Penny wouldn’t have approved of this activity. Cruz seemed to know that and to revel in the illicit thrill.
When Cruz was finished, Owen held out his palm.
Cruz hesitated. “Can I keep it?”
“For what?”
“So I can protect my mommy.”
Owen’s throat tightened with emotion. “If someone attacks your mommy, you should run away and yell for help.”
Cruz stared at the knife, conflicted.
“If someone attacks you, you can bite their hand or kick them in the nuts. You know what I mean?”
He nodded. “Mommy calls them canicas.”
Owen hid a smile. Marbles. Only a woman would call them that. “Let’s practice. Pretend I’m going to attack you.”
Cruz stood across from Owen in the aisle and fumbled with the knife. His little fingers couldn’t get the blade out. He transferred it to his other hand and tried again, accidentally dropping the knife on the ground.
If he’d managed to get the blade ready, Owen would have shown him how easily he could be overpowered. But he didn’t feel it was necessary now. Cruz couldn’t use the knife for any purpose. He didn’t have the fine motor skills.
“See how hard it is? You could have just kicked me in the nuts and ran away.”
Cruz picked up the knife and studied it in the dim light. Mouth pursed with concentration, he figured out how to extend the blade.
“Good,” Owen said, surprised by his tenacity. “But you still can’t hold it that way. Like I told you, the blade doesn’t lock.”
The boy moved his fingers out of the way. When he found the correct position, he frowned, seeming to realize that the knife wasn’t made for stabbing.
“It’s not a weapon,” Owen said.
“What do you mean?”
“You can’t use it to defend yourself. You can cut string with it or sharpen a stick, maybe. That blade is pretty dull.”
He looked crestfallen.
“Look,” Owen said, stepping forward. He molded Cruz’s fist around the handle and let the blade stick up between his fingers. “This is the way to inflict damage. Punch someone in the eye like that and you’ll stop them.”
Cruz jabbed the seat cushion a few times to practice. He grinned, as if this was fun.
Owen took the knife back, aware that he’d made a mistake. Instructing a child to stab someone was too gruesome, too potentially traumatizing. He couldn’t stop reliving the sensation of Roach’s blood running over his hands. “It’s not a toy.”
“I know,” Cruz said, stricken.
“You’re better off using your body’s natural weapons.”
“How?”
Owen humored him with a quick demonstration on how to attack vulnerable spots with his fists, teeth, elbows and knees. Cruz listened carefully and mimicked his every move, relishing the lesson. Owen decided to let him keep the pocketknife, just for tonight. Cruz was scared for himself and for his mother. Owen could sympathize.
They collected a pile of cushions and seat covers, carrying them back to Penny. She shifted in her sleep but didn’t wake. Owen suspected she had a touch of heat exhaustion. He hoped it wouldn’t turn into full-on heatstroke.
“I’m hungry,” Cruz whispered.
“We’ll eat tomorrow. Lie down and get some rest.”
He stared up at Owen with big brown eyes. Just like Penny’s. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to guard the front of the car.”
“I want to come with you.”
Owen shrugged, leading Cruz down the aisle. They sat side by side, with Cruz by the window. They couldn’t see much outside, other than moon-washed hills. So they just rested there, sharing the quiet.
“Is this train from the olden days?” Cruz asked.
“No, it’s fairly new. The railway reopened about ten years ago. Then it went bankrupt and closed again.”
“Why did it go to bankrup’?”
“The owners ran out of money,” he said, balancing his elbow on the back of the seat. The wound on his forearm throbbed like a son of a bitch.
“Have you been here before?”
“Not in this car. But along the tracks, yeah. When I was about sixteen, my dad brought me out here looking for scrap metal.”
“What’s that?”
“Machine parts that can be melted down and reused.”
“Did you find some?”
“Yes,” Owen said, shuddering at the memory. His dad had made him carry twenty pounds of rusted iron for ten miles. He’d ended up sunburned and sick, vomiting his guts out, so he knew how dangerous it was to get heatstroke.
“Is your dad old, like my grandpa?”
“Older. He was fifty when he died.”
“He died?”
“Last year.”
Cruz didn’t know what to say about that. “Was he nice?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Owen tried to think of an appropriate answer for a little boy. “He yelled at me and called me names.”
“Like what?”
Sissy. Faggot. Weakling. Cocksucker. “Words you shouldn’t hear.”
“He lived with your mommy?”
“Off and on,” he said. Christian Jackson had spent a lot of time in jail, mostly for domestic violence and drug charges.
“Did he leave...because of you?”
“No,” Owen said, startled by the question. He remembered what Penny had said earlier about Cruz thinking his father didn’t want him. “Some people just aren’t cut out to be dads. It’s never the kid’s fault.”
He squinted up at Owen. “Did he love you?”
“Yes,” Owen said, after a pause. For all his faults, his father hadn’t been a sociopath. He’d had anger issues, a drug problem and poor impulse control. He’d probably thought he was doing Owen a favor by toughening him up. And maybe he had. Without that harsh upbringing, Owen might not have survived in prison. “He was a mean son of a bitch, though.”
