So no head-knocking. Period.
Son of a bitch, that was still a hard pill to swallow.
Less hard, though, when Mick walked through the door. Any call to action from a guy rounding seventy was probably something that should be ignored, regardless. For his own safety. Although the old guy sure looked ready to kick some ass and worry about taking names later. His USMC ball cap was crushed in a white-knuckled fist. The thin strands of his hair were all over the place. And the fury spitting from slitted eyes could torch the joint if anyone lit a match.
“You got a problem, Mick? How can I help?”
“I’ve got one hell of a problem. My car’s a mess.”
Man, people had been bitching about this all week. Like as a mechanic, he had some magical way to constipate birds when they flew over a car. This was his new life. A discussion about where not to park your car so the birds didn’t shit on it. There’d better be sex or whiskey or both for him tonight, because he deserved a god damned medal for not rolling his eyes.
But he liked Mick. So he’d let him rant a little. No skin off his nose. “Apparently the birds are back early and leaving their marks everywhere. You can’t park under a tree. That’s the secret.”
“You think I don’t know that? That I’d come to a garage for that advice? My problem’s not the birds, Maguire. It’s him.” With a rustle of his blue nylon windbreaker that had to be an actual relic from the eighties, Mick pointed at Jesse.
Shit.
“What happened?”
“That hoodlum messed with my car. Covered it in shaving cream.”
Rafe shouldn’t be surprised. You didn’t go cold turkey and change your personality overnight just because you moved across country.
Well . . . maybe he and Flynn and Kellan had. But that proved cold turkey didn’t work, seeing as how they’d been booted from so many different cities for not falling in line. They hadn’t been able to change on a dime, not even with their lives at stake. It’d been six long months of trying to adjust and this new reality was still a far cry from feeling natural. From being effortless. And they were adults who knew the stakes.
It was pretty much a miracle that it took Jesse this long to backslide. Believing the kid was guilty wasn’t hard at all. Especially when his face had turned the color of Bandon’s famous fruit. Berry. Whatthefuckever.
He deserved a chance to be heard, though. And then, if he had any spare brain cells rubbing together, he’d take responsibility like a man.
“Jesse? Did you mess up Mick’s car?”
After a beat, Jesse straightened. Rubbed his hands through hair gelled into a shape that was probably the same as whatever pop douchebag had the newest video out. “Why do you think it was me? Do you always pick on the new kid in town?”
So he didn’t cop to it right off. No surprise at his defensiveness. Rafe was kind of impressed at the way he played it cool without actually lying. Back in Chicago? Rafe would’ve filed those things away as potential reasons to recruit the kid for McGinty’s operation.
Now? They were a story to tell his brothers at dinner tonight. And a big danger flag that he intended to take down. Mollie would expect him to nip all this in the bud.
But then Mick rushed forward, grabbed a handful of Jesse’s shirt, and shook. “Listen here, I don’t care if you’re from Mars or wackadoo Sedona. My neighbor saw you do it. Recognized you as Norah’s grandson. Don’t even think of trying to skate out of this.”
“Let him go, Mick.” Rafe barked out the order, knowing the vet would respond to his tone. Even though it was tempting to let him keep scaring the bejesus out of Jesse. Fear could go a long way toward teaching a lesson.
So would hard work. And that way would no doubt be Mollie-approved.
He strode over to them. Crossed his arms and easily pulled on his old, ass-kicking, hard-as-nails mask. “Yes or no. Did you do it?”
After a swallow so hard Rafe swore he could hear the Adam’s apple grind its way down his throat, Jesse nodded. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
“I was bored. Thought it might impress some guys at school once I posted the photos. Maybe they’d be nicer to me.”
Seriously? Here he’d thought Jesse was smart. But posting photos under his name of even misdemeanor behavior? Made him dumber than dirt. “Kids who are impressed by low-rent vandalism aren’t the kinds you want to have as friends. You know why? They’ll want you to keep pulling stupid stunts. You’ll end up in jail.”
“No way.”
