Riley sat huddled on the top step, a butcher knife clutched in her small fist, Puffy at her side. The knife couldn’t have looked more out of place with her pink, candy-heart pajamas and round child’s face. He did not want to deal with this. Why wasn’t Blue here? She’d know exactly how to handle Riley. She’d say just the right thing.
He had to force himself to mount the stairs. When he reached the top, he nodded toward the knife. “What were you planning to do with that?”
“I—I heard noises.” She drew her knees tighter against her chest. “I thought there might be…like…maybe a murderer or something.”
“It was just me.” He leaned down and took the knife from her. Puffy, looking considerably cleaner and better fed than on Friday, gave a wheezy sigh and closed her eyes.
“I heard noises before you came in.” She gazed at the damned knife as if she thought he might use it on her. “At ten-thirty-two. Ava packed my alarm clock.”
“You’ve been sitting here for two hours?”
“I think I woke up when Dad left.”
“He’s not here?”
“I think he went to see April.”
It didn’t take much imagination to figure out what Mad Jack and dear old Mom were up to. He strode down the hallway to Jack’s room and pitched the knife on his bed. Let him figure out how it got there.
When he returned, Riley was right where he’d left her, still huddled over her knees. Even the dog had deserted her. “After Dad left, I heard creaking sounds,” she said. “Like somebody was trying to break in, and maybe they had a gun or something.”
“This is an old house. They all creak. How did you get the knife?”
“I sneaked it up to my bedroom before I went to sleep. My—my house at home has security alarms, but I didn’t think there are any alarms here.”
She’d been sitting here armed with a butcher knife for two hours? The idea made him crazy. “Go to sleep,” he said more harshly than he intended. “I’m here now.”
She nodded, but she didn’t move.
“What’s wrong?”
She picked at her fingernail. “Nothing.”
He’d found her with a butcher knife, and he was mad at Blue, and he hated knowing April was getting it on with Mad Jack, so he took it out on the kid. “Say it, Riley. I can’t read your mind.”
“I don’t have anything to say.”
But she didn’t move. Why wouldn’t she get up and go to bed? He had endless patience with the most bumbling rookie, but now he felt himself losing it. “Yes, you do. Spit it out.”
“I don’t want anything,” she said quickly.
“Fine. Then sit there.”
“Okay.” Her head dipped lower, her tangled mass of curly hair hung further over her face, and her defenselessness was a rope dragging him back to the darkest corners of his childhood. His lungs compressed. “You know, don’t you, that you can’t count on Jack for anything but money. He’s not going to be there for you. If you want something, you’ll have to take care of it because he won’t be around to fight your battles. If you don’t stand up for yourself, the world will roll right over you.”
Misery muffled her quick response. “Okay, I will.”
Friday morning in the kitchen she’d managed to stand up for herself just fine. Unlike him, she’d bent her father to her will, but now, seeing her like this made him crazy. “You’re just saying what you think I want to hear.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Just tell me what the hell you want!”
Her small shoulders trembled, and the words came out in a rush. “I want you to see if a murderer is hiding in my bedroom!”
He sucked in his breath.
A tear dropped on the leg of her pajamas, right next to a candy heart that said KISS ME STUPID.
He was the biggest shithead who’d ever lived, and he couldn’t do this any longer. He couldn’t steel himself against her just because she was an inconvenience. He sank down on the step next to her. The dog came trotting out from his bedroom and nosed between them.
All his adult life, he’d kept his childhood baggage from dragging him down. Only on the football field did he let that dark cauldron of leftover emotions erupt inside him. But now he’d allowed his anger to spill over onto the person who least deserved it. He’d punished this sensitive, defenseless kid for drawing him back to that place of helplessness. “I’m a jerk,” he said softly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not okay. I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself. Mad at Jack. You haven’t done one thing wrong.” He could feel her taking the words in, running them through that complex brain of hers, probably looking for a way she could still blame herself. He couldn’t stand it.
“Go ahead and punch me,” he said.
Her chin came up, and her teary eyes widened in shock. “I couldn’t ever do that.”
“Sure you could. It’s…what sisters do when their brothers act like jerks.” It wasn’t easy for him to say the words, but he needed to stop acting like a self-centered ass and step up to the plate.
Her lips parted in shock that he might finally be willing to claim her. Hope kindled in her damp eyes. She wanted him to live up to her illusions. “You’re not a jerk.”
He had to get this right, or he couldn’t live with himself. He slipped his arm around her shoulder. Her back stiffened, as if she were afraid to move for fear he’d pull away. She was already beginning to count on him. With a sense of resignation, he drew her closer. “I don’t know how to be a big brother, Riley. I’m pretty much a kid at heart.”
