by Stacey Keith
He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t deny it either. Brandon ducked his head under the bike again. Muscle rippled beneath his smooth tanned skin as he reapplied the torque wrench to a rear axle nut. April knew all about cars and motorcycles because she had practically been raised in her dad’s garage.
She realized she was staring and hastily averted her eyes. This was crazy. She was supposed to be advocating for Matthew Barrett, not standing here like a dummy. What was wrong with her?
“If you’re here about Matthew, I don’t know what to tell you,” Brandon said.
“He’s been absent thirty-six days in the last seven months,” she replied, baffled by his lack of concern. “If you can’t make him go to school, Mr. McBride, this could become a legal matter.”
Usually she didn’t have to threaten legal action on a truancy call. What kind of man didn’t want his brother going to school? Despite her shyness, she lifted her chin to show she meant business.
Brandon got to his feet and slowly walked over to her. He moved with the lazy dangerous grace of a jungle cat. His eyes were the same clear green as a bottle filled with ocean water. They studied her with a curious mixture of coldness and suspicion, which made her muscles tense. She liked it better when he was ten feet away.
Besides, she was the one who had a million reasons to be suspicious. He’d put some kind of spell on her. He was a terrible role model who was setting his brother up for a lifetime of failure.
“Was that a sad attempt to play hardball with me, April?” he asked softly.
“It’s not a sad anything,” she replied. “Where’s Matthew? I want to talk to him.”
Brandon went to a tool chest that stood in one corner of the garage, examining and then discarding tools. April tried not to keep darting glances at him, but it was impossible. She’d never met a man like him before. The smallest movement made muscles bulge in his broad shoulders. His dark hair was just long enough for him to tie it back with a leather string. His jeans hung so low on his narrow hips, when he turned around she saw the deep V-cut of his chiseled abs.
She was burning up out here in the hot sun. Her purse was an anvil hanging off her shoulder.
“I don’t know where Matthew is,” he said. “But if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you.”
“Your attitude isn’t helping, Mr. McBride,” she shot back. “If you want to continue in the capacity of his guardian, I suggest—”
“You suggest what?” He strolled toward her again, not angry, but with a look in his eyes that she would never describe as friendly. “Go home, Princess. You’re wasting my time.”
April’s mouth flew open. Who talked to people this way? She was a child welfare specialist. She was here to help his brother.
Then Ryan appeared with his hand on the shoulder of a sullen-looking kid who was a dead ringer for Brandon. Same look of cool defiance, but still gangly and boy enough to awaken within her the urge to protect. He had a skateboard tucked under one arm.
“You looking for this guy?” Ryan said. “I found him in the cellar. Told him you wanted to talk to him.”
Ryan had his cop face on. She’d seen it before: Alert. Determined. Accept no bullshit.
But Matthew just seemed hugely annoyed. He yanked his shoulder out of Ryan’s grasp and glared up at him. “Fuck school. I’m not going.”
“It’s the law, Matthew,” April told him, wishing they didn’t have to start out like this. “The state of Texas says—”
“I don’t give a shit about the state of Texas,” Matthew said. “When I turn sixteen, I’m taking the GED, so get your goddamn foot off my balls.”
Brandon gazed fondly at his brother. He actually smiled.
April stared at him in shock. Did he think this was funny? She hadn’t known Matthew thirty seconds and she was ready to scream. You’ve got to be kidding me. She couldn’t believe Brandon took pride in his brother’s smartass mouth.
“You heard him,” Brandon said, his gaze flicking over her before he marched back into the garage. “Now take your mall cop and go.”
Chapter 2
Overloaded with plants and groceries, April staggered into her kitchen and heaved everything onto the counter. Her legs just wouldn’t hold her anymore. She felt dizzy and confused and in way over her head.
The house, a turn-of-the-century white clapboard belonging to her grandmother and then to her sister Cassidy, was littered with drop cloths and paint cans. The half-finished wall in her kitchen showed a coat of cheerful yellow paint.
Right now, though, her mood was anything but cheerful. After meeting Brandon McBride and going through the whole awful business of her home visit with his younger brother, there was nothing to be happy about.
She went to the refrigerator, poured herself a glass of sun tea and then settled outside on the front porch swing. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of twin sycamores that grew in her yard. Instead of soothing her, the sound made her even more restless and gloomy. Her neighbor, Mrs. Felps, waved to her from across the street and April waved back, pretending everything was okay.
Pretending that she hadn’t just called into work with a headache so she could try to pull herself together.
She was a failure. Shame twisted her stomach in knots. She’d failed to establish trust with her client Matthew, and she’d failed to protect herself from whatever had just happened with his brother. Her glass was sweating and it almost slid out of her hand. She took a hasty swallow and then set it down on a side table.
All she’d thought about on the way back from that disastrous home visit was the searing heat in Brandon’s eyes, the sensation of falling she’d had when he stood in front of her.
If she weren’t such a failure, she’d be thinking of ways to get Matthew back in school. It was her job as a caseworker to serve and protect. Instead, her body wasn’t even hers anymore. Her stomach couldn’t find gravity. She was burning up inside. Her blood had shunted to areas of her body that she’d always kept in cold storage.
