Rattle His Cage: The Baxter Boys #4 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled)

by Charles, Jane

  She’s going to hate the book. I know she is.

  And, what is taking her so long?

  I glance at the clock. Okay, she’s only been up there like three hours, and the book is already is a full-length novel, with still more to go.

  Maybe she hates it and is afraid to come down and tell me.

  Why the hell hasn’t Mrs. Kragen called me back? Child services is going to be closed in half an hour.

  “Any news?” Christian asks as he comes in the kitchen and grabs a peanut butter cookie.

  “No.”

  “Maybe Mrs. Kragen had court all day again.”

  “Well, that’s what they told me, and she had a couple of emergencies.”

  “Mrs. Kragen?” Mary asks as she comes into the kitchen, then her eyes light up. “Cookies!”

  “Help yourself,” I say as Christian and I share a look.

  She bites into a chocolate chip cookie and moans. “Still warm,” she says around a mouth full of cookie.

  I want to know what she thought of the book and if she’s done, but Christian is here, and I can’t talk to Christian about Mrs. Kragen and Nina because Mary is in the kitchen.

  God I hate secrets. But both of these secrets are for the best, for two different reasons.

  “I knew a Mrs. Kragen once,” Mary says as she goes to the fridge. “Got any milk?”

  Christian grabs a glass from the cupboard and hands it to her. As she takes the jug out of the fridge she keeps talking. “Actually, she was an instructor. Night class I took as an elective for nursing. Social services, spotting abuse victims in the ER, excuses they give, that kind of thing.” She takes a drink. “It was all really interesting but I’d hate to have her job.”

  “Why?” I ask cautiously.

  “The heartbreak. So many kids without families, or rotten families, the system. All of it.” She finishes off her cookie and takes another drink.

  Mary has no idea that she’s talking about the lives of every guy in this house.

  Christian gives me a look—that questioning, raised eyebrow. He doesn’t say anything but he thinks I should tell her. I give a slight shake of my head.

  “Did you get a good nap?” Christian finally asks Mary.

  Her blue eyes light up again. “I haven’t been sleeping.” Then she grins. “I’m reading a really good book.” She scoops up two more cookies and heads out with her glass of milk.

  She likes it?

  Crap, if Christian wasn’t standing here, I’d go after her to find out more.

  Christian edges across the room and looks out the entrance to the kitchen. I’m sure he’s waiting until she’s out of earshot to give me an earful.

  “You’ve got to tell her.”

  “Tell her what?”

  “That your Mrs. Kragen is probably her Mrs. Kragen.”

  I ignore him and turn to the stove and stir the sauce.

  “Did you even tell her you have siblings?”

  “No. It didn’t come up in conversation.”

  “Well, I think you’d better.”

  I put the lid back on the pot and turn. “Why?”

  “Because, there’s a good chance that Nina is going to be showing up here, if not today, but tomorrow. I doubt Mary is going to be gone because she lives with three bitches and has a hole in her wall, so won’t that be a little awkward, especially after this conversation?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  He’s right though. Mary is a friend and what kind of friend shows up with a sister to be introduced when that same sister was never mentioned in any of the conversations we’ve had together. Not that there have been that many, but I had plenty of opportunity to mention it, especially when I didn’t say, By the way, I’m waiting for Mrs. Kragen to call me about my sisters, who just happen to be in the foster system like I was. So, how was that class? Or when we talked before about her family and I didn’t say, really, you have two younger brothers? Well, I have two younger sisters and a younger brother, but I haven’t seen them since I was twelve.

  “Okay. Watch the sauce.” Taking a deep breath, I leave the kitchen and head up the stairs.

  There’s a knock and then Dylan enters the bedroom. He’s tense and there’s a determined set to his eyes. No different than when we were in the kitchen.

  I hold up a finger so I can finish the paragraph and then read that one word I absolutely hate. “No! No! No!” I cry out.

  “What?” Dylan asks in alarm.

  “Moist.”

  “What’s wrong with moist?” Dylan asks slowly and confused.

  “Moist is fine for a cake, but not….girly parts.”

  His face turns a slight shade of pink.

  That embarrasses him? Me mentioning girly parts? After some of the scenes I’ve already read, girly parts is the last thing that should make him uncomfortable? “If I was reading this on paper and not an expensive piece of equipment, I would have thrown it against the wall.”

  “Really?” He winces.

  How can he be shocked? He used moist. “There are so many other words you could have used.”

  “Wet? Don’t you think that is overused?”

  “It’s better than moist. Anything is better than moist.”

  “Okay, then edit it.”

  “What?” He can’t be serious?

  “You know how to edit in a document, right?”

  “Um, yeah.”

  “Make your changes.”

  I edit out moist and feel better already just seeing the red line through that word.

  He leans back against the door and studies me. “Is that the only thing you wanted to change?”

  My face heats. There were a couple of parts that I thought needed a little more, and a couple of places, a little less.

  “Scroll back to the beginning and make your edits.”

  I lift my hands away from the computer. “I can’t do that. It’s your story.”

