“Whatta you got here?”
“What's it to ya?”
“Not friendly, huh?”
“If'n ya mean are we sharin', we ain't.” The man on the hood jumped onto the top of the car, and the roof crackled and groaned beneath his weight.
“I know most of the cycle boys around here. Where're you from?” The newcomer stood leaning against his machine with his arms folded over his chest.
“We're from Chicago, man. From the Big Windy. What's your play? You figurin' to move in?”
“Maybe.”
The man on the top of the car jumped to the ground. The two hoodlums moved to the front and stood shoulder to shoulder against the man in the blue helmet.
“Ya gonna do it all by yourself?” The frizzy-haired man took a step away from his friend.
The big shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. “Do you see anyone else?”
“Back off while ya can, big man.”
“I'll say the same to you.”
“You got no brains a-tall,” the frizzy-haired man said, then glanced toward his more heavily built companion.
“Maybe,” the newcomer said again. “Ride out. Leave her alone. You've got no business hasslin' a woman with a kid.”
“Ha! Ya hear that, Boomy? The country boy's tellin' us to ride out. He's got cow manure for brains if he thinks we'll ride out and leave the split for him. Didn't ya hear us say we're from the Big Windy, hayseed?”
“Yeah, I heard you. That makes you pretty tough, huh?” The man moved away from his motorcycle, his legs spread apart, his fists resting on his hipbones.
Gloria rolled down the window a few inches so she could hear what was being said.
“Tough enough,” Boomy said boastfully. He spit in the dirt, and it landed dangerously close to the other man's feet. “I think I'll take me a little spin on that machine of his.” He grinned at his friend.
“Don't try it,” the man said quietly.
“Haw, haw, haw—we're goin' to have to teach him some manners.”
Boomy took only two steps toward the cycle before the man in the helmet exploded into action. His hands and his feet seemed to lash out simultaneously, knocking Boomy off his feet and sending him into the dirt. The other man got a foot in the groin; he screamed and doubled up on the ground. Boomy rolled to his feet like a cat, started forward, then stopped. Holding his arms out to his side menacingly, he spread his feet and edged forward, waiting for his chance to attack.
“Don't do it, punk. I'm warning you, I can break your neck.” The voice from behind the visored helmet cautioned, “Get on your machine and clear out while you're in one piece.”
“Who in the hell's going to help you, country boy? I'll bust head, man. We was here first.”
“Okay. If you want to ride out of here with some broken bones, c'mon and get it.”
The hoodlum sprang; the other man grabbed his arm, twisted it, and threw him over his shoulder. Boomy fell out of sight in front of the car. Gloria heard a screech of pain and held her breath; Peter's arms were wound so tight about her neck she could scarcely breathe anyway. The man in the helmet stood calmly looking down at the man on the ground. Boomy got slowly to his feet, holding his elbow.
“Ya broke my arm!” he accused, his voice quivering. His face was deathly white.
“I told you what you'd get, but you wouldn't listen. You're lucky I didn't break your neck. Now, get the hell outta here and take this jerk with you before I break your leg too.”
“I can't ride,” he whined, holding his arm close to his chest.
“Ride or walk. It makes no difference to me. Go on back to Chicago and crawl into your hole. You're not fit to be among decent people.” The man's broad back was to Gloria. He stood by while the men mounted their cycles and rode slowly out of the rest area. He followed a short distance and watched them go down the highway.
It was stifling hot inside the car. Gloria rolled the window down a few more inches and held Peter's face to the breeze. The child sniffled, the puppy yelped. Gloria watched the man cautiously. He unfastened the chin strap on his helmet, lifted it from his head, and placed it on the seat of his motorcycle before he turned toward the car.
Gloria sucked in her breath and quickly rolled up the window. The man had thick, curly black hair and a full black beard; the only part of his face she could see were his eyes, beneath heavy black brows. His shirt was open to the waist, and his chest was covered with dark hair. He was big, broad shouldered, and had heavily muscled arms and a thick neck. She looked into light greenish-gray eyes. Oh, Lord! At least there's only one of him, she thought fearfully.
