Errant Angel

by Justine Davis

  Four

  These must be the friends Mrs. Kirkland had spoken of, Evangeline thought. She could even understand the attraction; being allowed to hang around with older boys had always been a lure to younger ones.

  A moment after she recognized Jimmy in the dim light, she saw him do the same.

  “Ms. Law!” he exclaimed, startled.

  “Hey, she the one I been hearin’ about?” one of the older boys asked, tugging on a lock of grimy-looking hair with equally grimy fingers. “The one that’s even got little Jimmy here readin’ schoolbooks?”

  “She’s all right,” Jimmy protested.

  “She’s better than all right.” The biggest of them stepped forward. A tall, wide-shouldered yet skinny kid, he was dressed in a ripped tank top despite the chill. He looked her up and down, his gaze blatantly lingering on her legs and breasts. “She’s fine. Built for fun, you know?”

  Evangeline stifled a laugh; he’d tried so hard to sound lewd, but the effect was spoiled when his voice cracked. She saw anger flash in his eyes, and was glad she hadn’t let the laugh out. This was a boy already far down the path she was trying to save Jimmy from, and she knew the next few minutes could be vital to her mission here.

  “So, what are you guys up to?” Her voice was calm. “Besides hassling pedestrians, that is?”

  “We haven’t even started to hassle you yet, babe,” the big one said. His voice didn’t crack this time, and a distinct note of menace had come into his demeanor. “We give special treatment to prissy little schoolteachers. They’re not so prissy when we’re done with them.”

  Quite suddenly, she’d had enough. A small object lesson was in order, she thought, one that he wouldn’t forget the next time he ran into a woman alone.

  “Testosterone running a little high tonight, hmm?” she asked blandly. “Careful, you only have so much in one lifetime, you know. Use it all up now, and you’ll be an old man who can only think about it.”

  The big one flushed, and she saw his fists clench. Jimmy and the other two were gaping at her; either wondering when teachers had started to talk like that, or wondering if what she’d said was true.

  “You got a smart mouth, Ms. Teacher.”

  “Goes with my brain. You should try to get yours to match some day.”

  His hands came up then, as if to strike, and out of the corner of her eye Evangeline saw Jimmy move to stop his friend.

  “It’s all right, Jimmy. Bullies don’t scare me.”

  The big one grabbed her then. Or tried to; he couldn’t seem to get a grip. Evangeline stepped away easily, smiling.

  “You bitch,” the boy muttered, and came at her again.

  Her smile never wavering, she shrugged as his hands gripped her arm. Then he was flying through the air. Tumbling, he landed flat on his back in the courthouse flower bed, gasping for breath.

  After a shocked moment he scrambled to his feet. He was furious with embarrassment now, and came at her yet again. She held up a hand to halt him. He seemed to slip, almost before she’d even touched him. This time he landed in a rosebush. Complete with thorns. He howled, thrashing around in his effort to free himself, scratching his bare arms.

  “I’d suggest you be still,” she said as she stood over him. He glared at her, but he stopped flailing. She knelt beside him, still smiling. “If you’d been in any of my classes, you would have learned three very important things by now. One, bullies truly do never prosper for long. Sooner or later they get what’s coming to them. Two, never assume you can beat someone just because you might happen to be bigger or stronger. They’re very likely to be smarter. And three—” her smile widened “—don’t wear a tank top on a cold night.”

  She stood. The others all gaped at her anew as she held her hand out to the boy who had just attacked her. Warily, looking as if he were trying to resist doing it, he took her hand. She pulled him up easily, despite the fact that he obviously outweighed her by a good seventy pounds. They stood there for a moment, hands still clasped, and the boy’s face took on a very strange expression.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “Didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

  “I know, Allen. You won’t make this mistake again, will you? You’ll remember, the next time you see a woman alone, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” he said, staring at her. “I will.”

  “Good.” She let go of his hand. “You can go now.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He and the other two older boys took off running, throwing wary glances back at her over their shoulders. Only Jimmy remained, staring at her.

  “What did you do? I’ve never seen anything like that. You didn’t even move, and he went flying.”

