THE HOPE BROTHERS: The Bad Boys of Sugar Hill Read online

  I hung up the phone and immediately called Johnson’s office. He answered right away, and I told him without going into too much detail that I didn’t anticipate Lincoln LaCroix would be willing to negotiate after all.

  “Well, that’s too bad, Crit, it really puts us in a pickle. With the way the will is written, Lincoln is the one who gets to make the decisions on how to handle all of this.”

  “There’s got to be some other way,” I insisted.

  “I’m sorry, son. I can’t think of anything but let me do some research. If I come up with anything, I’ll let you know right away.”

  I hung up the phone again, and went straight to the kitchen and poured myself a shot of whiskey. My eye was throbbing, but I ignored it, focusing more on relieving the pain inside of my head.

  I had one more person I could call for help.

  I picked up the phone again and Hank Haggard answered on the first ring.

  “Crit!” he answered, his strong, clear voice reminding me of my father’s.

  “Hank, I need some help.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Ruby

  I sat at the bar of the saloon, watching my phone light up every fifteen minutes.

  “You ignoring somebody?” Jimmy asked, bringing me another beer.

  “You could say that,” I replied. Crit had been calling me non-stop for hours, but up till now I had successfully avoided answering. Each new call felt like a new dagger slicing through my heart. I looked at my watch. Lincoln was almost twenty minutes late.

  Maybe he’s not coming, I thought. Maybe he came to his senses and realized what a country bumpkin you are.

  I tried to push those thoughts away, along with the incessant guilt I was feeling about Crit. Mixed with anger and confusion and insecurity - I was a mess. My heart felt like it was swirling out of control, and to be honest, the last thing I wanted to do was go on a date with Lincoln right now.

  I don’t know why I had agreed, and I was regretting it with each passing second. I wanted to find some big comfy bed and make love to Crit till dawn, maybe eat some ice cream or pie in between. Anything that didn’t include this torturous despair I was going through.

  I downed my second bottle of beer in ten minutes. I threw a ten dollar bill on the bar, picked up my purse, and hopped off my bar stool. I wasn’t even upset that Lincoln had stood me up. I was relieved.

  I had a big carton of chocolate fudge Bluebell waiting for me in my freezer at home. I might not have Crit, but I could at least drown my sorrows in sweet, creamy chocolate.

  Jimmy shouted a thank you and a goodbye and I waved at him without turning around, as I made my way out of the bar.

  The sun was setting in the horizon, and I looked up at the pink and grey clouds above me. Just a few short months ago, I would have looked at those clouds and felt joy. Now, it was all gone. Because of Crit and his screwed up excuses.

  “Sorry I’m late,” a voice called from behind me. I turned and gasped when I saw Lincoln. His lower lip was swollen, and his eye was purple.

  “Oh, my god, what happened to you?” I exclaimed, rushing over to him, gingerly touching his lip. He winced in pain and pulled away.

  “Your cowboy boyfriend attacked me.”

  “What?” I asked. “Who?”

  “Crit Hope.”

  “What are you talking about, Lincoln. Why would he do this? And —,” I sputtered, “—he’s not my boyfriend!”

  “He sure seems to think he is.”

  “Lincoln, I don’t understand.”

  “I told you that I’m in town for business,” he began, “my uncle died and left me his land. That land just happens to border the Hope farm, who I am guessing you know all about at this point.”

  “Yes, Georgia Hope is my best friend.”

  “Right. Well, apparently her brother thinks he’s your boyfriend.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would Crit hit you?”

  “Because I own his farm. And he thinks I’m dating his girl, apparently. He’s a very possessive guy, isn’t he?” Lincoln asked, his eyes squinting at me.

  “You own his farm? What are you talking about Lincoln?” My voice was high and frantic, my heart was racing and my head was spinning. None of this made any sense to me.

  “Look, I’ll tell you all about it later, okay? It’s a long story.” He tried to smile, but instead ended up wincing in pain. “I need a drink right now. How about we go inside and have a few cocktails before dinner?”

