Burning Hot Rumors (Choices: Tarkio MC Book 2)

by Debra Kayn

  His gaze locked on Ed's chest. He held his breath, trying to calm down enough to see if Ed was breathing. It took longer for him to witness the slight movement.

  "Please, breathe," begged Callie, rubbing her dad's chest. "Dad? Dad?"

  "He's breathing." He stood at the end of the bed. "I called an ambulance."

  "I-I need his medical card." Callie slapped a hand to her forehead. "He'll need—"

  "Let's just get him to the hospital. Whatever you need afterward, I can come back and get it for you." He looked away from the bed and ran a hand over his jaw.

  Jesus Christ. He'd never seen people die before. Only dealt with the aftermath.

  His father had died in a different country, fighting a war. The body returned in a casket.

  When his mom had died, he'd already moved out and worked in Wyoming. It had taken him two days on his Harley to make it back home when he got a call from the hospital. Only then had he found out about her short fight against cancer through a letter she'd left him.

  "This can't be happening," whispered Callie.

  He closed his eyes an extra beat at the pain swallowing her. She held her dad's limp hand to her chest. The rest of her words never made it past her trembling lips.

  A siren filled the house. He hurried through the trailer and outside, waving the ambulance, followed by the rescue truck, closer.

  One paramedic jumped out of the passenger side. Kent met him, explained the situation the best he could, and ushered them into the house, pointing the way. The trailer was narrow, and it would work best if he stayed out of the way to let them work on Ed.

  There was nothing for him to do. Any comfort he could give Callie would be ignored while she concentrated on her father. Ed...it was too late for him.

  Whether he knew he'd die within days of telling Kent the truth or the grim reaper came earlier than he'd hoped, going by the bluish tint to Ed's lips and the struggle to breathe, he wasn't going to make it.

  Chapter 8

  Callie

  DIRT RAINED DOWN ON the coffin.

  The gears on the backhoe groaned, picking up the last load of dirt, and completely covering Edward Patrick Moore. Callie hugged her middle in an attempt to keep herself from falling apart. It'd taken four days to get approval from Hilltop Memorial Cemetery to bury her dad beside her mom and baby brother.

  The funeral director where her father's body had been sent had tried to convince her to use a different cemetery or have him cremated to get around the lack of plots available in the old graveyard.

  Her dad wouldn't have wanted to be buried anywhere else.

  And, while it felt as if she buried her heart into the ground beside her father, she couldn't help thinking about when it was her time to die, her resting place would more than likely be across town. There were no more plots near her family.

  There would be no one who fought for her to lie beside her parents and baby brother because she was the last one left.

  She sniffed. It was hard to believe her dad was dead.

  There was no funeral—per her father's wishes.

  Cal Ruckner stopped moving the backhoe and gazed at her from the high seat on the machine. She nodded her thanks and watched him drive slowly away. Left alone, she stared down at the dirt patch, unable to imagine her dad inside a coffin underground. How was she supposed to go on without him?

  Her legs wouldn't move. She couldn't leave him alone, and yet she couldn't stay, hoping that her dad was alive and well at home.

  "Dad?" she mouthed, blinking slowly. What was she supposed to do?

  Everything of her dad's landed on her shoulders. The trailer. The gas station. The bills.

  She couldn't do it alone. Swallowing hard, she knew that wasn't true. Over the last few years, her dad had slowly stepped away from running the business. It'd been easy to step up and take control because she'd done it for her father with his guidance.

  It was the cold, hard truth of knowing he wasn't beside her if she had a question or needed help that overwhelmed her. That she'd never get another chance to tell him how much she loved him, and thank him for always being there for her when she needed him.

  The last several days were a nightmare that she couldn't wake up from. She drifted between not believing he was gone to devastating reality. At home, the quietness punished her.

  She looked for her dad everywhere. There were moments when she turned and opened her mouth to call for him, having completely forgotten that he'd died. How could she forget?

  A motorcycle entered the cemetery and slowed. She recognized Kent. Glancing at her watch, she sighed at finding it five o'clock already. She'd mentioned she'd be back at four o'clock after seeing her father buried and had instructed him to lock up the gas station at three in honor of her dad.

  Tomorrow, she planned to work like normal because that's what her dad would have expected from her.

  Kent walked over to her, glancing at the ground when he stopped, and then met her gaze. She avoided his eyes and looked around the empty cemetery. She never expected him to come.

  The burial had to be done. Her dad only wanted to be buried beside his wife and son. Oddly enough, he'd told her that a few years ago. At the time, she tried to change the subject.

  When the heart surgeon had operated on his heart, she knew there was a chance her dad might not make it. It was hard enough to know he suffered from his health problems. She hadn't been ready to talk about the odds of the surgery, or there was a chance that he could die.

  It was during that time, he voiced his wants about having no funeral, being buried next to his wife and son, and for her to go on with her life and live it to the fullest. That practicality was how her dad had lived his life. He'd done everything with her on his mind. She understood he never wanted to cause her more pain than she was already experiencing.

  She couldn't imagine anything worse than losing her dad.

  Death was lonely. The loneliest she'd ever felt.

