Bad Boy Heroes Boxed Set

by Patricia Ryan

  Doc chuckled. Tucker knew Doc got a kick out of the checkered past of the town’s now-upstanding citizens. “Cute girl he’s with.”

  “Is she?” Tucker perused the menu. “I didn’t notice.”

  “Nope, you just got eyes for the owner.”

  Tucker’s head came up fast. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

  “Like hell,” Doc said, but didn’t pursue it.

  Tucker surveyed the diner. The smell of fresh bread filled the air, and there were some pretty flowers on the counter. The kitchen door opened and Gerty Stoffer stepped out.

  “Oh, hell.” This from Doc, who buried his face in the menu like some lovesick kid.

  Gerty was dressed in a fringed dress and moccasins. Carrying coffee, she made a beeline for them. When she reached their table, she put down his coffee and Tucker’s. “Hello, Mr. Quaid.”

  “Ma’am.” Tucker picked up his cup and sipped.

  She zeroed in on Doc. “Hello, Leonard.”

  Tucker’s drink spattered all over his shirt. But he kept his mouth shut and just cleaned himself up.

  Gerty told them the specials without blinking an eye. “There’s a low-cholesterol, high-fiber lunch plate on the menu.”

  “Probably tastes like cardboard.” At Doc’s comment, Gerty’s face fell. He said quickly, “Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

  Smiling at the waitress, Tucker ordered the veggie chili and cornbread.

  Gerty nodded. “Man after my own heart.”

  I like Corona.

  A woman after my own heart.

  Tucker sighed at the memory. He’d been thinking about Beth Donovan and wasn’t happy about it. He’d even dreamed about her, not the nightmare kind this time where she called him a murderer. The X-rated kind, where she called out his name when she was under him. He’d been disappointed when Ron had gotten a ride from somebody else both ways on Friday. Shit.

  “Jesus, boy, where are you? I asked you a question.”

  “Just gatherin’ wool, Leonard.” Tucker chuckled. “Thinkin’ about what the doctor said,” he lied, but it was something he wanted to discuss anyway.

  “Hrrmph.” Doc sipped his coffee. His cheeks were rosy, and his eyes clear. Tucker’s heart went to his mouth and stayed there every time he took Doc in for a checkup. This visit he got a fairly good clean bill of health, though the doctor warned about too much physical exertion and stress, and about his patient’s eating habits. Tucker worried like hell about the old man. Angina didn’t mean a heart attack was going to happen, he assured himself, but the doctor did say a change in the pattern of the angina, or successive attacks, could mean future susceptibility.

  “Got a delivery date for the chassis this morning.” Doc was clearly after a detour.

  “Yeah, when?”

  “Next week sometime.”

  “Good. How long before she’s put together?”

  “Least a month till you can test drive her, if that’s what you mean.”

  “It isn’t what I mean.” Tucker refused to let himself get excited about racing again. “I gotta do some publicity shots with the car, which pisses me off big-time.”

  “Won’t be ready for shots till May. Probably before we go to the Indy, though.”

  “Damn it, Doc. I’m not goin’ to Indianapolis. And you know it.”

  “Thought you’d change your mind this year.”

  “When snakes walk upright, old man.”

  “I got tickets.”

  “You always got tickets.”

  “Stubborn mule.”

  They made stilted conversation until Gerty brought their food. The cornbread smelled like homemade, and Tucker eyed it appreciatively.

  “Enjoy,” she said pleasantly. “Oh, and Leonard, I got a book out of the library on those new kinds of delphinium I was telling you about. Come to the office and see it when you’re done.”

  Doc averted his eyes. “Maybe.”

  Tucker decided to bust Doe’s chops about Gerty—and his new interest in gardening. “Delphinium?”

  Before he could do it proper, Linc Grayson approached their table. “Sorry to interrupt your lunch, but I just wanted to tell you two how good it’s been for Ronny to work with you. When I picked him up on Friday night, he couldn’t stop talking about it.”

  “The kid sure is a blabberer.” Despite his words, Doc’s voice was laced with grudging affection. “Couldn’t get him to shut up about anything. He pestered the hell outta me about puttin’ the car together.”