“Aren't you about to burn up in there?”
Gloria shook her head.
“You must be.” Peter began to cry again. “Look, lady, I'm not going to hurt you. Open the window before the kid has heatstroke.”
“Go away.”
“Okay.” He went to his cycle and leaned against it with his arms crossed over his chest.
Gloria waited, hoping he would ride away. When he continued to stand there, she rolled down the window, watching him carefully to see if he might make a sudden move toward the car. Peter lifted his face to the cool breeze.
“Is he goin' to hurt our car, Mom?”
“I don't know, honey. We've got to wait—”
“Can't we go? You said we was almost to Aunt Ethel's.”
“We are, but the other men pulled some wires out of our car and it won't start.”
“Why'd they do that?”
“I don't know. They were bad men.”
“Is he bad too?”
“I…don't know—”
“I'm no saint, boy. But I don't hurt women and kids.” The man flashed a smile that was almost lost behind the beard. The only way Gloria knew it was there was by the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
She rolled the glass down partway. Peter stuck his head out the window, but she tried to pull him back.
“I'd a beat 'em up, if I was big.”
“Yeah? Well, I did it for you, this time. You can pay me back someday.”
“My dog's got to potty.”
“Peter! Hush up!”
“Let him out and I'll watch him.”
“No! Peter—”
“Lady, I can understand your being nervous and scared. Those jerks were for real. But I sent 'em packin', didn't I? Look, I've not attacked a woman with a kid for a whole week now.”
She ignored his attempt to be funny. “How do I know you won't harm us?”
“'Cause I'm tellin' you. Are you going to sit there on your butt all night?”
“My car won't start.”
“I know that. I can see the wires hanging out.”
“Why did you stop?”
“I saw you at the station back in Lewistown and knew you and the kid were alone.”
“You were following me!”
“I was going home. Where are you going, anyway? And what in hell are you doing out on the highway dressed like that?”
Gloria's mouth dropped open and a tingling warmth flooded her face that had nothing to do with the heat in the car. She glanced quickly down at the brief tan shorts and the backless halter she was wearing.
“There's no air conditioning in this car, not that it's any business of yours.”
“You're asking for trouble going around half naked,” he insisted. “Half of Lewistown was gawking at you.”
“Cisco wants out.” Peter was holding the squirming puppy.
The man came to the car. “Hand me the pup, boy.”
“Will ya hurt him, mister?”
“Naw. I like dogs.”
Without hesitation Peter passed the puppy through the opening and watched anxiously as the big hands took him. “His name's Cisco,” he called. “What's yours?”
“Jack. Here, now, little fellow…” He held the small brown body close to his chest and rubbed between the furry ears with long, strong fingers before he gently set him on the ground. The puppy scurried abo
ut in the grass and Peter craned his neck to watch him. The man looked directly at Gloria. “Have you decided what you're going to do?”
“Not…yet.”
“We're goin' to Aunt Ethel's and we're almost there,” Peter said, no longer shy and afraid.
“Where's that?”
“My aunt has a motel west of here.”
“The Rusty Cove? I pass it on my way home. It's about ten miles from here.”
“Will you stop there and tell my aunt where we are and ask her to send someone for us?”
“I could do that, but it'll be night long before they come back for you. Do you want to sit here in the dark?”
“I don't want to,” Gloria said crossly. “I don't have much choice.”
“Yes, you do. Lock up the car. I'll take you and the boy to the motel on my cycle. They've got a pickup and I'll bring it back and tow your car in.”
“We can't ride on…that thing!” The idea was out of the question. Ride with him? For all she knew he was cut from the same cloth as the men who had wrecked her car. He certainly looked just like them.
“Cisco! Come back—” Peter opened the door on the passenger side and darted after the puppy, who was running toward the highway.
“Peter!” Gloria yelled frantically.
