by Stacey Keith
In one little town in Texas, even toeing the straight and narrow might lead you to a joyride . . .
April Roby believes in avoiding entanglements—and her beloved sisters have given her a master class in what heartbreak looks like. So, no matter who tries to fix her up, April is sticking to her thick manila folders and her frumpy beige skirts, and putting her time and energy toward helping the kids of Cuervo, Texas as a social worker. Her latest client, foul-mouthed fourteen-year-old Matthew McBride, would be enough on his own to keep two of her busy. And his big brother Brandon is a whole different type of problem.
Brandon is the kind of muscle-bound, motorcycle-riding bad boy that no well-meaning relative would ever try to shove in April’s path. He’s prickly, he’s rude, and he’s downright obstructive. But there’s something about him that makes her want to take the smirk off his face the fun way. Neither one of them is looking for a fairy-tale ending. But in Cuervo, Texas, they just might get one anyway . . .
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Dream Lover
Stacey Keith
LYRICAL PRESS
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First Electronic Edition: July 2018
eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0391-1
eISBN-10: 1-5161-0391-2
First Print Edition: July 2018
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0392-8
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0392-0
Printed in the United States of America
Chapter 1
“Got a minute?”
April’s boss, Joanna Westin, poked her head inside the office and gave April a tired smile. She was wearing her lettuce-green polyester maternity pants today, which meant the poor woman was probably taking on more water than the Titanic.
April leaped up from behind her desk and scrambled to relocate a mountain of case files so Joanna could sit. More files were stacked beside a gurgling aquarium that only had an underwater castle, a piece of plastic seaweed and two bug-eyed goldfish left. A handful of chunky-style Legos and a Barbie with its hair chopped off were scattered across a kids’ play table. On the wall above were crayon drawings “To Miss April,” showing cheerful yellow suns, stick figure families, and houses with chimneys that had curlicue smoke coming out of them.
“You could have just buzzed my office,” April told her. “I would have been happy to save you the walk.”
Joanna looked sapped by the Texas heat. In the eighth month of her fifth pregnancy (“Still trying for that girl.”), she usually had more energy than ten caseworkers. Unfortunately, Raymond County Child Protective Services was chronically overworked and understaffed.
April had a hunch that whatever Joanna held in her hand was about to put a big red bow on top of what had been a craptastic day. The folder was too thick and had too many papers sticking out at odd angles to be anything but trouble.
Joanna heaved herself into a chair and flipped her long brown braid over the back of it. “You know, my mama used to say the best birth control was holding an aspirin between your knees. With summer on the way, I wish I’d listened.”
“Then let me give you something that will perk you right up.” April pushed a small pile of baby clothes catalogs across her desk. “I’ve been saving these for you. They have pink outfits in them. Frilly ones. There’s even a onesie with a tutu.”
Joanna picked up a catalog and leafed through it. “Look at these dresses! Sooooo girly.”
“Fifth time’s the charm, right?” April backed her statement up with a smile she hoped was convincing. The odds-on office betting pool favorite was another boy. Not that April was going to tell Joanna that.
“I’m so sick of baseball uniforms and denim overalls,” Joanna complained, her eyes hungrily roaming the pages. “All I want are little dresses with bunnies on them. Or something like this.” She held up a photo of a baby in a bubble romper. “You can’t put a boy in anything like this without your husband freaking out. I know. I tried.”
April glanced at the file folder again. Maybe it was a case she could potentially put in the win column. She could use a win. After discovering her little Volkswagen Jetta had a flat tire this morning, she’d come to the office and found an email from one of her clients explaining why she was getting back together with her abusive ex-husband. Reading it had left April sick to her stomach.
Some days it seemed as though nothing she did made a difference. Why were some women so eager to sacrifice their safety, self-worth and even their careers for the wrong damn men?
Not me, she told herself firmly. Love had a not-so-funny way of messing up people’s lives. After nursing her oldest sister, Maggie, through a gut-wrenching divorce and then her middle sister, Cassidy, through teen motherhood, April knew all about love. That was why she was twenty-three and single…and planning to stay that way.
“So whatcha got for me?” she asked.
Joanna opened the case file and turned it around so April could read it. “Nothing good, I’m afraid. It’s a truancy case. I’m just too big and swollen and—if I may say, gassy—to be running around hell’s half acre looking for the kid.”
April slipped her glasses on and dragged the file toward her. Matthew Barrett, age fourteen. History of truancy. Also an impressive—and growing—list of petty crimes. Knocking over soda machines for the change. Spray painting the sides of a public building. Burning down Mr. Grierson’s garden shed.
