by Stacey Keith
This was better. Surely work would save her from having to think about her own shortcomings as a person and as a caseworker. How she’d let a chance encounter with Brandon McBride go so badly off the rails.
How she couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Reaching into her purse, April brought out a Thermos full of coffee. She’d brewed it at home so she wouldn’t have to go to the kitchen. The kitchen was bad. It was full of people she absolutely didn’t want to talk to right now. By this point, they probably knew she’d argued with a client in public. And had gotten drunk, also in public.
Oh, and that she’d agreed to go out with Ryan.
Cuervo, being what it was, probably had a four-point news bulletin out about it, complete with photos. Sheriff Murphy and April Roby: when’s the wedding?
Her hand holding the flimsy Thermos cup shook a little. She steadied it and took a sip. Now she was back to dreading the next time she saw Ryan, which made her—again!—feel like a horrible person. Because more self-loathing was exactly what she needed right now.
A knock at the door made April practically jump out of her seat.
Joanna stuck her head inside, and then, clearly worried about April sitting alone in a dark office, waddled to the chair in front of April’s desk.
“What’s up, honey?” she said. “Do you have a headache?”
“No, it’s not that.” Actually, April did have a headache, probably from that shameful alcoholic bender she’d gone on last night. Her mother, Priscilla, would have been appalled. But of all the people she couldn’t hide from, besides her mother, who had X-ray vision and could actually see every bad thing you did as far back as infancy, Joanna was the one woman April couldn’t lie to. She had too much respect for her—and also like Priscilla—Joanna had that wise-all-seeing gaze that made a person feel as though fibbing was a mortal sin.
“That case you gave me,” April said. “I’m really making a mess of it.”
Joanna leaned over and turned on a desk lamp. “Sorry, but I have to see that sweet face of yours when we talk. Now, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
April cleared her throat. “I went on that home visit like you told me,” she forced herself to explain. “Matthew swore at me, and the older brother, Brandon, made it very clear that Matthew’s education wasn’t a priority.”
“You’ve had worse,” Joanna said. “Remember that custody case over near Banderas? The father threw things at you.”
April remembered. He’d been furious with her for “spying” on him and lobbed a portable lawn sprinkler in her general direction.
“I ran into Brandon McBride last night.” April gulped more coffee and then set the cup inside the circle of light from the desk lamp. “Tessa’s bachelorette party. You know. At the Double Aces.” Why did she feel disreputable even admitting she’d been there? The Double Aces wasn’t a rough place, just a friendly neighborhood bar.
Joanna rubbed her tummy, which looked as though she’d smuggled a world globe under her smock. “Go on.”
“He harassed me,” April said.
“Matthew?”
“No, Brandon.” Just saying his name felt like a painful confession. “He made crass personal observations about…me. I’m not sure I handled it as professionally as I would have liked.”
Joanna regarded her thoughtfully. “And?”
April swallowed hard. No way was she admitting to being a virgin, so she settled on something less embarrassing. “They were sexual remarks. I should have left, but I didn’t. I fought with him. Then I threatened him with a court order because I was angry.”
“Harassment is a serious issue. Of course we should go after him with a court order, if that’s what you want.”
That stripped-wire feeling was back along with a sense of utter confusion. “I don’t know, Joanna. Honestly. I have no idea what’s best here.”
“We could have popcorn,” Joanna suggested, her face brightening. “Don’t you feel like popcorn? I always think better when there are snacks.”
April hesitated. The last thing she wanted right now was to be around a bunch of coworkers with galloping PMS pounding on the vending machine.
Without waiting for an answer, Joanna herded her to the kitchen with its beige walls and beige linoleum and beige refrigerator that had weeks-old lunches inside with people’s names on them. Someone had tried to liven the place up with a potted plant, but even that was looking limp and defeated.
April found a box of microwave popcorn, tore off the cellophane wrapper, and put the bag in the microwave. Soon the kitchen filled with the smells of buttered popcorn and the sound of kernels exploding.
Joanna plopped down at the table. “Now if only I had a magic wand, so I could make you stop being so hard on yourself.”
April wrestled two bottles of water out of squeaky plastic shrink-wrap and set them in front of Joanna. “I’m not. I’m just not the right person for this case. First, because Brandon hates me and doesn’t listen to a word I say. Second, because he’s a jerk. Third, because I…” April’s pulse started exploding like the popcorn. What on earth had she almost admitted?
“Because you what?” Joanna asked her.
“Nothing,” April muttered. “I just think you need someone else.”
Joanna gave her a reproving look, the way Maggie would have, a gentle rebuke for being silly and unreasonable. “You’re going to have a lot of difficult clients, April. Comes with the job. Now, if you want to press charges against Matthew’s guardian, I’ll back you. But if you want to learn how to deal with people like him, horrible people, don’t you think now would be a good time to practice?”
The microwave pinged. Gingerly, April retrieved the bag and peeled it open, releasing a gust of steam. She poured the contents into a glass bowl and then put the bowl on the table. Joanna grabbed a handful and crammed it in her mouth. That poor woman, April thought, concerned. What was the baby doing to her? It looked as though she’d never eaten food before.