“Remember what I said about the idiots who broke into your gran’s shop? They were bored. You know they got taken to jail. Booked. And you said they deserved more punishment. For upsetting her. Well, you were bored. You did something stupid. Now Mick’s upset. What do you think you deserve?”
Another hard swallow. But Rafe had pressed the right buttons, because the cocky attitude slid right off of him. Jesse turned to Mick. Those green eyes identical to Mollie’s met the older man’s. “I’m sorry. I’ll take whatever licks you want to give me.”
Mick’s frown lines—the ones not etched deep by time, anyway—smoothed out. He shook his head. “This isn’t ancient Rome. No need to throw you to the tigers.”
“A word?” Rafe jerked his head at the garage door. Mick followed him outside. A glance over his shoulder showed that Jesse looked like he was about to puke.
Good.
All part of the painful medicine Rafe planned to force down his throat.
Then he bit back a laugh. Because the shaving cream job on the black sedan was . . . weak. Almost embarrassing. No curse words. No cock and balls, no slurs. Just a couple of wavy lines and what Rafe planned to describe to his brothers as polka dots. Basically, it was the worst attempt at vandalism ever. Good thing it didn’t get posted. This wouldn’t raise his street cred in the eyes of the high school. It just would’ve gotten him mocked.
But it still could’ve damaged Mick’s car if it sat too long. He stuck a finger in it. Not yet hard. The paint underneath was no doubt fine. “Must’ve been a kick to the nuts when you looked out and saw it like this.”
Mick patted the fender, wobbling a bit and favoring his hip. Just barely. Rafe noticed, though. He always noticed. Any hint of weakness, anything that might give him an advantage if things went south. It was a habit he had no plan to shake.
The older man squinted against the sun and jammed his cap onto his head. “It’s just a car. The paint job doesn’t matter. What I don’t like is people thinking they can mess with me.”
Rafe admired the way he cut straight through to the heart of it. To the same thing he’d care about, if their roles were reversed. “If anyone thinks that, they’re idiots.”
Turning around to look back at the corrugated metal of the garage door, Mick said, “Jury’s still out on the kid.”
“Yeah. He could go either way.”
He’d seen it happen hundreds of times. Not to say everyone that joined the mob was a bad seed. Plenty of good men. Men he respected. Men with a strong moral code. Ones who just did what they had to in order to provide for their families. Or out of loyalty.
But there were plenty of others who joined for the thrill of a fight. As an outlet for their violent natures. Those men were the most dangerous. Because to them, it wasn’t a job. It was fun.
Hurting people, scaring them? That was never fun for Rafe. It was deadly serious business. He didn’t want Jesse to think that bothering a man he’d seen as defenseless was fun.
And he didn’t want Mollie to think for a second—by whatever he did or didn’t do next—that he condoned what Jesse did. Mollie seemed to see him as a stand-up, play-by-the-rules, good guy. Rafe didn’t want that image in her brain to tarnish even one bit.
Shit.
Mick aimed a raised thumb and first finger at Rafe. “Do you plan on keeping your hand on the scruff of his neck until he picks the right way?”
“Me? Not my job.” Not long-term, anyway. He’d teach Jesse a few practical things. Not be
his keeper. Or his conscience.
“Looks like it. You’re the right person for it. Right place, right time.”
The right person for it? That was debatable. Laughable. But at least he could see through Jesse’s bravado. Could see there was a good kid still in there, ready to be yanked in the right direction. Flynn and Kellan could help, too.
That ought to count as a community service way more than measuring for floats.
Might even start to ease his guilty conscience about the eight thousand . . . questionable things he’d done in his old line of work. Rafe didn’t regret his past. It was what it was. It put Kellan through law school. Had kept him safe until six months ago. But he still knew, bottom line, that he’d crossed lines. Hurt people, worked the system the wrong way, and broken laws. So, yeah, there was a part of him that hated, had always hated being bad.
He slapped the taillight of the car. “Do you want Jesse to pay for it? Which would probably just mean Mollie or his grandmother forking over the cash?”
