica James, Elana's boss, a.k.a. the Off the Books Task Force's hacker extraordinaire.

Violet didn't know JJ well, although they were both born and raised in Coyote Ridge. JJ was a few years older, so their paths hadn't crossed much growing up. Most of what she'd learned about the woman had come from the Coyote Ridge Gazette and then from Elana after she started working for the task force.

"Better," Elana answered. "Physically. But just as bossy."

Violet stirred her drink. "I heard the doctor gave her a clean bill of health."

"He did," Elana confirmed.

One of Violet's favorite things these days was to listen to Elana tell stories about the cases the task force worked on. Especially since JJ had become a hot topic of conversation. Almost two years ago, JJ had first made front page news when her house blew up and then again a few weeks ago when she was kidnapped outside the bakery.

"The babies are good?" JJ was pregnant with twins, a fact JJ and her boyfriend, Baz, hadn't been aware of until after her last harrowing ordeal. Up to that point, they'd thought they were well on their way to bringing only one baby into the world.

That was just one of those phenomena that didn't make sense to Violet—like Big Foot or déjà vu. Seriously. How could anyone have a person growing inside their body and not know it was there?

"They are," Elana answered. "Doctor wants her to take it easy—"

"But this is JJ," Violet and Spencer finished for her.

Elana giggled. "Exactly."

"And Holly?" Spencer asked.

"She's good." Elana leaned in. "I think she's datin' someone."

Violet's inner gossip sat up straight and clapped for the potential news. Trying to play it cool on the outside, she leaned forward and lowered her voice. "Who? Anyone we know?"

"She won't tell me."

Figured. The good stuff didn't come freely. "Kinda like my sister not tellin' me she's datin' Holly's brother?"

Elana's eyes widened, as did her smile. "Exactly like that."

"That's a fluke," Spencer said, taking a pull on his beer. "No way your sister ends up with a crazy redneck who's more than a decade older than her."

Violet had thought the same thing, but that was before she'd caught Honor making out with Luca Switzer in the bookstore. They'd been going at it like a couple of teenagers. If it weren't for the fact the store had been busy that night, who knew how far those two would've gone.

"Who do you think it is?" Spencer asked, returning to the subject of Holly. "She's kinda picky."

Elana opened her mouth but then closed it quickly.

Violet knew that look. She had someone in mind. "Tell us."

Elana's eyes skimmed the area around them before landing on her again. Her voice lowered to a barely-there whisper. "Grady."

Violet sat up straight and gasped. "Grady Elliott?"

"My brother?" Spencer sounded equally as shocked.

"Shhh!" Elana hissed.

She looked around, trying to figure out who Elana was worried might hear them. That was when she saw Slade, one of the Elliott brothers, sitting at the bar. Slade also happened to be one of Elana's co-workers.

Violet nudged Spencer. "Did you know he was here?"

He cocked an eyebrow. "Why do you think we're sittin' way over here?"

Good point. Slade detested Spencer for something that happened more than a decade ago. Not that Violet necessarily blamed Slade. After all, Spencer did have sex with Slade's wife. Ex-wife now, thank God.

Violet had given Spencer tons of shit when she learned about it afterward. Right up until Spencer explained what happened. At that point, Violet had been pissed off and ready to track down Jennifer and run the bitch over with her car. If Slade knew what actually happened, he would've changed his tune, but for whatever reason, Spencer didn't want him to know.

So, the brotherly rivalry lived on.

Violet leaned in again. "You really think Holly's datin' Grady?"

Elana shrugged. "She's datin' someone."

"Does her brother know?" Spencer asked.

Damn good question. Luca was very protective of his sister, although everyone in town knew Holly could take care of herself. Holly Switzer had grown up dealing with her brother battling it out with their father. More than once, she'd been caught in the middle of one of their feuds. Once, she'd even ended up with a broken arm. Since then, there was a rumor the ornery Switzer males had called a truce.

"Doubtful." Elana stirred her drink with her straw. "He'd probably lose his shit."

"Why? Grady's a good guy." At least, Violet thought he was. Although the Walkers (her family) liked to give the Jamesons (Spencer's family) shit—it was a family thing—there wasn't any real animosity between the two families. At least not since her uncle Curtis married Lorrie Jameson nearly sixty years ago.

Before Elana could answer, Holt strolled up to the table, setting the order of fried pickles down between them.

"Can I get you anything else?"

Violet was surprised to see him. "Hey. Uh…" She looked at Elana and Spencer. "Need anything?"

Elana frowned, clearly picking up on the weird vibe Violet was trying to hide. "I'm good."

Holt flashed a grin and walked away.

Elana's eyes narrowed. "What was that about?"

Violet stared down at the golden fried goodness on the plate. "Nothin'."

Before she could stab a pickle with her fork, Spencer grabbed her hand and stopped her. "Spill it, girl."

"Nothin'."

Elana was studying her like she'd been caught shoplifting. "Is somethin' goin' on with you and Holt?"

"Eww. No. He's with Rafe and Bailey."

"I know ," Elana drawled. "So, explain yourself."