  He turned without waiting for my reply, leaving me standing there with my jaw dropped on the sidewalk. I forced myself to walk, following him slowly back into the saloon.

  Lincoln walked straight up to the bar.

  “Whiskey!” he barked at Jimmy. “And keep it coming.”

  I sat on the stool beside him, my eyes glued to his battered face. His wounds seemed to be swelling by the second, his striking good looks not so striking anymore.

  A curious Jimmy began to pour Jack Daniel’s into a shot glass before Lincoln yelled at him.

  “Not that cheap shit! For fuck’s sake, don’t you have anything better than that piss?”

  “I got this and I got Maker’s,” Jimmy said, holding up the bottle of Jack.

  “Fine, give me the Maker’s. I guess it’s too much to ask for some Glenfarcas,” he growled.

  “I have no idea who Glen Farcass is,” Jimmy said, as he turned away.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Lincoln said under his breath. “I can’t wait to get away from this fucking hillbilly town.”

  I watched silently, impatiently, as Jimmy poured him a shot of Maker’s.

  “Leave the whole fucking bottle!” Lincoln demanded. Jimmy put the bottle down on the bar in front of us, put an empty shot glass in front of me, and turned away, his face full of obvious disdain for Lincoln. I avoided his eye at all costs.

  Lincoln downed his shot fast as lightening, poured the glass in front of me full of the sparkling amber liquor and then filled his back up.

  I took a sip, the warmth flowing through my body quickly, and I reminded myself that I had already had two beers. I had so many questions, but Lincoln looked absolutely furious, and I hesitated a few minutes before I just couldn’t stop myself.

  I had to understand why he was involved with the Hopes at all.

  “So, Lincoln, tell me again how you know the Hopes?”

  “The Hopes,” he snarled, their name sliding off his tongue sarcastically. “What a bunch of idiotic, hillbilly white trash they are!”

  His words stung. Every single person in that family was dear to my heart. They were like my own family. I had never heard a bad word uttered in this town about any of them, and I was shocked to hear Lincoln talk about them like this. I was just about to start defending them, when he continued with his rant.

  “Here’s the thing, Ruby. I never wanted to come here. I didn’t want anything to do with my crazy, senile Uncle Olly and neither did my mother. But now, because they’re both dead, I’m left to pick up the pieces of their affairs.”

  “Olly LaCroix is…was…your uncle?”

  “Yeah, lucky me, huh?”

  “Olly was a good man, Lincoln. I’m sorry, I didn’t know he had passed.”

  “Whatever. Apparently, he was gullible too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He loaned the Hopes money a while back. They used their farm as collateral, and they never paid the loan back. Now, I own it. I was going to forgive the loan completely, but when I went to look at the place today, Crit attacked me, completely unprovoked, and for no reason at all. He’s a hot head, and completely out of control.”

  He glanced over at me finally, and his gaze darted down to my low cut neckline, then down to the swell of my hips and back up to my eyes, which I’m sure were filled with pain and confusion.

  “A girl like you shouldn’t hang out with men like that. They’re savage. Uncouth. Undignified.”

  “Oh, I - ,” I began, and then stopped. I what? I
had been chasing Crit around like a bitch in heat, desperate for his tiny bursts of affection, agreeing to meet him secretly, as if I was something to be ashamed of, for so long now, and I was so tired of it. And for him to punch Lincoln because he found out I was going out with him? As if he owned me? The irony of it all was not lost on me.

  Instead, I snapped my mouth shut, and took another sip of the whiskey in front of me. Lincoln continued to down shot after shot, as he sat there sulking at first, and then becoming angrier and angrier as the liquor hit him.

  “I will destroy that family,” he railed. “He doesn’t know who he’s fucking with. He’s going to regret ever laying a hand on Lincoln LaCroix.”

  I was so torn. I was angry at Georgia for telling Crit, angry at Crit for hitting Lincoln, and angry at myself for getting so tangled up with him for so long. The more whiskey I drank, the less I cared, though. And that felt good. Soon, I was filling my glass up with the bottle myself, and letting Lincoln go on and on while I half-listened to him and half-listened to the voices in my head telling me to figure my shit out. Soon, I was lost in a fog of intoxication, and by the looks of Lincoln’s glassy eyes, so was he. We had been there for hours, according to the clock on the wall.

