No.
That was wrong.
He had known. Melissa reminded herself bitterly.
He had definitely known.
He just hadn’t told her.
Not until it was too late anyway.
Melissa’s husband had been a jet fighter pilot. He had grown up in a military family and joining the Air Force had always been his dream. When immediately after proposing to Melissa, Jesse had made her promise that they would name their first child Jett, she had just laughed and shook her head. She laughed a lot when Jesse was around then.
Their son had just turned four years old when the news came that his father's plane had crashed while flying in the turbulent skies of the Middle East. For months after that Melissa could barely function. After one particularly long stretch of unrelenting sorrow, Jett crept into Melissa's bed and snuggled close to her. Then he laid his chubby little hand against her wet cheek and whispered, “I know you miss him, Mamma.”
Melissa knew then that for Jett's sake that she had to stop being so goddamn sad all the time. It hadn't been easy, but she forced herself to slowly move forward out of the drowning depths of despair.
Melissa had intended the move south to be a life changing adventure for her and Jett. But she found all too soon that the change had to come from within her. It was now close to three years since Jesse's death and most of the time Melissa still felt forced into living a life that she was not quite ready for and maybe would never be.
But she was trying.
The rundown cottage had been a perfect antidote. It had looked so lonely and forlorn sitting on that beautiful piece of land that she felt certain that it needed a family as much as her little family needed it. The elbow grease that it had taken to make the house into a home had been a blessing. It had sent Melissa tumbling from her insular world of guilt and grief and into the decidedly different insular role of a survivor.
That at least was a step in the right direction, she told herself.
So all things considered, Melissa felt that the move south had been a good one for her little family. She loved living on the edge of the woods and the small pond in the back of the property added just the right touch of magic and wonder for a growing boy. Melissa would sometimes peek into the windows of the beautiful house next door with its leaded glass panes, delicate arches, and unfinished interior. She often wondered how anyone could begin building something so unique and then let it all go to ruin. But then again, in her experience Melissa knew that people were always throwing away the things that mattered.
Chapter 4
Melissa had been working outside in the little herb garden all morning and she could feel the long strands of her wild, honey-colored hair coil and frizz in the knot on top of her head. Her knees were grass stained and dark wet crescents of perspiration had formed on the cotton tank top under her armpits. Her sunglasses kept slipping off her nose in a lather of sweat.
Suddenly Melissa shaded her eyes and swiveled toward the sound of the loud caw.
So it was back.
For the past few days, the majestic creature had made its presence known by squawking, soaring and generally making a spectacle of itself. Melissa had never seen the bird in the yard before and now she couldn’t seem to get rid of it. Last night her curiosity had gotten the better of her and she had researched the species on the internet.
She learned that in the world of Native American spirit animals, the raven is considered a master of blending time and space together. According to some beliefs, its appearance is meant to ensure that everything is positioned exactly in the right place at the right time. The bird’s visit is all about recovery, rebirth, and transitioning from the light to the darkness. Apparently, if you are lucky enough to get a visit from a raven, it means that magic is afoot.
Even though it all sounded a little too New Age to Melissa, she smiled slightly to herself anyway. Because really couldn’t everyone use a little magic in their life now and again?
As she watched the bird perch on the roof of the cottage, her thoughts turned to her son who was in the house watching Saturday morning cartoons. Melissa knew that she should go inside soon and get him away from the television. It wouldn’t be too hard. Her little boy was an outdoors kind of kid. Melissa had promised Jett at breakfast that as soon as she was done weeding the garden she would take him fishing in the backyard pond. She looked up at the sky —the early morning storm clouds seemed to have burned off.
It was going to be a beautiful day.
“Hey, Mom?” Jett’s voice broke into her thoughts as he called out to her.
“Here, Jett,” she answered without looking up.
“You still a Mrs.?”
“What?” Melissa pulled harder on the weeds that threatened to choke out her mint.
“Do you have to be married to be a Mrs.?” Jett asked.
Yeah, honey. That’s what Mrs. means.”
Damn these weeds.
“So even though my daddy’s dead, you’re still a Mrs.?” Jett persisted.
Melissa felt her heart constrict at her son's words and she made an effort not to flinch. She sat back on her heels and saw that Jett was calling to her from the kitchen door. It was an odd question, even from her son, who was the undisputed king of odd questions. Melissa gave him her full attention.
“Well, I never thought about it like that,” Melissa shaded her eyes and looked at him. “But yes, I'm still a Mrs., I guess. Why are you asking, honey?”
“’Cause this man here is looking for Mrs. Raymoor and he wanted to know if he had the right place. I didn’t know what to tell him,” Jett called out to her.
In the glare of the mid-morning sun, Melissa squinted her eyes and saw her small son standing on the threshold of the doorway. Something immense had cast its shadow next to him. How many times had she told Jett not to open the door to strangers? A thousand fears flashed through her mind. They were in the middle of virtually nowhere with the nearest neighbor almost a half a mile away.
Melissa knew an immediate moment of complete and utter panic.
