“Basically, FBI agents are involved in preventing terrorist attacks, cyber-based computer attacks, espionage, and corruption. Things like that.” There was no sense delving into the Deuces Wild thing and his uncanny gift with animals. “We protect people’s civil rights. We combat organized crime.”
“And you dance,” she said coyly.
That merited a snort. “Not hardly. That was another first.” It was time to change the subject. “My life is boring. Tell me about you.”
Her gaze wandered down the hall to her bedroom, and he wished he’d never asked. She drummed her fingers on her knee. “Let’s see. Where should I begin? Hmmm. You already know I’m twenty, and I like high places. I read a lot. I love my dog and my mom. Umm, never mind. I’ve got a better question. What’s your dream job? I mean, if you couldn’t work for the FBI, what would you rather be doing?”
She’d just dodged the question, and Tate let her. “That’s easy. I’d be back home in Alaska, fishing. Maybe hunting.” He stopped short of saying ’anywhere else but here’ because that didn’t feel precisely accurate any longer. Here seemed a pretty damned comfortable place to be, stuck between a sweet woman and a two-pound dragon whose paws twitched in his puppy dreams.
The popcorn sat forgotten on the coffee table. Winslow yawned, and that was the last thing Tate remembered.
Chapter Nine
A cold draft stirred over Winslow, right before she heard a hiccup and a snide, “Well, isn’t this cozy?”
Winslow snapped wide-awake. She’d fallen asleep on the couch snuggled in Tate’s arm, and damn. Mom was home. At least they were both sitting upright instead of lying together. That wouldn’t have been good.
She rubbed a quick hand over her eyes, as warm, and, yes, as cozy as she’d ever been. “Hi Mom,” she said guiltily. “I, umm, guess we fell asleep while we were waiting for you.”
“You’re in late,” Tate grunted at her mother, but he didn’t jerk his arm away from Winslow as she’d half-expected. Pepe didn’t move either. He stayed on Tate’s lap, one eye on Joyce.
“Yeah well, you know what? This is my house, and I can come and go as I damned well please, flyboy.” Mom’s gray eyes flashed like steel grinding sparks. “What are you still doing here, Agent Higgins? Oh, never mind. I can see perfectly well what you’re doing. You’re pawing my daughter. It’s time you left.”
Tate didn’t budge at her flippant demand, but neither did he remove his fingers from where they curled protectively around Winslow’s shoulder. “I’m not pawing your daughter, ma’am. I’m holding her, that’s all. As I told you before I left, I went out to look for her because you claimed she’d been abducted. Where have you been?”
Despite his warm hands, Winslow shivered. He had a lot of nerve to confront her mother. “It’s okay, I—”
“It’s not okay, missy.” Mom’s tone cracked like a whip of midnight lightning. “This guy has no business questioning me in my house. He has no right—”
“I have every right,” Tate replied evenly. “You’re the one who thought your daughter was kidnapped, or at least that was the conclusion you jumped to when your television friends were here. Is that where you’ve been, searching high and low for Winslow? Filing a missing person’s report down at the local precinct? Did you think to take a picture of her with you when you filed?”
Oooo, sarcasm too. Either Tate was brave or stupid.
Mom’s face turned a nasty shade of red as if she’d been caught in a lie—or when she was about to invent one. Her eyes narrowed like they did before she went nuclear. She pointed at the still open door. “Get out. Now. Do you hear me? Go home or wherever it is you guys crawl into after you’ve defiled someone’s daughter, you—you—”
“Mom!” Winslow hadn’t meant to raise her voice. “Tate brought me home and it was cold and I made popcorn. That’s all. We were sitting here waiting for you and we fell asleep. Nothing else happened.” She pointed at the popcorn bowl. “Look. We haven’t even eaten it, we were so tired.”
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
“Believe it or not, Winslow’s well over legal age,” Tate said, his voice low and steady. “It’s none of your business.”
Winslow swallowed hard. Okay, that was not how to handle her mother. She tipped forward onto the balls of her feet just as a breath of alcohol drifted across the room. Crap, not again. Mom had been out drinking with her buddy, Ike, as in Ike Pitt the biker, the loser, the ‘I-need-a-place-to-crash, you-got-any-spare-change?’ freeloader.