  “Ronny loves the sport.” Linc glanced over his shoulder, where Tucker saw Beth had come out of the kitchen and was wiping up the counter. “And he’s good at art. I wouldn’t mind seeing him get interested in the design end, as opposed to the driving side. For his mother’s sake.”

  “He should stay outta racin’ altogether.” Tucker looked back to the pictures of Danny on the wall.

  “Yeah, but that’s not going to happen. I thought maybe you two might be able to redirect him.”

  “I hear ya,” Doc said easily.

  Linc smiled and left. Tucker watched him stop and kiss Beth’s cheek before he headed out.

  He and Doc ate the rest of their meal in silence, broken only by a few idle comments. As soon as they were done, Beth appeared, cleared their plates, then returned. “Can I interest you in some dessert? Nana’s trying out a new recipe—yogurt granola parfait.”

  Tucker felt his stomach turn, and Doc looked a little green. “Not for me, ma’am.”

  She laughed. “We have the traditional stuff, too.” She smiled at him. “Doc?”

  “Ah, no thanks.”

  “If you’re done, Gerty wants you to come to the office.”

  The old man feigned irritation, but he got up pretty spry for a guy his age. “Be right back.”

  “I think she’s sweet on him,” Beth said, when Doc was out of earshot.

  Tucker smiled.

  She stared at him.

  He nodded to the seat. “Keep me company?”

  She surveyed the almost-empty diner. “All right. I won’t be busy again until the after-school crowd comes in.”

  “What time is that?”

  “About three.” She sat down across from him.

  He took a sip of coffee. “How you doin’?”

  “Fine.” She twisted a stray napkin in her hands. Pushed up the sleeves of her sweater. It took him a minute to realize she was nervous. That he made her nervous. He settled back and studied her. Her hair looked cute as a button, up like that. And she seemed rested.

  “Do I have something on my face?”

  He grinned, liking her honesty. “Just a few more freckles.”

  “Oh, from walking around New York this weekend. It was sunny.”

  “You were in the city for the weekend?”

  “Yes, Margo and Annie dragged me away for some R and R.”

  “It worked. You look good.” She smiled, and his stomach contracted. “Did you do anything fun?”

  “Hmm, nothing specific. Just walked around a lot. It was pretty mild for the middle of March.”

  “Who took care of the diner?”

  “Gerty and Nana. I also have some part-time help. I don’t usually go anywhere to need it.”

  “Something special this weekend?”

  She shrugged. “Margo and Annie are worried about me. Because of Ronny. They thought I needed some time with them.”

  “It must be nice to have such good friends.” He watched her. “How’d it go with Ron at Lancaster this time? Doc said he’s okay with it.”

  “He is. We’re settling into it.” Her chestnut eyes darkened. “I still can’t believe my kid’s in jail.”

  “Weekend jail. It’s a lot different, Beth.”

  Now her eyes clouded. Shit. Every time he was around her, he had the absurd urge to play knight in shining armor. He reached out and grasped her hand. At first she startled. Then she let him hold it. He squeezed tight, noting her silken skin and feeling the long bones of her f
ingers. “Take it one step at a time. Before you know it, it’ll be Memorial Day.”

  Nodding, she raised her eyes to the ceiling. “I’m not usually this emotional. Every time I’m around you, it seems to come out.”

  “You don’t have to play tough guy with me.”

  She sighed. “Good thing. I can’t seem to.” She visibly gathered herself together and he let go of her hand.

  “Are your no-account in-laws still givin’ you trouble?” He laid on the accent thick. “If so, I can slap them upside the head, you know.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, cowboy. But they’re in Europe still. They call Ronny a couple of times a week, but have left me alone.”

  “Good. I’m glad, Beth.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “So, what’s going on with you? I haven’t talked to you since last Monday.”

  I know. “The car’s comin’ next week.” He sighed heavily.

  “Aren’t you glad?”

  “Nope.”

  “Don’t you like working on it?”

  “Nope. But even worse, that publicity stuff we talked about’ll start as soon as it takes shape.

  “It’s a long haul to September, isn’t it?”

  “Yep.”