There were reasons—sound, practical reasons—she didn’t allow herself to feel things. She knew better. She knew where those kinds of feelings led—despair, unintended pregnancies and ruined lives. Every case file on her desk held dark reminders of why you couldn’t let yourself go there. Failure or not, she wasn’t about to do that. Not now. Not for some muscle-bound motorcycle-riding bad boy who wasn’t even her type.
If she had one. Which she totally didn’t.
Grabbing her glass, she went back into the house, determined to shake this thing off, whatever it was. A flat of summer petunias sat on her kitchen counter, ready for planting. They were an impulse purchase from Strom Mart, six for five dollars. April never could resist a bargain.
Finding a place for them might lift her spirits. She stood on the back steps and surveyed the yard. After six months, Cassidy’s old ten-speed still leaned against the garden shed. A marble bird bath April had found at a yard sale and dragged home in the back of her Jetta stood in the center of the yard. The thing weighed a ton, but she’d managed to get it here by herself. It proved that she didn’t need a man around the house. For anything.
She found a bag of potting soil and a terracotta pot and then sat on the back steps to replant the petunias. She gently loosened the white veiny roots, snugged them into a hole she dug with her bare fingers and then packed loose soil around the root ball.
Everyone said she was good at her job. She helped, changed lives, made a difference. So why did she feel as though her life were spinning out of control?
A car pulled up the driveway. It was Jacey Mulkowski, her best friend since third grade and probably the only person who could put a smile on her face right now.
April stood, wiping dirt from her hands and squinting into the late afternoon sun.
Jacey was a self-described high-functioning deafie. Cochlear implants had restored around fifty percen
t of her hearing. For the rest she used a combination of American Sign Language and lip reading. Still, April waited until Jacey was in front of her before asking, “What are you doing here?”
Jacey wore a wrap dress that looked suspiciously fancy for a drive by. Her black hair was pulled into a sleek sophisticated ponytail that brought out her exotic amber eyes and model-worthy cheekbones. When she crossed her arms, a pink pom-pom swung from her keychain. “April, I swear to God if you’re bailing on this thing, I’m going to kill you.”
“What thing?” April racked her brain trying to remember. Whatever it was, Jacey obviously wasn’t going to let her weasel out of it. Like most shy people, April tended to commit to social engagements she never wanted to go to.
“My sister’s bachelorette party?” Jacey said. “At the Double Aces? Is any of this ringing a bell?”
April slapped one hand over her mouth. “I remembered last week when I went shopping. Does that count? I bought Tessa a whole bunch of cool stuff. I even wrapped it.”
Jacey did the open b-handshape, flipped out under her chin like a boat rudder. It meant “So what?” Jacey had taught her a lot of sign language over the years. They used to sign to each other in class.
“I don’t care that you bought stuff,” Jacey said, marching her into the house. “You’re going and that’s final.”
In the kitchen, April wheeled around and said, “I’ve had a really bad day and—”
“Don’t care. Get in the shower while I find something indecent for you to wear.”
April trudged into the bathroom and made a face at Jacey before closing the door. She shed her work clothes and stuffed them inside the hamper. Dread made her limbs feel leaden. She didn’t want to go to Tessa’s bachelorette party. She wanted to stay home and brood.
After her shower, April stood dutifully in front of Jacey, bathrobe belted and hair wrapped in a towel.
“I can’t decide between the denim miniskirt and the sundress,” Jacey said, holding one and then the other against April.
“Do I get a vote?” April asked. Maybe clown shoes and a barrel with straps?
“Absolutely not. This gingham thing makes you look like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. But if I shame you into wearing the miniskirt, you’re just going to bitch about it all night.”
“Why can’t I—”
“Because your mother thinks you can’t dress yourself properly and she made me promise to help,” Jacey said.
April snatched the pink gingham sundress and marched into the bathroom to put it on. Now that her mother had married off two of her daughters, she clearly had her sights set on getting her youngest one settled, too. April put on the dress, a hand-me-down from Cassidy that showed an uncomfortable amount of cleavage, and then blow dried her hair. Just as she was about to pin it up, Jacey yelled from the bedroom, “Keep your hair down. And put on a little bit of makeup, will you?”
On the way over to Tessa’s bachelorette party, April wondered if everybody knew as many bossy people as she did. Jacey prattled on about some hot guy from the shipping warehouse where she worked. Her voice had a little of the nasal monotone that “hearies” called deaf accent, but her words were clear and it had never kept her from attracting men. Not with her outrageous beauty. And bossy or not, Jacey was the closest thing to a sister April had to hang out with.
“Why are you so quiet today?” Jacey asked when they came to the first of Cuervo’s two stoplights. “Usually I can’t get you to shut up about work.”
April shrugged. “There’s not a lot to tell.”
“I doubt that.”
Jacey pulled up in front of the Double Aces and parked the car. “Did you see the new patio?” Jacey asked. “No, of course not, because you never get out.”
In a town the size of Cuervo, everybody’s business was your business, so of course April had heard every excruciating detail about the new patio. She grabbed an armful of presents out of Jacey’s trunk and then waited while Jacey slammed the lid and locked it.