Jack ran after the puppy and scooped him up before he reached the road. He came back and knelt down beside Peter.
“How long have you had him?”
“We got him in Des Moines. He was in a store window by the motel. He was cryin' and wantin' out. Mom said I could have him if I learned how to take care of him. She said Aunt Ethel lived in the country and she wouldn't mind. Mom said I could name him what I wanted to, so I named him Cisco like the man on TV. He's the good guy.”
“Is the Cisco Kid still on? I used to watch him when I was a kid.”
“Peter,” Gloria called sharply. “Get back in the car.” She stood beside the open door, her heart hammering with fear, her shapely bare legs trembling. Sweat plastered her short blond hair to her forehead and pale cheeks.
Peter and the man came back to the car. His height topped Gloria's five-foot-seven-inch frame by more than a half a foot. He was broad in the shoulders and chest, yet solid and lean through the waist and hips. His clothes were clean, but his hair was too long and his boots were old and scuffed. She wished he didn't have that damned beard so she could see his face.
Gloria stood still, her head tilted back and a big flashlight clinched in her fist like a weapon. She reached out and grabbed Peter's arm and pulled him close to her. The green eyes glinted as the man assessed her stance. Suddenly he laughed. It was a pleasant laugh, full of amusement.
“You've got more guts than brains, sister. Didn't you see me break that punk's arm? I could have just as easily broken his leg or his stupid neck. You wouldn't stand a chance against me with that flashlight, but I admire your courage. A mother protecting her cub—”
“What…are you going to do?”
“Nothin', dammit! If I didn't have this beard and wasn't riding a motorcycle you'd be glad to accept my help. Isn't that true? You're a redneck, sister! You don't like what you see. Well, that's too damn bad. I don't like what I see either.” He paused, and when she didn't say anything, he continued, slowly and patiently, “I don't hassle women with kids and I don't really like being on my cycle in these mountains at night, so if you're coming with me, let's get going.”
“You can't take both of us…and the puppy. We can't leave him here.”
“Of course not. The boy can sit in front of me, you can sit behind.”
“I've never ridden—”
“There's nothing to it.”
“Let's go, Mom. I'll hold Cisco. I want to ride on the motorcycle. Var…oom! Var…oom!”
“Hush up, Peter,” Gloria said impatiently. “I…want to see some identification.”
“Oh, for God's sake! What difference would that make? I could show you anything, and you'd know no more about me than you do now. Believe me, I don't have designs on your body, lady. It's nice enough, but kinda skinny for my taste. Besides I'd have to be a pervert to take you with the hotshot looking on.”
“Watch your mouth,” she warned, glancing at her son.
“Mom's name's Gloria. Mine's Peter. Yours is Jack. I know a girl in Cincinnati named Jackie. I don't like 'er.”
“Get your purse and lock the car.”
“But—”
“Lady!”
“Her name's Gloria.”
“Okay, okay. C'mon, Glory.” He chuckled, reached for his helmet, and put it down over Peter's head. “You'll have to wear this, big shot. It's too big, but it's better than nothin'.”
Peter was delighted. “Look at me, Mom.”
The man's thoughtful gesture finally convinced her to go with him. She reached inside the car for her bag and swung it over her shoulder.
“Does the boy have a jacket he can zip or button up? That way he can carry the pup.” The man's voice was close to her ear, and she froze. Sensing her tension he backed away and laughed softly. “You're about to go up with the shades, Glory. Have a little faith. Jesus had a beard too.”
“Don't be sacrilegious,” she snapped.
Gloria rummaged among the blankets and found the jacket, then locked the car. Peter asked if he looked like a spaceman in the helmet.
“Just like an astronaut,” she said lightly, helping him into the jacket.
“Cisco'll have to ride in here, sport. Do you think you can keep him still?” The man knelt beside Peter, slipped Cisco inside the jacket, and zipped it up to make a deep pocket.
“Sure. He likes me better'n anybody.”
