It was the underage kid from the night before.
“And I’m still legal,” he said dryly.
She smiled. Snark, she liked it.
He stared at her, and she could feel his nerves. He was afraid to talk to her.
Well, she had snapped at him last night.
“Did the billboard bring you here?” she asked. The thing was becoming her biscuits and gravy—much better than bread and butter.
He nodded. “I saw the story on the news about the scandal.”
“Scandal,” she scoffed. She served him the beer. “This town is in sorry shape if that’s all it has to talk about.”
He grinned. “Did you really climb that thing and flash people on the interstate?”
“Maybe,” she said with a wink.
His attention was so acute, Roxie nearly stole a look at the stainless steel ice maker to see if her mascara had blotched or something.
“What are you staring at?” she demanded.
He blinked and embarrassment washed over him. Red flooded up his neck and into his cheeks. He looked down into his beer, but eventually peeked back up. “Sorry.”
“You’re too young for me, kiddo.”
“What? No, I’m not coming on to you…” The red flush had turned a bit green. “It’s your smile.”
He took a deep breath and wiped his hand over his face. “You have a really nice smile.”
Smile, huh? That was a first.
She laughed again. He was so darn cute, in that shy, deep-thinker sort of way. She leaned closer, bracing both elbows against the bar. “What’s your name?”
“Roux.”
“Roxie,” the bartender said in frustration. Gripping her waist with both hands, he moved her out of his way yet again. “Seriously.”
“All right, already.” She slapped her hand against the bar. “Do you play pool, Kanga?”
“Kanga?”
She was already moving towards the back room. A game or two sounded perfect. It would require her to focus and strategize. Maybe get her head on straight again. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw her competitor grab his beer and hop off the barstool to follow.
“Not that kind of Roo,” he huffed. “‘Roux’ as in red. It’s French.”
“Whatever.”
The back room was quieter and almost empty. That wasn’t good for the bank balance, but it was a balm to Roxie’s soul. Here, she could smell beer and cigarette smoke, not sage. She rolled a ball across the pool table. The solid clank it gave when it hit against another ball was much more soothing than the clinking of crystals back in that shop. She stretched her arms overhead. This might be just the distraction she needed.
She chose her favorite stick from the selection offered against the wall. At the table, she began collecting balls to rack them up. The kid rolled another her way.
“I bet you a plate of teeny weenies that you can’t beat me,” she challenged.
He surveyed the scene, taking in all the leather jackets and shitkickers in the vicinity. He was a quiet kid, so serious.
Yet when he looked up, there was a gleam in his eyes. “You’re on.”
He chose a pool cue and set his drink on the edge of the table. From the way he handled the stick, she could tell he’d done this a time or two.
“You’re not from around here,” she noted.
“I’m from Azureton, but I’m going to Cobalt Community College.”
“Interesting choice of bars for a college kid.” She eyed him from head to toe as she chalked up the tip of her cue. “You’re younger than most of my clientele, and you wear a lot less leather. Not that it wouldn’t look good on you…”
He wore jeans and a T-shirt. He was tall and lean with mussed dark hair. In fact, out of anyone, he fit in best with Billy.
Only he wasn’t looking at her boobs—which made him very un-Billy-like.
He shrugged. “The news made it look like an interesting place.”
She chuckled. “I bet. You break.”
“You sure?”
“I’ll get my chance.”
He lined up at the end of the table. With one smooth stroke, the white cue ball went charging across the table. There was a racket as balls ricocheted off the edges, and one fell into the corner pocket.
“Looks like you’re stripes.” Cocking her head, Roxie surveyed the table.
The gears were clicking in the kid’s head, too. It was all about angles and physics now. Roxie caught a grin.
“It might be a while,” he said cockily.
“Ooh, big words.”
Which were backed up by big play. The guy was a shark, only Roxie had spent half her life in bars. She’d been known to run a table or two in her day. They were evenly matched, and once they realized that, the level of play went up even higher.
The knots that had been kinking up her shoulders loosened. Her mind, which had been going in a million different directions, focused. Her problems and pressures remained, but for the first time in weeks, she let them go and just had fun.
“Oh, no. That looks like an error in judgment,” she teased as the cue ball traveled past a ball with an orange stripe.
“Does it?” Roux asked, standing his stick on end as he watched that same white ball bounce off the side cushion and tap the blue-striped ball into the pocket.
“Damn,” Roxie hissed. Leaning over the table, she tried to judge how that whole trajectory had worked. “What was it you said you were studying at that community college of yours?”
“I didn’t.” He chalked his tip and lined up for his last shot. “But it’s graphic design.”
She pouted when the last ball went into the pocket and the cue ball spun back to the middle of the table.
“I believe that’s one order of teeny weenies for me,” he said with a grin on his face.
“Rematch?” she asked.
He took a pull on his beer. “Potato wedges?”
“Rack ’em up.”
Roxie leaned her hip against the table as he took the responsibility. “So do you have a girlfriend, Kanga?”