Cuervo, Texas, population three thousand, didn’t have too many more places for Matthew to vandalize. He’d run out of walls pretty soon.
“Where are his parents?” April asked, wondering why the first thing a troubled teen did was pick up a spray can. When she was fourteen, her idea of rebelling against authority involved watching a bootleg copy of The Other Boleyn Girl or eating ice cream before dinner. Of course, after Cassidy got pregnant, their parents really clamped down on dating. Boys were few and far between in April’s life, and never the kind that made her pulse race.
Not that she wanted it racing.
“So the mother died about three years ago,” Joanna said. “The boy’s dad is in Hun
tsville State Prison for assaulting a cop.”
April felt a familiar tug of sympathy when she saw a photo of Matthew. Good looking kid. Bright, too. His last psych evaluation said he had a 142 IQ. Not that his grades reflected it.
Joanna braced one hand on her belly and winced. “See? I just mentioned prison and she’s already trying to break out.”
“Where’s his guardian?” April asked, expecting Joanna to tell her about a grandmother squeaking by on social security or maybe an aunt who already had too many mouths to feed.
Joanna tapped the bottom of the page. “His older brother, Brandon McBride.”
April skimmed the brother’s profile and her heart sank. Poor Matthew. Another kid without a decent role model. “It doesn’t look as though Brandon is stepping up to the plate.”
Joanna used her fingers to tick off a list of Brandon’s offenses. “He’s got breaking and entering. Public intoxication. Carrying a handgun without a permit. He’s done time. That’s why I want Sheriff Murphy riding along with you.”
“You think this McBride guy is really that dangerous?” April stared at Joanna’s flushed, perspiring face. What on earth was going on here? Yeah, sure, occasionally when social workers did home visits in sketchy neighborhoods, someone from the police department rode along. But Cuervo didn’t have any sketchy neighborhoods. Cuervo had Ed’s Lumber & Hardware. It had hay bales that glistened in the sun and an annual fair with a pie-eating contest.
What Cuervo didn’t have were truancy cases requiring the presence of an officer of the law. Something was definitely up.
“You called Ryan, didn’t you?” April said accusingly. “I can see it in your eyes.”
Joanna widened them in a failed attempt to look innocent. “Okay, I called him. That man is crazy about you, April.”
Sheriff Ryan Murphy was April’s self-appointed champion and aspiring boy toy. He was kind, handsome, funny—and everything April was determined to avoid. They had a set routine: he asked her out. She said no. And she knew for a fact that Joanna and about half the office were secretly pulling for him.
April got up from her desk and marched over to the mini-fridge. “You know I don’t do relationships.” She took out two bottles of cold water and handed one to Joanna. “Why does everyone assume that because I’m single, I’m waiting for a fix up?” She cranked off the plastic cap and glugged furiously, hoping to drown the guilt she felt for not returning Ryan’s interest.
“No one’s asking you to do anything,” Joanna said. “But would it kill you to go out with him? You’re too young and too pretty to be spending your whole life at your desk, April. Besides, this isn’t a date. It’s a ride along.”
April glared at her. She loved Joanna and would do anything for her, but now April was stuck for the next hour in a squad car with Ryan Murphy. He seemed great on paper—gainfully employed, didn’t drink, had all his teeth and hair. She’d watched him rescue kittens out of trees and give “Stranger Danger” talks to kids. Of all the men in Cuervo, he was hands down the best “catch.”
But whenever she got around him, she had to fight the urge to run away. She felt awful for disappointing such a wonderful man. It showed she was a bad person.
Oh, do you know April Roby? What a bitch.
Joanna struggled out of the chair and then waddled to the door. Before leaving, she turned around, and the expression on her heart-shaped face was full of honest concern. “You’re a good girl, April, and a first-rate social worker. But don’t be so quick to give Ryan the boot. This work gets to you. If you don’t find another human being to connect to, public service will eat you alive.”
* * * *
April didn’t have to wait long in front of the red brick Raymond County Child Protective Services building before Ryan pulled up. He flashed his boyish grin and leaned across the seat of his squad car to open the door for her.
She also didn’t have to look behind her to know that most of her coworkers were peering through the blinds at them. The whole department was probably betting on this, same as it bet on the sex of Joanna’s next baby.
April slid across the seat of Ryan’s squad car. His brown eyes softened when he saw her. He smelled like aftershave and peppermint chewing gum. Going places with Ryan really shouldn’t bother her. After all, she did like him. She just wasn’t sure she liked him liked him. Maybe these things took more time.
Yet in her mind, she heard her sister Maggie say, If you have to ask, you already know the answer. Which left April feeling like a bitch again.
