Sparring Partners

by Leigh Morgan

  "Leave the kid be, Henry. It's not important."

  Jesse looked at Jordon with those eyes straddling the twin worlds of despair and hope. "It is important. She's important." Jordon didn't have to ask what 'she' Jesse was referring to.

  "Yes she is. I'm sorry. Go ahead, Jesse. Finish it."

  "I told Reed that night that I was going to take that baseball bat and bash my father's brains in. She filed for adoption the next day." Jesse looked from Jordon to Henry and back again. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of response. "Did you guys hear me? I picked up a bat with the intent to kill my own father."

  "We heard you the first time, kid." Henry looked at Jordon for a second before turning back to Jesse and throwing an arm around his shoulders. Jesse's cheeks pinked under his tanned skin but he didn't pull away. His gaze was questioning when he looked at Jordon.

  "What Henry means, Jesse, is that both of us understand. We would never judge you for doing what we ourselves would have done. Reed's no different. I know enough about that woman to know she'd kill for someone she loves."

  A look of relief and then acceptance flashed across Jesse's face, pulling at Jordon's chest, squeezing his heart. He wouldn't have left this kid either. Reed was one hell of a woman. She had a samurai's soul. Jordon threw down a seven dollar tip on a twenty dollar tab.

  "Let's go home."

  On their way back to the car Jordon asked, "So what happened to the foster-father who popped you?"

  Jesse smiled. "Reed punched him in the eye, and then called the cops. When he tried to make a complaint against Reed, no one would back up his side of the story. Not even his wife."

  Jordon laughed wishing he could have seen it. Better yet, that he could have taught the guy some manners himself.

  "Think I'll get off that easy?" He asked Jesse.

  "Not a chance."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When Reed didn't come home that night, Jordon chalked it up to pissed off woman needing time away. When she didn't come home by the next evening, everyone at Potters Woods began to worry. It wasn't like her, or so he'd been repeatedly told, to stay away without calling. He really needed to talk with her, if for no other reason than to tell her the concrete drive was still curing, whatever that meant, and it couldn't be driven on for at least four more days. She'd have to park on the road and hike in. He thought she ought to know that if she came home after dark.

  Jordon checked his watch for the fifth time in as many minutes. Too early to head to the dojo, too late to still be hanging around the kitchen for lunch. Finn and her painter buddy, Peter, were leading a group of senior citizens in an afternoon class on watercolors. Charlie was leading a group of what he called non-traditional graduate students in reciting bad poetry, and Jesse was helping the lawn service trim, mow, and otherwise keep the grounds beautiful. Henry was taking turns spying on Finn and her painter friend, and doing legitimate surveillance, under the auspices of keeping Jordon and everyone else in Potters Woods safe. Everyone accounted for.

  Except Reed.

  The house seemed empty without her. Jordon wondered what made him think he could survive a week, much less a month, trying to be a normal guy.

  "You're never going to get her back moping around here all day long."

  Jordon turned from the kitchen windows to find Irma sneaking up on him in her wheelchair. He was going to have to throw sand in her wheels so he could hear her coming. "I'm not moping."

  "Sulking then. Not very attractive, a grown man sulking."

  "I do not sulk."

  "Do too."

  "Now who's being childish?" Jordon said, turning back to the sink to pour himself a glass of water. He didn't need advice from a grumpy old lady today, or any other day for that matter. He just needed... "ouch."

  Jordon whirled around to confront whatever hit him. He looked down to find Irma scowling up at him brandishing an overly long, needle pointed umbrella. She'd hit him behind the knees with it, and it stung like a son-of-a-bitch. If she didn't already have one foot in the grave he'd kill the old bat.

  "What was that for?"

  "Someone needs to beat some sense into you. I couldn't reach, so I poked you with my umbrella instead."

  "Do that again and I'll dump you and your umbrella in the pond."

  "You wouldn't dare."

  Jordon's eyes narrowed as he smiled evilly down at her. He didn't normally threaten women, but this one needed it. "And I'll watch until the bubbles disappear."

