Cory was quickly overwhelmed. Her dinky little offerings of handmade jewelry seemed ridiculous in comparison.
As she helped Isaac and Show set up Isaac’s tent, Cory felt fully the impact of her unworthiness. His woodworking was unbelievable—turned and carved and pieced from stunning pieces of wood, there were selections of all kinds, running the range from little carved flowers and birds to beautiful vases and sculptures, to intricate and elaborate chess sets. Hanging from one vinyl wall were several rows of glossy eight-by-tens, showing the furniture work he could do for special order.
He’d set up a really nice little table for her, with three display tiers, and, feeling shy and insignificant, she busied herself setting out her offerings.
When Isaac and Show were finished setting up his larger pieces, Isaac came over and scanned her paltry wares. “Looks good. You need anything else?”
Intent on keeping a brave outlook, she smiled up at him. “No. This is so great. Isaac. I know I keep saying it, but I really don’t know how to thank you enough. Your stuff is amazing, really. I feel like it’s wrong of me to take space you could put more of that art out on. With my little pieces of junk.”
“Don’t do that, sweetheart. Undervalue your work like that.” He picked up a thick, dark brown leather bracelet with opaque glass and turquoise beads woven into it in a complex pattern. “This is talent, here. Not just the knotwork, but the eye for the pattern. You should believe in what you do.”
“I do. I do. It’s just—not so great in contrast to all that.” With a sweep of her hand, she indicated his displays.
He set the bracelet back on the shelf. “Well, I wouldn’t’ve asked you to put your stuff out with mine if I thought you were gonna bring me down. So let’s make some jack.”
And they did. Not only did they have a lot of people coming through to look at their stuff, and fairly often buy something, but Isaac seemed to know practically all the people who had booths, so there was an atmosphere of reunion around as well. Cory soon understood that this was Isaac’s first time at a show since he’d been hurt. She didn’t know many details, but people around Signal Bend talked a lot, so she knew he’d been paralyzed and had gone a long time in a wheelchair.
So there was a lot of hugging and cheering from the artists who came in to see him. Cory felt a little jealous of all the friends, but she didn’t feel excluded, because Isaac introduced her to every single person, and he introduced her as his friend, the musician and jewelry-maker. She liked that. It had a better sound to it than ‘bartender.’
Around five o’clock, it was time to close up for the evening. They packed what was left of her stuff and Isaac’s small things into his trailer, and then Isaac closed and locked the tent with a thick cable and a padlock.
“That’s secure?” The stuff that he’d left in the tent had to be worth a ton of money.
He nodded. “Sure. And there’s security, too. No sweat, sweetheart. C’mon. Let’s find the crew and get to the eat, drink, and be merry part of the day.” He put his arm over her shoulder and led her down the corridor.
~oOo~
She saw Havoc for the first time when they all met on a big patio at a huge, rustic restaurant for supper. They had two picnic tables pushed together, with four huge pitchers of beer, two bottles of Jack, and a bottle of tequila. And that was just to start. Soon, Show, Havoc and Badger came out of the restaurant with heaping trays of assorted sausages, and several different sides. They set it all out on the table family style, and people started digging in.
The patio was crowded and really loud. A lot of people around them were already drunk. None of the Horde seemed to be. In fact, with Gia and Bo there, Gia sitting on Show’s lap and Bo getting happily passed around all his uncles—even Havoc, briefly—their little group was fairly subdued.
The talk around that rough-hewn table was family talk. Isaac and Cory were asked about how their sales had gone that day, and Shannon and Lilli talked about the fellow hotel people they’d met with and about the day they’d had with the kids. Show, Havoc, and Badger had set up a ‘meet’ for the next day, but nothing more was said about that. Frequently, people she’d met at the booths, artisan friends of Isaac’s, stopped to chat, and they’d include Cory as well.