She closed the door and then trained the air vents on her overheated face.
“Good to see you, April,” he said. “I heard you had a flat this morning. Why didn’t you call? I’d have fixed it for you.”
“It’s no problem for me to change a tire.” April handed him a yellow sticky note with the address printed on it. “Do you know where this place is?”
He glanced down at it, frowning. “We were there just last week. One of the neighbors thought they were having a biker rally.”
“A biker rally?” April’s chest tightened. If Matthew’s brother, Brandon, belonged to a biker gang, she really had her work cut out for her. What kind of environment was that for a child?
“Did you see any kids when you were there?” she asked. “Maybe around fourteen or so?”
“No, just this guy McBride. Blew into town around two months ago. He has a rap sheet, but I guess you knew that. Doesn’t say much—at least not to anyone with a badge.”
April felt him studying her, and overcome by her perpetual shyness, she turned her face toward the window. She saw her reflection there. Pale blond hair with the sun slanting across it. Large blue eyes made larger by her glasses. The school-marmish social worker outfit that consisted of a shapeless khaki skirt, buttoned-up white blouse and light spring sweater.
Even her mother had been telling her to dress more attractively.
Ryan cleared his throat. “So listen. Have you given any more thought to us driving over to San Antonio? I hear there’s a great seafood restaurant on the River Walk.”
“Ryan, we practically work together,” she said, hating that her stomach felt squirmy. She wished he weren’t interested in her. That way, she could have just enjoyed his company without feeling on edge all the time.
“That doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Not in Cuervo. We’ll always be friends, won’t we? Even if we decided not to pursue…things.”
Things. Even the word made her queasy. She twisted her class ring on her finger and wondered if maybe there was something wrong with her. As the first member of her family to graduate college, she’d always assumed her lack of interest in dating stemmed from a rock-solid commitment to education. There was no reason in the world she shouldn’t be attracted to Ryan Murphy.
April glanced at him. She kind of was. Did that count?
A burst of static on the police radio saved her from having to answer any questions. It was the dispatcher calling, which saved her from having to answer any questions. She clasped her hands on her lap and gazed out the window again, thinking about her upcoming visit with Matthew Barrett. There was no such thing as a bad kid, of course. He needed someone to go to bat for him. Someone like her. What pain caused his cry for help?
The road was lined with old-timey creosote telephone poles. She watched as one arcing power line, crowded with birds, led to another. In the far distance, a handful of clapboard sharecroppers’ houses stood in an open field.
As they got closer, April felt an odd sense of nervousness, like a horse scenting smoke on the wind.
Ryan parked the cruiser in front of a paint-peeled wood frame house that might have been white once. A magnolia tree cast little shade over a yard full of crabgrass and hard-packed dirt. When April got out of the car, she was almost overwhelmed by the sickly sweet smell of magnolia blossoms. The house wasn’t fancy, but there
weren’t any cars up on cinder blocks. Gauzy curtains fluttered from an open window.
There was a stillness about the place that made her feel as though she were dreaming.
“You don’t need to come in unless you want to,” April said to Ryan. “If anything happens, I can always scream.” She smiled to show she was joking. Kind of.
“The hell you say.” He went up the three steps to the porch and then knocked on the door. She followed, her handbag pressed against her side and the case file clutched against her chest. The porch had a swing on it that creaked gently. There was also a bicycle pump, a bug zapper and a piece of nylon rope. Boy things.
When no one answered the door, Ryan said, “Let’s check around back.”
April hesitated. If she were Matthew Barrett and saw a police car coming, where would she hide? “Why don’t you go around back and I’ll take the garage?” she suggested.
The garage was situated about thirty yards from the house, so April started walking. The drone of cicadas rose and fell. Sun devils shimmered over cotton fields. It felt good to be outside, away from the mechanical chugging of the copier and the ping of the breakroom microwave.
She rounded a corner of the garage and found a man on his back, stripped to the waist, working on a Harley. The motorcycle was a beast, all black leather and gleaming chrome. But the man lying beneath it using a torque wrench made her halt in her tracks. She was suddenly aware of how bad she looked in khaki. She could feel the blood quicken in her veins.
He turned his head and saw her.
Dimly, she realized he was taking her in, slowly, starting at the bottom and working his way up. By the time his cool assessing gaze got to her face, her cheeks were on fire.
The men she knew didn’t look at a woman like that. It felt as though she didn’t have any clothes on.
“Who’re you?” he asked in a surprisingly low voice.
“April Roby. I’m with Raymond County Child Protective Services.” Ordinarily, she would show her identification, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t hold any water here. “Are you Brandon McBride?”