The Long Hot Summer

by Rosnau, Wendy

  “To get Farrel Craig’s taste out of your mouth. Yeah, I remember.”

  His tone was sharp, harsh, the words ending the subject with finality. Nicole gave him a sidelong glance. Was his anger directed at her? She frowned, annoyed with the idea. Actually, he should share some of the blame. He was the one who had insisted on driving her home.

  No. She couldn’t blame him for what had happened last night. She had been the one to let her emotions lead her astray. She was the one who’d had too many glasses of wine. And in the end, she was the one who had asked him to kiss her.

  No, she hadn’t asked. She’d begged.

  “Sleep all right?”

  They were on the outskirts of town, passing Gilmore’s Gas and Go. “I did, yes,” she lied. Actually she’d gotten sick not five minutes after he had stormed off the porch. She’d sat by the toilet for two hours before dragging herself to bed.

  The town was still half asleep when she swung into the deserted parking lot at Pepper’s Bar and Grill and pulled up next to the pickup. She left the car idling in the hope that he would get the hint she was in a hurry, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he reached across the seat and slipped her dark sunglasses off her face. In slow motion, his arm slid along the back of her seat, bringing his body close, his face mere inches from hers. He drawled, “Let’s have a look-see.”

  Nicole blinked her bloodshot eyes and prayed her makeup covered the dark circles outlining them.

  “Wine’s no good when you’ve got serious drinking to do, cherie. You feel all right?”

  “Just a little headache,” Nicole admitted. “I’ll be fine.”

  He looked at her, his eyes searching hers. Finally he said, “That’s what counts.”

  He gave her back her dark glasses, and Nicole gladly slipped them on. “Johnny, about last night—”

  “If anyone was to blame, it was me,” he said quickly. “I had the clear head, remember? I should be the one apologizing, only—” he offered her a lazy smile “—I’ve never been any good at saying I’m sorry if I’m not. Holding you felt real nice. It’s been a long time, and I’d be lying if I said I wished it hadn’t happened.”

  “But—”

  “Thinking about it too much and trying to analyze it to hell isn’t going to change anything. If you want to forget it happened, cherie, that’s your right. Me, I don’t intend to forget any part of it. In fact, I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. You drive safe now, you hear?”

  The gas gauge shouldn’t have been sitting on empty. Johnny’s first thought was that someone had siphoned the tank dry overnight, but as he drove into Gilmore’s he knew better—they were waiting for him, just like old times.

  Knowing he’d been set up, Johnny stepped from the pickup without the slightest hesitation. As in the old days, the three of them were wearing smug grins—Farrel standing in the middle with Clete on his left and Jack Oden on his right.

  Johnny wasn’t really surprised. He’d always known Farrel would bring a fight to him sooner or later, only he’d hoped for better odds. But he shouldn’t have. Farrel had never been much of a fighter; he was always too worried about getting dirty and feeling pain.

  No, it didn’t look as if Farrel had changed his tactics. He still didn’t know how to fight any other way than behind a couple of front-runners. The truth was, no one had taught him how to take pride in his own ability. He needed to win, and that was all that counted. But sooner or later a man had to lose.

  Only, Farrel wouldn’t lose today. The question wasn’t if Johnny was going down, it was how soon. There was no denying he’d be kissing the dirt before this was over. No doubt in his mind at all.

  Well, hell, nothing like a little discussion between enemies early in the morning to get a man’s blood pumping and put his life into perspective, Johnny decided. Only, this time he wasn’t a vulnerable kid anymore. He’d learned a few moves of his own.

  He sent the cigarette he’d had pinched between his lips to the asphalt and crushed it out with his boot, then stepped away from the pickup. Henry’s Dodge was in good condition, and he didn’t like the idea of scraping the paint or putting a dent in it once the party got rocking.

  With a five-star smile, Farrel pushed away from the wall of the gas station. He was wearing black jeans and a black T-shirt. “Kinda feels like old times, don’t it, Johnny? I’ve got you cornered, and there’s nowhere to run.” He gestured to his sidekicks, and they pulled wide, fanning out as if it were high noon at the O.K. Corral. “You remember the fun we used to have—you, me, Clete and Jack? It’s like a reunion, don’tcha think?”

