“Jeez, Uncle Reiner. Want me to drive?”
He glared at her. “I most certainly do not.” A deep breath, a count to ten, and they left the school—and Katie Sara—behind.
He needed to cool off. “Want some ice cream?”
“For lunch?”
“Why not?”
“Yeah.” She grinned. “Why not?” This might be okay after all. But why the nuclear reaction to her teacher’s name?
As far as first days went, and considering she’d had no sleep and a rocky start, it had been a good one, Katie Sara decided. She laid her head back against the front porch swing, rested the iced tea glass against her forehead, and set the swing rocking with her toe.
Her closed eyes magnified the cadence of late afternoon in the small town. A few houses down the block some boys had a pick-up softball game in progress. From the sounds of it, they might need a referee soon. One of the boys had his dog, Cosmos, with him. Judging from his bark, Cosmos wasn’t some girly dog. He sounded only a tad smaller than an elephant.
Somebody else was cutting his lawn. She breathed deeply, inhaling memories. Both the sound of the mower and the smell of the fresh-cut grass made her smile. She’d missed this in the city.
She moved the tea to her lips, sipped, then opened her eyes and looked around. How lucky she’d been to find this house, despite her second thoughts in the middle of the night after her—encounter—with Reiner.
It was nice to know her neighbors. To be able to call her paperboy by name and know his mom and dad. His grandparents.
Mrs. Jones next door had divided her prized pink-ruffled daylilies yesterday and given her a starter clump as a house-warming gift. She’d planted them reverently to the right of the house where everyone, especially Mrs. Jones, could enjoy their blooms.
Eighty if she was a day, Mrs. Jones was out back in her garden working now, listening to a Frank Sinatra medley that streamed from her open kitchen window. Unless Katie Sara’d missed her guess, the old lady had a pitcher of ice-cold margaritas close at hand to quench her thirst. With her, it didn’t seem to matter which side of noon it was.
Philomena Passarelli and Marge Fisher had filled her in on the Morning Malefactor after she’d rushed onto her porch two mornings in a row to the shockwaves of Eye of the Tiger that vibrated in the air. She had no doubt they’d nab the noisy villain.
Chia sat on the porch, tail curled around him, eyeing a bird high in the magnolia. “Dream on, Walter Mitty. That cardinal has nothing to fear.”
With a sigh, she realized how much she’d missed this. Really missed this.
Daddy, we lost so darned much. What on Earth could have been worth all this to you?
Determined to let it go, she rubbed the furrow from her brow. She couldn’t change what was nor could she regain the lost years. She could, though, relax and enjoy what she had now.
To truly do that, she had to let go of city-ways. No one here in Paradox ever locked his door, yet at night, she still checked hers. Twice. How long, she wondered, would it take to get over that? During the day she did fine, but at night she needed both the doors and the downstairs windows unlocked.
Maybe tonight she’d feel brave enough to open the upstairs windows to the cool night air, scented with Mr. Kennedy’s roses. It seemed almost sacrilegious not to.
Humph. Yeah, well, maybe. Last night there’d been a mangy mutt on the prowl. A dangerous mangy mutt who’d shown up outside her house.
Speaking of... She leaned slightly forward, certain she’d recognize that fire-engine red anywhere, even if it didn’t come with the throaty horsepower.
If it wasn’t old TOP DAWG himself.
She rose and dropped a curtsy as he idled past.
At his muttered curse, Felicity gasped and put a hand over her mouth. “Uncle Reiner!”
“Oh sh—” He blushed. “Sorry, squirt. I forgot. It just sorta slipped out.” Wild-eyed, he turned to her. “Don’t tell Auntie Belham. Promise.”
“I’m not a tattle-tale.”
With his index finger, he slid his sunglasses down his nose and studied her over the top of them.
“I’m not!” she protested. “Jeez! What’s wrong with you, anyway? Wasn’t that Ms. McMichaels? Why’d you swear when you saw her?” Her face screwed up. “And why’d she curtsy?”
“’Cause she’s a smart-ass.”
Felicity’s pierced brow shot up under her bangs.