  He crosses his arms over his chest. “How many books do you read?”

  “Over what amount of time?” It does vary.

  “Summer break.

  “Probably two or three a week if I’m not busy.”

  His eyebrows raise. “During the school year?”

  “About a book a week, depending.”

  He slowly smiles. “Then, Mary, I think you are qualified to edit.”

  “Hell no.” I push the laptop away. “I’m a nurse, not an English major.”

  Dylan chuckles. “Content editor, for words like moist or anything else that you think is wrong or will put a reader off.”

  “I can’t.” This, I am so not qualified for.

  “Did you mean what you said in the kitchen?”

  “That it’s a good book? Yeah.”

  He lifts an eyebrow as if he doesn’t quite believe me.

  “I wouldn’t say I liked it if I didn’t. I want people to be happy, but I’m not going to lie or blow smoke up their ass.”

  His shoulders drop and he slowly smiles as he comes forward. “So, who better to content edit this? Nobody else has read it, and if I’m going to do anything with these, I’ll need someone to read them first.”

  “I don’t want to upset you.” What the hell do I know anyway? I just like to read—lots.

  “You won’t,” he assures me.

  “Are you sure?” This is not comfortable.

  “Yep. Christian’s on me about taking chances and doing something with my books. This is the first step.”

  “Books? As in more than one?” I blink at him. “You did say these.”

  “You’re reading the fourth in a series.”

  My jaw nearly drops. “Can I read them all?”

  He just chuckles and then takes the laptop from me. I watch as he saves the one I was reading, closes it, and opens another. “Read, edit, and let me know what you think.”

  I can only gape at him.

  “Trust me. I have thick skin, so nothing you do or say is going to upset me.”

  “Are you sure?”r />
  “All I ask is that this stays between you and me.”

  “Of course.” I blink at him.

  Then he grins. “I hope you enjoy.” With that he is gone. Why did he come in here anyway, unless he wanted to know what I was thinking about his story? That would explain why he was a little tense. Well, if the others are anything like the one I was reading, he has nothing to be worried about.

  22

  I stir the sauce and then take a sip from a spoon to make sure the spies are right, and nearly burn my tongue. I need to erase the image of Mary in my bed. Both images. The first was the time I walked in on her while she was sleeping. The second was just now. She had the pillows stacked behind her and against the headboard and the blankets over her and the laptop balanced on her knees. I really just wanted to forget about the book, the lasagna, the conversation we were supposed to have and crawl into bed with her.

  Why the hell did I ask Mary to read, and content edit, my books?

  Because, it was an easier conversation than the one I intended when going up there.

  She liked the book, but what if she was just being nice?

  No, she said she wouldn’t lie.

  I feel like I’ve just handed my baby over to a babysitter for the first time and am afraid something will happen to it.

  “Well, what did she say?” Christian asks as he comes into the kitchen.

  “Didn’t tell her.”

  “Why?”

  “We got to talking about something else and I had to get back to the sauce.

  Christian just shakes his head and has a look of disappointment. I get it. I do, but there is more at stake here. The more—I don’t want to dwell on too deeply, because I’m afraid of where it leads. I can’t go there. Not right now.

  “Any word?”

  With that, my phone rings and I grab it. “Hello?”

  “Dylan?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is Mrs. Bailey.”

  My heart starts pounding.

  “Mrs. Kragen has been tied up with court and emergencies all day and wants to know if you can come in tomorrow at around 11:00.”

  Why the hell doesn’t she just pick up the phone and call me herself? If she wants a meeting, then that means things can’t be good. Panic rises as my stomach tightens. “Did she learn anything?”

  “That, she didn’t tell me. She just called from court and told me to set an appointment.”

  Maybe I’m just jumping to conclusions and she has just been too busy to deal with my issues today. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

  “Well?” Christian asks as I hang up the phone.

  “Mrs. Kragen wants to meet with me tomorrow at eleven.”

  He frowns. He’s thinking what I’m thinking.

  “Mrs. Bailey assures me that it’s because she’s been tied up today and hasn’t been able to call.”

  “I sure hope that’s it.”

  “Me too.” Though my gut says otherwise.

  Where the hell did Dylan go? It’s almost eleven and everyone has either gone upstairs or out. Christian had to play, Zach is judging a contest, Ryan is photographing it, Sean is asleep because he needs to get up early, and Alex and Kelsey are probably having sex.

  And Dylan? He hasn’t been seen since he set the table after cooking dinner for everyone then grabbed his coat and said he was heading out.

  Christian told us that Dylan just needed to think things through. Nobody reacted except for a few nods, and I get the feeling that I’m the only one who doesn’t know what he’s thinking through, and it bugs the hell out of me.

  If I hadn’t been in his room reading his book, he could have gone there.

  Is it me? Does he not really want me here? This morning he was edgy, but he seemed okay when he told me to read his book, though I had a feeling he wanted to tell me something else.

  I wish I could figure him out. All day he’s been weird when last night and early this morning had been awesome.

