“I hope so.”
Jennifer grinned at me. “I think you can count on it.”
Over the next four days, Kes and I texted constantly. His spelling was still horrible, and autocorrect did some very strange things to some of his messages, but I usually managed to work out what he was trying to say, although sometimes it felt like code-breaking rather than communicating.
But more than that, there was something of the old ease we used to have. We didn’t talk at all, and I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I was too happy enjoying the soft ching from my phone as another message from Kes dropped in.
He didn’t mention Sorcha at all, and I couldn’t help torturing myself with images of them together. You know, together together. Ugh.
His messages were so sweet and funny, telling me about his day, and how the stunts had gone—actually, that bit wasn’t cute; that bit gave me cold chills. Generally, he just told me what he was up to. I liked the idea that he was thinking about me. And I was definitely thinking about him. I sent a few selfies of me with Dylan, and he sent one back of him in his leathers and helmet.
It was so good to be able to text without worrying about who was going to catch us. Unless, of course, he was worried about Sorcha seeing my messages. Maybe that was why he didn’t call me or suggest that I call him.
The thought made my stomach lurch. So, as with all important things in my life, I decided not to think about it. If I didn’t think about it, it wasn’t happening and wasn’t real. Yes, I could be very mature.
Dylan was excited to see Kes again, too. He’d convinced himself that ‘Motorcycle Man’ was coming to perform stunts in our backyard. No matter how many times Jennifer told him that wasn’t the case, Dylan had it in his head that Kes would turn up with the whole show.
We arranged that Kes would arrive at lunchtime so we could have a picnic under the sprawling bur oak that spread its wide branches across half the backyard. But it was barely 11AM when I heard the throaty roar of a motorcycle.
“That’s him!” Dylan yelled excitedly.
“It can’t be,” I muttered under my breath.
But Dylan was right and I was wrong.
I walked around to the front of the house where Dylan was hopping from foot to foot, and saw Kes dismount.
He wasn’t wearing the full set of leathers today, but he looked deadly and delicious in dark jeans and a black motorcycle jacket.
I couldn’t tell if he was riding one of the stunt bikes or not. It didn’t look like a road bike, but I was hardly an expert.
He pulled off his helmet and gloves, and grinned at Dylan, his eyes skipping quickly to me before giving my over-excited nephew his full attention.
“Hey, buddy! Have you been looking after my girls?”
My heart skipped a beat. Stupid heart. Fooled by some sweet words and an ass that looked great in denim. Besides, he’d said ‘girls’ as in plural, as in including Jennifer.
Dylan nodded seriously, suddenly shy.
Jennifer came out the front door grinning.
“Welcome, Kes. Come on into the house. Can I offer you something cold? A beer or a lemonade?”
“Lemonade would be great, Jennifer. Thanks.”
And he kissed her on the cheek. Ah hell. It was going to be a long day.
But then he leaned down and brushed his lips just above the corner of my mouth, and it felt like he might have lingered. I hoped so. He smelled so good, spicy and something citrus, perhaps. But it wasn’t the same as I remembered. He was freshly shaved, so that would make a difference. Then it clicked.
“Oh, I know why you don’t smell right!” I blurted out.
His eyebrows rose. “I smell bad?”
“No, gosh, no! I didn’t mean that. But you always used to smell of hay and … um … hay.”
Ten seconds too late, I realized that telling a guy he smelled like a horse probably wasn’t a compliment, but Kes knew exactly what I was saying.
“You mean I used to smell like Jacob Jones?”
“Ah, yes. Sorry.”
He smiled, his eyes a little sad. “Don’t be, he was a great horse.”
Dylan’s eyes got really big and his mouth formed an impressed O. “You’ve got a horse?”
Kes shook his head. “I used to. When I was your age my grandpa gave me a pony named Jacob Jones. To me he was Jakey, but I don’t have him anymore.”
Dylan’s face fell. “Why not?”
Kes rubbed the back of his neck, clearly ill at ease.