A cringe crawled up her spine at the thought of her mom being with the guy. Every time he’d been to the house, he’d smelled of body odor, cigarette smoke, and booze. Ike creeped Winslow out the way he looked her over when her mom wasn’t looking. Eww. Just ewww. Mom, what do you see in him?
“Maybe you should go,” Winslow suggested to Tate even as she stared her mother down. “You’ve been drinking, haven’t you, Mom?”
A wrinkled nose was her only answer. Yeah. Mom wouldn’t admit anything because she didn’t think she owed anyone the truth, not even her only child.
Tate leaned forward with Winslow to the edge of the couch, upsetting Pepe from his nice warm perch. “I’ll go if you tell me to.”
“Then go. Please.” She turned to him, her hand on his thigh and her heart wanting him to stay. “It’s okay. She’ll be fine once I get her to bed.”
“You’ll put her to bed?” Man, he had some handsome brows, but right now, he looked on the verge of starting something she couldn’t finish.
Winslow nodded. “Yeah. We take care of each other.”
Those sexy brows dipped low, shading his eyes. “It’s not her I’m worried about. I’ve got no way to get a hold of you once I leave. Here.” He shifted in his seat, blocking her mother’s view as he dragged his cell phone up from his pants pocket and pressed it into Winslow’s palm. “Keep this out of sight. My number’s on the if-lost-contact label on the side. Call me if you need anything, promise?”
She certainly seemed to be making a lot of promises to this guy. “I will,” she gave him what she could. “But I’ll be okay, Tate. Honest, I don’t know why you’d think I wouldn’t.”
Something flitted through those smoldering browns that went nearly black. His sudden intensity took her breath. This wasn’t how she wanted her first date to end, not with him leaving angry and her mother about to let loose with one of her screaming, drunken tirades. Without thinking, Winslow leaned into him. Wanting more time with him. Needing another kiss. Another life wouldn’t be so bad either. “Goodbye Tate,” she whispered.
He shook his head, his brows so low she could barely see his pupils. “Not goodbye, just later, Winslow. I’ll call tomorrow. Don’t lose that phone.”
She bobbed her head. “I won’t. I promise.”
“Will you just leave?” Her mother waved her hand at the still open front door, fluttering her fingers for him to step on it.
Winslow couldn’t believe how nasty she was being to Tate. She’d been plenty rude before, just not with strangers. Especially not with men. This was a new low.
Tate put his palms to his knees and lifted to his feet with deliberate slowness. His bones cracked when he flexed his shoulders, then arched to stretch his spine. It was as if he’d just issued Winslow an enticing invitation to join him. She wanted to run her fingers up his back and cup her palms to his hips and do a whole lot more to that gorgeous male body.
Pepe stayed close to Tate. The little guy had found a new friend the way he looked up at him and blinked. Her dog looked as smitten as she felt. But it was time for Tate to go. She gulped down a lifetime of insecurities. He probably had work tomorrow, and well, no matter what he’d said, this might be the last time she saw him.
She didn’t see it coming. Ignoring her mother’s foot tapping, he grabbed Winslow’s free hand and pulled her up against his chest. “I had fun tonight. Thanks for dancing with me.”
Ah, the dancing. Yes. A shiver raced up the back of her neck
at the memory. She intertwined her fingers with his. “Thanks for asking. Tonight…” There was no word for the connection she felt with this charming man, so she shrugged and said, “It was perfect.”
“It was, wasn’t it. I don’t usually dance, but tonight was… nice.” He nodded toward the floor. “Pepe did all the hard work though. He led me to you. He deserves a dog treat before bed.”
Good old Mom huffed loudly at the now opened front door, but it was all Winslow could do to let Tate’s hand go. She ducked out of his jacket and handed it over. He’d given her a once-in-a-lifetime gift tonight. A sweet smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, just before he dipped down low and captured her lips with his. That goodbye kiss stole her breath. Once more, the old world she knew dropped away and the wet warmth of his mouth became everything. His hands were firm and warm on her biceps. His tongue danced softly over her sealed lips, inviting her to join him in another sizzling tango.