“Go ahead! Run to Auntie Belham with that one.”
His niece grinned. “No way. It’ll be more fun to ask Ms. McMichaels about it tomorrow.”
Reiner swerved off the road.
Felicity squealed and grabbed the dash, bracing her black-booted feet. “What are you doing? Trying to kill us?”
Stopped haphazardly on the berm, Reiner swiveled toward her. “Do not say anything to Katie Sara about me. Got it?”
Anger swamped him, unwarranted and way out of line. He knew it, yet he couldn’t control it. Great way to start playing daddy.
Instead of cowering, though, his beast of a niece grinned like the proverbial Cheshire cat.
“Do your mom and dad know they’ve birthed a brat?”
“Oh, yeah. Why do you think they were so willing to go fight? Figured it would be a cake-walk after raising me.”
He ruffled her short, flame-colored hair, then tugged at a strand of royal purple woven through it. “How ’bout we run by the post office before we head home and mail those cookies you and Bel baked to your folks? I’ve got them stowed in the back, and brother, have they earned them.”
As he pulled back onto the highway, he caught a glint in those big lavender eyes and knew Felicity wouldn’t give up till she had the whole story.
He was doomed.
Katherine Sara McMichaels and high school. A blink-of-an-eye ago. A lifetime ago.
They’d been opposite ends of a magnet in personality, goals, and focus. Not socially, though, and not even morally, because he’d never done anything really, truly bad.
He pushed the envelope; she defined it.
He drove his parents crazy and made his teachers nuts. Some drinking, driving too fast, blowing curfews, and girls who liked a good time. Black leather and his Harley. Late nights, pool, and loud music.
And then Ace came along. The model student, model daughter, model everything—and he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. A couple of the guys dared him to make a move, bet him she wouldn’t give him the time of day.
But they’d been wrong, and he wasn’t sure who’d been the most surprised. Them, him, or her.
He’d taken her out the first time on a dare; the second, third, and fourth because he couldn’t help himself.
He knew he wasn’t good for her. They were headed in opposite directions. But when they were together—holding hands, riding his Harley, or making out in the backseat of his car—it didn’t matter.
Then her old man got himself thrown into the slammer, and everything fell apart.
Last night proved there was still heat, that they could set the town on fire quicker than Mrs. O’Malley’s cow. But Katie Sara was right. They were history. Time to move on.
Maybe that’s what this trip home was meant to teach him. If so, lesson learned.
Damn, he hated school!
Chapter Ten
“Morning, Uncle Reiner.”
“Mornin’, yourself, baby doll.” Reiner flipped a just-add-water-to-the-mix pancake and turned to give his niece a peck on the cheek. Before he made contact, his mouth dropped open. “What in the— Where’s the rest of your shirt?”
Then his gaze zoomed in on the glint where the waist of her pants should have been. “A belly ring? When did that happen?”
Clutching the back of a kitchen chair, he pulled it out and dropped into it. They’d made it through an entire week, and he’d been feeling pretty damn smug. No more.
“Felicity, you cannot leave this house lookin’ like that.” He winced even as the words left his mouth. Shades of his father. But
now that they were out, he’d stand behind them.
“Why?”
“Why? Because...” He waved the spatula in the air. “Because...your father would kill us both. Because...the boys will follow you home like you’re the Pied Piper. Because... you’re too young. Because I said so!”
Oh, jeez. Now he really sounded like his father.
“Lose the ring.”
“This one?” Cheekily, she pulled one of a half-dozen from her fingers.
“Cute. Very cute.” He pointed the spatula at her midriff. “That one.”
“Uncle Reiner,” she whined. “I thought you’d be different. More fun.”
“Yeah, well, that makes two of us. When did you get that, anyway? You didn’t have it before. Don’t you have to have an adult sign for somethin’ like that?”
“Sasha did it.”
“Ahhh.” Sasha Howard. The man-eater who lived next door. Aerobics teacher, vegan, divorced mother of dark-eyed, giggly, talk-a-mile-a-minute Beth who was Felicity’s age. Both girls were in Katie Sara’s class and had become fast friends.
