Bad Boy Heroes Boxed Set

by Patricia Ryan

  Tucker’s fist curled, remembering the power of a ton of metal under his hands. His heartbeat quickened just as it had when he’d taken that first slick turn. He could hear the motor roar, smell the grease and gas and sweat. But the biggest high was being in control. For a boy who’d had such little say over life after his mother died, it was a rush greater than having his first sex.

  “Had you ever driven before?” Beth asked.

  “Circuits and sprints is all. But Doc said I was a natural for stock cars.”

  “So did all the papers.”

  He grinned then, recalling how much he’d loved to race. “It got better. I did some test drives, then I started racin’ on another team the sponsor ran. Eventually, I took the pole in a big event and got to be Doc’s main driver.”

  “And the rest, they say, is history.” She mimicked what announcers quipped about the legend of Holt and Quaid for years.

  Tucker smiled. He raked a hand through his hair, soothed enough by the memories to face her. She’d removed her coat and the apron, and stood there in tan Dockers and a navy blue cotton sweater. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail again. She looked so different than she had Saturday night in the leather, but just as beautiful. “It was more than the racin’, Beth.”

  She dropped down on a couch. “Tell me,” she repeated.

  “I…” He began to pace. God, he’d never done this before. Never spilled his guts, not even to Doc who’d had to put two and two together over the years. “I had a bad situation at home. My mama died when I was five.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “She was a wonderful woman. Warm. Loving.” He smiled sadly. “A lot like you are with Ron.”

  Though her face glowed with the compliment, Beth just cocked her head, silently urging him to go on. For some reason, he trusted her enough to dig out his wallet. From the inner recesses, he pulled an old photograph. It was faded with age and crinkled around the edges. But his mother was there with her blond hair and smiling green eyes. Holding him, as an infant.

  “Oh, Tucker.” Reverently Beth fingered the rim of the photo.

  “I got used to the hugs, the…tenderness, I guess. When it stopped, I was shocked. Sad. But I caught on fast.” He put the picture back in his wallet and returned it to his pants pocket.

  “What do you mean?”

  “My father died just after I was born. My mother got hitched to a coal miner, Ralph Pearson, when I was three. He had a son who was thirteen.” Tucker smiled, remembering MacKenzie, the tall lanky boy with the big heart. “If it hadn’t been for Mac, his real son, I might not’ve survived until I met up with Doc.”

  “Why? What did Pearson do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He never paid a lick of attention to me. It was like I didn’t exist. After my mama died, I took care of myself, and what I couldn’t do, Mac did for me.”

  “When you were five?”

  He nodded, remembering the painful craving for attention. For affection. “I vowed in those long days and near endless nights that I’d die before I’d seek out that kind of attention, or affection, from anybody again. Particularly from anybody unwilling or unable to give it to me.”

  Saying it aloud made him realize that was why he needed to stay away from this woman—she could never give him what he needed because her love and obligations belonged elsewhere. He glanced at the door, out to the ER. It was bad enough needing Doc. If something happened to him…

  Once again, he turned his back on Beth. Felt the emotion crawl up his throat. Through sheer force of will he backstopped it.

  She came up behind him.

  Oh, God, please don’t let her see me like this , he prayed a second time.

  “Doc’s the only real family you’ve had, then, since your mother died?”

  Swallowing hard, he nodded. And felt a hand on his arm. Control slipped, inch by icy inch.

  “I’m so sorry, Tucker. I’ve had a rough life, but I’ve always had Linc, Margo and Annie. I can’t imagine…”

  He drew in a deep breath. He wanted to tell her to go, but he couldn’t get the words past the emotion in his throat. He bit the inside of his mouth and clenched his hands.

  And then she was in front of him, insinuating herself between him and the window. The understanding, the sympathy and the naked caring in her face did it. Released the tears that he’d held back since those black and lonely days after his mother died.

  She froze for a minute, then reached up and cradled his face in her hands, scrubbed the wetness from his cheeks with her fingers. He closed his eyes, leaned into her caress. Banding his arms around her, he pulled her up to him.

