She whipped the truck to the right and was singing with the radio when she made another right into the Lucky Penny lane. She held up the bottle of Jack when Travis Tritt sang that the whiskey wasn’t workin’ anymore and nodded when the song’s lyrics said that he needed one more honky-tonk angel to turn his life around.
She’d be a honky-tonk angel. She could be as wild as Blake. She thought she was stomping the brakes when she realized she was in front of the house at Blake’s ranch. She really did, but when she yelled “whoa,” the truck kept moving.
She hit the pedal harder, but the damn thing wouldn’t listen to her. It was a hell of a time for the brakes to go out but she had to protect her two bottles because she and Nadine were going to have a drink to their friendship. Only Nadine wasn’t putting in a café at the Lucky Penny. The truck busted through the wooden fence circling the yard and ground to a stop when it hit the porch, the solid foundation putting a huge dent in the front and a hole in the radiator.
“Well, shit!” she mumbled as her head hit the steering wheel. “Shhh! Shut up!” She slapped the steering wheel. “I went the wrong way. Shut up or Blake will find out.”
Blake and Shooter were alone in the house. Toby had gone home a couple of hours before and the house was too quiet. Suddenly the whole house trembled, and Blake grabbed the wall and hung on, not knowing what to expect next since he’d never experienced an earthquake before. Shooter darted into the bedroom and tried to dive under the bed, but the mattress was still on the floor. He yipped and huddled in the corner, his paws covering his eyes.
When nothing else happened, Blake let go of the wall and checked the ceiling. The roof hadn’t fallen and the new ceiling didn’t show signs of cracks. The floor beneath him was solid once again. Was that a horn blaring outside?
Shooter whimpered but he didn’t move.
“That wasn’t an earthquake. Someone rammed into our house.” Blake ran down the hall, across the living room, and out onto the porch.
“What the hell?” He didn’t recognize the older model small truck. He’d never seen the baby blue vehicle with rusted-out spots along the bottom of the fenders, but there was definitely a person in there and she was not moving. He jogged to the truck, through an inch of snow in his socks, to check the body for life.
Allie raised her head enough to stop the horn when he slung open the door. “It’s okay if you don’t like apple pie.” She fell out into his arms. Two bottles landed on the frozen ground. The square one with a black label landed on its side, a few drops spilling out onto the ground but most of the remainder held secure by the shape of the bottle. The Patrón landed right side up, resting there as pretty as if it was sitting on the top shelf behind a fancy bar.
He reached inside and turned off the engine and then carried her into the house. She was snoring loudly and smelled like a whiskey barrel when he laid her down on the mattress. Shooter sniffed her, tucked his tail between his legs, and made a beeline for the living room.
Blake chuckled and she roused slightly.
“Blake hates apple pie, Nadine. He loves his mama, though.”
“Shhh! Shut your eyes,” he said.
She sat straight up without opening her eyes and began weaving from side to side. “Can’t have sex with all these clothes on.” She slurred her words, but Blake understood most of them. “Poor Lizzy. Board games make boring sex.”
He swiftly removed her sweater and unzipped her skirt before sliding it down her legs. She opened her bloodshot eyes and cocked her head to one side. “I love you, Blake.”
He whipped his T-shirt off and pulled it over her head, pushed her back onto the pillows and covered her up. “Sleep, darlin’. Tomorrow you’ll have a headache, but you won’t remember much of what you said. What on earth made you hit the bottle anyway?”
“Apple pie,” she mumbled. “You don’t like apple pie.”
He lined a small trash can with a plastic bag and set it beside the bed. Then he removed another T-shirt from a dresser drawer, jerked it over his head, picked up the book he’d planned on reading that evening, and settled himself on the other side of the king-size mattress. She was drunk off her ass, and she wouldn’t remember saying it but that was okay. She was beside him and for right now, she did care.
The sun had sunk below the window ledge when the notion struck that he should at least let the folks over at Audrey’s Place know where their prodigal daughter had landed. They probably didn’t need to know the particulars, like the fact that one of them had a truck that was most likely totaled sitting in his front yard. Or that she was passed out cold and snoring like a two-ton grizzly bear.
He laid his book to the side and reached for his phone on the nightstand. It slipped out of his hands and skittered its way across the hardwood floor. Allie roused up and opened one eye. “Ouch. My head hurts. Afterglow isn’t supposed to give me a headache.”