“The truth is,” April told her, “I just want to get Matthew back in school. Right now, that’s not happening.”
“Then make it happen,” Joanna said around another mouthful of popcorn. She dug in her pocket and produced a few quarters. “Be a doll and get me some peanut M&Ms out of the machine there, will you? Gotta balance the salty with the sweet.”
April fed the quarters into the machine and pulled the lever. She didn’t know a lot about pregnancy cravings, but M&Ms and popcorn? Gross.
“Put ‘em right in the bowl,” Joanna said. “I like it when they get all warm and melt-y. Now, look, April. Do you know what your problem is?”
Please tell me. Please let there be something I can do right away that will fix everything.
“You have Youngest Child Syndrome,” Joanna said. “Plain as day. Well, except for the attention-seeking behaviors. You’re the opposite of that. And the risk taking. You don’t do much of that either.”
“Maybe they don’t have a name for what’s wrong with me,” April said sadly. Or how I can’t get one foul-mouthed kid to go to school.
Joanna twisted the cap off her water. “You can do this. Have Sheriff Murphy take you back out to the McBride place tomorrow. I’ll bet it goes a whole lot better this time.”
Felicia Hewitt came into the kitchen to grab a soda. While Felicia chatted with Joanna about pregnancy and babies, April pictured driving out to Brandon’s house and thought, There is no possible way this will go well.
If she had to be honest, April admitted to herself, she wasn’t just worried.
She was terrified.
Chapter 5
Brandon told himself he was going to find April, make nice, and talk her out of escalating everything. But as soon as he sped through the back roads of Cuervo, opening up the Harley’s throttle and relishing its throaty howl, it wasn’t the case he was thinking
about.
It was April.
She’d probably never even been on a Harley. Hell, she hadn’t been on a lot of things. Why that interested him, he didn’t know. Had he ever slept with a virgin? Hard to remember. Maybe back in the beginning, but that was years ago. It was all kind of a blur.
What wasn’t a blur was the road, which stretched out endlessly before him, with no windows to block his view, no car doors to prevent him from enjoying the rush of intense freedom. Everything came pouring over him at once: the sun devils dancing on the horizon, the shock of blue Texas sky, the lane stripes that his Fat Boy split beneath its wide front tire.
A good ride put you into a state of hypnosis, where you were everywhere and nowhere at the same moment. The muffled roar of the wind, the sharp green smell of the grass, the power of the bike beneath him were the closest things to God he’d ever known.
Working in an office, in a suit, punching a time clock…no way. Hell, he’d rather go back to foster care. But that brought him back to Matthew…and to April.
So now he was thinking about April again.
In a town the size of Cuervo, it shouldn’t take him long to find out where she lived. Going to the Raymond County Child Protective Services offices was out of the question. Just thinking about it made him uptight. No, he needed to catch her off guard. Alone. Without Deputy Dumbass hanging around.
Brandon had sweet talked Matthew’s Spanish teacher into giving him a passing grade last year. He’d had her speaking all kinds of Spanish in the back seat of her car.
Sometimes you had to take one for the team.
He’d try the Double Aces first, which was where he’d last seen April. As he approached on his bike, it looked as though the bar was already packed with the happy hour crowd. Bruce Springsteen wailed out of the jukebox. He found the owner, Jimmy, wiping down the bar with a rag.
“What’ll you have?” Jimmy asked.
“A shot of the good stuff.” Brandon took the nearest barstool. A smoking hot brunette was giving him the come hither, but there was no time to chase down that dead end.
Jimmy held up a bottle of Jack Daniels. “Good enough?”
The guy was a real charmer. Brandon waited until he finished pouring the shot before saying, “I’m looking for April Roby. Figured you might know where she lives.”
Jimmy had fists the size of Christmas hams and a face that looked as though someone had lit it on fire and put it out with an ax. When Jimmy scowled at him, Brandon felt his muscles tense out of pure reflex.
“Now what business does a fella like you have with a nice girl like April?” Jimmy said.
Brandon glanced around the bar. If he punched Jimmy now, he might have to take on twenty or thirty other guys. Those were bad odds, even by his standards.
He tossed back the shot, feeling it burn all the way down to his stomach. Casually, he peeled off a few bills and said, “Guess I’ll just have to find her myself.”
As Brandon turned to leave, the dark-haired woman gave him a playful smile. “I know where she lives.”
He glanced at Jimmy to see if he’d overheard her, but Jimmy was busy manhandling the blender. The woman slid a cocktail olive off a tiny plastic spear with her teeth and gazed at Brandon with the kind of smoldering invitation he recognized because it always went straight to his crotch.
“You were here the other night,” she said. “I saw you leaving with some skanky blond chick.”
Brandon didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. All he had to do was wait for it…
“Name’s Roxanne.” She put her hand out for a shake, but he ignored that, too. He hated handshakes. They were things a douche in a suit would do.