  And came apart.

  All the years of loneliness, of subtle rejection, of not being good enough, erupted out of him like an emotional volcano too long suppressed. Embarrassed though he was, terrified though he was, he couldn’t stop it. He buried his face in her hair, her shoulder, and wept like a newborn babe.

  She held him. Whispered nonsense words to him. Stroked him with warm and loving fingers. Thankfully the outburst didn’t last long. After a minute or so he quieted.

  But he still held on to her. He became aware of the strength in her embrace, the sturdiness of her frame. This was a woman who could relate to his pain. Understand it. Take on some of it and help him deal with emotions he couldn’t handle alone. It took him a minute to remember she was also a woman he couldn’t have. He swallowed hard, let himself wallow in the feel and scent of her for a few seconds, then drew back.

  Her face was wet. Tiny tracks of tears—for him—marred her pretty cheeks. At that moment, he realized the depth of his feelings for her. In a few short weeks, he’d come to care for Beth Donovan, Danny Donovan’s wife, in much more than a physical way.

  And standing haloed in the bright afternoon sunshine filtering through the window, he realized that it was about the worst thing that could have happened between them.

  Chapter 17

  *

  JOE RANG ANNIE’S bell only once before the front door flew open. Matt stood there in a Yankees cap and shirt, and with a hopeful look on his face. It was how his son used to look at him when he came home at night from the electronics plant all those years ago.

  “Hi, Matt.” Joe shifted from one sneakered foot to the other. Geez, he was nervous at the prospect of being alone with his kid.

  “I thought you weren’t coming.”

  Quickly, Joe glanced at his watch. He was ten minutes late, but he’d given them a half-hour leeway to get to practice. “Sorry. I was at the hospital.”

  Matt frowned. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. I had some business there.”

  Thankfully, it had turned out all right. Doc Holt was scheduled for angioplasty in the morning, and Joe had spent a productive hour with Ron. The guilt eating away at the kid was the same haunting feeling that flickered constantly on the edge of Joe’s consciousness and was brought into sharp focus whenever he came to this house.

  He glanced over Matt’s shoulder. “Is your mother here?”

  “Uh-huh. She’s outside on the deck.” He rolled his eyes. “She’s sanding some furniture.”

  “Where’s Faith?”

  “Doing costume stuff for the recital with Aunt Suz.” Matt angled his head to the back of the house. “Mom said not to leave without saying goodbye.”

  “You’d better do it, then.”

  Watching Matt go, Joe wanted to follow him in the worst way, to see Annie for the first time after Saturday night. He’d thought about her all weekend. Not a good thing, he admitted, as he wandered around the living room, looking at pictures and picking up various knickknacks; he’d been letting his mind drift into X-rated territory, having seen her in that damn shirt of Margo’s. Though he knew that he couldn’t ever have her again, sometimes his libido outdistanced his common sense and ran away with his thoughts. He jammed his hands into his pockets, telling himself to concentrate on his kids.

 
; “Dad, come quick.” Matt appeared in the archway, his face flushed, his eyes flashing worry.

  Joe bolted through the house behind Matt, barely registering that it was the first time his son had called him Dad. Something was wrong.

  When they reached the deck, Annie was sprawled out on her butt, as if she’d fallen back; she was covered with a fine layer of dust, gripping a cloth around her hand. An electric sander lay on the deck next to her. He closed the distance between them and knelt down. “Are you all right?”

  She looked up at him. Her mouth was tight with pain. “The sander slipped. I cut my hand.”

  Reaching out, he went to grasp it.

  She drew back as if she’d been scorched.

  He froze. But understanding came quickly. He sat on his haunches, his sneakers digging into his backside. Slowly, he rested his palms on his jeans where she could see them. It was a few seconds before he could speak. “Part of the Social Services program includes first aid training. If you’d open the cloth, I can probably tell if you need stitches.”