“Depends.” Mick jutted his bottom teeth out over his top lip, thinking. “Got a better idea?”
“Sweat equity. More painful for him. Lasts longer. You’d have to be willing to let your car stay here a couple of days. So I can teach Jesse the basics on it. You’d get it back with a full tune-up, washed and waxed, tires rotated, all for free.”
Mick clapped him on the shoulder. “See? You do know what to do with him.”
“Maybe. Maybe it’ll just piss him off more and he’ll cream my car next.”
After a beat, they both burst out laughing. “Nah. He’s already shaking in his shoes about whatever you’re going to do to him. That boy won’t sneeze in the wrong direction around you.”
“Here’s hoping.”
“I’ll get him put on a festival committee. That weekend in September is the biggest thing that happens in Bandon. It matters to everyone who lives here. Now that Jesse does, too, he’s got to learn how important it is.” As he pulled the key off its ring, Mick asked, “Can you give me a lift home? It’s a ways down the road with my bum leg.”
“No problem.” He’d been about to offer, for that very reason. Rafe was glad pride hadn’t kept the old guy from asking.
Mick looked at his watch, then back at his car. “I was going to pick up a pizza for dinner.”
“Call in the order when you’re ready. I’ll make sure Norah knows that Jesse’s got to deliver it to you. That way she’s dialed in to what went down today.”
“Sneaky. He’ll catch heat from all sides.”
Rafe sure knew what that felt like.
Chapter 14
Mollie had never been one of those students squirming impatiently for the final bell to ring. She loved school. And, as a flag-flying overachiever, she never left a single thing undone, even if the day’s bell had metaphorically rung. But tonight? She’d been counting the minutes to the end of her shift.
At first she told herself it was because the vending machine chips she’d called “dinner” were far from satisfying. Hunger pangs fluttering in her belly. That’s all.
Then she dragged because there wasn’t much to do. More than half the beds were empty in the hospital. Sure, that could change at any second. But now all her charts were done. She’d brought patients warm blankets. Even nipped over to sing—horribly—a lullaby to the lonely little girl with a double leg fracture. At least the crappy singing brought a smile to her face.
The truth, though? She wanted to see Rafe. Talk to him. Touch him. Be with him. After the walk along the water on Tuesday, their schedules hadn’t aligned again. They’d texted a little. But she’d pulled the overnight shift on Wednesday. When he got off work, she was at her busiest. And when things slowed down for her at 4:00 a.m., well, she didn’t have the heart to selfishly wake him up for sexting.
Now it was Thursday. Thursday. Mollie picked up her pace, soles squeaking against the tiles. For people who were supposed to be having a sex-heavy fling, where was the sex? How long would she have to wait?
Waiting was no good. Waiting gave her time to realize that they were talking and laughing and evolving into an actual relationship. One where she shared her feelings with him—even if mostly through texts. One where she actively wanted him to fall in love with her town. To be happy to stay here. Maybe be happy to stay with her . . .
No.
Nononononono.
So what if her dramatic oversharing hadn’t scared him away? The problem was that it hadn’t scared him away yet. It would. Or something else would. Eventually. Just like her mom left her. Like lots of unexciting men that she hadn’t necessarily wanted to stick around, but it would’ve been good to have the option. Mollie knew that for some reason, people didn’t stick with her. Except for the residents of Bandon. They were her only constant.
Was she being overly dramatic? Placing too much emphasis on that one time her mother chose a better life over her own flesh and blood daughter? Probably. But emotional hang-ups didn’t have to be logical. They just were. And Mollie happened to believe that hers was a doozy.
She stripped off her gloves and dropped them into a biohazard container. She’d like her sex now, please. Right now, before things got any stickier and before she started to like Rafe any more.
Mollie checked her watch. Five minutes to ten. She’d handed off her patients. Even helped the nurses restock the crash carts. There was nothing left to do but tap her toes for five more minutes until she was free. Free to sprint to the car and try to catch Rafe before he went to bed.