Winslow didn’t dare, not with her mom watching. A sigh of resignation breathed out of her as she let one hand wander to the nape of Tate’s neck and pulled him into her for just—one—more second. One more taste. The scent of him spiraled up around her cheeks and into her nose, filling her with the call of the wild outdoors and the wind. Always the wind. That would forever be how she remembered Tate. In the wind and the dark and all those stars.
Her mother coughed. Rudely and loudly. Annoyingly so.
Really Mom? She had no right to be so—so—motherly.
Winslow swallowed hard as Tate eased back from her, still smiling and the brown twinkle back in his handsome eyes. His lashes were thick and curled like black butterfly wings at rest. She hadn’t noticed that until now. There was so much she didn’t yet know about him, and she wanted it all. Every last detail. Everything. When was he born? Where did he live? Who were his parents? Any brothers? Sisters? Dogs? Cats?
So much of life was slipping through her fingertips that she could barely stand to let him go. She filled her lungs with that woodsy scent and dropped her hands, her heart up high in her throat. Choking her. Reminding her that there was a harder goodbye in her immediate future.
Again with the intrusive cough from the doorway, and Winslow brushed the back of her hand over her eyes. Yeah, she was a crier, but she knew her mother. Tears brought ridicule. The worst was yet to come.
Tate slung his jacket over one shoulder before he cupped Winslow’s damp cheek. “Tomorrow,” he whispered. “Trust me. I’ll be back.”
She turned into his palm, wishing he’d stay. “I’ll be here.”
Tate was barely out the door when her mother slammed it shut and growled, “We need to talk.”
He stood at the top step of Winslow’s porch, his ear cocked to the uproar in the house behind him.
“You let a man into my home while I’m gone?” Joyce bellowed, her door no more than closed.
He couldn’t detect any comeback.
“Go to your room!”
She talked to her adult daughter like that? Tate gritted his teeth imagining his old man taking that tone. There would’ve been a war.
“Did you hear me?” Joyce reverted to shrieking, but Tate had yet to hear one whimper of justification from Winslow. Was she taking this verbal assault lying down? Was she that timid she wouldn’t stand up for herself?
“You know what, I’m tired and I don’t care,” Joyce yelled, the extra loud emphasis on tired hard to miss. “I’m sick of putting your needs before mine all the goddamned time! That’s all I ever do, and now, you’ve humiliated me in front of the world. The world! Do you hear me?”
Maybe Winslow had gone to her room so Joyce had to shout to be heard? Tate canted his head. It was more likely Winslow hadn’t resorted to fighting at her mother’s level. Whether she knew it or not, speaking calmly might be what incited her mother.
“Well, I’ll tell you what you did. Channel Thirteen aired the coverage they shot of me tonight on the eleven o’clock news just like they said they would. Oh, yes they did, and you made me a laughing stock in front of all my friends, you ungrateful shit!”
As it should have been. He allowed a tiny smile. No one forced Joyce into contacting the news. Hadn’t she gotten what she’d hoped for, a digital recording of the night she’d always wanted?
The sharp clatter of high heels on linoleum punctuated the one-sided war of words. “Yes, you did! You missed your one and only prom! Who do you think I did this for? Me?”
Precisely. Yes, Winslow missed being sensationalized and exploited to further the media’s and her mother’s agenda. Pretty good night if you ask me.
When Pepe let out a shrill yelp, Tate winced. That poor little guy had probably gotten his butt handed to him for straying too close to Mama Bear. A door slammed from inside the house, and Tate stepped away. He hadn’t intended to be a snoop. It just happened when a guy was slow on the uptake, only Tate wasn’t that slow. He now knew more than he wanted about Winslow’s mother, and most of it, he didn’t like.
Ky’s Corvette was still at the curb where he’d parked it. Joyce’s sedan was back in the driveway. The sky was clear, and after that catnap with Winslow, Tate was energized. He rolled his shoulders and flexed his fists. The night felt young. Now what? He had half a mind to text Winslow with the extra phone he’d left in Ky’s ride, but first…
He needed to check out Land’s End.
Chapter Ten
Winslow held her breath, waiting for the nasty hurricane in her house to settle down. When her mother slammed her bedroom door in her usual huff, Winslow gave her a few minutes before she dared knock quietly. “Mom? Can I come in?”