Mama Howard was sending off signals, making it clear that she hoped she and bachelor father could become close friends, too. Very close friends. Damn if Reiner could figure why he was working so hard to avoid her.
The woman was hot! Something about her scared him, though. She was too desperate, maybe, and too into all this New Age stuff. Besides, something had to be off, or Mr. Howard would still be around, wouldn’t he?
Unless he was a creep like Woody Jensen. Reiner’d heard how he treated Rhonda, and it sure didn’t make the jerk much of a man in his book. No woman deserved that. And Rhonda... Hell, small as a mite, she’d been willing to take on anybody who’d hurt their Katie Sara her senior year. Rhonda was a real sweetheart.
Back to the sweetheart in front of him. His eyes fastened on the ring. “I don’t remember givin’ permission for that.”
“I told her you wouldn’t care. I’ve got all these other ones, so what’s one more? No big deal.”
He didn’t say a word.
“Fine.” She shrugged. “Go ahead. Take it out.” She lifted the hem of her shirt, her way too short shirt.
“Take it— Ah, jeez.” He rose, moved toward her, hand extended. Then he withdrew. “Ah, jeez,” he repeated. “I can’t pull it out.”
“Why?”
“It’ll hurt.”
“No, it won’t.” She stepped closer to him, all wide-eyed innocence.
How many belly rings had he played with? Run his tongue over? Found sexy? But they’d all been on grown women.
His stomach flip-flopped at the idea of the metal piercing his niece’s tender skin, at the idea of extracting it from that skin. Gamely, he reached out again. His hand trembled only slightly, making it inches from the little gold hoop before he cried uncle.
“I can’t.” So much for his manhood.
Felicity laughed and removed the ring with one quick yank.
Every ounce of blood drained from his face. Light-headed, he put a hand to his sweaty neck.
“Uncle Reiner?”
His niece’s face swam in front of him as he fell back onto the chair. Big bad football player. Geesh!
“Uncle Reiner!”
He smelled it before her shout registered. The pancake. The damn thing was on fire!
He rushed across the kitchen, slid the griddle from the burner of his state-of-the-art stove, and began pounding the flapjack with the spatula, thankful his decorator had invested in stainless steel rather than plastic.
The worst of the flames beaten into submission, he wrapped a potholder around the pan’s handle and, sucking one burned finger, carried the whole mess to the sink. Felicity turned on the water and drowned her breakfast.
Coughing and gagging, they rushed to the doors and windows and threw them open. The house belched smoke, and they fanned to hasten its departure. Even in the haze, Reiner managed to find the obnoxious, bleating smoke alarm and flip it off.
Red-eyed, runny-nosed, and smelling to high heaven, they collapsed onto the porch steps. One look at each other and they burst out laughing.
Wispy smoke drifted from the kitchen windows.
“Sure hope the neighbors don’t call the fire department.”
“You got that right.” Reiner rubbed his hands over his face. “What a mess.”
Then, hip propped on the railing, he nailed his niece with what he hoped was a no-nonsense look. “Okay. What gives?”
“Huh?”
“The outfit. Exactly what look are you going for here? Because I gotta tell you, you look like a...” He stopped, rubbed his earlobe.
“What?”
“You know, this is a conversation you really should be having with your mother.”
“But she’s not here.”
“No, she’s not,” he said forlornly.
“She left me with you.”
“Heaven help us all.”
“So, what do I look like?”
“Um...oh, boy.” He swallowed, started over. “Have you heard the term lady of the evening?”
“You mean a hooker? You think I look like a hooker?”
He blew out his breath. This conversation, this whole day was going right down the toilet. Maybe he should just climb back into bed.
“You know what? It’s early. Let’s both go take another quick shower. Shampoo the smoke out of our hair and change clothes.” He dared her to argue.
As she laid a hand on the doorjamb, he said, “Get those letters you wrote for your mom and dad, and I’ll mail them today. We’ll still have time to pick up Beth and head to McDonald’s for breakfast before school. How’s that sound?”
“Fine.”
Fine? He’d condemned himself to breakfast at McDonald’s with two teenage girls who’d either giggle or pout their way through the meal and all she could say was fine?