  Johnny didn’t answer, but he had to agree—it was exactly like old times. Except that Clete’s body had gone to fat—about three hundred pounds’ worth. And Jack looked like life had played a cruel joke on him—his red hair had gone completely gray and had thinned to a mere ten hairs on top of his head. His teenage pockmarked face had worsened, too, giving him several hellish scars on both cheeks and across his forehead. He looked meaner than ever and angry at the world, with plans on getting even that very minute.

  “I think he’s gonna run,” Jack warned, cracking his knuckles. He turned his head and spat a stream of tobacco a good ten feet.

  “He ain’t gonna run,” Clete assured. “Not Swampy. He’s treed and he knows it. And you know what we do when we tree a coon, don’tcha, Swampy?”

  “You girls plan on standing around sweet-talking me all day, or are we gonna get to it?”

  Johnny’s wisecrack had Clete jerking his crooked hat down farther over his ears and Jack snarling like a wild dog. But Farrel only chuckled. “All right, then, let’s do it, Johnny.”

  The joke put the boys back in a better mood, and when they saw Farrel start to advance they followed his lead. Hands loose at his sides, Johnny watched as Clete started to circle left while Jack moved right.

  Farrel hung back. But that was no surprise; he always moved in after the dust had settled.

  It was after dark when Nicole wheeled into the driveway. Her arms loaded down with packages, she sprinted across the yard in the rain to reach the house. The day had gone better than she had ever imagined it could, considering the way it had started out. She had met Frank Medoro, the new gallery owner in New Orleans. He was maybe thirty-five, good-looking, and spoke with a refined French accent. Best of all, he had recognized her name and had even seen some of her work. Excited, she had accepted his lunch proposal, and before she had left the Palace Café on Canal Street, he had invited her to his summer exhibition in a few weeks.

  “I’m so glad you’re home,” Clair said as she greeted Nicole at the door.

  Nicole let Clair take her packages. “The French Market bag is for you.” She pointed to the wrapped package. “That one’s for Bick. It’s some of those special cigars he likes from Dumar’s. Is something wrong? You found my note this morning, didn’t you? You knew I went to New Orleans, right?”

  “Yes, we knew. I’m sorry about last night, honey. Dory felt bad about not being able to meet you. One of the ovens caught on fire at the bakery. You know how it is when you’re in business for yourself. She appreciated the call you left on her answering machine this morning.”

  “I’ll give her a call again tomorrow.” When Clair’s worried expression remained, Nicole realized there was something more. “Clair, what is it? Is it Gran?”

  “No, Mae’s fine. But something is wrong, honey. It’s Johnny.”

  “Johnny? What’s wrong with Johnny?”

  “Mae’s in the study. I’ll let her tell you.”

  A wave of panic flooded Nicole’s senses as she hurried past Clair. When she reached the study, she flung open the door. “Gran? What’s happened to Johnny?”

  Mae turned away from the French doors where she had been sitting in her wheelchair half the day. Her cheeks were tear-stained. “Nicki, dear, I’m so glad you’re home. Johnny’s gone. No one has seen him since last night, and I’m terribly worried.”

  Nicole immediately felt a
rush of relief. “Don’t be,” she soothed. “I saw him this morning.”

  “You did? Was he all right?”

  “He was fine.” Nicole was determined to ease her grandmother’s mind. Gran looked awful. She didn’t want to detail her morning conversation with Johnny, but if she had to, she was willing.

  “Did you talk to him? Did he say anything about what his plans were for today?”

  “No. I just assumed he would be working.” Nicole crossed the room, crouched in front of Mae and took her hand. “Don’t worry, Gran. Johnny is more than capable of taking care of himself.”

  “I know. But I keep remembering what took place a few days ago on the road. If anything happens to that boy, I’ll never forgive myself. It’s my fault he’s here, my fault for everything.”

  “Gran, you’re not responsible. Yes, I know about the land deed and your paying the taxes. Johnny mentioned that, but you didn’t make him draw his knife at Pepper’s. Really, you’re getting all worked up over nothing.”