  This time she reached for his arm and curled her fingers on him. Her touch felt so good he leaned into it. “I’m sorry. Maybe it won’t be so bad.” She raised her delicately arched brows. “One step at a time for you, too, I guess.”

  Looking into eyes as deep as a backwoods gully almost made him believe it. He was about to say something when the door to the diner opened and a crowd of kids piled in.

  Among them was Ron Donovan. He was laughing with a beanpole of a boy with dark red hair and glasses. Ron scanned the diner, and his gaze landed on his mother. She drew back her hand and waved to him; her whole face lit up when she saw him.

  Ron’s didn’t. He scowled at them, then headed straight over, the tall lanky boy behind him. “What are you doing here?” he asked Tucker.

  “Ron, you’re being rude,” Beth said.

  Tucker told him, “I came in for lunch.”

  “Why you sitting with him?”

  “Ron!”

  Obviously upset, Ron stared at them. The other boy shifted uncomfortably.

  Beth noticed. “Hello, Sammy.”

  “Mrs. Donovan.” He looked at Tucker. “Hi. I’m Sammy Shecker. Ron’s buddy.”

  “Hi, I’m—”

  “The Menace. Everybody knows.”

  “We’re going to the lake, okay?” Ron’s tone was surly. And challenging.

  The other boy frowned. “I thought you told Loose we weren’t coming. You told Lily that, too.”

  Ron threw daggers at Tucker with his eyes. “I changed my mind.”

  “Well, I haven’t changed mine.” Beth slid out of the booth. “I don’t want you spending so much time with Loose and Maze. Besides, you have no community service and you’re not meeting with Joe, so you can help out here for a while.”

  Adolescent anger burned in Ron’s eyes. Tucker met them candidly, wondering what the boy was thinking.

  Liar. You know what. That the sight of you with his mother makes him sick.

  Tucker looked away, just as Doc came to the table. “Hey, boy, how ya doin’?”

  Ron gave Doc a weak smile.

  “This your buddy?” Doc asked.

  Ron introduced Sammy to Doc.

  Sammy’s eyes just about popped out of his head. “I can’t believe I’m getting to meet the legend.”

  Doc grinned. “Chassis’s bein’ delivered next week.”

  “Chassis?” Sammy asked.

  Doc preened like a peacock. “Yeah. We gotta put the suspension on it—shocks, wheels, springs. When that’s done, we hang the body.” He winked at Ron. “That’s the fun part, kid.”

  “It’s all fun.” Ron’s tone softened in the wake of Doc’s attention and talk of the car.

  “Can I come out and see it?” Sammy asked.

  “Sure, bring your buddy along any time,” Doc told Ron. He glanced at Beth, who was scowling. “’Course, you gotta do your dirty work first.”

  Ron shrugged.

  Doc looked at Tucker. “Ready to go?”

  “Yeah, I’m ready to go.” He didn’t even glance at Beth. He was ready to go all right. He’d been crazy as a loon to come here in the first place.

  *

  LATER THAT DAY, Beth had the hot chocolate ready when Ron came out of the kitchen. It sat steaming on the counter, warming her insides with its familiar cocoa smell.

  “I’m done.” He was going for sulky, but Beth knew he’d lost his attitude.

  “Thanks. I appreciate the help.”

  He glanced at the drink, then up at her. A little-boy smile curved his lips.

  “I know you’re mad at me for keeping you from your friends.” She nodded to the chocolate. “A peace offering?”

  He slid onto a stool; she took the one next to him. It reminded her of the night she sat here with Tucker. Promptly she banished the image. It seemed sacrilegious in front of her son.

  “I’m not mad.”

  “No?”

  “I can’t go to the lake with those guys. They get into trouble there. I’m on thin ice as it is.”

  “Yes, honey, you are.” Beth waited. When no more was forthcoming, she asked, “Why’d you say you were going?” He drew in a deep breath. He looked pained.

  “Honey, you can tell me anything.”

  “It was because of him.” Ronny angled his head to the booth where Tucker had sat hours before. Where she’d felt comforted by his presence. Where she’d enjoyed being with him more than she’d enjoyed anything in a long time.

  “Seeing Mr. Quaid upsets you? Makes you want to act out?”

