by Laura Drake
Suddenly the voices from the bar area made a jump in volume.
“Dammit, Barn, there’s no reason to get all riled. I only said—”
“No, I’m not taking any more shit from you two.”
Priss walked back to the bar. “Hey. You guys are getting loud.”
Barney ignored her, focusing on his buddies. “I come in here every day, and you ride me.” He reached into his pocket, fumbled around, and pulled out a few bills and his change purse. “I’m done with you. I’m finding another bar.”
His face shone shiny and gray in the dim light over the bar. He swayed on his stool.
Priss was behind him before she was aware of her feet moving. “Hey, Barney. Tell me about the Tigers’ infield.” She placed a steadying hand on his back. Sweat wicked through his shirt to her palm, but he felt cool. He does not look good.
“Nah, screw that.” He pushed off the bar and the stool spun. He slid down but when his feet touched the floor he kept sliding, collapsing at her feet.
Priss caught Barney’s head on the way down. His eyes rolled back. Though his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, nothing but grunted moans came out. “Call 911!” She cradled his head in her lap and lightly slapped his cheeks. “Barney!”
“Ian’s calling for help. What can I do?” Porter asked.
She looked up to the circle of familiar faces around her. “Grab me a clean bar towel. Run it under the cold water first, then drag that chair over here. We need to get his feet higher than his head.”
When they’d gotten Barney’s feet up on the chair, Priss sent Gaby back to the kitchen for some tablecloths to keep him warm.
“The paramedics said they’d be here in five minutes, tops.” Ian leaned, hands on knees, breathing as if he’d run a marathon.
“Calm down. We can only handle one patient at a time.” She reached into Barney’s pocket and withdrew his wallet. “Here.” She handed it to Ian. “Find his son’s number. Surely he has it in there.”
She sat stroking the few hairs on Barney’s head, watching his chest rise and fall, willing it...up and down.
A minute or two later, she heard the sweet sound of a siren, getting closer.
She glanced to the blacked-out, pockmarked ceiling. Thank you, God.
When the EMTs rushed in, she had to relinquish her charge but she didn’t go far. She hovered, explaining what had happened while they loaded Barney on a gurney. They wheeled him out, whispering about a possible heart attack.
When Floyd showed up, Priss told him what had happened and left him calling his insurance broker to be sure he had enough liability insurance, just in case. Leave it to Floyd to focus on the important stuff.
What an ass. She shook her head and walked to the alley, phone in one hand, the wrinkled scrap of paper that Ian had given her from Barney’s wallet in the other. She leaned against Mona, who, contrary bitch that she was, had started right up this morning. Priss dialed the number and the phone rang and rang.
“What?” A gruff voice answered.
She squinted at the faded writing. “Is this Michael Conrad?”
“Yeah. Who’s this?”
“I’m Priscilla Hart. A friend of your father’s. I’m just calling—”
“My father is dead.”
So was this man’s voice.
Worry stepped out of the way of the blast of anger that barreled up and out of her. “Listen. I don’t know or care about your family drama. I’m calling to tell you your dad is ill. He’s in the hospital.”
“Why would I care?”
“Because he gave you life, asshole. Whatever he did after that, you still owe him.” When she heard her voice echoing off the brick of the alley, she made herself take a breath. “So. You drop whatever you’re doing. You get your ass to Widow’s Grove and take care of your father. Do you hear me? Do not make me hunt you down.”
“Who are you, lady?”
“Your worst nightmare if you don’t show. Soon.” She wanted to throw the phone but settled for stabbing the end button repeatedly.
Why the hell was she so mad? Barney was a sweet old man but it wasn’t like she was invested in him. Something ate at the edge of her brain like a ravenous rodent chewing, and chewing. A child, abandoning a parent...
She was the one who wanted truth, above all. Something she’d had to remind herself lately. She had to admit it. The rabid rodent was her own guilt.
Opening the car door, she dropped onto the seat, inserted the key, then sat glaring at the dash. “Do not mess with me today, Mona. I know where the auto graveyard is.”
Apparently Mona was smarter than Barney’s son. She started right up.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TWO DAYS LATER, Adam had a lull in customers and speed-dialed Priss’s number.
“Hey, Adam, what’s up?”
He heard the tinkle of glasses and running water. “I’m sorry to call you at work, but I just heard back from the police chief about that Bear guy.”
“Hang on, let me step out.” There was rustling, as if she’d put the phone to her clothes to muffle it. “Guys, I’m taking a break. You okay for a minute?”
He leaned against the alphabetized shelves of pills. He hated that Priss had to work in a bar. She should be working in an office environment where she’d be respected, appreciated, safe.
He heard the squeal of a door opening.
“Okay, spill. Whatcha got?”
“Well, you were right. He goes by Bear, but his real name is Doug Steele. He did five years for manslaughter in Arizona. Killed a guy in a bar fight.”
He heard her breath catch. Good.
“What did the chief say about him?”
“That Steele moved here five years ago and that he keeps to himself. He says the guy just wants to be left alone.”
“I sure got that impression when we were out there.”
He could almost hear her brain working.