  “Oh,” Evangeline said airily, “just a technique some...old friends taught me.” Well, she rationalized, they are old. Very old.

  The boy shook his head in wonder. “Wow, that was really something.”

  “It just goes to prove you should never judge somebody by their looks. By the way, thank you for stepping in.”

  “You didn’t need me,” he said, still looking a bit awed.

  “But it means a great deal to me that you were willing to help.”

  She smiled at Jimmy, who looked suddenly contrite. “Allen’s a jerk,” he said.

  “He’s scared, Jimmy. About life, and what will become of him. He’s always in trouble, and he doesn’t think he can change, and he’s scared about that, too. People who are scared do crazy things sometimes.”

  Jimmy studied her. “How do you know so much?”

  “I listen to people, Jimmy. Sometimes more to what they don’t say than what they do.”

  He looked puzzled. “What they don’t say?”

  She nodded. “Like Dalton, for instance.”

  Jimmy’s expression changed, turning wooden. Evangeline ignored the change, and went on quietly.

  “I don’t know why, but in his own way, he’s hurting as much as Allen. Or you, Jimmy. Maybe even more.”

  She thought Jimmy was going to deny hurting, but apparently her statement surprised him too much.

  “Dalton? Hurting?”

  “Oh, he’d deny it if you asked, but he is. You said it was strange that he came here, when everyone else is leaving, remember? You were right. I think he came here to escape that pain—or to wrap himself in it, I’m not sure which. And he’s afraid to let anybody get close to him, for fear he’ll be hurt even more.”

  She saw a flicker of something in Jimmy’s eyes, a flash of understanding, of commiseration. And then she saw knowledge join it, and knew the boy had for the first time realized that maybe someone else really could understand how he felt, that he wasn’t totally alone.

  “Do you think...that’s why he made me leave? Because...”

  “You were getting close? I think that’s exactly why.”

  Jimmy let out a long breath, and she could almost see him turning it over in his mind. She’d given him enough to think about for the moment, she thought.

  “I was on my way for a soda,” she said. “Want to join me?” He looked surprised, and she grinned at him. “I hate to drink alone.”

  Slowly an answering grin, the first genuine one she’d seen from him—other than when he was looking at her car—spread across his face.

  “Sure,” he said, “if you’re buying!”

  “I’m a liberated woman,” she said generously, and gestured toward the café.

  Mrs. Kirkland was working, and Evangeline saw her give a sigh of relief as they walked in; no doubt the woman had been wondering where Jimmy was, and expecting the worst. Evangeline didn’t think she’d tell her that up until a few minutes ago, she would have been right.

  They took a booth by the window, and Evangeline saw Jimmy grimace as his foster mother headed in their direction. She also sensed the questions brimming in the older woman’s mind, and knew that this was not the time. She turned her head to meet the woman’s eyes, and concentrated.

  Mrs. Kirkland’s steps faltered, then
stopped. She shook her head, shrugged, then headed back to the counter to say something to the other, younger waitress who was pouring coffee for another customer. The girl nodded, picked up her order pad, and walked toward them. Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief that nearly matched his foster mother’s.

  “Is she that bad?” Evangeline asked.

  Jimmy looked startled, as if surprised she had guessed the source of his tension, then shrugged, accepting.

  “Yeah. No. Sometimes.” His mouth twisted as if he realized how confused that sounded. “She just gets on my nerves. Always telling me to get a regular haircut, or dress different, that kind of stuff.”

  Evangeline smiled at him. “It’s an occupational hazard of parents, I think.”

  “She’s not my real mother,” he said, somewhat fiercely.

  “I know,” she said gently. “And that makes it harder for you. And her, too. Of course, it would be easy if she just didn’t care.”

  Again he looked faintly surprised, and Evangeline knew he hadn’t really ever thought of Mrs. Kirkland’s side of things before. While she realized it was natural at his age to think only of how things affected him, it wouldn’t hurt for him to be at least a little aware of others, she thought. She gave him a mental nudge, and he glanced over at his foster mother in time to see her sag wearily against the counter, rubbing at her temples. When he turned back, his expression was thoughtful.