She took a deep breath and told herself to calm down, but when the worst had already happened to someone you loved, you tended to live with the fear that the worst could happen again. With that thought burning in her mind, she was up on her feet and running across the yard towards her son before he took his next breath.
“Jett! Come to mamma right now!”
Hearing the panic in her voice, Jett didn’t hesitate. He fled from the doorway and ran quickly to his mother’s waiting arms. Melissa pushed her son behind her and grabbed the handle of the shovel. She automatically calculated how many steps there were between herself and the car parked in the driveway. She felt the satisfaction of knowing that the keys sat heavy in the pocket of her overalls.
“Who’s there?” She fought to control the fear in her voice.
The man who came out from the shadows made Melissa’s blood run cold.
He was the stuff of nightmares—copper-tinted skin stretched over heavily muscled arms covered in black- inked tattoos. His long black hair was pulled back, and a Maltese cross hung from one ear. Mirrored aviators covered his eye while the grim lines of his face looked like they could have been carved out of granite.
Was that a knife on the side of his belt?
“You Mrs. Raymoor?” His voice resonated loud and deep. Melissa knew that her name was painted on the mailbox by the side of the road. Damn rural post office rules.
That was definitely a knife on the side of his belt.
Melissa felt her knees threaten to give way and her mouth go dry.
“Melissa Raymoor?” His voice rumbled across the yard.
“Yes,” she squeaked out.
“I’m Crow Mathison.”
Melissa looked again towards the car. They would never make it.
“That name means nothing to me,” she shot out.
“It should,” he shot back.
Melissa did some quick calculations and decided
that if the man made his move, her best option would be to send Jett running down the path and into the woods. From there he could follow the stone wall that led to her nearest neighbor and safety. Protecting her son from harm was the most important thing. She would deal with whatever came after that.
When the intruder took another two steps down from the kitchen door, Melissa tightened her hold on the shovel with one hand and grabbed hard at the back of her son's shirt with the other. Then she looked down into the little boy's big gray eyes.
“Jett,” she whispered. “When I say run, you take the path and go as fast as you can to the end of it. Then I want you to follow the stone wall to Mrs. Brightwood’s house. No matter what, you do not look back or stop running until you get there. Okay?”
Jett held on tightly to his mom’s leg.
“Okay, Mamma,” he whispered back.
Melissa searched her son's wide, frightened eyes. When she was satisfied that he would do as he was told, she turned her attention back to the intruder. He had taken a few more bold steps forward and was now standing in her backyard. The sun caught and glinted off the silver handle of the knife that sat sheathed snug against his thigh.
“Stay where you are!” Melissa yelled at the man forcefully, but winced when she heard the tremble in her own voice.
This could not be happening.
“Mamma?” Jett whispered from behind her.
Melissa looked down into her son’s frightened eyes. She nodded once and reached to pry his small sweating hands off her. Then she bent down to quickly kiss her little boy before sending him to run for his life.
Melissa took a deep breath and steeled herself for what was to come.
Then…
“Hey, Melissa! Good morning! I see you’ve already met Crow Mathison,” a voice boomed out from the side of the yard. Melissa jumped and tightened her grip on Jett.
The attorney kept walking towards them until he stood in the space between Melissa and Crow. Melissa shot him a wide-eyed look and kept the white knuckled hold she had on her child.
“Melissa, listen to me,” Patrick spoke to her in low gentle tones. “I’m really sorry you weren’t given any advance notice, but I spent over an hour with this man yesterday going over legalities. He is now the owner of the property and your new landlord.”
Melissa glared at the attorney as she fought to get her breathing and then her anger under control. A goddamn phone call might have been…
Before she had time to finish that thought, Jett wiggled out of her grasp and ran over to his friend Mr. Murphy. When Patrick put out his hand for a high-five, low-five, no-five complicated handshake, the little boy grinned and responded as he always did.
Melissa began to breathe again.
However, the relief was short lived, because it was at that precise moment that he turned his attention to her.
“What’s in the building?” Crow looked away from her then and lifted his chin towards the back property.
Melissa’s heart sank. Someone must have squealed on her. She narrowed her eyes at that someone.
“Had to tell him about the business, Melissa.” Murphy shrugged.
Traitor, she thought.
“I run a small massage business out there.” Melissa turned to Crow. “I’m licensed.”
“Let’s see,” he said simply.
“Let’s see?” she repeated.
“Let’s see where you give your….massages,” Crow‘s voice hardened over the last word.
Melissa heard his tone and it set off warning bells in her head. Her hands shook a little as she took off her gardening gloves and shoved them in her back pocket. Then she reached into her overalls and pulled out her key ring.
“It’s just down the little path here.”
“Can I go first, Mom?” Jett skipped to the front of the line.
“Sure, honey. Lead the way.”
Jett steered the three adults down the little stone walkway that led to a small outbuilding. Melissa noticed that her new landlord's stride slowed for a moment as he looked around the yard.
“You paid to have this built here?” Crow asked when they reached the shed.