“That’s enough questions for now,” Jennifer said quickly. “Why don’t you take Kes through to the backyard and show him where we’re going to have our picnic?”
Dylan took Kes’s hand and towed him through the house, chattering excitedly. Kes threw me a bemused look but followed Dylan, his large shape shadowing my nephew’s much smaller one.
Jennifer put her hands on her hips and shook her head at me.
“Really? You just told the man he used to smell like a horse?!”
“Oh God, just shoot me now!”
Jennifer laughed. “The look on your face—priceless!”
I groaned. “You’re making it worse. But he did smell like a horse, and it was … nice.”
“Whatever you say,” Jennifer smiled.
We were interrupted by the doorbell ringing.
“I’ll get it,” I offered.
“No, that’s fine. It’ll be for me anyway. You go entertain our guest—or save him from my son, one or the other.”
When I walked out to the backyard, Dylan was sitting on his swing set and Kes was pushing him. He looked up when he saw me, his eyes in shadow, so I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.
I didn’t have a moment to ask him either, because Jennifer hurried out looking flustered, followed by a small crowd of young mothers and their various offspring.
“Kes, I’m so sorry,” she said. “It seems Dylan here took it on himself to invite all his friends to a picnic—with you as the star attraction. Dylan, what have you got to say for yourself?”
Dylan’s small shoulders slumped. “I thought it would be fun.”
Jennifer’s eyes softened. “I understand, but you shouldn’t have done it without asking me or asking Kes. I haven’t got enough food prepared for everyone, and I explained to you that Kes is our lunch guest and wasn’t invited here to entertain us. He’s come on his day off to have a nice quiet meal, but you’ve told everyone he’ll do a show! You need to apologize to both of us, but especially Kes.”
Dylan’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I’m sorry, Kes.”
Kes broke a second before I did.
“Don’t worry about it, buddy,” he said. Then he turned to Jennifer. “I’ll put on something for the kids. It’s not a problem.”
Jennifer still looked uncertain.
“But I’ll need a couple of assistants,” Kes smirked, looking at me and winking at Dylan.
“Are you sure? It seems such an imposition—I’m just so embarrassed.”
“Nah, it’s fine. It’s what I do.”
Jennifer shook her head. “I know, and that’s why I feel so bad—you’re supposed to be having a day off!”
I could have hugged my sister. She was just being herself, but she was also showing Kes that she valued him as a person and that not all my family thought he was trailer trash.
“I’d be happy to entertain Dylan’s friends,” Kes said sincerely.
Jennifer looked grateful. “Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”
Kes shrugged, beginning to look embarrassed. “Yeah, well, I’m a bit out of practice … so when do you want to do this? Now or later?”
“Probably best to let the kids run around and wear themselves out a bit first,” I suggested. “Then they’ll be more likely to sit quietly for you.”
Jennifer agreed, then went to explain to the other mothers what was happening.
Kes leaned down to whisper in my ear. “It’s sexy seeing you go all teacher-like.”
I blushed and gave him a little push. “Shut up,” was my witty response.
He laughed throatily.
It turned out that Dylan had invited about eight of his little friends along with their brothers and sisters and moms, so there were 27 of us for Kes’s impromptu performance.
The kids ran around shouting and screaming and basically behaving like savages. I was used to that level of noise and mayhem now I was a veteran of grade three and several school trips. But what surprised me was how at ease Kes was with it all. Most guys his age didn’t have a whole lot of experience with kids and it made them uncomfortable, but it didn’t faze him at all.
He sat next to me on the grass and watched them screaming around the garden, shrieking at the top of their lungs. I pitied my sister’s neighbors.
I glanced at Kes. “You haven’t made a run for it yet.”
He grinned. “Nah, it kind of reminds me of the carnival. Kids would get so excited and I always wondered why. It took a while before I realized that not everybody got to go on the rollercoaster before breakfast every day.”
“You mean you don’t now?”
He laughed. “It’s not so much fun doing it by yourself.”