  "I don't want to leave him," she whispered.

  "Then don't." He remained in front of her. "I'll stay with you for as long as you want to be here."

  She stared down at the ground, trying to piece together her life. Her dad wasn't here. He was in the ground, or he was with her mom and brother in heaven. There was nobody, no priest, no scholar, no psychic, who could prove to her what happened after someone died. She was supposed to believe her dad was better off and no longer suffering.

  No more coughing that made it hard for him to breathe. No more pain that stopped him from walking.

  How could there be no suffering in heaven when he was taken from her? She was still alive and hurting on earth.

  Eventually, the sun dipped over the mountain range. She shivered without any warmth against her skin.

  Every muscle in her body ached. Exhausted, she needed to go home. Home to the chair that smelled of Old Spice and gasoline from the evenings when her dad would plant himself in front of the television and watch the news, and on Thursday when he fell asleep during Kojack.

  She walked away on trembling legs, hugging herself. Barely aware of Kent beside her.

  His silence comforted her. She wasn't alone at the moment.

  Near the truck, she dug the keys out of her pocket. The leather fish on the ring well-worn and familiar. For as long as she remembered, her dad had used the keychain and hung it by the front door on a hook when he was at home.

  The keychain was a silly reminder of her childhood. Her dad had given her two dollars to spend at school during the Christmas bazaar, where kids could shop for family members. It was all cheap stuff made to teach kids about giving. She'd wrapped the keychain at school and brought it home and hid it in her room in case her dad snooped.

  On Christmas morning, he'd acted like she gave him the best gift he'd ever received. That was twenty-five years ago, and he'd always carried the truck key on the fish keyring.

  She climbed up in the seat. Pulling the choke out, she started the engine, then pressed the but
ton in before driving away from the cemetery. She took the ride home in silence, wondering if that was the new sound that would make up her life. If there would ever be voices that permeated the heartbreak around her.

  Back at home, Kent parked behind the truck. She got out and walked to his motorcycle. Telling Kent thank you sat on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't speak the words.

  "I'll see you in the morning. Seven o'clock," said Kent.

  She nodded and turned away, walking into the trailer. Once inside, the rumble of his Harley grew louder, then waned as he rode away.

  Five steps took her to her dad's La-Z-Boy. She sank down, drew her knees up to her chest, and snuggled into the well-worn cushion. Closing her eyes, she listened to her heart beat.

  She was truly alone.

  Chapter 9

  Kent

  A WEEK AFTER ED DIED, the only people who expressed their condolences to Callie were the deliverymen. Maybe he'd missed a customer or two mention her loss when he wasn't within earshot, but he doubted it.

  The florist van showed up twice, bringing flowers inside the gas station. Callie had thanked the man who'd made the delivery and then promptly put the arrangements in the storage room and let them wilt.

  She never mentioned who sent them. He'd looked for a card while he was back in the room sorting boxes and found out they were from the gas company and the pop distributer.

  On the outside, life went on as usual for Callie.

  Kent eyed her through the front glass door. She stocked the candy aisle, going about her work without any hesitation. To others, she appeared as if she was holding everything together.

  To him, she was even more withdrawn than usual. That was to be expected, all he could do was make sure she knew he was around, in case she needed him.

  He'd been invited over to the Tarkio clubhouse after work. Though he was hesitant to leave Callie alone.

  It made no sense, because he spent every night at the river, camped out in his tent. It wasn't like he could watch over her once she shut herself into the trailer, nor should he have to. That wasn't the deal. Ed only asked for him to stick around for six months.

  There was a chance he wouldn't be able to fulfill his promise. He'd checked back at both motels in the area twice a week, and they still had no vacancies.

  The motel clerk was full of bullshit. There were rooms to be had. His Harley and his appearance stopped them from renting to him.

  Discrimination toward bikers wasn't a new problem for him. That's why he carried a tent. He'd lucked out at his last job. Working out on the oil fields, the company provided trailers for the workers to share.

  He needed to go to the Tarkio clubhouse and see if Curley had any suggestions on where he could stay or what housing would be available to him. His time was running out.

  By the end of October, he'd have no choice but to move on when the snow started flying. He wouldn't survive a Montana winter living in a tent.

  A vehicle pulled up to the side of the building. Kent stepped out of the way of the door and hung around the pump, even though it appeared as if the older woman was only going inside the store.

  He observed her as she carried a box inside. That was a first for him. The gas station wasn't a place to load up on groceries.

  With the sun overhead, he barely made out the movements behind the glass door. Protective of Callie, he debated whether to go in and make sure Callie had someone to protect her, but the women's age stopped him. She was old enough to be Callie's mother.

  The door swung open. The lady walked out without the box and got in her car.

  Kent waited until the customer drove away and then went inside. Callie paced in front of the counter, not even lifting her head when he approached her.

  Glancing over at the box that the woman left behind, he asked, "Everything okay?"

  She stopped, her gaze focusing on him. "Why would someone bring me a pie?"

  He cleared his throat. "Some people give food to the grieving family when there's been a death."

  "I know that." Callie frowned. "I don't understand why Mrs. Mitchem would bring me a pie."