  She cackled at him. Surprisingly enough the sound made him smile. "Good one, Bennett. I knew you had some gumption in you. Mind you, it's not easy to see under all that pretty-boy pouting you've been doing. Good to see you've found your backbone."

  "Irma, I know how to disable the brakes on that thing."

  She reached behind her, into her seemingly bottomless basket, and pulled out a small set of screwdrivers wrapped in a leather pouch and waved them at him. "So do I boyo. Check them every morning. I built airplanes during the war. There isn't anything these old hands can't fix."

  Jordon looked down at those old hands shaking and stained with age spots and the telltale purple bruising from the blood thinning medication she was taking. Yet, they were the hands of a working woman whose toiling days of brute strength had turned into a twilight of frailty, steeled only by the formidable strength of her will.

  Even though she was a giant pain-in-his-ass, Irma MacDonald was one hell of a woman. Potters Woods seemed to attract them. Jordon took the screwdrivers from Irma's hand, tied the leather cord around them, and put them back in her basket.

  "Why are you pestering me?"

  "Why are you staring out the window, waiting for your life to turn out the way you want it to, instead of finding a way to make it happen? I got news for you, boy, nothing worthwhile ever gets done by wishing it so."

  Jordon jolted as if he'd been slapped. Is that what he'd been doing? No wonder he felt like such an idiot. Sitting around twiddling his thumbs never worked for him before, why should it now? He was a man of action after all, and it was past time he'd acted.

  "You're a cranky old coot, Irma, but there's nothing wrong with your brain." Jordon said, bending down to kiss the crinkly-paper skin of Irma's cheek. "Thanks!"

  Irma shooed him away with a wave of her hand. "'Bout time you got some sense. Now get out of here and find your woman before I poke you again with my umbrella."

  Jordon laughed, feeling the tension leave his shoulders, he was suddenly lighter than he'd been since Reed left. "Yes, ma'am."

  He had a plan.

  He had a purpose.

  Find Reed.

  Whatever happened after that was up to her. He'd prefer to make love to her until all her anger and frustration exhausted itself, but there was merit in taking her over his knee and tanning her hide for the scare she'd given him. All of them, really. But him mostly. Not that she'd go easy. That was okay too.

  Jordon was spoiling for a good fight.

  ...

  Reed looked around the great room, in what Lily affectionately called 'the cottage'. Considering the house she lived in would fit in the garage, this was some cottage. And as far as Reed could see, it housed only two: William and Lily Bennett.

  "Drink, dear?" Lily asked, pouring herself a glass of white wine from the ornately painted wine chiller on the largest side-board Reed had ever seen. Considering she once attended the governor's ball, that was saying something. Of course, these people hob-nobbed with the world's elite, what was a governor's ball to them? She felt hopelessly out of her league.

  Yet here she was. Worse than that, she was the invader, demanding answers.

  "No thank you. Any chance you've got any sports drinks or almond milk?" Her tone sounded embarrassed, even to her ears. What was she thinking, calling her mother-in-law, demanding to know why Lily's billionaire son chose 'little-old-her' to be his one and only? Sometimes she cursed her red hair and Irish temper. Sometimes that was the only thing that got her through the night. Damn
it to hell and back.

  Lily smiled, and her whole face radiated warmth. Reed really wanted to hate this woman, but she was too nice to hate. Reed hated that too.

  "Of course, dear. I have five or six kinds of performance drinks, stuffed full of electrolytes and B-vitamins. I keep them on hand for Jordon. He's always training in that dojo of his upstairs. I swear, the implements of torture he has up there are enough to send a sane woman running."

  Lily lifted part of the marble top of the side-board, and sure enough, on ice, were no less than twenty-five sports drinks in jumbo bottles, and at least five different flavors. Reed peeked in. "I'll just grab a lime one, if you don't mind."

  She had it opened and half consumed before Lily handed her a glass. Reed's cheeks flamed not only at the proffered glass, but also because she didn't censor the loud aah sound she made when she finished. Reed eyed the glass and slowly re-capped her drink. In her most lawyerly-precise voice she said, "No thank-you, I prefer to drink from the bottle."