Cory was content. It had been years since she’d been in a position to relax and not worry about anything—to just be herself and have fun. She texted Nolan and had gotten a fairly quick reply, assuring her that he was at Bonnie’s and studying. He even sent her a photo of his books, open on Bonnie’s kitchen table, to prove it. Cory hadn’t asked for the proof, but she didn’t mind having it, either.
She put her phone in her pocket and poured herself another beer—her third, and the last from the pitcher. Then she pulled another bratwurst from the dwindling stack, smeared some brown mustard over it, and dug in.
“When I met you, I’d’ve bet big money you were one of those vegetarians.” Havoc sat down next to her, straddling the bench to face her. As she contended with her mouthful of meat and bread, he reached for a bottle of Jack and filled his empty beer mug to nearly half.
She swallowed. “Why?”
“Don’t know. You dress like a hippie. You sing hippie music. Figured you were one—eatin’ organic, savin’ the whales, whatever.”
“Nope. I like meat. I can’t afford organic. And I’m too busy saving my kid and myself. The whales are gonna have to take care of their own shit.”
He laughed, hard, lifting his head and guffawing. She didn’t think what she’d said had been quite that funny, and she wondered how much he’d had to drink. When he recovered and looked back at her, though, his eyes were bright and clear. Maybe he was just in a good mood.
She didn’t often see him in a good mood. It was hot.
“You’re coming to the wineries with me tomorrow, right?” He reached in front of her for a knackwurst and bit into it. No bun, just barehanded it.
“Yeah. Isaac and I are going to cover each other in the booth tomorrow. So you guys can do whatever you’re doing, and then I can go with you. Just come get me when you’re ready.”
“Sounds good.” Then Badger called to Havoc from down the long table to get him to add his piece about some guy they’d seen earlier in the day, and his one-on-one conversation with Cory was over.
For the rest of dinner, Cory mostly listened, feeling mellow, enjoying the camaraderie of the group. It had been a long time since she had simply relaxed in a group, and, even though she didn’t know any of these people especially well and couldn’t participate much in the conversations, still she felt relaxed and included.
As sunset turned to dusk, a couple of waitresses came out with another round of beer and booze, clearing the leavings of their meal before they left. At about the same time, Bo, who was not much more than a year old, began exhibiting signs of being overwhelmed by all the new experiences of his day, and Isaac and Lilli packed up their little tribe. Cory noticed that Isaac was walking stiffly and that Lilli seemed concerned, but he brushed her off and collected his son from Show’s lap. Everybody said goodnight, and the Lundens headed off.
After they were gone, Cory realized that she had no idea where she was supposed to sleep. They’d reserved a bank of rooms at a motel in town, for which Cory had not been allowed to chip in, but she didn’t know which room was hers, and she’d left her backpack in Lilli’s truck.
“Shit!”
“What?” At Havoc’s question, Cory turned. He’d leaned in, his face only inches away. He was still smiling, but now there was a crease between his eyes.
“Oh, nothing. I just…I left my backpack in Lilli’s truck, and I don’t know where my room is or anything. And now Lilli and Isaac are gone.”
“Not a problem. We got your key card, and your pack’s already in a room. Handled.” He filled her beer mug from the fresh pitcher.
There was an argument to be made that she should be annoyed that they’d handled all that without talking to her. Especially dragging her backpack a
round. But she was too relieved not to have to sleep on the picnic table they were currently sitting on to be able to muster up much outrage.
“Oh, good! Thanks.”
He nodded and poured more Jack in his mug. It was getting dark, but light suddenly blazed on around the perimeter of the patio, and the first loud chords of live music were strummed. She hadn’t seen a stage area, but there clearly was one on the other side of the patio. Looking around, she realized that the place had gotten even more crowded—it was packed, in fact, and people were obviously enthusiastic about the music.
She needed to pee. A lot. This might be her best chance, because everybody was focused on the band. As crowded as it was, the line for the ladies’ was going to be nuts after their first set. Maybe Shannon would go with her, do the bathroom buddy thing. Nope. She was sitting on Show’s lap, and there might as well have been a Do Not Disturb sign around their twined bodies. Alrighty then.