Figuring she might as well get it over with, Violet relayed what happened in the store earlier today. Specifically, her face-to-face introduction to Simon Jennings of the nice hair, nice eyes, and equally nice dimple.

"Oh, wow. You actually saw him?"

"No hat. No glasses."

Spencer chimed in with, "Did you take a picture? You could probably sell it to the tabloids for a lot of money."

Violet rolled her eyes. "No."

"Maybe next time."

"There's not gonna be a next time."

"Why?"

"He's here to check somethin' out. He's not stickin' around."

"Like for a story?"

Violet shrugged.

Elana flashed a smile. "Is he all you thought he'd be?"

"For the record, I don't think about Simon Jennings," she said defensively, earning raised eyebrows from both of her best friends.

Fine. Maybe Violet had mentioned that she had a crush on the guy behind the voice after listening to the Havoc Your Way podcast. But only after Elana, Holly, and Spencer jumped on the bandwagon, now as addicted to it as she was.

Not that she believed in the childish act of laying claim to something that wasn't yours to claim in the first place, but Violet had called dibs on Simon. Well, technically , Spencer called dibs first, but from what they'd been able to deduce, Simon didn't swing that way, so Violet won in the end.

However, that was before she realized Pinocchio was a real boy. Now that she'd met Simon, he was no longer a mystery, which meant she was no longer interested.

Mostly.

"He's … nice."

Elana sat up. "Oh."

"Exactly." And since Violet didn't do nice , there was no reason for them to gab about the guy behind the voice anymore.

The bells over the door jingled, causing all three of them to pause to say, "Howdy!" without bothering to look up. She had no idea why everyone did it. They just did.

Violet busied herself by eating, stabbing pickles, dragging them through the ranch dressing, then shoving them in her mouth.

Spencer elbowed her in the arm. "Have you ever considered trying nice on for size?"

"No," she said around a mouthful. "Naw ma thin."

"Not your thing?" Elana translated, sipping her drink.

Violet touched her nose and nodded as she shoved another pickle in her mouth.

"Maybe it could be," Spencer mused.

Violet shook her head.

Elana held her stare. "Is he hot?"

Reluctantly, she nodded. She didn't want to admit it, but he was. In a very nice-hot kinda way, at least.

But since she didn't do nice, it didn't really matter.

·····

As soon as Simon walked into Moonshiners , he understood why Holt talked so much about the rustic little establishment.

The small-town bar held a certain kind of backwoods, country charm. You definitely didn't find these types of places on every street corner. Certainly not in Dallas. Not anywhere he'd been, anyway, and Simon considered himself well-versed in big city nightlife.

"Howdy!"

"Welcome!"

"Come on in!"

The chorus of greetings came from only a few people, but they managed to make him feel as though he belonged. Granted, no one looked up when they shouted, but still. It was charming.

Under his feet, a few boards creaked as he made his way to the bar where Holt was talking to Rafe, grinning like a fool.

Simon had only met Rafe Sharpe a short time ago at the bed and breakfast since, according to Holt, the new owner of Moonshiners spent most of his days sleeping and his nights behind this very bar.

"Hey," Holt said when he looked over. "Can I getcha somethin'?"

"What do you suggest?"

"Depends on your mood."

Simon considered it for a moment. His mood was … well, for the first time in a long time, he was chill. But did that equate to vodka? Maybe a whiskey sour? Or perhaps one of those fruity concoctions with the ridiculous little umbrella.

He opted for simple. "Got a Sam Adams back there?"

"We do."

While Holt got his beer, Simon skimmed the room, taking in the rustic decor. Whole TV programs were dedicated to redesigning spaces to look like this place, which made him wonder why Holt and Rafe were gearing up for a renovation. Sure, it seemed a little dated—specifically, the flamingo picture mounted on the wall—but other than that, it had a certain appeal to it.

"On the house," Holt said, setting the bottle down.

Simon was turning back to get it when his gaze slammed into the brunette sitting in one of the booths.

What were the chances he'd run into Violet Anderson again? He took a pull on his beer and remembered where he was. Considering how small this town was, he figured the odds were pretty good. So, maybe he couldn't chalk it up to fate or some other ridiculous notion. Still, the sight of her did something to him. Something he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before.

Violet's smile radiated from across the room as she leaned in, laughing, probably sharing secrets with the black-haired woman sitting across from her and the guy beside her. Admittedly, he was curious who they were. Friends? Family? Employees? Was the guy beside her a boyfriend? A date? Should he even care?

As though she felt him looking at her, Violet's head turned, her eyes coming to rest on him. He felt the surge of electricity as it arced across the room between them.

Or at least he thought he did. Right up until she turned her attention back to her companions.

Wow. He couldn't remember the last time a woman dismissed him quite so easily. Not that he had them lining up at his door or anything, but he rarely had problems striking up a conversation with a beautiful woman.

"It's rude to stare."

Simon glanced to his left, sizing up the stranger beside him. He started to deny that he had been staring but decided against it. It was true. He couldn't help himself. There was something about Violet Anderson that intrigued him. He'd spent a good portion of the day rehashing the brief but interesting conversation he'd had with her earlier. More than once, he wondered whether he would get the chance to have another.