Cruz mulled this over. “Is it better to have a mean dad or no dad?”
“I don’t know. That’s a good question.” Owen could forgive his father for slapping him around, but he couldn’t look past the abuse his mother had endured. Far too often, she’d been used as a punching bag. Owen knew this: a bad husband was worse than none. “You’re lucky to have such a great mom.”
Owen glanced toward the area where Penny was sleeping, contemplative. Cruz had no experience with cruelty or abuse. He’d never been neglected. His father’s absence was the only mistreatment he was familiar with. Because of this, he didn’t see Penny as anything special, but he would. Someday, he would.
“Mommy says you’re not my dad,” Cruz blurted out.
Owen studied the boy’s hopeful face, his heart breaking. He still couldn’t believe Cruz had ever cast him in the role. A role he so desperately wanted. Pressure built behind Owen’s eyes. “I’m not,” he said, clearing his throat. “I wish I was.”
“You do?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you like my mommy?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“She likes you, too.”
His pulse accelerated. “How do you know?”
“I heard my tía Raven talking to her about it.”
Raven. Owen knew not to take her seriously. “What did she say?” he asked anyway.
“She said she wanted to go riding with you.”
“Go riding?”
“Uh-huh. Mommy got mad and told her to leave you alone. Tía said Mommy just wanted you for herself.”
“And what did your mother say?”
“She said that was true. Then Tía said okay, she wouldn’t take you for a ride as long as Mommy went with you.”
“Was this conversation in Spanish?”
“Yes.”
“What word did they use for ride?”
“Montar.”
He laughed, rubbing a hand down his face. It didn’t surprise him that Raven would initiate a na
ughty discussion. Even religious, well-bred girls talked about sex. He doubted she was serious about wanting to “mount” him, however. More likely, she had just been teasing Penny. The fact that Penny cared enough to warn Raven away from him was flattering. Did she really want him that way?
“Are you going to leave us?” Cruz asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, sobering. If Penny was too weak to continue, he’d have to make the difficult journey on his own. It was what he’d done after the earthquake. “I might have to go get help. But I’ll come back.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Cruz accepted those words, seeming comforted. “Mommy didn’t want to leave you, either. We looked for you by the tents before we ran away.”
“It’s okay. She made the right decision.”
Cruz curled up against his side and fell asleep. Owen stared out the window, lost in thought. He wondered if Penny wanted a man for herself or a father for Cruz. Owen loved Cruz as if he was his own son, but he’d never imagined having children of his own. He wasn’t even in the market for a girlfriend, so marriage and parenthood seemed beyond his scope. For the first time, he considered how his intimacy issues affected others. He hadn’t realized Penny was interested in him.
He’d assumed that stress and fear had caused her to cling to him. Seeking physical comfort was a normal reaction. But, according to Cruz, Penny had discussed him with Raven. She’d wanted him before the kidnapping.
He thought back to their earlier conversation. What could he offer her, other than his complete devotion to her and Cruz? Owen didn’t have much going for him. He had no savings and limited prospects.
She’d brought up a point he hadn’t considered. What did he think she could offer him? The question made him uneasy. It wasn’t that he thought he had to bring more to the table in a relationship because he was a man. It wasn’t just that, anyway. They were from different backgrounds. She was gorgeous and graceful and classy. She could date a movie star or a billionaire if she chose to. He was a convicted felon, a trailer park reject from the tumbleweeds. Of course he didn’t understand what a woman like her would see in him.
She deserved someone better, someone healthy and stable. He couldn’t support her in the style she was used to. If he kept his distance, she’d find the right person. She’d meet a decent man from a nice, respectable family. They’d live happily ever after. And he’d die of longing, watching her slip from his grasp.
He picked up Cruz’s sleeping form and carried him to the back of the rail car, setting him down beside Penny.
About a year ago, Owen had done a background check on Tyler Forsythe, Cruz’s father. He was a law student at Yale, handsome and athletic. Cruz looked like him. He had Tyler’s golden-brown hair and thick, straight eyelashes. Cruz resembled Penny more, but his features were a blend of two beautiful people.
As far as Owen knew, Tyler had never contacted Penny, never inquired about his son. Maybe he didn’t care.
Tyler was the kind of person Penny’s father approved of her dating, with the exception of his non-Latino heritage. It occurred to Owen, somewhat belatedly, that Tyler wasn’t his equal. Owen would treat Penny ten times better than a spoiled, unfeeling bastard.
After staring at the sleeping pair for several moments, Owen returned to the front of the car, his chest aching. He wanted them so bad he was choking on it. Tyler had thrown them both away and never looked back.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
PENNY DREAMED OF TRAINS.
She was running along the tracks with Cruz, trying to escape the oncoming train. She pushed him to safety, but her foot got caught between the railroad ties. Stumbling, she fell down. The whistling juggernaut struck her at full force, cutting off her legs.
She woke with a start, sitting up and gripping her calves. They were both cramped, the muscles rock-hard and quivering.