  Kent held back. Callie's conversation made no sense to him. When his mom died, and he stayed around to get rid of all her things and sell the house, the neighbors had flooded the doorstep with their offerings of comfort. He hadn't had to cook for a couple of weeks for all the ready-made food that was given to him.

  Nobody had done that for Callie. Far as he knew, the pie was her first sign that someone gave a damn about what she was going through.

  She picked up the box and shoved it in his direction. "Take it. Get it out of here."

  He held on to the offer. "It's for you."

  "I don't want it."

  "Why not?"

  "I-I...she probably poisoned it." Callie walked away, leaving him holding the box.

  It wasn't his job to figure out Callie's life. All he was paid to do was be here. And yet, he found himself opening up his mouth. "Who's Mrs. Mitchem?"

  Callie shook her head and picked up the spray bottle and rag and started cleaning the counter. "She's nobody."

  "Obviously, you know her."

  "I know a lot of people. That doesn't mean I like them." Callie's spine stiffened. "I hate every single one of them."

  She hurried out of the room. He let her go. It would help if she'd open up, tell him what the real problem was, and he could do something about it.

  Callie mystified him. She was beautiful and caring. She'd unselfishly looked after her father when he was alive. He'd witnessed her feeding the birds behind her home. When it was her dad's birthday, she'd baked him a cake and hid it in the storage room so he wouldn't find it before dinner time.

  But everyone else treated her with disrespect, and she'd sucked it up and taken their abuse. At times, she acted as if she deserved their treatment.

  The only way a person became bitter at the world was if they felt like everything and everyone was against them.

  She was going through the toughest part of life at the moment. Maybe she couldn't see the good intentions of others.

  A thunk came from the back room. He walked across the area and stepped inside. Callie stood with her back to him. His gaze dropped to her fisted hands at her sides. Whatever she struggled with, she was determined to do it alone.

  Nearby a box had an indention the size of her fist. At least she'd found a way to get rid of some of her anger.

  He stepped back without her noticing him. She needed time on her own, away from work.

  He understood her need to keep her feelings private. Since as far back as he remembered, he'd always preferred being alone.

  When he was alone, he could live his own life. Nobody made the rules. When he got tired of people or places, he moved on and started over.

  A customer pulled in front of the pump, and a woman jumped out of the passenger side, heading toward the store. Kent stayed inside. If they needed gas, he could follow her out when she was done shopping.

  The bell above the door dinged, and the woman stopped and raised her brows at Kent. "Can we use your water hose?"

  He glanced over her head. Steam rolled out from under the hood of the car.

  "Pull the car away from the pump over to the corner of the building, and I'll bring the hose to you." He glanced over his shoulder, but Callie had yet to come back in and work.

  Leaving her to see to the customers, he went outside. By the time the car rolled to him, he had the hose out and the water on. He sprayed down the outside of the radiator while the man left the driver's seat and opened the hood.

  "Let me cool it off before you open the cap." He moved to the side and stuck the nuzzle down by the engine.

  The man squatted, looking under the car. "We hit a rabbit on the interstate. I think the fur clogged the airflow."

  "I'll check the hose in a second and see if there's any damage from being overheated." He continued spraying until no more steam escaped.

  Taking the rag out of
his back pocket, he unscrewed the radiator cap, letting the heat out. Running his hand over the rubber hose, he couldn't find any bulges or blowouts.

  "I think you're good to go once I add more water. We sell antifreeze and coolant inside. It'd be smart to top it off if you're traveling far." He looked over at the man. "You don't have to, but I'd also recommend buying a new cap. Sometimes once they overheat, the lever inside sticks, and you'll find yourself having a hard time keeping the temperature down where it's supposed to be."

  "Is there an auto part store nearby?"

  "Clear across town." He motioned with his head. "We sell universal caps inside. I could see if any of them match yours."

  "I'd appreciate that." The man brushed his hands off on his jeans. "We need to make it to Oregon by Sunday."

  Kent filled the radiator halfway and then motioned the man to follow him inside the store. Checking on Callie, he found her in the first aisle, stocking shelves. Anyone looking would never know the battle she fought.

  Stopping at the back wall, he found the cap that would work on the man's car and held the old part next to the new one. "Looks the same."

  "How much is that, plus the coolant, going to set me back?" The man took out his billfold.

  "Six dollars and seventy-five cents," he said.

  "Plus tax?"

  "Not in Montana." He led the customer up to the counter where Callie had gone to ring up the sale."

  "Thanks, man." The man shook Kent's hand.

  "Safe travels. Make sure you top off the tank with water after you add the coolant." Kent walked out of the store.

  Three vehicles lined up at the pump while he was busy helping the customer. He went to the first car, and after finding out how much gas was needed, he got moving. As he put the right amount in the tank, he gazed at the next vehicle and schooled his reaction.

  Josh Hill sat behind the steering wheel of his truck, waiting his turn as if he had every right to be here. Kent dealt with the customer, pocketed the money, and stood back while the man drove away.

  As soon as it was clear, he stepped in front of Josh's truck, not letting him pull ahead. Rounding the fender, he approached the driver's side.