"I don't recognize you," the guy said.

Simon heard the slur in his words and figured he'd been holding down the bar stool for longer than he should have.

"Simon," he said politely as he held out his hand. "I'm a friend of Holt's."

The guy frowned, leaving Simon hanging.

"And you are?"

"Not interested."

Simon laughed. "No, I wasn't hittin' on you. Sorry, man. Just makin' polite conversation."

"Sure you are."

Simon looked to Holt, hoping to catch his friend's attention. He needed a little help here.

"Just yankin' your chain, dude," the guy said, nodding toward the bar stool beside him. "Name's Slade."

Not wanting to be rude, Simon took a seat.

"What brings you to town?"

"A story."

Slade stared at him, his brown eyes bloodshot. "I don't know what that means."

Since it required effort to explain what he did for a living, Simon didn't bother. He was sure Slade wouldn't remember anything come morning. The guy was three sheets to the wind, easy, and Simon wasn't sure that was a good thing.

"You write that fictional shit like him?" Slade asked, nodding in Holt's direction.

"No."

"What then?"

Since it was obvious Slade was curious and Simon knew better than to deflect—it always resulted in more questions—he tried to simplify it. "I'm a podcaster."

He'd learned long ago that using that term didn't set people off the way investigative journalist did.

"Ah." Slade nodded, but then he began shaking his head. "Nope. Still don't know what that means."

Simon was fairly certain Slade was merely too drunk to comprehend, so he decided not to elaborate. Instead, he flipped the conversation. "What do you do?"

"Bounty hunter," Slade muttered before tossing back what was left in his glass.

"That's an interesting gig."

"It was. I don't do it anymore."

"Oh."

"I used to," Slade drawled. "Now I work for the task force."

"The one Governor Greenwood put together?" Simon had heard about it from Holt, so he'd done some digging to get more information. The Off the Books Task Force was created shortly after Brantley Walker and Reese Tavoularis performed a successful rescue of a little girl. While they had significant success, the governor shut it down shortly after its inception. Although the great state of Texas no longer paid for the team, it was now a part of Sniper 1 Security, still assigned to find missing people, as it was initially designed to do.

"Yup." Slade tapped the bar to get Holt's attention.

"One more," Holt told him. "Then I'm cuttin' you off."

"I ain't drivin'," Slade grumbled.

Holt flashed a grin. "You're right. You're not."

Simon watched as Holt poured another whiskey, adding far more water than good stuff.

"On the house," Holt told Slade. "Then you're headin' home."

Slade nodded, smiled. "You're a good man, Holt Calalahan."

Simon chuckled at the way Slade screwed up his name.

For the next few minutes, Simon tried to keep up with Slade's ramblings, but he was talking nonsense. He felt bad for the guy but didn't know him well enough to understand why. Evidently, he was in a bad place at the moment. At least, that was the impression Simon was getting.

"Hey," a cheerful voice said from behind him.

Simon peered back to see Violet's friends standing there, their full attention on Slade.

Slade spun around and nearly fell off his stool. It took both Simon and the woman to keep him from face-planting onto the floor.

"Uh-uh," Slade snarled, pointing at the man. "You get the fuck away from me."

The man held up his hands and backed up.

"I've got this, Spence," she told the man. "I'll call you later."

The man she called Spence backed up a few more steps before pivoting and marching toward the door.

"I think it's time you get home," the woman acknowledged.

"Don't wanna go home," Slade mumbled.

"Too bad. We've got work tomorrow." The woman glanced Simon's way. "Hi. I'm Elana."

Still holding Slade's weight with his shoulder, he reached out to shake her hand. "Simon."

She reached around Slade and grabbed his fingers in a quick hello, then flashed a smile. "I know who you are."

He couldn't help but hope she'd learned because Violet had been talking about him. Just thinking about the bookstore owner had him glancing toward the table where she'd been sitting a short time ago.

"You just missed her," Elana told him with a chuckle. "She snuck out. Somethin' about you stalking her."

Slade lifted his head and frowned. "What now?"

Simon went on the defensive. "I wasn't—"

Elana laughed. "Kidding." She patted Slade's chest. "Come on, big guy. Let's get you home so you can sleep it off."

Simon helped Elana get Slade to the car. Not an easy feat, considering the size of the man. It wasn't so much his height as it was the breadth of his shoulders and the size of his arms and legs. The guy could likely bench-press a car. Simon didn't consider himself a small man, but compared to Slade, he was.

"It was nice to meet you," Simon told Elana as she walked to the driver's side.

"Likewise." She paused to look at him. "You're a nice guy."

It sounded like an accusation, so Simon wasn't sure what to say to that.

"She doesn't date nice guys."

"As a rule?"

"More like a curse," Elana offered. "Her words."

"So if I wasn't a nice guy?"

"You'd need to be unemployed. Or on the verge."

Simon laughed. "So if I was an asshole and a mooch…?"

"She'd be all over you."

Simon grinned. "Good to know."

"I like to help out where I can."

He waited in the parking lot for a few minutes, letting the words roll around in his head. By the time he went back inside, he was trying to figure out exactly what needed to be done to unqualify himself as nice.