“I need to go out and have a talk with him,” Priss said.
Dammit, he’d been afraid of this. He straightened, pushing away from the shelves. “You’re not considering—”
“I’m just talking about going out there to find out for myself what this guy’s story is.”
“Are you considering allowing Nacho, who makes poor decisions already, to hang out with a felon?” When an old lady looked up from the closest aisle, he lowered his voice. “Seriously?”
“I don’t know. That’s what I need to find out.”
“Why?”
“Because shit happens. People can get a bad rep for things that aren’t their fault.”
“Maybe, but more often people are what they seem.”
“Hey, you’re the one who brought it up the other night. This is the first thing Nacho has shown interest in. He spends time drawing, every night. His notebook from school is full of flames, doodled in the margins.” She sighed. “This flips his switch. And if I can keep that switch flipped—”
“Then I’m going with you.”
“No, you are not!”
He knew that challenging Priss head-on was not wise. She was undoubtedly tougher than him. But the memory of that dark hulk in the beat-up truck the other night drifted into his mind. “Yeah, I am. I won’t say a word when we get there. But I’ll have your back.”
“I’ve got my own back. And Nacho’s.”
“Dammit, woman. Bravado won’t take you very far with a guy like that. He’s a mile out of town, and no one would hear, if...” Freeze-frame flashes of several very bad outcomes hit his brain like bullets. “I’m going.”
“I don’t need you, or your help.” Click.
He’d hoped that Priss could come to trust him, to let him in and get close. That she would finally let down her guard and allow herself to
need someone. He’d thought that because of the week that had just gone by, things had changed. A lot. She’d shared her body with him but also some of her past. And he knew the second was a bigger deal for her.
He also knew he was pushing, hard. But the clock was ticking. School would let out in June and it was already April. Maybe if he really tried hard, he’d find a way to climb all her walls and ring the bell at the top. Did he have enough time?
* * *
PRISS SLAMMED OUT the door that evening after dinner to find Adam, legs and arms crossed, leaning against Mona.
God, this is all I need. She stalked over. “I thought I told you—”
He grabbed her arms, pulled her to him and kissed her. A hard, demanding kiss. He wasn’t asking this time—he was taking. His hands cradled her head, tipping it, deepening the kiss. Her traitorous body reacted, her heartbeat kicking up as she drank him in like a glass of water. And she was thirsty. Moisture dampened her panties and she heard herself moan.
He ended the kiss. Cool air brushed her neck when his hands slid away.
She stood stunned for the span of a few heartbeats.
“Told you I was going. Give me the keys and get in the car.”
The sexual heat morphed to anger, like water on a chemical fire, flaring hot and out of control. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
Adam’s dark eyes bored into her. There was no backup in them. “Someone who cares.” He held out his hand. “The keys.”
Layered emotion swirled in her chest. Outrage, exasperation, and irritation were on top. But beneath it all...was that relief? Screw it. She’d think about that later. Short of kneeing him and leaving him writhing on the pavement, she didn’t have a choice anyway. She held the keys over his palm. “Just so we’re clear. I handle this. Right?”
“Right.” He didn’t break eye contact. He meant it.
She nodded.
He drove out of town to where the buildings gave way and the golden hills took over. Ten minutes later they turned onto a two-rut track that passed for a driveway and into the false twilight cast by the trees.
“Jeez, this place is spooky.” Adam put the car in Park and peered through the windshield at the dilapidated house. “I don’t like it.”
She unbuckled her belt and opened the door. “You don’t have to. I’m doing the talking.” Stepping out of the car she closed the door on his grumbling. She wasn’t likely to forget that this was her responsibility. Not with the weight of it pressing on her shoulders, slowing her feet.
Adam trailed her to the barn. Once inside, surrounded by gloom and stacks of boxes, she yelled, “Hey, Bear! Incoming!”
She needn’t have worried that they would surprise him. As soon as they stepped into the glare of the sodium lamps around the perimeter of the middle of the barn, Bear looked up from where he knelt at the side of an old Camaro, a tiny pneumatic sprayer in his big hand.
“What the hell do you want now?” He shoved his safety glasses onto his wild hair. “Did you find the kid?”
“Yes, we did. I left him at home for this visit, though. I wanted to talk to you.” She forced her feet to make the walk to the car.
“So, talk.” He seemed to inflate as he stood, taking up a huge chunk of the open space. He towered over Priss like a stuffed namesake she’d seen in a restaurant once.
She heard Adam’s throat click when he swallowed.
Grateful for his solid presence at her back, she arranged her face in unintimidated lines. “Nacho has his heart set on learning to paint cars.” Going for nonchalant, she reached a hand to lean on the car. “With you.”
“Don’t touch that!” His voice boomed and she jumped.
“Hey.” Adam’s voice came from behind her. “No need to yell.”
Bear’s small eyes looked over her head. “Who’re you?”
“That’s Adam.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Look, I don’t want to offend you, but I heard you’d been in prison.”
Bear’s forehead wrinkled when his eyebrows shot up. “Well, you got balls, lady. I’ll give you that.”