  Lily laughed deep and low. Very seductive, and heart-felt, for such a proper lady. "Me too, but I'd look like a wino drinking Chardonnay from the bottle." Lily looked at her oddly, grabbed the wine bottle out of its lovely cooler, and downed a big swig of wine, before kicking off her golden strapped shoes and shocking Reed even more by saying, "What the hell. Who cares. I'm too old to worry about appearances at this stage. Besides, it's just us right?"

  Reed grinned from ear to ear, wondering just what kind of woman Lily Bennett really was under all that pressed silk and museum quality jewelry. Not that it mattered. She wasn't going to know her all that long anyway, she might as well have a good time with this version before the perfect Lily came back to spoil their fun.

  Reed held up her plastic bottle and clinked with Lily. "Right."

  "You've never had anything right from the bottle in your life, have you?"

  Lily took another swig looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Not until now."

  "It's killing you, isn't it."

  "It is a little...daunting."

  Reed grabbed the wine bottle from Lily with her free hand and moved to the side-board where she filled the glass Lily left there, and poured what was left of her sports drink into one of the tall stemmed crystal glasses. The neon green looked ridiculous in the elegant stem, but less ridiculous than Lily trying to down a sip of wine from a bottle three-quarters full.

  Reed handed her mother-in-law the glass and held up her own. "Here's to less daunting ways to enjoy ourselves."

  Lily got a strange look in her eye, the same look Jordon got whenever his brain made connections no one else on the planet would make. Compelling in an odd 'watch the spider weave her web' kind of way.

  "Have you ever been to New York?"

  Reed shook her head, no.

  The smile on Lily's face was three parts demonic, topped with a thin layer of angelic, to disguise what Reed was coming to recognize as the Bennett trickster soul beneath.

  "Let's go."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Jordon looked everywhere Finn, Charlie, Jesse, and even Shannon O'Shay, Reed's sparring buddy and all around pain-in-the-ass, could think of, to find his wayward wife. Reed was nowhere to be found. Even Henry, with his multitude of contacts, couldn't find one red-headed-pissed-off-elf. Jordon's stomach began to roll, he'd forgotten to eat since breakfast yesterday and his head ached. Not his usual shooting pain, just a low even throb that sounded dully in his ears and made his mouth dry. Probably not the best day to give up coffee.

  Something large wound itself around his leg and rubbed his knee. The first time it happened, Jordon just about jumped out of his skin, but that was yesterday, and a lot had changed since then. Today, he simply bent down to pet the silky hair, more like Mongolian cashmere, than fur.

  "Hello, girl. Any clue where I can find your mistress?"

  The small meow he got in return made him smile. Jordon bent down to pick up Loki, Reed's mythologically large cat, in his arms. She curled into him after head-butting him and licking his nose. Loki was Reed's polar opposite, great big body, tiny little voice. Of course, each of them was pretty good at cuddling when they wanted to, and silently pouncing on their prey when they didn't.

  Loki placed her front paws on each side of his face, no claws just pads, and began to purr. The low sound reverberated through his chest, calming Jordon. Wherever Reed was, she was okay. He felt it in his bones. He scratched Loki's ears and her paws settled back as she closed knowing green eyes.

  "She doesn't usually let anyone but Reed hold her."

  Loki stirred at Finn's voice then settled more deeply into the crook of Jordon's neck and shoulder, purring even louder. Jordon was tired, achy, and although he'd been to the dojo yesterday, he hadn't actually struck anyone or anything. He was too drained, yet too amped, to spar with Finn this morning.

  "It must not be a usual day." He said neutrally.

  "There haven't been any usual days since you arrived." Finn said taking a step closer to him as she ran a hand down Loki's back. Firmly in sleep mode, the cat didn't stir. Finn let her hand fall to her side, but she didn't step away.

  Jordon was having trouble reading her. Her tone wasn't scathing like it had been when Reed walked through the door two days ago on her way to weapons class. It wasn't worried like it was last night when he'd overheard Finn telling Charlie that Reed hadn't disappeared like this since she ran away from home at fifteen. Today there was something like acceptance in Finn's tone and body language that didn't compute with the fact that Reed was still missing and he was still invading her home.

  Seven days with an elf and his ability to read people was as shot as his aversion to pets.