It was the first time she’d been tempted to leave early. Hooking up—or trying to, at any rate—with a rough-and-tough-looking bad boy burbled to the surface all the rebellious urges she’d suppressed growing up. After decades of goodness, wasn’t she due a few disobedient moments? Say . . . five of them?
“Hey Doc, wanna examine me?”
The cheesy come-on snapped her head up. But when she met Rafe’s laughing eyes, Mollie relaxed. For a split second. Then her body went back on alert for a whole different reason.
A lust alert.
But as usual, concern for a potential patient took priority. Mollie ran her practiced gaze over him. No obvious cuts or bruises. He stood straight, not favoring anything. He could be feverish, though. She reached for his forehead. “Rafe, are you okay?”
“Isn’t that for you to decide?” He snagged her hand and redirected it to his lips. Threw her a smoldering look from those bedroom eyes as he dropped a kiss on her knuckles. “You’re the doctor.”
“I mean, why are you here?”
“You’re here.”
Aaaaand her pulse kicked into overdrive. Because that was both the hottest and most romantic comment she’d received in, well, months. A too-good-to-be-true comment. Mollie pulled her hand back. “That’s it?”
“Yep. I missed you, Doc. Didn’t want to wait any longer to see you.”
“I get off in four minutes.”
His dark eyebrow winged up. Those fast, clever fingers undid her watch and tucked it into his jeans pocket. “Live a little. Let me get you off right now.”
Okay, that was the best offer ever. But no. No way.
One quick glance through the open doorway and he tugged her into the empty patient room, kicking the door shut with his foot. The only light in the room was from the full moon shining in the window. “I mean, it’ll take more than four minutes. I did promise you that for our first time it’d be an all-night marathon. But I can make these the hottest stolen four minutes of your life.”
Mollie didn’t doubt that in the slightest. Especially since their laundry room escapade had probably lasted no more than three. His hands were already running underneath her lab coat. Up and down and all around.
She slapped at him. Just enough to get some space between them. Because, uh, no way was this happening right here. With no lock on the door. “I’m working, Rafe.”
“Not anymore.”
“This is a patient room.”
“Without a
patient in it. Unless you count me. I’ve got a serious case of blue balls here, Doc. Something only you can treat.” He grabbed her waist and picked her up like she weighed no more than an IV bag. Four steps had them next to the bed. Rafe put her down, then whisked the curtain to enclose them. The added layer of privacy was just enough to make Mollie marginally more comfortable with the idea of them truly doing this.
“Look, I’m totally on board. But we should go.”
“Why wait any longer? We should stay right here. Get all dirty in the bed that moves into interesting positions.”
Mollie’s hand flew to her mouth. She’d never, ever contemplated a hospital bed as being adjustable for sex. It was . . . brilliant. Intriguing. Exciting.
So, so bad.
He ran a finger across the green embroidery spelling out her name. A name that conveniently ran right across the swell of her breast. The man could make a monogram sexy. “I wasn’t planning to lead with this, but you owe me.”
Well, if he got to touch, so did she. Mollie slow-walked her fingers from the bottom of his sternum up to his clavicle. “Oh, this ought to be good. For what?”
“For dealing with your cousin. The one you sicced on me.”
Huh? Mollie remembered the conversation. The one where Rafe volunteered, out of the blue, to have Jesse work at the garage. But now didn’t seem like the best time to remind him of the way it actually happened. Not since his kindhearted gesture now had him running herd on an out-of-control hooligan. Being around Rafe, soaking up all the good qualities of a real man—loyalty, strength, honor—was Jesse’s best chance at getting back on the straight and narrow. She didn’t want to do anything to make Rafe change his mind about the part-time job.
Dipping her head, she said, “Gran told me what happened to Mick’s car.”
“Not what happened,” he corrected with a frown. One finger beneath her chin, Rafe tipped her head up to meet his hard stare. “What Jesse did. Don’t whitewash the blame even a little. It’s all on him.”
Bad for Her Page 17