  It wasn’t until they both had large glasses of soda in front of them that she asked casually, “If Allen is such a jerk, why are you friends with him?”

  Jimmy lowered his gaze, staring into his glass as he stirred the fizzing soda with his straw. “He’s not always a jerk. Just sometimes. Around girls, mostly. Most of the time he’s cool.” He glanced at her. “You probably wouldn’t understand.”

  “Ahh. A guy thing.”

  “Yeah. Sort of. Kids pay attention to him, ‘cause he’s big. And tough.”

  “Sometimes,” she said evenly.

  His head came up and, unexpectedly, he grinned. “Yeah. He didn’t look so tough sittin’ in that rosebush.”

  She grinned back. “No, he didn’t, did he?”

  Jimmy slurped at his drink, still smiling. Evangeline felt the skin at the nape of her neck begin to tingle in the moment before a rush of cold air told her the door had opened behind her. She heard footsteps as someone came in, then they halted. She knew without looking, but she turned, anyway.

  Dalton stood there, looking at them, his hands on the edges of his battered leather jacket as if he’d been about to take it off. Before she even realized she was doing it, she had let her senses expand, reaching toward him. Again she caught him off guard, and quickly knew that although he hadn’t eaten tonight, he was thinking of walking right back out again, certain he wasn’t welcome.

  “Don’t go hungry on our account,” she said easily.

  She saw him go very still, and lowered her eyes as she chided herself silently for not watching what she said. She’d told herself after that slip she’d made in the garage—letting him see that she knew about the guilt he carried like a leaden burden inside him—that she needed to be more careful around him. Of course, she’d also told herself she needed to avoid being around him at all, yet here she was, the first chance she got, again playing with fire.

  When she lifted her gaze again, Dalton was looking at Jimmy. The boy looked back, steadily but silently. Evangeline tested the tension between them; Dalton was trying to think of what to say to the boy, and Jimmy was thinking of what she’d told him about Dalton being afraid.

  Finally she felt Dalton give up the battle for the right words and use the only ones he had.

  “I’m sorry about the other day, Jimmy.”

  Jimmy shrugged, as if it meant nothing, but Evangeline knew it had meant everything. Dalton took in a deep breath and went on.

  “I was in a rotten mood, but that’s no excuse for taking it out on you.”

  “You mean,” Jimmy said slowly, “it wasn’t me you were mad at?”

  “No. Not you. It was just...everything.”

  “Oh.”

  There was a world of understanding in the single word; Jimmy Sawyer, Evangeline thought, was someone who understood all about being mad at everything.

  Dalton stood there for a moment, looking as awkward as she was certain he felt. Then, miraculously, Jimmy spoke again.

  “You wanna sit down?”

  Dalton let out a long breath. “Yes.” He glanced at her. “That is, if it’s all right with...Evangeline.”

  Jimmy blinked. “Who?”

  “Ms. Law.”

  “It’s fine,” she said as Jimmy gaped at her.

  “Is that really your name?” he asked as Dalton slid into the seat beside him. Evangeline relaxed; for a moment she’d been afraid he’d sit next to her. But then she realized her relief was premature. Sitting across from him, looking at that ruggedly sculpted face, at those thickly lashed green eyes, was not going to be easy, either.

  And it should have been. It should have mattered less than nothing to her where he sat, what he looked like. Lord, maybe they were right, maybe she really did need a readjustment. Something was definitely wrong with her. She was acting very...human.

  “Is it?” Jimmy repeated.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “What do your friends call you?” Jimmy asked. “Angie?”

  Her mouth twisted wryly. She never had liked that name, and she’d had more years to dislike it than most people. “Not if they want to stay my friends.”

  “I don’t know, I kind of like it,” Dalton said, giving her a steady look that made her nervous.

  Great, she thought. Now I’m getting nervous. What next?

  The waitress came back, and Dalton ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee. With the tactics of a guerilla fighter, Jimmy waited until the obviously hungry Dalton had finished half of his meal before he made his request.

  “So...can I come back to the garage tomorrow?”