“Go away.” Just like every other time. It took some coaxing for her mom to calm down once she’d gotten herself spun up. Tonight’s display had been particularly unfortunate. Her mom could be the kindest person on earth. Too bad Tate hadn’t caught that side of her. He needed to come over for dinner one night and get to know the real Joyce Parrish.
On second thought...
Winslow rapped once more, still as soft, still as determined. Exhaustion tugged at the frayed corners of her weary mind. It had been a tremendously long day, but she couldn’t go to sleep until she and her mom were on good terms. That was her rule. “I’m coming in.”
“Stay out!” Mom might’ve screamed, but Winslow knew she didn’t mean it. This meltdown was just her way of dealing with the stress of the awful burden she’d been given—her dying child.
Winslow entered quietly so as not to start another tantrum. Her mom had taken up her usual position, sitting on the far side of her double bed, facing the wall, her shoulders heaving with her distress. Rounding the end of the bed, Winslow sat beside her, fighting for the strength to turn her mother’s temper around. There were many days she wasn’t sure who the child was in the house.
Sweet Pepe peeked in at the door, but she motioned him away with a flick of her fingers. He didn’t need his little butt kicked again, the poor boy. That was her mother’s worst sin. She treated Pepe like garbage, which kept Winslow on the look-out for her best bud. Pepe was the one worry she hadn’t solved yet. He’d need a home when all was said and—done.
Winslow gulped. She barely owned anything, so her few personal items could go to the trash. If her mother discovered her journals, well, wasn’t she in for a surprise? Winslow had poured her heart and all of her lost dreams into those college-ruled, ten-by-seven, composition tablets. All of it. The bad days. The good days. She’d kept them hidden from her mom because, well, a lot of those entries had to do with the whirlwind called Joyce Parrish and the destruction she left in her wake.
Winslow knew to her soul that her mom would bounce back after the funeral. But Pepe? Who would love him after she died? What would her mother do with him? Yeah. Pepe’s future was her greatest worry.
Life had been hard on her mother, it was no wonder she fought everyone. Born the youngest daughter of a strict Southern Baptist preacher in Georgia, she’d run away from home and her eight siblings when she
’d gotten pregnant at fifteen. Poor Joyce ended up in Arizona, hence the name of her precious baby girl, so called after the memorable line from Glenn Frey and ‘The Eagles’, hit of the 70’s, “Standin’ on the corner in Winslow, Arizona.” Yada, yada, yada…
Winslow hated the song, but she understood. At that time in her mother’s life, nothing had come easy. Impressionable and trusting, Joyce fully believed the handsome stranger she’d fallen in love with. After he’d proved himself to be otherwise a liar, and left her pregnant to fend for herself in the middle of nowhere, she’d made her way back to the East Coast all by herself and struggled to find work. She couldn’t go home because her daddy declared he couldn’t stand the sight of her after the shame she’d brought the family. He’d disowned her. Joyce hadn’t heard from him since.
From then on, day in and day out, through winter snows and summer drought, (or so the story went), Joyce had slaved, worked tables, counters, and such to put herself through beauty school while tending to her child—as hard as it was to juggle all those jobs. But when Winslow turned three, life pulled the rug out from under poor Joyce once more. Her child came down with a terrible sickness that ended up being cancer. Oh yes. It seemed Winslow’s illegitimate birth wasn’t a blessing as much as an endurance test.
“There, there,” Winslow soothed, stroking her mother’s hand and wishing she could be a better daughter. If only she had more time. “Why do you get yourself worked up like this, Mom? Why don’t you trust me after all we’ve been through together?”
Her mother only half-glanced at her, just enough for Winslow to see her eyes brimmed to overflowing. She lifted a hand to her lips. “But that’s the thing, I do trust you. It’s him. Mr. Higgins is the problem. I don’t trust men, you know that. He’ll use you up and spit you out just because you’re sweet and innocent like I used to be, and you don’t know better. He’ll break your heart, believe you me. It’s a big world out there. I’m just trying to protect you from learning every lesson the hard way like I did. You don’t know what men are like.”
Joker Joker (The Deuces Wild Series Book 2) Page 7