  “Sometimes, but I talk about it with Joe. I’m getting better about that.”

  “Then what?”

  Ron’s look was very male, and very adult. “He’s hitting on you, Mom.”

  Beth’s heart stopped cold. When it started beating again, she said, “No, honey, of course he’s not. We were just talking.”

  “Yeah he is. Like last Monday at Doc’s place when you had a beer with him.”

  “No, Ron.”

  “He looked at you like Linc looks at Margo.”

  “You know about…”

  “I’m not a baby. Besides, I asked Linc. He told me about Margo’s hang-up with the religion and all the crap keeping them apart. I think it’s stupid.”

  Beth had to smile. Though she knew Margo had suffered greatly at her mother’s hands, sometimes, Beth wanted to wring both hers and Linc’s necks. “It’s complicated. Because of Margo’s background.”

  Her son wouldn’t be detoured. “I don’t like seeing you around Quaid.”

  “Oh, Ron.”

  “No, Mom, it’s not what you think. You’re pretty and nice; any man’d be a fool not to see it. And I know you gotta be lonely. But this guy…he killed Dad, Mom.”

  “No, honey, he didn’t.”

  “Okay, he didn’t.” Ron’s frustration level was mounting. “Just tell me you’re not interested in him. Tell me it goes one way.”

  “I’m not interested in him.” She pictured sad green eyes that seemed to lighten when she was around. “What’s more, I can’t imagine somebody like him being interested in me.” She smiled as best she could. “So there really isn’t an issue here. But honey, you’ve got to put your father’s death in perspective and stop blaming Tucker.”

  “Tucker?”

  “I mean Mr. Quaid.”

  She sipped her cocoa and Ron sipped his.

  “Will you promise to try, for me?” she finally asked.

  His face got that little-boy look on it, like the day he cried all the way to kindergarten and she got him to go in by playing the same trump card. Do it for me, buddy.

  “Okay, Mom. I’ll try.”

  Well, that was close, she thought as they finished their cocoa. But she handled it pretty well.

/>   Beth wondered why she felt so awful.

  Chapter 12

  *

  APRIL BLEW INTO Glen Oaks with shining glory. The trees had begun to bud, crocuses and daffodils peeked through the grass and sometimes, on his morning runs, a mild breeze made Joe feel that all was right with the world. Though some things in his little corner of the universe had gone right, others hadn’t.

  He sat on the enclosed back porch of Annie’s house with Faith while he watched Matt through the open screened windows. His son perched on the swing in the yard and kicked at the dirt with his Nike high-tops. His Yankee baseball cap shaded his face as he listened to Linc, who leaned against the tree, talking to him. In the four weeks Joe had been allowed to see his children, he’d made almost no progress with Matt. And it just about broke his heart as he stared at the son he’d abandoned.

  Faith, in her pink overalls and T-shirt with ballet slippers on it, snuggled in next to him on the old slip-covered couch Annie had put out here. She was a bit of sunshine in his dreary days—his little girl, who harbored no trace of the animosity that colored her brother’s relationship with him. She tracked his gaze, said, “I think he got up on the wrong side of the bed, Daddy,” and handed him the book, The Things We Say, that Joe had run across in a Barnes and Noble.

  He laughed aloud. “I wonder where that saying came from.”

  One of her favorite things to do was to try to use the phrases he read to her every time he visited and, Annie begrudgingly told him, she wanted read to her at night.

  Don’t think about Annie . Because there was full-blown, Technicolor resentment if he’d ever seen it. Actually, contempt was more like it. Do you blame her?

  “Read it to me again.” Faith said. “I forgot.”

  “All right.” He found the page with the idiom she’d quoted. “The majority of people are right-handed,” he began.

  “Not us, Daddy.”

  “Nope, we’re both southpaws, princess.” He’d read her the origin of that phrase, too. “Anyway, in the early days, being left-handed became associated with something evil. Almost like a curse. And people avoided doing things on the left side of their body. Innkeepers even used to push the beds to the wall so that people could only get up on the right side. Any lefty had trouble getting out of bed that way, and it often made him irritable—therefore, it was said that he got up on the wrong side of the bed.”