Power Mage 4

by Hondo Jinx

  Tammy picked up a guitar and sat on top of the other picnic table. Nina sat down beside her and took the guitar from her friend.

  Brawley wished he could stay. Nina had a lovely voice, and from what she’d told him, Tammy had sung professionally. No big money, just a gig here and there. But Nina contended that her friend could’ve made it if life hadn’t gotten in the way.

  “Brawley Hayes, don’t you go lighting a shuck without kissing me goodnight,” Mama said. “You know I’ll be fast asleep before you come back.”

  “Goodnight, Mama,” Brawley said, leaning past Hazel to hug and kiss his mother. “Thanks again for putting everyone up.”

  “I love it,” Mama said, and he knew she was telling the truth. As a young newlywed, Mama had always assumed that she would fill the ranch with children, who would later build houses and give her lots and lots of grandchildren. Having all these people here, especially the young ones, suited her.

  To Hazel, Brawley said, “Goodnight, ma’am. I’m glad you’re here.”

  “If you’re glad I’m here,” Hazel said, rising to her feet, “do me a solid and walk my ancient ass to the house. My escort pooped out on me.” She was referring to Jamaal, who had crashed hard before dinner, worn out from driving so far and drinking in the sun with Brawley. “I need to use the powder room and can’t see a damn thing at night, thanks to these cataracts. I’d rather not trip over a collie if it’s all the same to you.”

  Brawley took Hazel’s arm and started toward the house.

  The old woman halted when Tammy and Nina started playing a country song Brawley had never heard before. Nina was good on the guitar.

  Hazel touched Brawley’s arm and smiled at him. “You two are good together.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, glancing at his purple-haired wife. “Nina’s a peach. Without her—”

  “Not Nina,” Hazel said. “Tammy.”

  Brawley chuckled. “We’re not together, ma’am.”

  “No, not yet, but you need to be. Don’t you feel it?”

  Tammy’s voice filled the night, singing, “First time I ever saw you, late that summer night, I wanted you with all my heart but couldn’t make it right.”

  Tammy had a perfect voice for country. It throbbed with emotion, mournful and vulnerable yet strong. Warbling prettily, she poured out her sorrow.

  “Sometimes in life, our mind must fight, a battle with our heart, when deep desires set wildfires, after ‘til death do us part.”

  Tammy rocked back and forth, eyes lazing shut, her face beautiful in the firelight shadow play.

  Brawley thought for a second about what Hazel was saying. He did feel drawn to Tammy. Had ever since they met. Powerfully, in fact. It wasn’t lust. He felt a natural connection with her and enjoyed talking to her. Her voice, her mannerisms, how she handled everything. Tammy was very real. He appreciated her toughness and understood her struggles and felt an innate tenderness toward her and her children.

  “My old man, my old man, why did he have to go?

  My old man, my old man, he left me here below.

  My old man, my old man.”

  Brawley knew why he’d never heard this song. Tammy had written it. Listening to the words, he felt the creep of emotion in his chest.

  “I look at you,

  and know the truth,

  but cannot take your hand.

  Because the past,

  it lasts and lasts,

  I already had a man.”

  The guitar cut off abruptly.

  “I’m sorry,” Nina sobbed. “I can’t. I just can’t.” She scampered down off the table and scooted off into the darkness.

  For a second, all was silent, save for the crackling of the flames and Nina’s soft weeping.

  Tammy glanced up at Brawley with eyes full of emotion, then turned to go comfort her friend.

  Brawley left them to it and started escorting Hazel once more toward the house. “I don’t think Tammy’s in the right frame of mind, ma’am. Her heart still belongs to her husband.”

  “Yes, it does,” Hazel agreed. “And part of it always will. Just as you will never give your whole heart to one woman.”

  “With all due respect, ma’am,” Brawley said, “I give my whole heart to each and every one of my women.”

  Hazel grinned slyly at that. “Well then, sonny, why can’t Tammy do the same with you? Besides, why do you think she’s suddenly clinging so hard to her dearly departed?”

  “I reckon she always has,” he said.