“Okay. Let's go.” He straddled the machine and balanced it with a foot planted on each side. He lifted Peter up and set him in front of him. “Hop on.” He looked at Gloria over his shoulder, and his eyes traveled from hers to the V of the halter and on down to the bare midriff.
“I…where do I sit?” Now she was painfully aware of her abbreviated costume. She hadn't given it a thought until he'd mentioned it.
“Straddle the seat. You didn't expect to ride sidesaddle, did you?” At the hint of amusement in his voice her wide, generous mouth tightened, and her chin lifted defiantly. She looked back at him with cold dislike in her amber eyes, swung her leg over, and sat down.
“Put your feet here.” He reached back and grasped the calf of her bare leg and guided her foot to the place behind his. “Hold on to my belt. I doubt if you're too anxious to put your arms around me,” he said with a chuckle, and pushed down on the lever that started the machine.
“Hold on, Peter,” she yelled over the roar. Oh, Christ and all that's holy! What in the world are we doing on this thing?
“Don't worry about him.” The words came from the bearded face.
Don't worry! How can I help it, for goodness' sake? The machine bumped over the uneven ground and up onto the smooth highway. There was not a car in sight, and as the cycle picked up speed, Gloria's arms inched around the man's waist, and her hands grabbed hold of her son's jacket. Oh, baby! What have I gotten you into?
The breeze was cool on her damp skin, and soon she was shivering and hovering close to the broad back in front of her. Her short blond hair, with its simple, stylish cut, was swept back by the wind. After the first few minutes she had to admit that he wasn't going terribly fast and that he was being careful. They reached the top of a long incline and started down.
Gloria relaxed a little. Oh, Marvin, if you could see me now! A small giggle escaped her lips. He would be horrified at the thought of his wife, his ex-wife, on a motorcycle with a bearded giant who looked as if he were a member of the Hell's Angels. Unbending, fastidious, statusconscious Marvin, who was humiliated when his wife stooped to help a servant clean up a spilled drink, but who thought nothing of maneuvering a small businessman out of his holdings in order to add them to his conglomerate, would see nothing at all amusing about her and Peter on the motorcycle. As a matter of fact he
was more than likely going through Cincinnati with a fine-tooth comb looking for them.
There were times when Gloria was completely mystified by Marvin's attitude toward her. They had been divorced for a year, yet he still thought he could control her life. He detested Peter and had told her, time and again, that he fervently regretted the day they had adopted him.
How foolish she had been to think she wanted red velvet. She gave herself a few minutes to remember how it had been in those days. She had lived all her life in a small town in southern Ohio. Her mother and father, and her older brothers and sisters, had always worked in the local bakery, and they were determined she would seek employment there too. But, equally determined not to be trapped in a dead-end situation, she went to Cincinnati to work for a company who collected rating statistics for everything from television programs to politics. Every day, eight hours a day, five days a week, she had sat at a machine and punched in numbers for a salary that barely covered car payments, rent, and food. The work was boring, but the city offered many cultural activities lacking in the small town.
It was at Christmastime, just a few days before the company dance, when she saw the red velvet dress in the store window. The rich red material symbolized everything she had ever dreamed of having, and she wanted that dress more than she had ever wanted anything in her life. It had been totally out of character for her to withdraw all her savings and buy the dress, but she did. When she wore it to the dance she felt like a princess. And in it she attracted one of Cincinnati's wealthiest men, Marvin Eugene Masterson, the owner of the company she worked for, and her life was drastically changed forever.
I wanted red velvet, she mused. But I soon discovered that red velvet doesn't wear well day after day. After a while it looks tawdry and cheap, just as Marvin's values were tawdry and cheap, false and insincere, when the glamorous facing was torn away.
Thank God, she murmured against the stranger's back, Peter and I have finally gotten away from Cincinnati. This is a new beginning for us. I'll work hard and teach my son respect for himself and for others and that the world doesn't begin and end with a bank account or prestigious friends.
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