“It’s Roux, and no.” When he shook his head, his hair mussed even more.
“Hmm,” she hummed, the gears in her brain turning. “Do you do drugs?”
“What? No!”
“Are you kind to animals?”
“Of course.”
“Do you shower regularly? Do you pay for a date’s meal without expecting her to put out? Are you—”
“Whoa, whoa. What is this?”
“You seem like a nice guy.” Roxie leaned over the table and lined up her shot. She gave the cue ball a firm smack that had balls bouncing all over the table. “I thought maybe I’d set you up with my sister.”
“You have sisters?”
She had sisters coming out of her ears. “She’s blonde, spunky, and about your age.”
Lexie’s little sister, Blaire, got all pissed off when she didn’t claim her as her own.
Roux looked as if he didn’t know what to say, but then his eyes widened. He held up his hands, palms outward, and took a step back.
Roxie frowned. Her break hadn’t been that impressive. Was he not interested in girls?
“Hey, man,” he said in a rush. “We’re just playing pool.”
Roxie felt Billy’s presence before she heard him. That electric shiver in the air had started. It tingled along her skin and the roots of her hair. His heavy footsteps came next. Big, solid, and sexy.
Her stomach squeezed. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him entering the room. He smelled like the outdoors, his hair was ruffled from the wind, and he had a beer in his hand.
Her rescuer.
Her toes curled inside her boots.
She let out a puff of air and rounded the table, pretending to plan out her shots. Only her pool partner still looked intimidated. Sighing, she leaned into her pool cue. “Billy, this is my friend, Roux. Roux, this is my… This is Billy. He’s not going to rough you up.”
Billy paused
with his beer halfway to his mouth.
“He was here the night you and Landers went at it,” she explained.
Billy grunted and shrugged. Apparently that was some kind of guy code, because Roux’s expression changed. His hands dropped, and he picked up the chalk.
Billy slipped onto one of the stools by a tall table and nursed his beer. He was in a quiet mood tonight, willing to just sit back and watch. He seemed deep in thought.
And that rattled her.
She took a shot, but her hand trembled at the last moment. The ball fell in the side pocket as she’d intended, but the cue ball rebounded off the bumper all wrong. It put off the alignment of her next shot, and she had to take a step back to reevaluate.
She spun her pool cue round on its end, but she’d lost her interest in the game. She and Roux played out the match without much more discussion.
With little fanfare, she evened the score.
“Good game,” the kid said, stuffing his hands into his back pockets. He glanced at Billy. He could read the weird vibe in the room. “I should probably be leaving.”
“Okay.” She was sad that the evening’s entertainment was over. She was afraid she’d disappointed him somehow. “See ya, Kanga.”
For once, he didn’t protest the nickname. He nodded at Billy as he walked past.
It left them alone in the room.
Roxie put her cue stick away and felt her knees go a bit wobbly without the support.
“Hey,” Billy said when she walked over to him.
She stole his beer and took a sip.
“Hey.” Instinctively, she touched her hand to his chest. One man, forever and ever.
She cleared her throat. “Did you have a good time with Charlie?”
“We released more than we kept.” Lines formed on Billy’s forehead. Reaching out, he caught her by the chin. “How was your day?”
Weird. Unsettling.
She glanced around the bar. It was so early, the sun hadn’t even set yet. The bartender had been begging her to stay out of his way, and they wouldn’t get busy until the night crowd started rolling in. “Want to go to the roof?”
Billy traced the line of her bottom lip with his thumb. “Yeah, let’s go to the roof.”
Chapter Ten
When Billy awoke the next day, it was to the most dangerous sense of home. He was in Roxie’s bed again. She wasn’t beside him, but he smelled lavender on the pillowcase and heard the river off in the distance.
He rubbed his chest. Home. It kind of stuck right there.
He hadn’t had this feeling for a long time. He’d lived most of his adult life, moving from job to job and town to town. After spending yesterday with Charlie, though, and last night on the roof with Roxie, he realized he wasn’t settled yet.
Hell, he’d even had a coherent conversation with his mother.
Growling under his breath, he rolled onto his back. It was a hell of a sentiment to grip him now that he’d made his decision to cut his ties with Cobalt City.
A rhythmic tapping noise caught his attention, and he frowned. Roxie had been in a weird mood last night, all quiet and introspective. Flipping back the covers, he got up and strolled to the open doorway. Catching the doorframe overhead, he stretched.
“You’re up early.” His voice sounded groggy.
“Mmm.”
All her attention was on the computer in her lap. Her legs were tucked underneath her and her hair tumbled around her shoulders. Fresh from bed and without makeup, she looked sexier than most movie stars.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Trying to figure out when the last new moon was.” She finally glanced up at him, and her gaze zeroed in on the erection that had been a big cause for him waking. “Speaking of beating the bushes, I want to do that today.”
He grinned. “Well, get over here.”