“So am I,” she said earnestly. “I’m a kid at heart, too.”
“I didn’t mean to yell at you. I was just…worried. I know a lot about what you’re going through.” He couldn’t say any more, not now, so he stood and pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go check your room for murderers so you can get to sleep.”
“I feel better now. I don’t really think there are any murderers in there.”
“Neither do I, but we’d better check anyway.” An idea came to him, a stupid way to begin making up for some of the pain he’d caused her. “I’ve got to warn you… The big brothers I know are pretty rotten to their sisters.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well…They might open their sister’s closet and scream like they really saw a monster in there just to scare her.”
A smile started in Riley’s eyes and played with the corner of her mouth. “You wouldn’t do that.”
He felt himself smiling back. “I might. Unless you beat me to it.”
And she did. She ran ahead of him into the bedroom, screaming all the way. He had himself a sister, whether he wanted one or not.
Puffy joined the melee, and, in the commotion, Dean missed the sound of running feet. The next thing he knew, something hit him in the back, he lost his balance, and fell. As he rolled over, he saw Jack hovering above him, his face twisted with anger. “You leave her alone!”
Jack grabbed Riley, who was now screaming for real while the dog raced in shrill, yipping circles around them. Jack pulled her to his chest. “It’s okay. I won’t let him get near you again. I promise.” He stroked her tangled hair. “We’re getting out of here. Now.”
An unwieldy mix of rage, resentment, and disgust churned inside Dean. This chaos was what currently passed for his life. He came to his feet. Riley clutched Jack’s shirt, gulping for air and trying to talk, but too hysterical to frame the words. The revulsion in Jack’s face gave Dean a queer kind of satisfaction. That’s right. It’s all out in the open now. And right back atcha.
“Get out of here,” Jack said.
Dean wanted to punch him, but Riley still had a death grip on Jack’s shirt. She finally found her voice. “It wasn’t—He’s not—It’s all my fault! Dean saw the—the knife.”
Jack caught her head in his hands. “What knife?”
“I got it…from the kitchen.” She hiccupped.
“What were you doing with a knife?” Jack raised his voice over the noise of the barking dog.
“I was—It was—”
“She was afraid.” Dean wanted the words to fester, but Riley let it all tumble out.
“I woke up and there wasn’t anybody in the house, and I was scared…”
Dean didn’t stay to listen but headed for his bedroom. His shoulder already ached from his fight with Ronnie, and he’d just landed on it again. Two fights in one night. Brilliant. The barking stopped as he popped a couple of Tylenol. He stripped off his clothes, got in the shower, and turned the water on as hot as he could tolerate.
Jack was waiting in the bedroom when he came out. The house was quiet. Riley and Puffy had presumably been tucked in for the night. Jack tilted his head toward the hall. “I want to talk to you. Downstairs.” Without waiting for a response, he left.
Dean threw off his towel and tugged a pair of jeans over his damp legs. It was way past time to have this out.
He found Jack in the empty living room, his fingers stuffed in his back pockets. “I heard her screaming,” he said, gazing out the window. “It looked bad.”
“Hell, I’m just glad you finally got around to remembering you left her alone. Good job, Jack.”
“I know when I fuck up.” Jack turned, his hands dropping to his sides. “I’m feeling my way with her, and sometimes I get it wrong—like tonight. When that happens, I do my best to fix it.”
“Admirable. Very admirable. I’m humbled.”
“You never did anything wrong in your life?”
“Hell, yes. I threw seventeen interceptions last season.”
“You know what I mean.”
Dean hooked his thumb in the waistband of his jeans. “Well, I’ve got a bad habit of picking up speeding tickets, and I can be a sarcastic son of a bitch, but I haven’t left any old girlfriends pregnant, if that’s what you’re driving at. No bastard kids running around. I’m embarrassed to say it, Jack, but I don’t seem to be in your league.” Jack flinched, but Dean wanted to annihilate him, and he needed more. “Just to make sure you understand…The only reason I’m letting you stay here is because of Riley. You’re nothing but a sperm donor to me, pal, so keep out of my way.”
Jack wouldn’t back off. “No problem. I’m good at that.” He moved closer. “I’m only going to say this once. You got a raw deal, and I’m sorrier about that than you could ever imagine. When April told me she was pregnant, I ran as fast and as far as I could. If it had been up to me, you’d never have been born, so factor that in the next time you let her know how much you hate her.”