  “Of course,” Hazel said, “but not like this. You brought her heart to life again. It doesn’t matter if you just met, and you know it. Hearts don’t work that way. And you are the first man to touch her heart since Charlie died. That makes her recoil sometimes, because there’s a part of her that feels like she’s betraying her deceased husband. She just needs a little time is all. Don’t give up on her, Brawley. She needs you, and her kids need you.”

  Hazel’s blunt statements stopped Brawley in his tracks because they were so undeniably true.

  “You stick with them,” Hazel said, “and you’ll soon learn that you need them just as much.”

  “I reckon maybe you’re right, ma’am, but—”

  “Spare me the qualifications, Brawley,” Hazel said. “I have spoken the truth, and you know it.” Abruptly, she pulled her arm free and started for the house without him. “Though I might have lied about not being able to find my way in the dark. I had to get you away from that table. Didn’t want you saying anything that might cause young Ty to whip your ass.”

  And cackling like the world’s wisest madwoman, Hazel doddered into the house.

  23

  Brawley drove out the bumpy ranch road, the F-150’s bouncing headlights swirling with dust.

  Hazel had taken him by surprise. As had his rush of emotion for Tammy.

  Give her time, Hazel had said.

  Brawley knew Tammy needed time. The question was, how much?

  Because he needed to crack strands. That might sound harsh, might even be harsh, but that didn’t make it any less true. Any day now, the shit was going to hit the fan in a colossal way, and he needed to be ready.

  His first duty lay with his women and his family. He would do anything to protect them.

  And yet Hazel’s claims about Tammy and the kids rang true.

  Brawley shook his head. Women. Just when you thought you had things figured out, they muddled it all up again.

  He didn’t know where he stood with Tammy. He wanted her and reckoned she wanted him. But how long would it take her to come to terms with everything?

  Just keep driving, he told himself. Keep driving and we’ll see how things shake out.

  Up ahead, the shed was lit up bright. As Brawley pulled in beside Remi’s Harley, the beautiful Carnal stepped from the shed and waved.

  Remi wore her usual outfit—combat boots, leather pants, and a tight, black tank top—but she was holding an AK-47 and had a belt of grenades strapped across her body like a beauty queen’s pageant sash.

  Frankie was nowhere in sight. The Door’s “Break on Through” played loudly within the shed, Jim Morrison singing about night dividing day.

  “Hey, handsome,” Remi said, coming over to give him a kiss as he stepped from the truck carrying two six-packs.

  “How’s Frankie doing with the D8?”

  “She’s been cursing up a storm in there. Mostly about whoever hurt the engine, but I’ve heard a couple of victorious whoops, so I think she’s making progress.”

  “Good.” He glanced into the shed and saw Frankie’s thick, shapely legs jutting out from underneath the tractor.

  Then he scanned the range, which spread quietly away into darkness. “Anything moving out there?”

  Remi shook her head. “Animals, that’s it.”

  “But no tigers.”

  “No tigers.”

  “I doubt we’ll have any more trouble tonight,” Brawley said. “The tractor was a hit and run. Missio
n accomplished. Ten bucks says Blanton Cherry calls in the morning with a new offer.”

  “Probably,” Remi said. “I’ve been wondering, though. Why does he keep making offers?”

  “He wants the ranch.”

  “Why doesn’t he just Seeker your dad the way he did the widow?”

  “I’ve wondered the same thing,” Brawley said. “Pa’s set in his ways. He’d no sooner sell this ranch than he would sell me or Mama. Maybe Cherry tried and failed. You head on back now and get some ice cream. Nina and Tammy are singing.”

  Remi shook her head. “I don’t think Cherry’s outfit will try anything, but I won’t leave Frankie exposed.”

  “I’ll stick around,” Brawley said. “She’ll be safe with me.”

  A mischievous smile lit Remi’s pretty face, and she reached down to snatch one of the beers Brawley was carrying. “You’re going to guard her body, huh?”

  “I’ll stand lookout,” Brawley said. “Now you get out of here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Remi said with that maddening wiseass smile still plastered on her face. “Let me say goodbye to Frankie first. Is Jamaal up yet?”