I wondered if there was a message in that, but I wasn’t going to ask.
“I bet you and Con went on all the rides when you were kids.”
Kes smiled briefly. He didn’t often talk about his brother.
“He was never into carnie life as much as I was—always had his nose stuck in a book. Kind of like you.”
“What’s he doing now?”
“Flying jets in Afghanistan for the Air Force.”
My mouth hung open. “You’re kidding me? I thought he went to school to be a doctor.”
“Yeah, he did. But he couldn’t afford med school, so he thought he’d join the Air Force for a few years and get them to foot the bill. But it turns out he’s a great pilot, so he’s made that his career.”
“Wow, from the carnival to the Air Force! That must have been some culture shock.”
“He’s happy, I guess. I see him when he’s stateside.”
“Is he married? Kids?”
“No, but there’s a German girl, Hilde, that he’s been seeing for a few years.”
I smiled. “Well, I’m happy for him.”
“Yeah, he’s a good guy. We’re closer now, I think.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
Kes shrugged. “He hated the carnival, pretty much. Too chaotic, too disorganized.”
“He’s in a warzone! I hear they’re pretty big on chaos.”
He smiled at me appreciatively, then leaned back on his elbows so he was staring up at the branches of the sprawling oak. The leaves threw a patchwork of light and shade across him, hiding and revealing all at once.
“Remember that hickory tree in your garden? This kind of reminds me of it.”
“Of course!” I laughed. “I nearly had a heart attack every time you ran along the branches and jumped in my window!”
Kes’s eyes glowed. “That was pretty cool. My first experience of breaking into a girl’s bedroom.”
“But not your last, I suspect.”
His smile dimmed, and I regretted my words.
But then he grinned at me and said, “You used to read all your books up in that old hickory. Do you still climb trees?”
“God, no! I’d probably kill myself. When you’re a kid you never realize that falling out of trees might actually hurt. I’d probably break something. I’m amazed that you still have all your limbs attached!”
“Well, I’ve had a few breaks over the years.”
“Really? I always thought you were indestructible.”
He laughed lightly. “Not so much. I have a few scars to prove it.” Then he lowered his voice. “Maybe I’ll show you later.”
And there it was again—that quiet tease, the suggestive comment that could mean something, or mean nothing.
So I changed the subject.
“Don’t you want something to eat? All the good stuff will be gone once the kids descend like locusts.”
Kes shook his head. “No, I don’t eat before a show—too many possibilities for losing my lunch in public.”
“Oh no! We lure you here with promises of food and you can’t even eat anything!”
He smiled. “I usually skip lunch. Don’t worry about it.”
“I feel really bad now,” I said grumpily. “I’d forgotten that you don’t eat before a performance. Fine, well, if you can’t eat, I won’t either.”
But then my stomach gave a very loud growl and Kes fell back on the grass laughing.
“Your gut is telling me a different story.”
“Stupid stomach!” I huffed, half laughing, half embarrassed.
“Aw, no. I love your stomach. It’s so soft and round.”
The heat in my cheeks flooded my whole body. “Are you calling me fat?”
Kes sat up quickly. “No! I just … ah, shit…”
It seemed he never had acquired the habit of apologizing.
Jennifer interrupted our moment. “Kes, do you need anything for your, um, show?”
“Have you got a bicycle?”
Jen and I both looked surprised. “You want a bike?” she said.
Kes smiled. “I’m assuming you don’t want me to use my stunt bike on your lawn—it kind of tears up the turf.”
“Well, my ex-husband leaves his mountain bike here. He sometimes goes for rides with Dylan.”
“Show me?”
I watched Kes and Jennifer disappear into her garage, so I headed for the picnic food to see what was on offer.
The other moms smiled at me, and a couple that I knew from previous visits came over to chat. They were all intrigued to find out more about Kes, and several of them seemed to assume that he was Jennifer’s new boyfriend. God, that was so irritating.