“Oooookay.” Flushing, she withdrew her hand and went back to toying with her olives. “Why are you looking for a boring little wallflower like April?”
He smiled. “Maybe I like wallflowers.”
“April working a case for you or something?”
Now she was just messing around, trying to get more than he would give. On a flare of irritation, he said, “Do you know where she lives or are we just going to sit here all night asking questions?”
Her dark eyes widened. “Impatient much? April lives on Tilden and Decatur. White house with a porch. It’s on the corner so you can’t miss it.”
Brandon went outside, climbed on his bike, turned the ignition switch and the fuel tap, teased open the choke, and then gave the throttle two full twists. The Harley growled to life. There were two other motorcycles next to his, but he didn’t recognize them. His crowd tended to show up later than this.
He took off, wondering where Tilden Street was. All he saw was a fancy movie theater called the Regal, a water tower on stilts, and a storefront that had the words Sweet Dreams: Home of the UFO Cake in fancy gold letters.
People in Cuervo were even weirder than he thought.
Exiting Main Street, he headed toward what looked like a residential area. It didn’t take him long to find April’s house.
When he saw it, everything about her made sense. Not the baggy skirt and low heels, because nothing made sense about that. But just a look at where she’d come from told him who she was.
The house was pure Texas. It looked like the kind of place that had Halloween decorations in October and a twinkling tree in the window come Christmas. It was the house he had always longed for when he was a kid—before he realized that dreams were for other people, not for him.
He pulled up to the curb and killed the engine. As he started up the walkway, Brandon sensed that his presence here was scaring the locals, but that didn’t stop him from staring back. Across the street, a pair of beady eyes peered at him between half-closed curtains. The nosy old broad actually had a phone in her hand.
He stepped onto April’s porch. There were hand-painted coffee cans with flowers in them, a rocking chair with a pink cushion, and a porch swing that creaked. He cupped his hand against the front window and looked inside. An old piano with sheet music. A braided rag rug like his grandma used to make. Real oak furniture that had probably been in the family for generations.
The house was a travel brochure about April.
He felt as though he had no business being here, that he was dirty somehow and full of darkness. In a house with dainty flowers and pink chair cushions, Brandon could never feel at home.
“What are you doing here?”
Brandon spun around. April stood on the walkway staring up at him with an expression of sheer panic. Over her shoulder he could see the woman glaring at him, phone in hand, which was when he guessed what had happened.
“That old battle-axe call you?” he asked.
April wanted nothing more than to run. Those innocent blue eyes of hers told him things. And damn if he didn’t want to chase her. Despite his best intentions, he couldn’t help but wonder what might happen if he relieved her of that pesky virginity and showed her what life was really all about.
“You can’t be here,” she sputtered. “Mrs. Felps is calling the police.”
She was practically panting with fright, which made Brandon realize that he would have to try harder to calm her.
“I’m not going to hurt you, April,” he said seriously. “I just want to talk about Matthew.”
“You should have come to my office,” she insisted. “It’s two minutes from here.”
“I don’t do offices.” He sat on the top step, leaned his elbows on his knees and looked up at her. She was wearing the same dorky outfit she always wore, which was probably the only reason a beautiful woman like her was still a virgin.
“You can sit,” he said. “I promise not to bite.”
Not yet anyway.
“I’m waiting for the police to arrive,” she said.
The police weren’t coming. Brandon knew that. At least not until April gave Hagatha over there the signal, which was wh
y the old bat kept hovering in the window.
“Like I said, I’m not here to hurt you.” Brandon ran one hand over his stubbly jaw and realized he’d forgotten to shave. Because he wanted to see her sputter, he said, “We could talk inside if that would make you feel better.”
She looked so incensed, it was everything he could do not to laugh. “Whatever awful thing you came to say, you say it here. I don’t let strange men inside my house.”
April clearly let no men inside her house. Maybe not even the mall cop. Brandon tried to get a game plan together in his head, but he was enjoying just sitting here on her nice clean porch, watching her Ivory-soap skin turn every shade of pink.
“I thought we could talk about my brother,” he said. “You might have some ideas about how to get the kid to school.”
April blinked. The wariness in her eyes receded a little, but she still wasn’t there yet. “He’s your responsibility, Mr. McBride. You figure it out.”
“Please don’t feed me the company bullshit. I came here ready to lay it all out for you. The least you can do is help.”
He watched her take a deep breath before remembering that the Big Bad Wolf probably shouldn’t be staring at Red Riding Hood’s chest too intently.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll sit. We’ll talk. But the minute you go off topic, I’m calling—”
“The cops. I know.” He tried smiling, but figured it was better to be completely bullshit-free with her.
“Matt’s a good kid,” he began as she sat nervously on the step beside him. “He’s got a mouth on him, but hey, at least he’s talking. When our mom died, he didn’t say a word for six months.”
He could tell that surprised her. “It’s called ASR,” she said. “Acute Stress Reaction. But it usually only happens in cases of acute trauma.”