  Evangeline sensed Dalton’s split second of hesitation, almost heard him inwardly battle his instinctive rejection. But it was over so quickly she knew he’d been through it before. And when he answered, although the words came so easily Jimmy never suspected, she knew what the decision had cost him.

  “Sure you can.”

  Jimmy grinned, this hurt, at least, forgotten. “Great.”

  “After school,” Dalton amended warningly, then looked at Evangeline. “Right, Angie?”

  The name, spoken in his low, resonant voice, registered, and her eyes widened in surprise. Instead of the usual irritation she felt at hearing that silly nickname she’d hated all her life, she felt a little frisson of heat that raced up her spine and then seemed to spread, enveloping her in a cloak of warmth.

  “I know,” Dalton said, one corner of his mouth lifting wryly. “You said people who call you that don’t stay your friend. But I didn’t figure you cared much for me as a friend in the first place, so it seemed safe enough.”

  She realized what he meant, that he’d made up with Jimmy but that scene at the garage still hung between them. But before she could speak, Jimmy jumped in.

  “Safe? Hey, you didn’t see her tonight. She tossed Allen Teller on his as—er, backside in a rosebush.”

  “Did she, now?” Dalton leaned against the back of the booth and studied her for a moment. “I guess I’m lucky you didn’t decide to toss me on my backside.”

  “There’s still time,” she said, her tone dry.

  Then her throat suddenly went just as dry. Something in the way he was looking at her reminded her of how that name had sounded when he’d said it for the first time. She had to fight for the composure that was supposed to be automatic, the calm that was supposed to be effortless.

  Jimmy laughed, apparently unaware of the strange undercurrent flowing between them. He began to chatter away like any normal kid on his favorite topic, the dream car he hoped to own someday. Evangeline should have been reveling in this eviden
ce that there was enough innocence left in Jimmy to salvage him, but it was a long, silent moment before Dalton finally turned his attention to the boy. She felt every second of it.

  Dalton listened as he finished eating, and occasionally made suggestions and additions—or subtractions—to Jimmy’s grand plan. She watched them, with an odd feeling growing inside her. She nearly groaned in exasperation; after all these years, having emotions she could name was bad enough; feeling ones she couldn’t even recognize was exhausting.

  With his attention on Jimmy, Dalton’s guard was slightly lowered, and she knew she could probe deeper. She also knew she shouldn’t. He’d been declared off-limits. He didn’t want their—or her—help.

  She wished she’d asked how long ago they’d tried. Maybe things had changed. Maybe he was ready now. She stifled a sigh; if she asked again, she would only get lectured again. Jimmy, the bosses would say with their tunnel vision, is your only case here.

  Of course, if she needed Dalton to help Jimmy, then she would have to use him, wouldn’t she? The boy did listen to him. And she’d had to use outsiders to get the job done before, and they’d approved it. So they couldn’t argue with it now, could they? And if she happened to be able to help Dalton, too, while helping Jimmy, they couldn’t really get mad, right? Satisfied with her rationalization, she probed, ignoring the tiny voice that said she was doing it mainly because she wanted to know more about Dalton MacKay.

  She didn’t dare touch him, so she reached out and, as if idly, toyed with his empty coffee mug. She knew the traces of his touch would be minimal, but judging from how powerful the images had been after that brief direct contact, it should be enough.

  Again, it took her a moment to sort it out. Jimmy had apparently roused all sorts of forgotten memories in this man, memories he’d kept deeply buried for years. She got only bits and pieces, but it was enough to tear at her heart. She saw a big-eyed, dark-haired toddler, barely old enough to understand the cruel older boy who was telling him his mother had thrown him away as a baby, hadn’t wanted him and had left him in the trash can in a hospital bathroom. She saw a weeping woman, trying to explain to a child about lost jobs and why they weren’t going through with the adoption. And she got fleeting glimpses of a series of homes, some kind, but with too little time for a boy who needed a lot of it, some apathetic, adding to that now older boy’s shell of indifference. And one abusive; she had to blink back tears at the sudden image of Dalton, taller and lankier now, staring into a mirror at the bruises that marked his body.