  Brawley shook his head. “After all that driving, the Texas heat, and splitting a couple of six-packs with me, I think he’s cashed in his chips for the night.”

  “Not to mention the fact that you blasted him in the chest with a Mack truck of telekinetic force,” Remi said.

  Brawley shrugged. “If that helps him sleep, I did him a favor. He heads to the airport early.”

  “Airport? What about his car?”

  “He’s leaving it for Tammy. Says he doesn’t really need a car in Key West. Says he’ll make his partner drive.”

  “Wowzers,” Remi said. “Lucky Krupski. Well, I’m going to interrupt Jamaal’s beauty sleep because I need him to take care of some stuff back in Key West. I want some of my shit. And he needs to make some other things disappear.”

  “I hate to break it to you, darlin, but you are a fugitive from the law now. They impounded your stuff as soon as they figured out you were riding with me.”

  “Which is why it’s nice having Key West’s highest-ranking Order official on our side.”

  Remi went inside and crouched down to say goodbye to Frankie. Brawley carried the beers over to the mini fridge the girls had lugged out here. He remembered then that the shed had no power—and saw that the fridge and lamps were all plugged into a blocky little cube he’d earlier noticed among Frankie’s possessions. Some kind of ultra-portable generator, apparently.

  “Break on Through” ended, and in the brief silence between songs, Brawley heard the two women laughing conspiratorially.

  Then Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall” blocked them out.

  Frankie rolled out from under the machine on a creeper cart, looking sweaty, greasy, and gorgeous. Her curves wobbled as she sat up and took Remi’s hand, then wobbled again when the Carnal pulled her to her feet and hugged her goodbye.

  Frankie’s bright smile contrasted sharply with the streaks of grease beneath her lively green eyes. “Hey, Brawley. Thanks for bringing more beer. Remi drank the rest.”

  “Liar,” Remi belched and, sliding past Brawley, snatched another beer.

  “Get your sweet ass out of here before I take you over one knee, beer thief,” Brawley said.

  “You keep talking like that,” Remi said, straddling her Harley, “and I’ll definitely stick around, handsome.” She slapped her leather-clad ass, and the Harley roared to life.

  Remi looked at the bike, confused.

  “I started it for you,” Frankie laughed. “Go.”

  Remi roared off toward the ranch, holding the beer high overhead, rich laughter trailing in her wake.

  Brawley handed Frankie a beer.

  She held it to her sweaty cheek, eclipsing a dimple, and her long lashes fluttered as her big eyes closed. “Mmm, that feels good,” she groaned—and thereby triggered a rush of X-rated memories from the previous night, bringing Brawley to half-hardness.

  Frankie talked about the engine as she drank the Shiner. She was livid that someone had “attacked” the “innocent” tractor.

  She detailed what she had done so far and how she planned to fix it.

  She would need to special order some of the items. But she had managed to fix a portion of the damage already. Eventually, once she had the engine rebuilt and optimized, Frankie planned to use bio-plate to rejoin, seal, and armor the cracked block.

  “Right now, my biggest problem is reaching a snapped rod that fell into the engine and got stuck. I was trying to fish it out when you showed up.”

  Brawley sipped his beer and ambled over to the machine. The ground was strewn in tools and parts. Frankie’s welding gear sat nearby, explaining the fried smell lingering within the shed.

  “Where’s the part stuck?” he asked.

  Frankie crouched down beside him. Her arm pressed into his. “Right in here,” she said. She leaned and twisted, pointing to where the rod had jammed inside the broken engine. As she did, her large breast brushed across his arm. “It’s stuck deep inside her.” Pulling back out, she gave him another dose of grade-A elbow titty.

  Had she done that on purpose?

  Yes, his gut told him. Yes, she had. And the monster between his legs roared to life.

  Not that flirting meant Frankie was down to crack strands, of course. Besides, now was not the time. His head was all tangled up with thoughts of Tammy, Frankie had a ton of work ahead of her, and now that he was both cloaked and shielded, Brawley had to run some recon next door and see what Blanton Cherry was up to.

