by Pat White
She slid the photo toward the little boy whose attention was still riveted to his hero. Frankie tried to tear her gaze from the boy’s awed expression but couldn’t. Something squeezed her heart. Something pure and honest reflected from Jeffrey’s hazel eyes.
Something very real.
The mother thanked Jack and Frankie and led the boy away. Frankie must have muttered something, but she didn’t know what. She was still feeling a little off balance. She pulled out a metal folding chair and sat down.
The next customer was an animated teenage girl.
“I dropped out last year but I’m working on my GED.” She snapped her gum and shoved her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. “I read what you said in Wrestler’s Wisdom Magazine about getting an education. You made me go back to school.”
He capped the pen and eyed the girl. “No, kiddo, you did that all by yourself. I’m glad I said something that inspired you.”
“I want to be an astronaut.” She jutted out her chin as if expecting him to challenge her.
“Go for it.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Give yourself more credit. Something like that comes from inside. Here.” He placed an open palm to his chest.
“What’s the holdup?” a burly security guard called from the edge of the stage.
“Sorry,” he said to the girl. “Gotta keep the line moving. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” She practically floated off the stage.
“Oh, brother,” Frankie muttered.
“What?”
“You inspired her? Give me a break.”
“People find strength wherever they can. But then you wouldn’t know about that would you? I mean, you were born tough as nails, right Frank?”
She wanted to slap him silly, get in his face and shout that he couldn’t be more wrong, that she had a soft side, a vulnerable side.
What was happening to her?
“Jack Hudson? I don’t suppose you remember me?”
Jack tore his attention from the Franken Niece and glanced up into the familiar, but weathered face of Vicious Vic, an old-time grappler who’d made his name in the Northeast.
“Vic? I can’t believe it.” Standing, he shook the former champion’s hand. “What are you doing in this part of the country?”
“Meryl and I moved back here in ’88. Took over her dad’s grain business. This is my grandson, Bruce.”
Jack smiled at the blond-haired kid who wore a Black Jack T-shirt. “Hi, Bruce.” He shook the boy’s hand but the kid didn’t look up.
“Don’t mind him. He’s shy,” Vic said. “Not like his gramps.”
“It’s great to see you, Vic. We didn’t know what happened. You kind of disappeared.”
A twenty-something security guard ran up to them and cleared his throat. “Sir, we really need to keep the line moving.”
“Cool it, kid. We’ll make sure everyone gets what they came for. Do you know who this man is?”
The guard shook his head, not the least bit interested in Vic’s stats.
“Vicious Vic, three-time U.S. Wrestling Champion. His signature move was the Victory Vice. Want a demonstration?”
The guard’s eyes widened. “Uh, no, thanks.”
“Good, then get out of my face and give me a minute with my friend.” He turned his attention back to Vic.
“We’d better go,” Vic said to his grandson.
“No, wait. What’s been going on? I thought you were joining the Navy.”
Something dimmed in Vic’s eyes.
“Wanted to, but the body was shot. Between the bad knees and ruptured discs, I would have had to bribe the president himself to pass the physical.”
“Your dad was career Navy. That’s all you talked about.”
Vic shrugged. “Didn’t work out. But I took over a thriving business and I’ve got the best grandkids in the world, don’t I, Bruce?”
“Not Dee Dee.”
Vic laughed. “Dee Dee is Bruce’s little sister,” he explained. “Well, life can’t be perfect, now can it?”
Jack’s gut knotted. No one wanted perfect. They wanted to live normal, healthy, and happy lives. Instead, too many of them ended up like Vic, sent out to pasture with their dreams stripped away. Jack was not going to be one of them.
“God, what a life,” Vic said. “I’ll never forget going three hundred nights a year, fighting with a broken hand, bruised ribs, abdominal tears. Those were the days.”
“Yeah.” This was one trip down memory lane Jack didn’t welcome. Laughing about the pain didn’t make it hurt any less.
“Well, we’d better get going. Thanks for the autograph.”
“Wait, come here, kiddo.” Jack grabbed Bruce and sat him on the table. “How about an autograph, right here.” He scrawled his name across the boy’s shirt.
The kid giggled and his eyes lit up. Vic lifted him off the table with a grunt and placed him on the ground. It pained Vic to lift his own grandkid. What the hell was the matter with all of them?
“Take care,” Jack said.
“You too.”
Vic ambled across the stage, his grandson jumping up and down, pointing to his shirt. The little boy slipped his fingers into his grampa’s hand and Jack’s heart skipped. Well, at least Vic had that. He might have forfeited his dream of serving his country but he had a family that loved him. You couldn’t put a price on that gift.
“Who was that old guy?” Frankie asked.
He whirled on her, catching himself before he completely blew.
“That ‘old guy’ is in his fifties and is one of the best wrestlers to ever step into the ring.”
He motioned for the security guard to send up the next batch of fans. Anger burned through his chest, anger at the ignorant princess sitting next to him, anger at Vic’s lost dream and broken-down body, anger at himself for not seeing this business for what it really was before he got hooked and couldn’t wriggle off the line.