  What a fool I’ve been. We’re friends and I overstayed my welcome. Or, he started rethinking about me being here. Except, he isn’t the one who invited me, or sent me here. That was Sean.

  Does Dylan not want me here? Is that why he’s been on edge? Wishing I’d leave?

  Or, maybe he’s on a date. Just because the guys think he has something to think about doesn’t mean there isn’t a girl involved. Not that Dylan ever mentioned a girl, but he hasn’t indicated that he’s interested in moving me toward the girlfriend category either.

  Maybe that’s why he’s tense. He can’t bring a girl home if I’m sleeping on the couch, not that it would matter since they’d go to his room. Unless that is what he wanted to tell me earlier—that he is seeing someone and would probably bring them back and wanted to make sure I didn’t have the wrong impression about the two of us last night. Or, that he was bringing a girl back later and he’d like his room.

  If only I’d left earlier, after dinner, but I stayed downstairs and watched some television with Kelsey and the guys, then I fell asleep. Nobody woke me until about ten when Kelsey and Alex headed upstairs. They are the ones who told me where everyone was, and that Dylan hadn’t come home yet.

  Since then, I’ve been trying to read, but now I’m so uncomfortable here that I can’t concentrate on the story.

  Why the hell am I even here? I’m a big girl. I can deal with my own apartment and the party going on outside of the door. It’s not like I have classes tomorrow morning, or have to go to work. I’m free until Tuesday. But, since I know I won’t be able to sleep, I get back on Dylan’s laptop and email his manuscripts to me. After stuffing my things back into my bag, I leave Dylan a note and head out.

  23

  The words Christian said to me a few days ago keep playing over and over in my head. “You used to take chances. You had dreams. Novel. Mary. Neither of which you are doing anything with.”

  He’s right. I don’t know when I became so cautious. Almost afraid.

  It did start with Patty, but she wasn’t the only cause. And, Mia is right, I let Patty get in my head and then I got in my own. That, on top of worrying about my family, I’ve done this to myself.

  At one time I had confidence in my writing. I had confidence in myself. I was going to let go of all the baggage of the past, with the exception of my siblings, of course. Upon leaving Baxter I wasn’t going to let anything stand in my way and I’d go for my dreams. To be an author. I’ve settled for a food blog.

  Okay, that isn’t exactly true. I do write for different newspapers and magazines, and enjoy the various assignments. And, I like my blog. But, I keep shoving the dream of publishing a novel to the back burner. Afraid to put myself out there.

  Just like I’m afraid to put myself out there for Mary.

  The only thing being afraid will accomplish is never realizing any dream. I want Mary. Hell, I’m half in love with her.

  Not that I’m ready to tell her that, yet. But, I either admire and love from afar, assuming she’ll dump me, or I tell her how I feel, about my family, parents, my few visits to juvie, all of it, and see if she still wants to stick around. Only one of those will move in a direction, whether I’m happy with the results or not.

  After that, depending on her thoughts on the novels, I’ll decide how to move forward with those.

  The only answer I didn’t come up with tonight was what Mrs. Kragen wants to talk to me about. I could just be assuming something is wrong when everything is fine. But after what happened with Noah, finding out he ran away two years before anyone bothered to tell me, I’m not expecting good news at the meeting tomorrow.

  Still, I shouldn’t assume anything.

  Just like I shouldn’t assume Mary will lose interest when she finds out about my parents, or my siblings, or me. Of course, I am assuming she might be feeling a little something of what I am. If she’s not, better to find out now.

  The house is completely quiet and dark. After kicking off my shoes I head up to my room to talk to Mary.
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br />   Except she’s not there.

  My bed is unmade, which shouldn’t surprise me.

  I flip on the bedside lamp for better light. A glass with only a few swallows of milk left is still sitting there, a ring forming right at the milk line. My laptop is on top of the bed, a note on top of it.

  * * *

  Dylan,

  * * *

  I emailed the novels to myself so I can work on them from my apartment. Sorry to take up your room all afternoon and evening. Loving the stories so far. Will send back when finished.

  * * *

  Mary

  * * *

  That’s it? I thought she wasn’t going back for weeks. There is a hole in her wall, even if they boarded it up.

  What’s going on? Did one of the guys make her feel uncomfortable?

  That doesn’t seem possible. They like Mary. It doesn’t make sense that she’d leave now.

  How long has she been gone?

  I should leave her be, but I can’t. It took me all evening to come to terms with myself and how I feel. I don’t want to wait until tomorrow even if it is almost midnight.

  Out of habit, I start to make the bed and stop. There are cookie crumbs on my sheets and a little chocolate is smeared on my pillow.

  My first instinct to brush them off the bed, change the sheets and pillow cases and then vacuum. The order automatically plays in my head and I shut it down. I’ll worry about all of this later. Right now, I’m more interested in the cookie monster.

  Someone bangs on my door. It’s not the first time since I got back, but I hope it’s the last. I ignore it.

  “Your boyfriend’s here,” Shelby calls.

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” I yell back. Whoever he is, he’s not using my bathroom.

  “Mary, it’s me.”

  I look up from my laptop. “Dylan?”