  “Then where is he, Nicki?”

  That was a good question, one Nicole couldn’t answer. “Maybe he took the day off and went fishing,” she offered.

  “No, he wouldn’t do that,” Mae argued.

  Nicole stood and walked to the French doors. Through the screen she could hear the active nightlife in the distant bayou. She scanned the woods beyond the road. It had stopped raining, and the air was ripe with the smell of magnolia blossoms. “Where are you, Johnny,” she whispered. “Stop worrying Gran and show yourself.”

  She turned, wanting to ease Gran’s mind, but she didn’t know how. The only thing that would make her grandmother breathe easier would be Johnny walking through the door.

  It was odd how he had wormed his way into their lives, she thought. He hadn’t been there a week and already most everything that happened centered around him. Gran’s mood hinged on whether he came to breakfast and showed up for supper. Clair’s menus had been altered to satisfy Johnny’s palate. Even Bick searched him out and tagged behind him like an awestruck admirer.

  What was it about this man that had attracted the people in this household so easily? What was it about him that had attracted her?

  Yes, she admitted she was attracted to him, only not in the way everyone else was. Her attraction was based on something more, something far more dangerous. She couldn’t deny she’d had a wonderful time in New Orleans today, but Johnny hadn’t been far from her thoughts. His dark, intense gaze—the one he had offered her before he’d climbed out of the car—had been with her all day. And then there was that burning kiss that hadn’t stopped smoldering since he’d planted it on her lips last night.

  Ironically, even his slow-moving style and lazy drawl made him more exciting than any other man she knew. She hadn’t thought she would look at a man with a sense of desire ever again, but she’d been wrong. Until a few days ago, she had promised herself she would never allow another man into her life, but somehow she had.

  “How was New Orleans?” Mae managed to ask.

  “Hot and crowded. I met the owner of that new gallery. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.” Nicole faced her grandmother. “Did you call Sheriff Tucker and report Johnny missing?”

  “No. I was afraid to. I didn’t want him thinking Johnny skipped town.”

  “Could he have?”

  “No. Johnny’s a good boy.”

  Nicole could hear the pride and love in her grandmother’s raspy voice. It was clouded with emotion and worry, and her heart went out to her. “He’ll turn up, Gran. He will.”

  “Bick’s out searching for him. I’ve been hoping and praying. That boy walked out of my life once before, and now that I’ve got him back I don’t want to lose him a second time. I failed him once, but not this time, Nicki. I won’t let it happen this time.”

  “Failed him? What are you talking about?”

  “I should have tried harder. Made him feel welcome here. I should have insisted.”

  “He knows you care about him. I’m sure he knew back then, too.”

  Mae let out a long, tired sigh. “I’m not so sure, Nicki. And it’s something I’ve lived with for fifteen years.”

  Without warning, Clair swung the study door open and rushed into the room. “Bick found him,” she nearly shouted. She looked at Nicole, then Mae. “He found him at the farmhouse. He’s been beaten badly.”

  “Oh, dear Lord,” Mae gasped.

  “Beaten!” Nicole cried. “Why? How?”

  “Bick didn’t give me any details. He just said I should tell Mae that Johnny’s at the boathouse. He said not to worry, but you know Bick. He never stutters unless he’s riled good. And he was making a mess of his words.”

  “Nicki! Where are you going? Nicki!”

  From the porch, Nicole shouted, “To the boathouse! I’ll let you know how serious he is as soon as I can.” Then she was off the porch and running toward the woods as fast as her sandals would allow.

  By the time she made it to Belle, Nicole was panting and clutching her side. She didn’t remember when her hair had slipped from its knot, but when she reached the boathouse it was hanging in her eyes and the gold clip was gone.

  Inside, she met Bick coming down the stairs. “How is he?” she asked anxiously.

  “They kn-knocked him around p-pretty good, Miss Nicki.”

  “Who are they?”

  Bick shrugged as he moved past her. “He w-won’t say. But to do damage like th-that, th-there had to be more than one walking on him at the s-same time. Whoever done it s-sure got more than one piece of him.” Bick jerked his baseball cap lower on his head. “Don’t l-look so worried. I-I’ll fix him up best I c-can.”