She made herself hold his stare, even though her brain screamed to run. “I’m responsible for Nacho. It’s my job to ask all the questions.”
“You’re assuming that I want a kid around the place.”
“You told Nacho to come around and you’d show him some stuff. It’s all he’s talked about since.” She stuck out her chin and bluffed tough-like. “Are you the kind of guy who would lie to a kid?”
She heard Adam take a step closer. In spite of her flight reflex’s prickle of warning, she stood her ground.
Bear set the paint sprayer gently onto the hood of the car and lumbered away. “Follow me.”
She exchanged a quick look with Adam, who gave her a small shake of his head before she turned and followed Bear into the maze on the other side of the barn.
The boxes gave way to a small area at the open back doors of the barn. Trees loomed close to the doorway, filtering light. A stained card table held a coffeemaker, a few chipped truck-stop mugs and two canisters—one of dry coffee creamer and the other of sugar. Several folding chairs sat scattered on the dirt floor.
“Take coffee if you want it.” Bear poured himself a cup, then added a liberal dose of sugar. One of the chairs disappeared as he settled onto it.
Though she didn’t feel like coffee, Priss got herself a cup. Adam turned one of the chairs and straddled it, though he didn’t look in the least relaxed.
Holding the mug of coffee, she perched on the edge of another chair.
“Since you had the guts to show up, I’ll tell you the deal with my time in prison.” His eyes darted as if watching their flank for a surprise attack from the trees. “I was pretty wild when I got back from Afghanistan.”
“Army?” Adam asked.
She threw him a sharp look. He just looked back at her.
“Delta Force. Sniper.” Bear’s hand made the cup look like it belonged in a little girl’s tea set. “Anyway, back stateside, I was playing pool one night, minding my own business. A guy heard I’d been in the army and started yapping off. You know, all about how our ‘Imperial Army’ was only over there for an oil grab, yada, yada. Normally I ignore it, but I’d had a few that night and he was more obnoxious than most. Anyway, I punched him. He hit his head against a table on the way down. Broke his neck. The doctors called it a freak accident. If I hadn’t been a championship boxer in high school they wouldn’t have prosecuted.”
His eyes were the deep green of the ocean on a cloud-scudded afternoon. They looked like the windows of a haunted house. “I swore I’d never lose my temper again. And I haven’t. I don’t.”
If what she’d seen the day she and Nacho were here wasn’t temper, she’d want to be somewhere far away when that did happen. Like Afghanistan.
“I keep to myself. Don’t want trouble with nobody.” He buried his nose in his cup and drained it. “But I like kids. Always have. They’re honest. If you want to let the boy come out here, I’ll try working with him.”
Studying what could be seen of his face above the beard, Priss sensed he’d told her the truth. He didn’t owe her an explanation. He could have thrown them out but instead he had offered them coffee and shared his story. Plus, the police chief felt he was no danger.
But what if she was wrong? Nacho would be out here for hours at a time, alone with this guy. Who was she to decide?
As close to a mother as he’s going to get, that’s who.
She looked into Bear’s unwavering eyes and went with her gut. “I’ll pay you.”
Adam stood up. “Priss, I don’t think—”
Irritation flared. Adam may have been right the other night but this decision was hers. “The only thing is I don’t have much money.”
“Let’s see
if he’s really interested first.” Bear put the coffee cup on the table and stood. “If he screws around, or is a hassle, he’s out. I’m not a babysitter and I can’t afford to redo work.”
Priss stood and put her untouched coffee on the table. “I’ll make sure he understands. Nacho needs something of his own to hang on to. Something he’s good at. He really respects your talent.” She stuck out a hand.
Her hand disappeared in Bear’s but his shake was gentle. Another good sign.
Once they got back to the car, she’d barely closed the door when Adam started in.
“I don’t trust that guy.”
She’d felt his disapproval boring into her back the whole time they’d been in the barn but had only been able to focus on Bear, and her decision. “Look, I’ll admit that it helped having you come out here with me.” She took a breath, garnering all the patience and political correctness in her meager store. “But this is my decision.”
“Jesus, Priss, he killed a guy. You’re going to trust—”
“Yes, I am. I’ve been taking care of myself many years and I’ve learned the hard way to be a good judge of people.”
“I don’t doubt it, but what if—”
“Just because we’ve had sex, it doesn’t give you a say.” She faced front, remembering yet another reason she liked to keep things light. She had never let anyone matter enough to tell her what to do—to sway her decisions one way or the other. “Your opinion isn’t really relevant, you know?”
“Well, excuse me for caring.” He cranked the engine.
“I never asked you to.”
His profile was as hard and cold as a marble statue. “That’s true. You didn’t.”
PRISS WALKED OUT of her bathroom, glanced down, then rubbed the toe of her dress shoe on the back of her pants to get the dust off. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”
On the couch, Nacho did his patented eye roll. “You’re across the friggin’ hall. I think I can handle it.”
She remembered back to the nights that she and Nacho had both survived left alone in a drafty bedroom on the wrong side of town. “Yeah, I know you will.” She stepped to the door but stopped with her hand on the knob and turned back at him. “I just don’t ever want you to have to be afraid again.”