“You think I don’t know things, but I do,” April told her. “I’m not completely hopeless, you know.”
Jacey gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Okay, then talk to a boy tonight and make me and your mother happy.”
Talk to a boy. Annoyed, April followed Jacey to the patio, where Tessa sat at a long table with half a dozen girls they’d all grown up with. There was Erica Mercer, who’d been homecoming queen, head cheerleader, yearbook editor and president of the French club. Susan and Patricia were both solid, respectable girls who didn’t glare at April when she sat down, but Roxanne did. Roxanne had long dark hair, perfect skin, and the kind of figure April saw in swimsuit catalogs. She’d never been all that friendly.
“Beer?” Roxanne asked with an imitation smile.
As the designated driver, April ordered a root beer instead and wondered if that was why Roxanne hated her. Maybe Roxanne figured she had a giant stick up her butt.
“I saw your mother in line at the post office,” Roxanne said. “All she could talk about were your sisters. You know—how Cassidy married America’s favorite quarterback and Maggie snagged a billionaire.” She gave April a pitying smile. “At least she has you now. You’ll always be here, won’t you? Working at county welfare.”
April accepted a mug of root beer from Jessica Coleman, the waitress—another girl she’d grown up with—and reminded herself that not only had Roxanne recently broken off with her cheating boyfriend, she was here to celebrate somebody else’s wedding, even though Tessa and Jacob weren’t actually having a church wedding. They were going to the justice of the peace in two days and then “eloping” to Mexico for their honeymoon.
“Yep,” April said mildly. “I’ll always be here.”
An hour dragged by. It felt like three. There were more beers, more stories and more laughter as Tessa opened gift boxes full of sex toys, lacy lingerie, and edible undies. As darkness fell, strands of lights blinked on above the patio, which was now crowded with people. April tried paying attention to what Tessa was saying, but the sound of other conversations pressed down on her.
The tipsier her friends got, the more alone she felt. Her old restlessness crawled around inside her. Odd things came into focus. The aftershave of the man standing behind her. The sweat at the nape of her neck. The vibrator on the table by her elbow.
She mumbled something about needing the ladies’ room and then made her way through the crowd. All the noise and music and perfume and heat made her almost desperate to go home. Everyone was here tonight, even people she hadn’t seen in a while. For the second time today, she smiled and waved like everything was okay.
She turned a corner and stopped short. Her heart pounded in her chest, a hard, relentless rhythm like the music. Sitting on a bench directly in front of her was Brandon McBride. There was a woman on his lap.
When he locked eyes with April, every part of her burst into flames.
Chapter 3
Brandon McBride felt a familiar tug, one that had a keener edge to it than usual, one that should have warned him if he’d been paying attention.
But why do that?
Life was a here-and-now kind of deal. You had your wits, your muscle, your buddies, your wheels and the open road. If you were lucky, there might be a woman waiting for you at the end of it. Hopefully, a woman who wasn’t too drunk and didn’t want to kill you.
What could he say? Temptation was everywhere and he wasn’t the man to say no. Not when there were hot little numbers like this social worker running around.
He liked how she looked in that dress. What was that word his friend Long Jon used for women like her?
Prim.
Brandon was so busy watching the social worker flush pink, then white, and then pink again, he almost forgot about the woman on his lap. Funny, he remembered the social worker’s name—it was April, right?—but not the name of
the woman sitting right on top of him. She had one boob pressed against his chest and a lot of dyed blond hair. What was it—Sheryl? Shaylene? She’d pounced on him the minute he, Mattis, and Long Jon climbed off their bikes.
April continued to stare at him, her hand covering her mouth as though she’d said something inappropriate. But girls like April never said things that were inappropriate. They went to church on Sunday and wrote thank you notes on little pieces of colored paper and baked casseroles for sick relatives. They had nice boyfriends, and on Saturday nights they had sex with those nice boyfriends and faked their orgasms.
Brandon let his gaze wander appreciatively over the rest of her and figured any woman who actually had orgasms was probably thinking about him.
But April was going to cause trouble for his brother. A feisty thing like her would probably drag the courts into it, too, and Brandon had damn good reasons to want to avoid them. Better to stop this bullshit before it got rolling.
“Let me up,” he told the woman on his lap.
“Why?” The woman bristled. “So you can hit on that girl in the pink dress? Do you know her?”
The woman wouldn’t budge, so he set her aside negligently, like a child, and grabbed his bottle of beer. “Don’t worry, darlin’. There’s plenty to go around.”
She glared up at him, her lush, pretty mouth even poutier than it had been ten minutes ago when she suggested they go somewhere quiet and he’d said, Slow down. I haven’t even had my first beer yet.
“You really think you’re God’s gift, don’t you?” she said.
He grinned. “That’s because I am.”
While the woman crossed her arms and sulked, he turned around to talk to April, only April was gone. No use running, kitten. She could play it off as much as she liked, but he’d seen the longing on her face, a tight, buttoned-down longing that usually meant once the lid was off, she could turn feral.
He liked feral.