I didn’t even know how to describe him, so I simply said that we’d all known each other as kids but had lost touch, which was true enough.
Kes returned a minute later with Brian’s BMX. According to Jen, it had been an early mid-life crisis gift to himself, but one that he hardly ever used.
Kes adjusted the seat to accommodate his longer legs, then left it resting against a tree. Then he levered off his boots and socks, and whipped off his t-shirt.
Every set of female eyes was focused on him, and I wasn’t the only one who had to reel in my tongue.
The whip-tight body he’d had as a teenager had morphed into something amazing. You could count every muscle of his abdomen, which I did twice, because I lost count the first time. The V-shaped ridge that disappeared into his low slung jeans was advertised by a line of dark hair pointing down from his navel. Then he stretched his arms above his head, making his muscles dance and ripple. When he rotated his hips, I wasn’t the only one having a hot flash.
Obviously these were his warm-up exercises, but honestly it was the closest thing I’d ever come to watching porn.
Jennifer seemed to agree.
“Holy shit!” she whispered. “To think that you’ve slept with that!”
“Believe me,” I hissed out of the corner of my mouth, “he was hot as a teenager, but now…”
I was lost for words, but I think Jen understood because she nodded, following his every movement from behind her sunglasses.
“He moves like a dancer,” she sighed. “It’s a waste having him covered up in leathers all the time.”
I had to agree.
Kes wandered over smiling. He looked happy and relaxed; very different from the tense, angry man I’d met less than a week ago.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said. “They look like a tough audience.”
I laughed. “Tell me about it. Sometimes third grade is more like crowd control than teaching.”
“I’ll need my assistant for this show,” he reminded me with a wink.
He held out his hand, and I could have sworn that I heard Jennifer sigh.
Kes strode to the center of her backyard and yelled out, “Who wants to see some magic!”
“Me!” all the kids screamed loudly.
One by one, he invited the kids to come and have coins and toys and carrot sticks appear out of their ears, out of their pockets, even out of their noses, which was really gross but funny to watch their shocked little faces. Then he did the same with the moms: conjuring up cell phones and wristwatches, and in one case a wedding ring. He winked as he passed it back to the astonished woman.
I had no idea that Kes had those skills, such magic in his hands. I wondered what else I didn’t know about him.
Then he sent the kids on a scavenger hunt to find objects that he could juggle with. The kids ran around the yard, presenting him with a soccer ball, a watering can, an empty beer bottle and several other objects. He turned down the wheelbarrow that one of Dylan’s friends found, much to Jennifer’s relief.
Then he looked at me and grinned. “When I nod, toss me the next thing. Aim for my chest and don’t throw too hard,” he instructed.
Kes introduced me as his “beautiful assistant, Mademoiselle Aimee,” much to Jennifer’s amusement.
He started off juggling with a soccer ball and a football, telling jokes the whole time. I watched for his nod, then tossed him the watering can. Soon he was juggling four mismatched items, and then five, then six. The children’s mouths were open and their eyes bright with amazement. They all laughed when Kes tossed the watering can to me and I dropped it. Yes, let’s all laugh at the clumsy person. I bet they can’t breathe fire.
After that, I was officially resigned as Kes’s assistant and the kids all took turns at throwing odd for things to him to juggle. He never missed once, even when their throws were nearer his knees than his chest.
By now, Kes was really sweating in the formidable summer sun. But instead of looking disgusting like anyone else would, it made his smooth skin gleam, and I couldn’t help following the drops of perspiration as they tracked down his broad chest, disappearing into that loose waistband.
Finally, he grabbed hold of Jen’s bicycle and started showing the kids wheelies and various balancing tricks. Of course, it was slower and less sensational than his stunt riding, but I think it connected with the kids better because they all rode bikes themselves. What they couldn’t do was somersault off them like Kes, or do handstands on the seat and over the handlebars. It was like watching an Olympic gymnast perform in your backyard. I had no idea he was so flexible—and my mind went straight to the gutter.
The Traveling Man Page 18