He successfully ignored Frankie for the next hour except when he’d pass her a photo and his arm brushed against hers. Then the electrical current zapped him, making him angrier than a bucking bronco.
A vacation would be perfect right about now. It would help clear his head and get his perspective back. He spied the crowd of fans stretched twenty stores deep and took a fortifying breath. He and Frankie would be here for at least another two hours. Sure, the mall manager had scheduled the signing to end in an hour, but it wasn’t Jack’s policy to walk out on people who’d waited all day to see him.
A pack of gawky-looking teenage boys approached the table, led by a tall redhead in a leather jacket with three earrings in his left ear. He puffed out his chest and jammed his hands into his black jeans pockets. “The guys think wrestling’s fake.”
“Yeah? I’ll send them my chiropractor bills.” Jack grinned and signed his name.
“I’m gonna be a wrestler someday.”
“Why’s that?” He passed the photo to Frankie and glanced at the young man.
“For the babes. I want to be famous so they’ll scream my name when I walk into a mall.” The kid glanced over his shoulder at the upper level. A crazed group of teenage girls screamed on cue.
“Seems fun to you, does it? Getting all this attention?”
“Damn straight. I’m good at banging heads, right?” he asked his group of hormonally-challenged friends. They grunted in confirmation.
“It’s not just about banging heads,” Jack said. “You’ve got to be in prime physical condition and know how to execute the moves.”
“No problem. I took a kick-boxing class and got an A in advanced tumbling last semester.”
Great, another acrobat.
He wanted to tell the kid to chase another fantasy, pursue medical school or become a teacher. But he recognized that look, a look he’d seen so many times in the eyes of admiring fans.
Dreams keep you going. Jack couldn’t squash this boy’s dream no matter how much he wa
nted to spare him the pain.
“Good luck, kid,” he said with a nod. Frankie passed the photograph to the last of the group and they strutted off the stage, shoulders squared, chins up. Ah, the power of bravado, the beauty of ignorance.
“Unbelievable,” she said.
“What?”
“I can’t believe you encouraged him to become a part of this…this business.”
Taking a deep, calming breath he counted to ten, trying not to let her get under his skin. She still didn’t understand. She probably never would. This woman looked at the world through her own lens and nothing was going to change her focus. Must be nice to live each day with everything in order from the number of strokes of your toothbrush to your exact carbohydrate count. Jack, on the other hand, was lucky if he knew which hotel he’d be sleeping in from one night to the next.
“There are better careers for those boys than professional wrestling,” she said.
“Like what?” He took a swig of water.
“Law, accounting, politics.”
He choked and nearly spit water across the remaining glossies. “Yeah, politics. From one circus to the next.”
“I’m trying to make a point. We should be directing our youth into noble professions, not fantasy play.”
She cared about the future of the country. He had to give her credit for that. He glanced offstage at the rowdy teens that were closing in on a pack of giggling girls.
“Nothing I said would have changed his mind.” He eyed her. “Sometimes you have to find things out for yourself.”
Frankie struggled to rip her gaze from his mesmerizing, dark green eyes, but couldn’t. There was more to his words than sound and syllable. An incredible feeling of compassion flooded her heart. A part of her wanted to reach out and touch his cheek, to somehow ease the melancholy she saw there.
“You gonna sign my finger?” A little boy waved a three-foot foam “Number One” finger between them.
Jack turned his attention to his fan, and Frankie blinked, struggling to get her bearings. Okay, so she was attracted to the guy. That didn’t mean she had to actually empathize with whatever misfortunes he’d supposedly endured. He didn’t have it so bad. He was a star, admired and loved by thousands maybe even millions. Surely that made up for whatever tragedies he thought he’d suffered.
Yet there was something behind his eyes, something in his voice that struck a chord deep inside her chest.
It was time to find a replacement. She couldn’t take much more of the grinning and signing or listening to Jack’s words of wisdom, tender words that made her sympathize with him way too much. Pushing her chair away from the table, she stood and took a step back. He glanced at her with question in his eyes.
“Stretching my muscles,” she said.
He nodded and continued to greet fans. How did he do it? She was exhausted, hungry, and her face hurt. Who would have thought a simple appearance would be such a laborious chore?
It didn’t seem like a chore to Jack. He willingly shared generous smiles and insightful words with those who sought them. If she didn’t know better she’d think him a sage, not a barbarian.
Now she knew she was suffering from low blood sugar.
After what seemed like twelve hours later, he pushed the last of the photos toward her. She scrawled her mark and summoned a smile.
“That’s it.” He stood and waved to the lingering crowd.
A security guard parted the curtain and led them down the hallway. Her stomach growled and she automatically placed her hand on her belly.
“Hungry?” Jack said.
She shrugged.
“We’ll pick up something on the way home.”
She wanted to ask why wait? Why not stop at a local greasy spoon? Then she considered his broad shoulders and muscular physique, massive compared to the average man. They wouldn’t exactly blend in with the locals even if they changed into street clothes. And she could use a good blend right about now. Anonymity. No smiling, no nodding, no shaking hands. She wanted to “be.” To fill a bath tub to the brim and sink down, letting the warm water massage away her stress…
And confusion.