  “Hold on, darlin,” Brawley said. He concentrated for a second, reaching out with his Seeker strand. Locating the position of the dropped piece, he decided to try the sort of thing Nina was always telling him to practice.

  So far, he’d mostly used telekinetic force in blasts of unbridled violence. But using his Unbound strand only as a weapon would be a huge waste.

  Concentrating hard, he released a trickle of guiding Seeker juice, then tapped his Unbound strand and methodically wrapped the rod in telekinetic energy. Then he drew the rod up out of the engine.

  All dimples, Frankie leapt to her feet and clapped her hands, making her incredible body bounce in ways Brawley reckoned might not even be legal in portions of the Bible Belt.

  She seized the rod in her grease-slicked hand. “Awesome! Thanks, Brawley!”

  “Happy to help,” he said, and clinked his beer against hers.

  They drank.

  “I’m going to keep you around,” Frankie said. “We work well together.” Then fresh excitement lit her face. “Oh, I got so involved in the engine I almost forgot. Stay here.”

  Frankie set her beer on the tractor and hustled deeper into the shed, where she unzipped a canvas bag and started rooting around inside. “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.”

  Brawley shut his eyes, feeling foolish. But a man will do foolish things for a beautiful woman.

  “Open your eyes!” Frankie said. Face blazing with excitement, she handed him a cardboard box wrapped in blue paper he thought he recognized from Mama’s house. The wrap job was very neat.

  “What’s this, a gift?”

  Frankie nodded. “And no Seeking the contents. Open it like a normal person.”

  Brawley regarded the box. It was a little bigger than a shoebox and had some weight to it. He set his beer down and fetched his pocketknife and opened the short blade and turned the box in his hands, slitting tape.

  “Holy crap,” Frankie said, “what are you, a hundred years old? Open it, already. I’m so excited to see your reaction.”

  “Patience, darlin,” Brawley said, jacking with her, taking his time as he folded the knife and returned it to his pocket. Then he removed and folded the wrapping paper and set it on the tractor next to his beer, careful not to lay the paper in the condensation pooling at the bottom of the bottle.

  “A brown box,” Brawley said, turning it
in his hands. “Thanks, darlin. I love it.”

  Frankie shoved him. “Come on, Brawley. You’re just messing with me now. Open it.”

  Brawley lifted the lid and forgot all about messing with Frankie. “Wow,” he said, reaching inside. “Did you…?”

  “Yes,” Frankie said. “Sage said it was special to you, so I worked on it today while you were shooting. It’s good as new. Better than new, actually. Do you like it?”

  “Like it?” Brawley said incredulously as he flipped open the bail and gave it a spin. “I love it.”

  The 1873 Colt .45 Peacemaker looked good as new, save for a bit of wear on the walnut grips. Frankie had removed the old patina. The bore was clean with good rifling, and the action was smooth.

  The family heirloom felt good in his hand. The weight and balance and size were right, but there was also a deep sense that the weapon belonged in his grip.

  Tucking the unloaded pistol into his waistband, he hauled Frankie into an embrace. “Thanks, darlin.”

  Frankie hugged him back, pressing her ripe body against him.

  She felt so good he held on for a while, breathing in her scent and savoring the moment.

  Frankie made no move to break the embrace.

  Brawley lowered one hand to the small of her back.

  Frankie nuzzled her face into his chest. “I’m glad you like it.”

  Brawley slid his other hand up her sweat-slicked neck and plunged his fingers into her thick, dark locks. Leaning back a touch, he stared down into her brilliant green eyes.

  For a second, they froze with their gazes locked. The moment stretched out, pregnant with possibilities of great significance.

  “I like you, darlin,” Brawley said, his voice almost stern with sincerity. “You know what that means?”

  Frankie nodded, breathing shallowly and blinking up at him. “I like you, too,” she whispered.

  “I don’t do things by half-measure.”

  “I know.”

  “I want you.”

  Frankie licked her full lips. “I want you, too.”

  “All of you.”

  “Same.”

  “All the way. Mind and body.” Unconsciously, he’d tightened his fist in her beautiful black hair, as if his fingers were kinetically emphasizing his point. “Forever.”