Melissa nodded nervously. Then she watched on as the rude, hard-looking man took his time and slowly walked around the area. And while Crow took the opportunity to check out her business, Melissa took that same opportunity to check out Crow.
The chiseled jaw line, the perfectly formed high cheekbones, and the hard planes of his face all screamed beautiful bad man. And when Melissa looked into the lenses of his mirrored sunglasses, she saw only a small distorted version of herself. What did he see of her? She could suspect what he thought of her massage business. He looked like he’d seen the other kind before.
“Open it up,” Crow demanded.
Melissa looked again to Patrick, who nodded with encouragement. Could he not hear this man’s tone?
Melissa fought to keep her hands steady as she fumbled with the keys. She really, really hoped that the business was going to be a non-issue for the new landlord.
Apparently not.
She opened the double doors to the wooden structure. It was not wired for electricity, so white candles were perched on rustic painted shelves. A tray of massage oils sat in a corner next to neatly folded, soft, beige towels. Two expensively framed and beautifully illustrated prints of reflexology points and muscular structure decorated the walls. The massage bed took up most of the space with its crisp, clean sheets and a soft pastel blanket.
Melissa stood helplessly to one side.
She looked at Patrick again with nervous eyes and he winked his reassurance while Crow eased his way around the table, lifting the sheets with long, strong fingers as if something was hiding beneath.
“Happy endings come with any of those massages?” Crow said.
“I’m sorry. Did I misunderstand you?” The heat rose to her face.
Oh no he did not! He was not insinuating…
Before Melissa could say a word, Jett chimed in.
“No you didn’t mis’stand him, Mom. You know what that means.” The small boy volleyed a look from his mother to Crow and back again. “She serves up happy endings all the time. All the time. But only to people that she already knows and likes a whole lot. My mom told me that for someone to get a happy ending they have to be pretty darn special. Every time Mr. Murphy comes over he asks her for one. Maybe once you get to know us better, my mom will give you one too! What do you say, Mom?”
Jett beamed proudly.
“You got forty-eight hours to pack your shit and get off my property,” Crow growled.
Melissa felt a searing pain shoot through her temple.
Patrick opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Jett spoke first.
“Mom? Is he making us move?” Jett frowned. “Why’s he making us move? He don’t like ice cream?”
And just when Melissa thought that things could not possibly get any worse, they did.
“Hey, Mister?” Jett reached out his small hand and poked Crow. Hard and square in his stomach.
Melissa inhaled.
Patrick paled.
And Crow looked down incredulously at the kid who dared to touch him.
“You don’t like ice cream?” Jett’s little boy voice rang out. His wide eyes stared up questioningly at Crow.
“I like ice cream just fine.” Crow’s head snapped down and he narrowed his eyes at the child, but his tone gentled.
Jett let out an excited whoop.
“It's okay then! My mom can give you a bowl of just plain ice cream.” The boy smiled in apparent relief. “You don't have to have the happy ending part. Sometimes Mr. Murphy just gets plain ice cream too. Right, Mr. Murphy? Tell ‘im. Tell ‘im how you sometimes just get plain ice cream.”
“What the fu—?”Crow turned to Patrick then looked at Jett and adjusted his language. “What’s he talking about?”
“Happy endings is the name Jett gave to the special ice cream toppings I make,”
Melissa told him. “In our house that’s all that it means.”
And that’s all it will ever mean, you self-righteous ass, she wanted to add.
Then she stepped forward and drew her son away from Crow. “Honey, why don’t you go in and get your fishing pole ready?”
“Mom, is he still going to make us move?” Jett whispered to her. “I don’t wanna go. I like it here.”
“Don’t worry, honey. Mr. Mathison is just a little confused. I’m going take a minute to explain a few things to him, and it will be all right.”
“Come on, Jett. Let’s go on in and find that pole,” Patrick nudged him toward the house.
But Jett would not be so easily dissuaded. Melissa groaned inwardly as she saw the stubborn expression settle down on her son’s face. She was all too familiar with that look.
“Do you like to fish?” Jett looked up at Crow. When he didn't respond, Jett took another step towards him, snaked his small hand into Crow's larger one and tugged on it. Melissa noticed a thin delicately braided bracelet circled his muscled wrist. She hoped Jett would not comment on the skulls adorning it.
“Yeah. I like to fish,” Crow answered.
“I’m going fishing with mom in the pond later. If you don’t make us move you can come with us. I’ll even let you use my fishing pole. I got two. Well, one is broken. But you can use my new one.”
“That’s enough Jett,” Melissa pulled her son away more firmly this time. “Mr. Mathison is only here for a short visit. He won’t have time to fish.”
“Come on Jett, let’s go rig that pole,” Patrick put a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
That’s when Jett threw out his very last bargaining chip.
“I’ll even show you where to dig for night crawlers,” he called out with hope.
Melissa caught Jett’s eye and glanced towards the house. When she saw the slump of his small shoulders as he walked down the path, she felt sick.
“Tell me about the business.” Crow looked at her.
Taming Crow (Hells Saints Motorcycle Club) Page 3