Owen loomed above her, his eyes silver in the dark. “Let me,” he said, crouching down to massage her legs. She smothered a moan as he worked out the kinks in her muscles. Cruz was asleep beside her, tucked into a little ball. He had a blanket made of wool seat covers wrapped around his body. It was cold.
When her cramps eased, Owen straightened. He watched her for a moment, as if expecting her to go back to sleep.
“What time is it?” she whispered.
“Near dawn, I think.”
Careful not to wake Cruz, she crawled away from him, keeping one of the seat covers as a shawl. Owen helped her up. Her knees threatened to give out. She clung to his arm, swaying on her feet. Her soles felt bruised and tender, as if she’d been walking barefoot on sharp rocks. Her belly ached from emptiness.
“Okay?” he asked.
She nodded, letting him lead her to the front of the railcar. Once there, she sat again, clutching the fabric over her chest. Her hair had come loose from the braid.
“Are you cold?”
“Yes.”
There was just enough moonlight to see the concern in his expression. He put his arm around her, offering her a drink from the canteen. “The temperature is comfortable. Warm, by L.A. standards.”
She took a thirsty gulp of water, aware that she was showing signs of dehydration. Her stomach jerked in protest, screaming for something more substantial. Then the quivering settled, and the fluids stayed down.
“How do you feel?”
“Like I got run over by a train.”
“Sore?”
“My whole body is,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder.
“That might get better as your muscles loosen up. You slept for several hours.”
“I had a bad dream.”
“You were whimpering.”
“It was scary.” She told him about running down the tracks and pushing Cruz to safety.
Owen smelled of sweat and dust and rusted metal. Old blood, perhaps. They were quite a pair. With her own soiled clothes and tangled hair, she felt about as fresh as an old rag. She inched away from him, self-conscious.
“Do I stink?” he asked.
“No.”
“Right,” he scoffed.
She squirmed in discomfort. “I just have to pee.”
“I’ll help you.”
Her cheeks burned at the thought, but she didn’t think she could manage on her own. So she let him guide her down the steps, into the cool predawn air. Squatting was beyond her current capabilities. He seemed to know this.
“There’s a cinderblock,” he said, pointing. “You can sit on it.”
With his assistance, she hobbled to the concrete form. “Check for spiders.”
He kicked it over and stuck his arm through the hole to show her it was clear. Then he set it upright and brushed off the top. She wiggled her panties down to her knees. Keeping his gaze averted, he lowered her to the impromptu toilet.
“Now go away,” she said.
He turned and walked about ten feet.
She emptied her bladder quickly, embarrassed. When she was finished, he glanced over his shoulder. “Done?”
“Yes.”
He came back to lift her up.
“Thanks,” she said, her voice wavering.
“What’s wrong?”
She pulled her panties into place, blinking the tears from her eyes.
“Did it hurt?”
“No.”
He put his arm around her and guided her inside the railcar. She sat down and stared out the window, wallowing in self-pity. Although seduction was the last thing on her mind, she wanted him to see her as sexy and irresistible. Instead she felt like an invalid.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“For what?”
“Everything. This whole fucked-up situation.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“You shouldn’t be out here, hungry and weak and...peeing on concrete.”
“I’m not too fancy to pee outdoors, Owen.”
“You’re upset.”
“Because I feel dirty and...unat
tractive.”
“Unattractive?”
She refused to elaborate.
“You could pee on me, and I wouldn’t consider it unattractive.”
“Really?”
“Maybe not on my face. That would be degrading.”
Her mouth dropped open. “People do that?”
He smiled, shaking his head. “I don’t care how dirty you are, and I’m not disgusted by anything you do. I saw a baby come out of you, remember?”
“I wish I could forget.”
“If that didn’t turn me off, nothing will.”
She wasn’t sure why she started laughing. Maybe it was the combination of shock, discomfort and stress. Maybe it was his strange, honest admission. Maybe it was just the bizarre complexity of human behavior.
He laughed along with her, so something must have been funny.
When she regained control of herself, wiping the tears from her cheeks, she remembered that she’d also seen him during some vulnerable moments. And she found him more appealing for it, not less.
“I don’t care if you smell bad,” she said.
“That makes one of us,” he replied, smiling wryly.
“I’d kill for a shower.”
“Me, too.”
She’d also kill for a cheeseburger, but she didn’t want to torture him by continuing a conversation about things they couldn’t have.
His gaze caressed her face. “I was worried about you last night.”
“Why?”
“I’ve had heatstroke before. I got really sick.”
She was stiff and sore, not sick. “I’ll be fine. I’m just not used to hiking all day, especially in this kind of weather.”
“Should I go on without you? I could probably reach the highway in a few hours.”
“How long will it take with us?”
“Six, maybe more.”
She didn’t want him to leave her. The idea of sitting here without him scared her. When the sun came up, the interior of the train would get hot. They had no food and only a little water. “What do you think?”
“I’d rather stay together.”
“Even if you have to push me in a wheelbarrow?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess you’re stuck with me,” she said, squeezing his hand. He didn’t pull away. His eyes met hers, and a familiar heaviness hung between them. The feeling had shifted from unrequited to unspoken, however.
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