  “Sir, I think maybe you’ve had enough,” Jimmy’s voice broke through our drunken conversation.

  Lincoln looked at him, his eyes squinting into small little slits, a tiny bit of drool forming at the corner of his lip.

  “Fuck you,” he spat.

  “That’s it,” Jimmy said, grabbing the almost empty bottle and putting it back behind the bar. “Time for you to leave.”

  “Jimmy…” I began.

  “You too, Ruby. Out. You need me to call you a cab?”

  “Maybe. I could leave my car…” my voice trailed off as I looked over at Lincoln. He threw a wad of cash on the bar, grabbed my hand, and pulled me off my bar stool.

  “You’re coming with me,” he said. “And fuck you!” he said to Jimmy again. I shook my head, mouthed a silent apology to Jimmy, and stumbled out the front door and into the darkness of the hot Texas night with Lincoln.

  I hadn’t seen him pull up, but when I saw he was leading us over to his Mercedes, instead of his limo with his driver, I knew right away I needed to stop him.

  “Get in,” he slurred.

  “Lincoln, maybe you shouldn’t drive?”

  “I’m fucking fine! I’ve drunk a lot more whiskey than that in my life!” He opened my door, and then walked around and slid behind the wheel. I hesitated getting in. But I couldn’t live with myself if I let him go off alone and something happened to him.

  “How about you let me drive?” I asked. I knew I shouldn’t be driving either, but he had consumed three times as much as I had. “I’ve always wanted to drive a car like this.”

  “Fine,” he said, throwing me the keys and getting back out of the car. I sighed with relief, opened my door and stepped out of the car. We met at the front of the car, and Lincoln grabbed my arms, and stared deeply in my eyes. They flashed with anger, before he pressed his lips to mine roughly. I twisted away from him, trying to free myself from his grip.

  “I’m going to destroy Crit Hope,” he snarled. “Let’s go.”

  I was getting a little tired of hearing about it at this point, and still confused how everything fit together, but my main focus was getting him in the car and somewhere safe.

  How I ended up as the one person responsible for this drunken man was not something I was thinking about at the time.

  “Where are you staying?” I asked as we got back in the car.

  “At the Four Seasons,” he slurred.

  “In Houston?” I asked.

  “Yep. It’s a fucking dump, though,” he said, leaning back in his seat.

  “That’s a half hour drive away,” I replied, despairingly.

  “You said you wanted to drive,” he replied.

  “Yeah, I guess I did.” I put the car in reverse, and hit the gas. The car lurched backwards suddenly, sending my heart right into my throat. I shook my head, did my best to clear the cobwebs of whiskey from my brain, and took a deep breath before putting it in drive and heading out towards the highway.

  It drove like a dream. I wondered how much it cost as we flew down the highway towards the city, the butter soft leather of the seats caressing my bare thighs seductively. Lincoln seemed to have fallen asleep, and I was grateful for the short reprieve from his drunken ranting.

  I couldn’t wait to call Crit and hear his side of the story. Something about the way Lincoln had told it left a lot to be desired. I was sure there was some details left out, something to explain why in the world Crit had felt the need to pummel the man who owned his farm. A sharp pang of sadness pierced my heart when I thought about how Crit must be feeling right now.

  And I had ignored his repeated calls, too. I felt terrible, and yet, my head was telling me that none of this was my fault. My heart wasn’t so convinced.

  The lights of the city flickered in the distance. I sighed heavily, trying to shake off all the pain and worry.

  I felt like I was in a movie. Ruby Rae Rust was flying down the highway in an expensive Mercedes on the way to the Four Seasons Hotel. How did I end up here? I glanced over at a sleeping, sloppily drunk Lincoln, and my heart sank.

  The truth was, I couldn’t stand him. I didn’t really care about his money, his car, his fancy clothes, his plane, or his good looks. None of that mattered to me. And the violent anger that had come to the surface after a few drinks and a bloody lip had turned Lincoln into a whole different man than the seductive, smooth talking gentleman I had met at first.