Felicity scuffed her boot over one of the redwood deck boards. “Ms. McMichaels says we need to explore, to find ourselves. Discover who we really are.”
“Oh, really? She’s behind all this?” He twirled his hand, indicating her all black, too skimpy, too baggy, too everything get-up. “What nearly burned down the house this morning?”
“No. That would be you being an old fuddy-duddy. Who’d have guessed?”
She walked into the house, leaving him speechless. An old fuddy-duddy? Reiner Broderick? Now that hurt! Did she have any idea how many women threw themselves at him daily? Well, maybe not daily.
Not here in Paradox.
Certainly not Katie Sara.
Not that he wanted her to. They were finished.
Sasha Howard did. And, oh, he wished she wouldn’t.
Gina Altenburg Crandall Smith Denlinger did. Now, there was trouble with a capital T.
A cool shower. He headed indoors, into the smoke and the mess that seemed to be his life.
Fuddy-duddy! F—Fudge!
When they arrived at school, Reiner turned into the parking lot rather than stop at the curb.
“What are you doing?” Felicity asked.
“Thought maybe I’d sit in on your class today.”
A look of absolute mortification passed over her face. “You can’t!”
“Sure I can. I’ll stop by the office, pick up a pass, and bingo. I’m in.”
“I can’t believe you’d do this to me.”
“I’m not doing anything to you. I’m sittin’ in on a class. I want to see what’s being taught.”
“Baloney. It’s because of my belly ring.”
He opened his mouth, then shut it. He refused to lie. It was. In part.
The girls refused to walk with him. No problem. He breezed into the office. “Hey, Rhonda.”
Startled, she looked up from her computer. “Reiner?” With a delighted squeal, she bounded around the counter and hugged him. “Gosh, it’s good to see you.”
Then, she backed up, straightening her top. Though the smile cooled a few degrees, Rhonda being Rhonda, it s
till welcomed. Could she know Katie Sara wouldn’t be happy to see him here?
“What can I do for you?”
“I’d like a visitor’s pass.”
“A visitor’s pass?”
“Yeah, you know, so I can sit in on a class.”
Rhonda’s face paled and lost all its bubbly. “What class did you have in mind?”
He leaned an elbow on the counter. “Sex Ed. My niece is enrolled, and I thought I’d see what they’re doin’.”
“Reiner, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He met her panic-stricken eyes. “It’s not personal.”
“Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”
“Rhonda.” His brow rose. “I have the right.”
“Yes, you do.” Her voice was tight. “I also thought you still had a few brains inside that thick skull but apparently not. They must’ve all got knocked loose and are laying around on some football field.”
She picked up a pass, filled it out, scrawled her name on the bottom. Slamming it on the counter, she said, “Big mistake. Don’t come cryin’ to me when this blows up in that handsome face of yours.”
She returned to her computer, back to him. He’d been dismissed. Doubts fired from all sides. She was right, and he knew it.
Yet he picked up the visitor’s badge, peeled off the backing, and slapped it on his polo shirt. From the corner of his eye, he saw Rhonda sidle up to the intercom, no doubt giving Katie Sara a head’s-up. Good. Fine. It would be better that way.
The place had shrunk in the years he’d been gone. He remembered the ceilings higher, the lockers big enough to stuff in a freshman and all his books. The halls seemed narrower, but they were still the same throw-up green. Instead of the rush he’d expected, a sense of loss, of sadness wormed its way into his gut.
Then he found himself outside Ms. McMichaels’ door, his hands as sweaty as any first-dayer’s. Her back to him, she wrote the day’s work on the whiteboard. No more offering to clean the erasers for a few brownie points. What a gyp. And the poor kids didn’t even know.
Her slim skirt, the color of the sandy beach at his Hilton Head place, ended a couple inches above her knees. A short-sleeved black top skimmed her torso, nipped in at the waist. That dark tumble of hair he’d once reveled running his fingers through glistened with streaks of gold and red in the sunlight that poured through the large paned windows.
Moonlight, Motorcycles, and Bad Boys Page 8