  Her amber eyes scrutinized his face. He wondered if she saw the new him, the man he’d become, or the beast that he feared still lived inside him. Who was he kidding? It was the beast.

  Warily, she shifted her gaze to her hand and unwrapped it. Careful not to touch her, he bent over and looked at the wound. “It should be cleaned. Then I can tell better.”

  “All right. You can get the stuff from the kitchen.”

  Rotely, he stood; Matt plopped down next to her. Joe heard her reassure the boy as he went inside, filled a pan with some water, grabbed paper towels, and hurried back out to the deck. He kept his mind blank and tried not to let the hurt show in his face. She’s got reason, he told himself, though it didn’t help the pinpricks of pain her automatic reaction had caused.

  Back on the deck, he found her sitting at the umbrella table, Matt adjacent to her. When he placed the pan before her, she dipped her hand in the water. And drew in a breath.

  “Hurt?” he asked.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  He closed his eyes. Swallowed hard. Worse from you, Murphy. When he opened his eyes, she was watching him. She said to Matt, “Honey, would you go get me a glass of water?” When Matt left, she faced Joe. “I’m sorry. I meant what I said the other night; that was a knee-jerk reaction.”

  “But deserved. How does it look?”

  Hesitating a minute, she lifted her hand out of the water. He studied it.

  “I think it’s okay,” she said.

  “So do I. You should clean it with antiseptic, then use Neosporin on it.” He surveyed the deck as Matt returned with the water she didn’t really want. “We can clean this up, so you don’t get the cut dirty.”

  “I can do it.”

  Every instinct in him warred to take control of the situation. Part of the problem, his therapist Pete had said, caused mostly by a childhood with an abusive father who always had to be in control.

  Joe stood. “Fine.” He faced Matt. “Ready, son?”

  Matt looked torn. “Should we leave Mom?”

  Ah, here was Joe’s first chance to right some of the harm he might have caused Matt. To not bequeath to his son the legacy that Joe Murphy, Sr. had left him. Joe looked Matt in the eye, man-to-man. “Your mother’s a capable person. She says she’s fine, and wants to do it herself. It’s not our place to decide for her.”

  Still Joe didn’t look at Annie. He’d come to believe what he told Matt, but old habits died hard. He heard Matt say goodbye, kiss her, then he and his son left together.

  Matt was silent in the Bronco. Joe dragged his mind away from Annie and concentrated on why he’d come back to Glen Oaks. He tried to take joy in his first moments alone with his son. “You excited about practice?”

  “Yeah.” Matt dug the ball into his glove. “Thanks for coaching.”

  “Nothing could please me more.” Well, except for Annie to stop looking at him as if he were Jack the Ripper.

  A silence. They drove through streets lined with sturdy maple trees. April buds had begun to fill out the branches, and Joe breathed in the smell of the new foliage through the open car windows.

  “How come?” Matt asked.

  “How come what?”

  “How come you’re so happy about this?” He held up his mitt.

  Joe braked at a stop sign and glanced over at his son. “Don’t you realize that I came back to Glen Oaks because of you?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “I told you that.”

  “You meant it?”

  “I swear to God.”

  A long pause. “Why’d you leave us?”

  In the back of his mind, Joe had known this would come, had practiced his answer. Still the words stuck in his throat like an emotional cotton ball. “I wasn’t a good man when I left. I had to get better before I could be around you.”

  “You told Faith that the first day.” Joe nodded. “I don’t remember much from when you were here before.”

  Thank God . “You were just a little older than Faith when I left.”

  “I remember playing catch. And riding on your shoulders. But I don’t remember bad stuff like Jimmy says happened when his parents got divorced.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Matt’s face closed down. “I don’t wanna talk about it now.”

  Joe knew the coping mechanism, had worked with kids enough to understand they had saturation points where they could remember, or admit, only so much.

  “Okay, why don’t you tell me about the guys on your team, slugger.”

  A smile curved his son’s lips. “Most of ’em are pretty wet behind the ears.”

  Joe smiled, too. “You been reading my sayings book?”