Confusion? Well, of course she was confused. On a regular day she’d be sitting at her desk analyzing numbers not clinging to the arm of a macho wrestler.
They approached the service entrance to the mall and she sped up her pace, eager to slip into her cotton pants and silk blouse that hung in the back of the limo. Everything would be fine. She’d change into her comfortable clothes, they’d swing by a drive through for cheeseburgers and be home in no time. By seven she’d be soaking in a bubble bath reading Pride and Prejudice for the umpteenth time. Then she’d call Bradley and blow him a goodnight kiss over the phone.
She glided her tongue across her bottom lip remembering the taste of Jack—spicy, sweet, and so very male.
God, she needed to get home.
They opened the service door to the back parking lot. The setting sun glowed orange across the few scattered cars. Jack paced to the curb and she followed. He looked right, then left. She looked right, then left.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Ignoring her, he marched back to the mall entrance and grabbed the door before the guard snapped it shut. “Hang on,” Jack said. “Where’s the car?”
“What car?”
“Our limousine.”
“I don’t know. I’ll check.” The guard, a short, middle-aged man with a receding hairline and concerned expression, pulled the radio off his belt and clicked a button. “Central, this is Cooper. Black Jack’s limousine isn’t here. Any chance it’s waiting at another entrance?”
A ball of anxiety formed in Frankie’s tummy.
She slipped off her shoes and sat on a metal bench nearby. More cars pulled out of the lot, and she spotted mall employee locking up the public entrance across the way. In the back of her mind she heard the twang of a banjo.
“About that missing limo…” A voice crackled through the guard’s radio. “Seems Ray and the driver got talking about the Grand Dame Casino. Ray said the driver’s eyes glazed over and he started breathing heavy. Next time Ray made his rounds the limo was gone.”
“Great. Just great,” Jack said.
She glanced up at him. “What?”
“We’ll need a hotel room,” he said to the security guard. “And transportation.”
“A hotel room? Why?” She stood and ambled over to Jack.
“Our driver won’t be coming back anytime soon.”
“What do you mean?”
“He abandoned a tag team up north last month. Apparently he’s got a thing for quarter slots.”
“That’s unacceptable.” She started to spin into a full-blown, I’m-gonna-pass-out panic attack. She hadn’t had one of those since Kenny Goldman stole her Perfect Patty pencil case in third grade.
“It’s best to go with the flow,” Jack said. “We’ll stay the night. I’m sure Bernie will show up by morning.”
“No. I’ve got to get home. Right now.” She grabbed the security guard’s stiff polyester sleeve. “A car rental agency. Surely you have one or two of those.”
“Sorry, ma’am. The whole town is shut down because of the festival.”
“How about a cab?”
“Gloria’s off duty. Besides, that would be one helluva fare.”
“Money’s no object. A tractor! I’ll buy a tractor!”
“Won’t be much help, ma’am. Those only run about twenty-five miles per hour, tops. You’ll make it home quicker if you wait for your driver.”
“No, I can’t wait. I have to get home.” The ringing started in her ears. She was losing control. Her well-planned life was falling apart in twenty-seven different ways. Dressing as a freaky feline, jumping from the catwalk, lying to Bradley, and now being stranded in corn country with a man who tempted her beyond all reason.
I’m in control, always in control.
Jack placed his hand on her shoulder. Her i
nsides simmered like Mount St. Helens on the verge of eruption.
She’d never make it through the night.
“Francine?”
Her breath caught at his gentle tone. She turned to face him. A slight smile creased his lips.
“It’s okay. We’ll manage.”
“You don’t understand.” She gripped his bare arm, glad for its rock-solid strength. “I really, really need to get home.”
I really, really need to get away from you.
“We’ll get home tomorrow,” he assured.
“Today, right now! I need to get home right now!”
And then Frankie did something she’d never done in front of any man. She broke down into hysterical tears.
“Shhhh,” he consoled, putting his arm around her and rocking slightly. “You’re tired and hungry. We’ll fix that too. You’ll be fine. Everything will be fine, honey. You’ll see.”
Chapter Ten
Jack had been sincere when he said everything was going to be okay. Unfortunately he had no control over the timing of the Cornhusker’s Festival.
As the security guard, Rich Parker, drove them to the fourth and last hotel in the county, it became apparent that they couldn’t have been stranded in Sterling Falls on a worse weekend. Hotels were booked and stores were closed in honor of the festival. He and Frankie needed food, sleep, and clothes, and not necessarily in that order.
He glanced at Frankie, curled into a ball in the backseat. She stared absently out the window as she nibbled on a gloved finger. He’d offered to sit with her but she’d refused, becoming even more agitated. Hell, he’d never seen someone come apart so quickly. One minute she was in charge, barking orders and making demands. The next, tears were streaming down her face, dotting her pale skin below the mask.
“Let me talk to Pete,” Rich said into the radio. He glanced at Jack. “Don’t worry. We’ll find you someplace to bunk. If nothing else, you can stay in my barn.”
A whimper-howl echoed from the backseat.
“But I’m sure we can find a nice room somewhere,” Rich offered, glancing at Frankie through the rearview mirror.