The expression on her face went deadpan. “Not that. I want to do some more digging into my past. You went out asking questions to find your mother. I want to go to the library, the newspaper, the courthouse, and anyplace else that might make sense.”
“Okay.” He frowned. “But now?”
They’d slept the night away again. He’d really been looking forward to morning sex.
“You know what they say about the early bird,” she teased as she set the laptop aside and scurried for the shower.
“No,” he murmured, following her. “We’re night owls. Remember?”
* * * * *
If the Internet search had been fruitless, the in-person kind wasn’t much better. They visited the library first, but neither of them found anything in the microfiche. The Cobalt Courier hadn’t done a story on identical triplets being born. They failed to find any pertinent info in the records at the courthouse, either. In the end, they combed through books, files, and databases around town and came away with very little.
Finally, there was only one place left to try.
And it was the one place guaranteed to put them both in a cold sweat.
Billy covered Roxie’s hand where it lay on the rental truck’s console. Neither of them had yet made a move to leave the vehicle. “You okay?”
She made a noncommittal sound, staring straight through the windshield at the drab gray building in front of them. The square concrete office structure had no character, no flourishes that made it unique or approachable. It sat atop a knoll, staring down at them. Even as adults, the Social Services building seemed imposing and unyielding.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
He’d come to this point in his search for his mother, the one where he could have forged ahead or dropped everything. Finding “Uncle Wade” hadn’t been easy, but he’d known the supplier could probably give him the best info on where to find her—or where else she might be scoring her meth.
Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if he hadn’t walked into that little room behind the rundown appliance shop. Would ignorance have been bliss? His jaw certainly could have done without the pounding it took that day.
“They’ve been dragging their heels too long.” She shot him a quick look. “You don’t have to come, though.”
“The hell I don’t.” He didn’t care if she was going in there to volunteer for Meals on Wheels; she wasn’t going to face those people alone. He inhaled purposefully, making his lungs expand. Years had passed. Personnel had surely changed. Hopefully the policies were better, too.
Right. And pigs had started flying. He’d spent nine years in the system.
He’d believe it when he saw it.
“It’s my life,” she reasoned. “I won’t allow them to give me the runaround any longer.”
“Okay.” He kept his feelings reserved. If she wanted to back out, he’d have no qualms about moving on. Sometimes it just might be best not to open Pandora’s box.
Only this woman had more guts than most race car drivers he knew. She clicked her fingernails nervously, but then grabbed the door handle. She was halfway across the parking lot before he could get out of the truck.
Catching up with her, he slid his hand around hers.
She clutched him right back.
“Feet still hurting in those new boots?” he asked.
“Old boots.” She shot him a sideways glance. “How can you tell?”
“The way your butt wiggles.”
She let out a snort.
It lightened the mood all the way to the front door of the building. Once inside, though, they both became quiet. The lobby wasn’t any fancier than the outside. One dusty landscape painting hung on the wall with a fake garden of dustier plastic plants underneath. The building directory showed that the office they needed was on the fourth floor.
All humor left them as the doors of the elevator closed. It clunked as it began rising, and the sounds coming off the old cables didn’t sound safe.
Billy hooked his arm around Roxie’s waist and pulled her back against him. She wove her fingers through his, but he c
ould feel how stiff she was.
“Breathe,” he whispered into her ear.
“Later.”
The light for the fourth floor was burnt out, but the bell dinged loudly when they made it to their destination. Neither of them moved.
For a long moment, they hovered on the precipice between the past and the present.
When the automatic doors started to close, Roxie jumped forward out of his arms. Pushing back the bumper, she opened the doors and stepped out into the hallway. She looked to the right and then the left.
Billy took her hand again. “Room 402.”
If they were going to do this, they might as well get it over with.
They started down the hallway like two kids about to face the principal. When they made it to the door, though, he tugged at her hand. He didn’t need to say anything. With one look into each other’s eyes, they both straightened their spines and pulled back their shoulders.
Kids in the system learned to show no fear, and they weren’t in the system anymore. They were adults now.
Still, they kept hold of one another’s hands as they entered the office.
It was a small workplace, with maybe five people. That was the way things worked, though. So much need, but so few resources. Politicians could never seem to allocate much funding to help those who needed it the most.
A clerk looked up at the sound of their footsteps. She was a mousy woman with heavy glasses and limp brown hair. The eyes behind those thick lenses were tired but sharp.
With a quick pass, she evaluated them for signs of trouble. Roxie passed muster easily. She was wearing her old boots, but she’d gone conservative for the day. The femme fatale from the billboard was covered up and toned down. Billy, unfortunately, hadn’t brought any Sunday-go-to-meeting clothes for this trip, and the inspection put his back up.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked, keeping her peripheral vision on him.
“I’d like to talk to someone about getting access to the paperwork of a child who went through the foster care system,” Roxie said.
“You’ll need to fill out a Form 19-SS/A.”
“I already have.”
Behind those Coke-bottle glasses, the woman’s eyes softened. “It usually takes four to six weeks before a request is fulfilled.”
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