Dean felt sick, but he refused to look away, and Jack sneered. “I was twenty-three, man. Too young for responsibility. All I cared about was music, getting high, and getting laid. My lawyer was the guy who looked out for you when April couldn’t. He was the one who made sure there was a nanny on duty just in case your mother snorted too many lines or forgot to come home after she’d spent the night entertaining some glam rocker in gold lamé pants. My lawyer was the one who kept track of your grades. He was the one the school called when you got sick. I was too busy forgetting you existed.”
Dean couldn’t move. Jack’s lips curled. “But you have your retribution, pal. I get to spend the rest of my life seeing the man you’ve become and knowing—if it had been up to me—you’d never have drawn your first breath. How cool is that?”
Dean couldn’t handle any more, and he turned away, but Jack had one last missile to toss at his back. “I promise you one thing. I won’t ever ask you to forgive me. I can at least do that.”
Dean rushed into the foyer and out the front door. Before he knew it, he’d reached the caravan.
Blue had just fallen asleep when the door of her peaceful habitat blew open. She fumbled for her flashlight and finally managed to flip it on. He was bare-chested, and his eyes glittered like midnight ice. “Not a word,” he said, slamming the door so hard the wagon shook. “Not one word.”
Under other circumstances, she would have taken issue, but he looked so tortured—so magnificent—that she was temporarily struck speechless. She eased up into the pillows, her comfy haven no longer feeling quite so safe. Something had deeply upset him, and for once, she didn’t think it was her. He cracked his head on the caravan’s curved roof. A blistering blasphemy split the air followed by a gust of wind that shook the wagon.
She licked her lips. “Uhm, it’s probably not good to take the Lord’s name in vain until the weather’s a little calmer.”
“Are you naked?” he demanded.
“Not at this precise moment.”
“Then hand it over. Whatever ugly piece of crap you’re wearing.” The slivers of moonlight coming through the window carved his face into blunt planes and enigmatic shadows. “The game’s gone on long enough. Give it to me.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that,” he said flatly. “Hand it over, or I’m coming in to get it.”
If another man had talked to her like this, she’d have screamed her head off, but he wasn’t any man. Something had cracked his shiny facade, and he was hurting. Even though she was jobless, penniless, and homeless, he was the needy one. Not that he’d admit it. Neither of them played the game that way.
“You’re on the pill.” Last week, he’d initiated a pointed discussion about blood tests and sexual health, and he already knew this.
“Yes, but—” Once again, she had to keep herself from admitting she took it more for her complexion than for her sex life. In the meantime, he walked over to the cupboard, slid open a built-in drawer at the bottom, and pulled out a pack of condoms she hadn’t put there. She didn’t like his premeditation. At the same time, she appreciated his common sense.
“Give me that.” He pulled the flashlight from her fingers, tossed the condoms down, and whipped back the sheet that covered her. The beam of light hit her BODY BE BEER T-shirt. “You’d think by now I’d have lowered my expectations, but I keep hoping.”
“File a complaint with the fashion police.”
“How about I take the law into my own hands?”
She braced herself—hoped for?—some bodice ripping, but he disappointed her by dragging the flashlight beam along her bare legs instead. “Very nice, Blue. You should show these off more often.”
“They’re short.”
“And sweet. They do the job just fine.” He pushed up the hem of her T-shirt. Just a few inches. Just far enough to expose the only other garment she wore, some unimaginative, nude-colored, hip-hugger panties.
“I’m buying you a thong,” he said. “Red.”
“Which you’ll never see.”
“How do you figure?” He moved the beam across the panties from one hip bone to the other, then back to home base.
“If I do this—”
“Oh, you’re doing it all right.”
“If I do it,” she said, “it’s a one-shot deal. And I’m on top.”
“Top, bottom, upside down. I’ll bend you more ways than you can imagine.”
A bolt of erotic lightning buzzed through her. Her toes curled.
“But first…” He touched the working end of the flashlight to the crotch of her panties, rubbed the hard case over the nylon for a few tantalizing seconds, then used it to push up the hem of her T-shirt. The cold plastic came to rest on the skin just beneath her breasts, sending a dim pinwheel across her bare rib cage. He cupped one breast through the soft cotton. “I can’t wait to taste.”
She nearly moaned. Her libido was way out of touch with her sexual politics.
“Which part of you am I going to unwrap first?” The flashlight beam danced over her. She watched as if she were hypnotized, waiting to see where the beam would land. It played across her covered breasts, her bare midriff, the crotch of her panties. Then it hit her square in the eyes. She squinted, the mattress sagged, and his denim-clad hip brushed her own as he dropped the flashlight onto the bed.