  “You? Shouldn’t we take him to the hospital?”

  “He said no fuss.”

  “I don’t care what he said,” Nicole snapped. “This is no time to be stubborn.”

  “Well, you b-best talk to him. He said no doc.”

  “I’ll handle it. You go back to the house and fill Gran in. Assure her that he’ll be all right.” Nicole paused. “He will be, won’t he?”

  “Oh, h-he’ll make it,” Bick guaranteed. “It’s just gonna slow him d-down for a spell.”

  “He did tell you what happened, didn’t he?”

  “I know what happened,” Bick declared. “H-he got beat.”

  Nicole sighed in exasperation. “Just explain it as best you can to ease Gran’s mind. Tell her I plan on taking Johnny to a doctor as soon as possible.”

  “Good luck with that, Miss Nicki. You want me to head back here in a little while, after I talk to Mae?”

  Nicole was losing patience. “No. If he doesn’t agree to a doctor, he’ll have to settle for me.”

  “You got any training in busted ribs?”

  The color drained from Nicole’s face. “Busted ribs?”

  “My guess is two, maybe three.”

  As Bick headed back to the house to do as she asked, Nicole climbed the stairs and let herself into the room. She hadn’t expected it to be so dark. Brought up short, she waited a minute while her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

  “Bick, that you?”

  The pain in his voice sent a spasm of fear through Nicole’s entire body. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and made her way farther into the room. “No, Johnny. It’s me, Nicki.”

  Silence.

  “Johnny?”

  “Dammit, cherie, get the hell out of here.”

  “I’m not leaving.” He was on the bed; she could see his shadowy figure. She stopped by the rocker and turned on the small lamp. “Oh, God!”

  He was lying on his back, shirtless in a pair of faded jeans. His face was badly bruised; one eye, his good one, was blackened and completely swollen shut. His lower lip was split, and blood had dried in the corner of his mouth. He had a cut on his forehead, and his bare chest and stomach were a mass of dark ugly bruises. A three-inch cut started to the left of his navel and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.

&nbs
p; There were two empty whiskey bottles on the bed beside him.

  Yes, he’d definitely been beaten. But amazingly enough, he still looked tough and resilient lying there sprawled the length of the bed.

  Nicole marveled at his durability; at the same time she felt angry and sick over what had been done to him. She glanced at the empty bottles, sure the liquor had been used to ease his obvious discomfort.

  She moved to the bed and eased down beside him. “You need a doctor, Johnny. Bick thinks you have broken ribs.

  “It looks worse than it is. I don’t need anything but a day off.” He offered her a half smile. “You think the boss lady will give it to me?”

  Nicole studied his face. He was a little drunk, but not inebriated. “Let me call Dr. Jefferies. Please?”

  “How was New Orleans?”

  “I didn’t come here to talk about what I did today. I’ve come to drive you to the hospital.” She held out her hand to offer him help in getting up. He made no move to take it.

  “Did you come by yourself?”

  “Yes.” Her nursing skills were limited, but if he wasn’t going to go to the hospital, Nicole would be forced to use them. “Come on, let’s go. You can’t—”

  “Shh. My head’s pounding. Don’t be a nagging wife.”

  Nicole clamped her mouth shut and glared at his battered face. “I wouldn’t have to be if you would listen to reason.”

  “You look good,” he drawled. “What I can see of you. So when are you going to start patching me up so I can feel your hands on me and think about something else besides how much I hurt?”

  Instead of getting angry, Nicole went into the bathroom and quickly put together some supplies to clean his wounds. She found a small enamel pan beneath the sink and filled it with hot water, then collected several towels, antiseptic and a bottle of pain relievers from the medicine cabinet.

  “You could have internal injuries,” she scolded, returning to the bed. “I still think—”

  “I’d know it, if I did. And I don’t.”

  She’d have to take his word on that, Nicole decided, because she couldn’t very well carry him through the woods and put him in the car by herself. She got busy cleaning the cut on his forehead and washing the dried blood from his face. She tried not to think about his comment earlier, even though she knew he was conscious of her touching him.