She stood and turned, pulling one leg out from under the picnic table. Unfortunately, she turned toward Havoc to do it, and she didn’t quite pull her leg up enough to clear the bench. Stumbling just a little, she put her hand on his shoulder. There was a lot of muscle under her palm. She could feel the swell and bulge even under his leather.
“Careful now. Where you goin’?” He caught her, his hands around her thighs, and looked up. Their eyes met and held, and Cory felt something flutter low in her belly. At the same time, his hands tightened around her legs.
And then he blinked, and his expression changed minutely, and the moment was gone.
As loud as it already was, and now with the music getting started, she’d barely heard him. She knew he wouldn’t hear her, so she leaned down near his ear and yelled, “I have to pee.”
He chuckled—she could see it, not hear it—and turned to her ear. “I’ll show you where it is.”
She did not need Havoc to be her bathroom buddy. Not even Nice Havoc Who Must Have Hatched from a Pod. That was silly. She shook her head and patted his shoulder, then extricated herself from the picnic table and his hands. She was capable of finding a bar bathroom.
It took her a little bit to find it, but she managed, and there was only a short line—not even out the door. Once relieved and washed up, she checked in the pocked mirror to make sure she at least looked presentable and didn’t have slaw in her teeth or something. All clear. Good.
The band was nicely into their first set when she managed to serpentine through the crowd back to their table. Show and Shannon were still making googly eyes, like teenagers. Badger was talking to a cute little blonde, whose hands were all over his kutte. Looked like he had himself a groupie. Havoc was sitting where she’d left him, pouring more Jack into his mug. That man could drink.
She sat back down and took a drink of her beer—her fourth or fifth; she couldn’t remember. She wasn’t drunk, though. Havoc had gone quiet, staring down into his booze. Apparently the nice, pod person version had vanished. Without anyone to talk to and feeling trapped, since she didn’t have the key card to her room and she didn’t want to ask for it—which was weird, she knew—Cory turned and faced the band.
They were good, playing a nice combination of raunchy blues and rowdy country. A little chilly on this October evening, and wanting to get some distance from the suddenly gloomy man sitting next to her, Cory decided she’d go up and dance. She’d never been shy about dancing alone. Without saying anything to anybody at her table—not like they were paying attention, anyway—she got up and boogied her way to the dance floor.
Somebody grabbed her hand just before she got there. She turned, half expecting to see Havoc, but instead she was face to face with a man she’d met earlier in the day. Once of Isaac’s artisan friends. A glassblower. Irish, she thought. She had all that, but not his name.
He leaned close to her ear. “You dancin’?”
“Yeah. Hi. I don’t remember your name.”
“Glen. Isaac’s friend. Like a dance partner?” Glen was probably pushing sixty, but he wasn’t bad looking. And his voice was great, even shouted in her ear over the revelers’ din.
“You really dance, or just do the guy shuffle? ‘Cuz if I’m gonna dance by myself, I’ll just dance by myself.”
He laughed at that and then did a little jig or something. That was lame. But cute enough to be convincing.
“Okay, dance with me.”
He bowed and took her hand.
Glen the Glassblower was a pretty decent dancer. Good enough for Cory, at least. It wasn’t as if she had any special training, and she hadn’t really danced in a long time. But she was confident in the way her body moved, and she could follow a lead. So she and Glen had a good time dancing the rest of the set. They’d even worked up a sweat.
Then the band announced that they were about ready to take a break, and they slowed it down with a ballad. Cory was set to thank Glen for the dances and head back for another beer—and to make sure her group hadn’t left her.
But Glen grabbed her and pulled her close. His mouth against her ear, he asked, “Where ya goin’, lass?”
At first, she didn’t think anything of it, just crossed signals. She expected him to let her go when she pushed away. But when she pushed, he tightened his grip.
“Hey! Back off. I’m done dancing.”
Glen let go, looking over her shoulder rather than at her. She turned, wanting to get some distance between them, and saw Havoc coming onto the dance floor. He was looking past her, and at first she was confused. Then she realized that he was looking at Glen.