“Let’s start here.” His words fell across her cheek as his mouth dipped to meet hers, and she lost herself in the craziest kiss she’d ever experienced, soft one second, tough the next. He teased and tormented, demanded and seduced. She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, but he drew away. “Don’t do that again,” he said with a rough gasp. “I see right through your tricks.”
She had tricks?
“You’re determined to distract me, but it’s not going to work.” He pulled her T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside, leaving her only in her panties. He whipped up the flashlight and shone it on her breasts. Being less than a D-cup wasn’t always a bad thing, she decided. Her barely Bs sat up firm and ready for whatever was to come.
Which was his mouth.
His bare chest rubbed against her ribs as he suckled her, and her fingers dug into the mattress. He took his time, using his lips, his tongue. The careful scrape of his teeth stimulated her until she couldn’t bear it anymore. She pushed his head away.
“You’re not getting off that easy,” he whispered, his hot breath taunting her wet flesh. He hooked his thumbs in her panties and drew them down, then tossed them aside and stood up. The abandoned flashlight rested under the sheet, so she couldn’t see what lay beneath those jeans. She began to reach for the light, then stopped herself. He was always the object of desire, the one pursued and ministered to. Let him service her instead.
She slipped her hand back under the covers and flicked off the switch, plunging the caravan into darkness. The novelty of continuing this erotic game left her as boneless as his caresses, but the darkness also meant she needed to make certain he remembered he was dealing with Blue Bailey, not some faceless woman. “Good luck,” she managed to say. “I’m hard to satisfy with less than a two-man team.”
“In your dirty dreams.” His jeans hit the floor with a soft whoosh. “Now where’s that flashlight?” His hand grazed her side as he felt for it. Flicking the switch back on, he pulled it from under the sheet, then let the beam trickle over her naked body, from her breasts, to her belly, and below. He stopped. “Open up, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Let me see.”
It was too much, and she nearly shattered right there. He parted her unresisting thighs, and the flashlight’s cold plastic chilled the inner slope of her skin. “Perfect,” he whispered, looking his fill.
After that, she knew only sensation. Fingers parting and probing. Lips seeking. Her own hands exploring everything she’d been wanting to touch and stroke and weigh for so long.
Her small body received his with perfect resistance. Tender musk and rugged velvet. They moved together. The flashlight fell to the floor. He pressed deep within her, withdrew, and pressed again. She arched, demanded, dueled with him…and, finally, accepted.
Making love without indoor plumbing wasn’t nearly as romantic as it seemed. “How did the pioneers handle this?” she complained. “I need a bathroom.”
“We’ll use your T-shirt. You can burn it tomorrow. Please, God.”
“If you say another word about my T-shirt…”
“Give it here.”
“Hey, watch where you’re…” She sucked in her breath as he put her T-shirt to a most inventive use.
She didn’t make it on top the second time, either. By the third time, however, she managed to invert the power structure. Or, since she had possession of the flashlight, she at least thought she’d inverted it. But the truth was, she’d gotten a little foggy about who was servicing whom and exactly what the political ramifications were. One thing was for certain. She could never again taunt him with “Speed Racer.”
They dozed off. Her little berth in the back of the caravan wasn’t long enough for his tall frame, but he stayed there anyway, one arm around her shoulders.
She awakened very early and crawled over him as carefully as she could. A rush of tenderness claimed her as she lingered for a moment to gaze down at him. The early morning light washed his back, sculpting the curve of muscle and ridge of tendon. All her life she’d had to settle for second best. But not last night.
She picked up her clothes and headed for the house, where she took the world’s fastest shower, pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, and transferred a few necessities into her pockets. On her way back outside, she glanced toward the gypsy caravan under the trees. He’d been the unselfish, audacious lover she’d always dreamed of. She didn’t regret a moment of last night, but now dreamtime was over.
She wheeled the smaller bike out of the barn and pedaled to the highway. Each hill felt like a mountain, and her lungs started burning long before she reached town. By the time she crossed the final summit and began the descent into Garrison, her legs had turned into overcooked spaghetti.
Nita Garrison, as it happened, was also an early riser. Blue stood in her cluttered kitchen and watched her poke at a toaster waffle. “I charge four hundred dollars for a three-by-three-foot canvas,” Blue said, “with a two-hundred-dollar deposit due today. Take it or leave it.”
“Chump change,” Nita said. “I was prepared to pay a lot more.”
“You also have to provide room and board while I’m working.” She pushed away memories of the gypsy caravan. “I need to know Tango better so I can capture his true personality.”