  But that’s how booze worked, wasn’t it? It was a like a truth serum in a way - melting away the layers of armor and deception that we wore daily, exposing the true nature of a man like Lincoln.

  When Crit got drunk, he just got sweeter.

  I sighed again, my heart sinking as I realized that even if he wasn't good for me, even if he had a way of driving me absolutely crazy, even if he wanted to keep me locked away in his proverbial closet - I still loved him.

  Crit Hope was the love of my life and there was no denying it.

  By the time I pulled up to the front of the Four Seasons, I had figured out exactly what I needed to do. Lincoln was still asleep in the front seat, and after giving the keys to the valet, I woke him up.

  “Hey, Lincoln, wake up!” He barely stirred.

  “Do you need help miss?” the valet asked.

  “Yes, could you help me get him to his room, please?” I asked.

  “Of course, miss,” he replied. I moved out of the way as he and another valet easily pulled Lincoln out of the car, and carried him into the hotel.

  I was about to follow them, when it dawned on me that my job was done. I grabbed my purse out of the car and jumped in the next available taxi cab.

  “Where are you headed, miss?” the driver asked.

  “Sugar Hill, please.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Crit

  “Sounds like you’ve got quite a problem on your hands, son,” Hank Haggard said, as he patted my shoulder with his large, meaty hand. I could almost feel the callouses through my t-shirt. Hank had worked on his farm every day of his life, and he had the hands and body to prove it.

  He had listened intently for the last fifteen minutes as I told him everything. I had left out the real reason I had fought with LaCroix, figuring the reason didn’t matter as much as the outcome. I didn’t want to get Ruby any more involved than she already was, and hell, considering she hadn’t answered my calls in almost twenty-four hours, I wasn’t even sure she would ever speak to me again.

  I tried my best to focus on the matter at hand, though. I was banking on the hope that Ruby would understand everything once she knew all the facts, and that somehow she would forgive me for being such an asshole all the time. I was just under so much pressure, and unfortunately, she was the one that seemed to be around when the pressure got to be
too much.

  I swore to myself that I would spend the rest of our lives making it all up to her.

  “I wish I had the cash to give you, Crit, but as you know, times are tough right now.”

  “Did my father tell you about the loan?”

  “He didn’t. I wish he had come to me. But he could never have predicted things would turn out like this, son. Don’t blame your father. He was doing what was necessary to keep food on the table.”

  “I don’t blame him. I just wish he was here to tell me how to handle it.”

  “Well, the best thing to do is to keep your head, Crit. You’re under a lot of pressure, and it ain’t going to do you any good to go toe to toe with this guy. He’s a businessman, and we have to come at this like it’s business. I know it’s personal, but you have to put your feelings aside.”

  “Yeah, well you haven’t met him yet,” I grumbled.

  Johnson laughed from across his desk. Hank and I had met in his office, hoping to put our heads together to come up with a solution.

  “That’s true. He’s hard to like,” Johnson said. “Arrogant. Egotistical. Rude.”

  “Well, I’ve got an idea. I have a friend up in New York, back from my military days. He’s a hot shot lawyer on Wall Street these days. Keeps the crooks out of jail, he says. Not the most honorable career, I’ll admit, but he’s good at it, I guess. I’ll see if he knows this LaCroix fella, see if he can dig around and find something we can use.”

  “That’s a start,” I replied. I had abandoned all hope at this point, to be honest. I didn’t want to come right out and ask Hank for the money, and I didn’t have to. He just flat out didn’t have it, just like me. I had stayed up all night, my head filled with images of packing up the farmhouse, filling up my truck with all our belongings, and finding somewhere else to board the horses. I had no idea where we were all going to go.

  It was too much. It was only two o’clock and I was craving the taste and numbing effects of the whiskey I had been leaning on so heavily over the last few days.

  “Thanks, Hank,” I said, standing up and putting my Stetson back on. “I better be going. I’ve got a lot to do today at the farm.”