He grabbed her arm and said, “Night’s over.”
He still wasn’t looking at her, but he was definitely taking control of her. He pulled her through the crowd, not even stopping at their table, and off the patio. Once they were on the street, he kept pulling her down the sidewalk and across the street, to a little motel, its architecture in a pseudo-Bavarian style.
As soon as they were clear of the noise, she asked, “Hav, what the hell?” He ignored her and kept walking. She could barely keep up, and she didn’t seem to have any other choice, so she focused on keeping her feet.
He dragged her like that all the way to a blue door, one of the rooms of the motel—number 9. Without letting her go, he fished a keycard out of his pocket and slid it into the lock. The door released, and he pushed it open. Then he pushed her inside and handed her the keycard.
“This is your room. We have rooms 3, 4, 5, 9 and 10. Your pack’s on the bed. Stay put. I’ll see you in the morning—breakfast at the diner next door at eight.”
She knew she was staring at him with her mouth open, but she was too stunned to do anything else. When she didn’t move from the doorway, he stepped in, pushing her back into the room with his hands on her shoulders.
“Stay. Put.”
He turned and left, closing the door as he went.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Havoc stood in the middle of his own room, his keycard in his hand. He was sure his head had never fucked with him this hard before. He was so turned around and upside down he was practically seasick.
He tried to think through whatever was going on in his head, his gut, his goddamn traitorous cock, but thinking just made him more angry and confused. He knew what he wanted. But fuck, he didn’t want to want it. That way led straight to nothing but bullshit and drama. Ruin.
Chicks ruined everything. He saw it everywhere. Isaac shot. Show’s daughter dead. Brothers meeting their Maker.
Bart. Bart in fucking Los Angeles, a Scorpion instead of Horde. It was an outrage.
And then today, in smaller but still significant ways. Isaac pushing a goddamn stroller, going back to the motel before it was even fucking dark. Show acting like a teenager. Badger blushing all over that little blonde.
But watching all that today felt different. It still pissed him off, but in a new way he didn’t understand. As did watching Cory, in her soft, tight jeans and those red boots, that sweater that covered everything up but still managed to
show everything off, her hair soft around her face, watching her rake her hand through it and then watching it fall back. Watching her laugh and eat and drink. Watching her move to the music.
Watching that piece of shit put his hands all over her.
He needed to think. Or drink. Drink was better. One glance at what passed for a minibar in this little motel, however, told him that he’d have to find himself a liquor store. One tiny bottle of Jack, one of Stoli, and one of Malibu rum was not going to cut it.
Good plan. He turned on his heel and went back out, intending to find a worthy bottle of Jack. But instead of walking into the lot to his bike, he turned and retraced his earlier steps, until he was standing in front of room 9.
No way was he doing this. No fucking way.
He knocked.
No fucking way. No.
Cory opened her door, just a few inches. The security slider wasn’t engaged, but she didn’t open it any farther than she needed to peek her head out.
“What do you need, Hav?”
“Let me in.” He put his hand flat on the door and pushed. She resisted. “Let me in.”
“Why?”
He was tired of being angry, tired of being confused. He should do what he’d planned and go get a bottle of Jack. Or two. Maybe three. Drown the confusion.
“Fuck, woman. Why do you think?” He put some shoulder into the next push, and the door swung out of Cory’s grip, opening wide. She took a couple of quick steps backward, but his strides were longer, and he caught her in his arms and kissed her before she could do more than take a deep breath. Maybe that breath would have fed a scream, or maybe it was just a gasp. He didn’t care.
As soon as his mouth was on hers, memories he’d been trying to lose for more than two months exploded in his head. The way she tasted, the way her soft lips fit under his mouth. The crush of her tits against his chest. The smell of her hair.
She wasn’t kissing him back. She was fighting him, her hands on his shoulders, trying to wedge herself free of him. He couldn’t let her—he was fucking tired of his head spinning like it was revving out of gear.
All the Sky Page 12