Tango opened one droopy lid and stared at her through a rheumy eye.
Nita whipped her head around so fast Blue was afraid she’d leave her wig behind. “You want to stay here? In my house?”
It was the last thing Blue wanted, but inevitable after what had happened. “It’s the best way for me to produce a quality painting.”
A diamond and ruby ring glittered on Nita’s gnarled finger as she pointed toward the stove. “Don’t think you can leave your mess all over the kitchen.”
“You can safely assume your kitchen will be better off with me here.”
Nita give her a calculated look that didn’t bode well. “Go get my pink sweater. It’s on my bed upstairs. And stay out of my jewelry. If you touch anything, I’ll know it.”
Blue drove a mental knife into Nita’s black heart and stomped through the old woman’s overly decorated living room to get to the second floor. She could polish off the portrait and be on the road in a week. She’d survived a lot worse than spending a few days with Nita Garrison. This was her fastest ticket out of town.
All but one of the doors had been closed off upstairs, leaving the hallway marginally neater than the rooms below, although the pink plush carpeting needed vacuuming and a collection of dead bugs clouded the bottom of the cut glass ceiling fixtures. Nita’s room, with its rose and gold wallpaper, white furniture, and long windows elaborately swagged in rose drapes, reminded Blue of a Las Vegas funeral home. She picked up the pink sweater from a gold velvet chair and carried it downstairs through the white and gold living room, which had a velour chaise, lamps dangling crystal prisms, and wall-to-wall rose carpeting.
Nita shuffled into the doorway, her swollen ankles spilling over her orthopedic oxfords, and held out a set of keys to Blue. “Before you start work, you need to drive me to the—”
“Please don’t say the Piggly Wiggly.”
Apparently Nita had never seen Driving Miss Daisy because she missed the allusion. “We don’t have a Piggly Wiggly in Garrison. I don’t let any of the chains move in here. If you want your money, you have to drive me to the bank.”
“Before I drive you anywhere,” Blue said, “call off your dogs. Tell them to get back to work on Dean’s house.”
“Later.”
“Now. I’ll help you look up the phone numbers.”
Nita surprised Blue by barely putting up a fight, although it took another hour for her to make the calls, during which she ordered Blue to empty all the wastebaskets in the house, find her Maalox, and take a pile of boxes down into the creepy basement. Finally, however, Blue was behind the wheel of a sporty, three-year-old red Corvette Roadster. “You were expecting a Town Car, weren’t you?” Nita sniffed from the passenger seat. “Or a Crown Victoria. An old lady’s car.”
“I was expecting a broomstick,” Blue muttered, taking in the dusty dashboard. “How long since this thing’s been out of the garage?”
“I can’t drive anymore with my hip, but I let it run once a week so the battery doesn’t die.”
“It’s best to keep the garage door down while you’re doing that. A good thirty minutes should take care of it.”
Nita sucked on her teeth, as if she were drawing venom.
“So how do you get around?” Blue asked.
“That fool Chauncey Crole. He drives what passes for the town’s taxi. But he’s always spitting out the window, and that turns my stomach. His wife used to run the Garrison Women’s Club. They all hated me, right from the beginning.”
“Big surprise there.” Blue turned out onto the town’s main street.
“I got even.”
“Tell me you didn’t eat their children.”
“You have a wisecrack for everything, don’t you? Pull in at the pharmacy.”
Blue wished she’d kept a leash on her tongue. Hearing more about Nita’s relationship with the good women of Garrison would have been a nice distraction. “I thought you were going to the bank.”
“First, I need you to pick up my prescription.”
“I’m an artist, not your errand girl.”
“I need my medication. Or is fetching an old lady’s medication too much trouble for you?”
Blue’s mood sank from dejection to misery.
After stopping at the drugstore, which had a WE DELIVER sign prominently displayed in the front window, Nita made her run into the grocery for dog food and All-Bran, then stop at the bakery for one banana nut muffin. Finally, Blue had to wait while Nita got a manicure at Barb’s Tresses and Day Spa. Blue used the time to buy a banana nut muffin of her own and a cup of coffee, which used up three of her last twelve dollars.
She peeled back the tab on the cup lid and waited for a silver Dodge Ram truck to pass so she could cross the street to the car. But the truck didn’t pass. Instead, it braked, then angled in front of a fire hydrant. The door swung open and a familiar pair of gay boots emerged, followed by an equally familiar set of lean, denim-clad legs.
She succumbed to a ridiculous moment of giddiness before she frowned at the gleaming truck. “Don’t tell me.”