  "Henry's still looking for her, Finn. I've already authorized a full team. Henry is assembling them now. We'll find her soon."

  Finn's robin's-egg-blue eyes softened, and the crease in her brow eased as she looked into his soul. Reed had the same disconcerting way of probing him with just her eyes. Finn opened her mouth to speak, but Henry cut her off.

  "That won't be necessary." Henry said, walking into the family room, jaw clenched more in irritation than concern. He pushed a button on the remote control he was white knuckling and the T.V. flared to life. Henry flipped to the entertainment channel.

  "...and in our final story, Mega-billionaire and philanthropist, William Bennett, made his way back to Milwaukee today after an unusual round of shopping with his sister-in-law and the newest member of the Bennett family, thirty-nine year old Reed Mohr-Bennett. The threesome was seen dining at the exclusive..." Henry flipped the T.V. off.

  Jordon's shoulders clenched like girded steel, causing Loki to grumble and jump all the way to the floor with a resounding thump. The air in the room thickened as seconds ticked away in silence.

  "Well," Finn said more sardonic than surprised, "they got that all wrong." The sardonic tone deepened. "Reed's thirty-seven, almost thirty-eight. But not quite thirty-nine."

  Jordon left the room without a word.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  "You hit Bob any harder and I'm going to have to replace the concrete under the wood flooring."

  Jordon didn't hear Sensei Schwartz approach. But then again, he couldn't hear much with the three hundred pounds of water trapped in high grade plastic beneath Bob's rubberized flesh toned torso slamming into the floor with each half foot Jordon was able to move the humanized punching bag with his fists and feet. Jordon stopped pounding the hell out of the fake man long enough to drag a deep breath of testosterone spiced air into his lungs while bowing to Sensei at the same time. The effort accomplished what forty minutes of pounding on Bob had not. It made him light-headed.

  Jordon swayed.

  Sensei hit him. Not too hard. Just enough to let him know the master was present.

  Just in case he missed the message, Sensei hit him again. Just a quick 'stick-and-stab'.

  "Come on hard-ass. Get your pads." Sensei said, dancing around him like a boxer one quarter of his age.
How the man moved like he did was a mystery Jordon would pay millions to find out, bottle, and sell by the ounce.

  Jordon had him by twenty years and forty pounds of muscle mass, not to mention five inches in height and four in reach. He should, by all physical barometers, feel superior. Instead, Jordon felt out of breath, out of his mind, and out of ideas on how to make it through putting on his head gear without his world exploding.

  "Yes, Sensei." Jordon said, bowing out to grab his gear.

  Sparring with your Sensei was more than an honor.

  It was a blessing.

  And a curse.

  ...

  After more than thirty minutes with Sensei bouncing 'flick-a-fly' punches off his head gear, Jordon couldn't take it anymore. He was out manned, out gunned, and all around out done.

  Jordon held up his right fist, still ensconced behind an inch and a half of foam, and tried to speak around his mouth guard. Not one of his better moments.

  "Ma te`, Sensei." Ma te` meant stop, but Sensei kept flicking imaginary flies from Jordon's head-gear for another second, more than enough for twenty flies. That only added to Jordon's feelings of inadequacy. A sixty year old man had just kicked his ass. No contest. Armani suits and owning a fleet of jets didn't matter on the dojo floor. It was one thing Jordon truly loved about belonging to a dojo.

  Sensei threw off his sparring gear, letting it fall where it lay. Seeing him full of sweat and breathing deeply almost made Jordon feel better. Almost.

  "Tell me what ails you kohai."

  Sensei's use of the word kohai, a term of respect reserved for 'little brothers', threw Jordon for a second. It meant their relationship was more personal, more giving, than one solely between teacher and student.

  Jordon managed to get out of his head gear so he could speak more than two slurred words at a time, the problem was, he couldn't come up with more than two to string together to formulate an intelligible answer. The fact was, he couldn't pinpoint exactly what had him more frustrated than a bull penned up next to the object of his desire during a dry 'hundred and five' in the July Wyoming shade. What came out of his mouth shocked Jordon more than it did Sensei.