  Matt shrugged. “To Faith. She pesters the heck outta me to read it to her.”

  “I see.” And he did.

  And, just like when Matt had taken that first baby step toward him babbling, Da Da Da, Joe felt the pleasure of his son’s first emotional step toward him after so long.

  *

  ANNIE AND FAITH sat on the front porch swing reading the sayings book together. She was explaining where prima donna came from when Joe’s green Bronco pulled into the driveway. Two things happened simultaneously: her son bounded out of the car and raced toward her yelling, “Mom, you should’ve seen Dad. He was awesome.”

  On his way to the porch, Matt passed Faith, who’d leaped out of the swing and also ran, at warp speed, in the opposite direction toward Joe, her pink-ribboned pigtails flying behind her. In the instant the two kids passed on the sidewalk, Annie had an epiphany. Somehow, she had to help make their father’s return work for them.

  Scooping up Faith, Joe carried her in his arms and came toward the porch.

  “… hit hundreds of pop flies without getting tired…taught Billy Cameron how to field better…and took us all out for ice cream.” Matt hadn’t been so enthusiastic in months.

  Hugging Joe’s neck, Faith frowned. “Ice cream? No fair.”

  Just as they reached the steps, Joe whispered something in her ear. She scrambled down and rushed to her brother who was carrying a white bag along with his mitt. Snatching it out of his hand, Faith dragged out two clear-topped, plastic cups. Two. Annie’s initial reaction was to refuse the one Faith handed to her. “Mommy, it’s your favorite. Pistachio.”

  For a moment, Annie’s eyes met Joe’s. Once, with pistachio ice cream, they’d spent an interesting afternoon in bed. The memory made her shiver, and not from fear. Pulling the navy hooded sweatshirt closer around her, she managed a quiet thank you. Faith ran to get spoons.

  “I’m glad you had a good practice,” she told Matt.

  Matt tugged on his baseball cap. “All the guys thought Dad was way cool. He never yelled once. Even when Jimmy pitched a ball heading right for his…” Matt’s face reddened.

  Joe chuckled and gave him a playful sock on the shoulders. A natural gesture. “I managed a quick sidestep, thank God.”

 
Annie smiled weakly, overcome by the evidence before her. Matt needed a man in his life. To share the joys of baseball and guy stuff that, at this age, he couldn’t share with her. Though Linc spent a lot of time with Matt, it wasn’t the same as having his own father.

  As Matt recounted the practice play by play, Faith returned and climbed on her father’s lap to eat her ice cream. Annie nibbled on hers, unable to keep from noticing how good Joe looked in his own baseball cap, sweaty gray jersey and low-slung belt-less jeans. Worthy material for an underwear commercial.

  The phone rang in the living room. Matt jumped up to get it. “It’s probably one of the guys,” he said and ducked inside.

  Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Faith looked at Joe. “Wanna see my costume for the recital, Daddy?”

  “I’d love to. Try it on for me?”

  Annie’s heart began to race in her chest. She swallowed back her initial reaction as the kids left, remembering Sara’s words, You’re making progress, Annie. Overcoming your fear of him and losing the bitterness are good goals that you’ve set. Determined, Annie bit back her protest at being left alone with Joe.

  He knew. It was reflected in his sad silvery gaze. “I can go inside and wait for Faith,” he said gruffly.

  “You don’t have to.” She angled her chin. “I’m not afraid of you.”

  “You don’t know how much I want that to be true.”

  “It is.”

  “On the deck earlier…”

  “I apologized.”

  “I don’t want an apology.”

  Deliberately, she set the empty cup on the railing, tucked her feet under her and crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want from me, Joe?”

  His answer was automatic. “Forgiveness.”

  She rubbed her shoulder. “I see.”

  “I’m willing to earn it.” His brows arched like a little boy’s.

  She angled her head to the path the kids had taken into the house. “You’re making a good start.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m willing to give it a shot.”

  He cleared his throat. “I appreciate that.” A tense silence hung between them. “I’ll earn back your trust, Annie. I promise.”