I’d awakened exhausted, and determined that Penny was right, I should go to church. If nothing else, I could talk to the priest about an exorcism. Or maybe, like she’d suggested, I needed penance and absolution.
Pumping the gas pedal and turning the key on and off a few times did nothing. I popped the hood, got out, kicked at the front tire as I went by, and stared at my truck’s crusty battery. That’s where Malcolm and Nicky found me. They were on their way out in an SUV. He had the Jag, the big pickup, and now this. They were all dark green, and they all worked. I hated him.
Malcolm put the window down. “Going to church?”
Jesus. I couldn’t catch a freaking break. Nicky waved from the back seat. I waved to her.
“Do I look like someone who goes to church?”
“Where else would you be going dressed like that?”
I wore a longish linen skirt with an old pair of bike shorts underneath, low-heeled leather sandals, and a brown silk tank over a snug camisole that would have to do until I could get to the local underwear store. He got out and perused my engine compartment.
“Sounds like a dead battery,” I said.
“Your terminals look like a root-beer float. You want a lift? I can charge your battery later—if there’s anything left to take a charge.”
“Very funny.” Guess I’d be skipping Mass. I wasn’t sure I should go anywhere with him. Look what’d happened when we went to the art museum. “No thanks. It’s not important.”
Nicky lowered the back window. “We’re going to church. Don’t you want to go? I can have communion now. I did my reconciliation.”
I didn’t want to go. I needed to go.
“It’s the Catholic Church…” Malcolm said, looking hopeful.
I’d been anticipating a little alone time with God, looking forward to the quiet serenity of solitary meditation, hoping for insight into my poor excuse for a life. If I went with them, I’d be conscious only of sitting side-by-side with Malcolm, reciting the ancient prayers together, and being part of a family unit to which I didn’t belong.
But if I didn’t go with them, I didn’t go at all.
“That’s okay,” I said, resigned. “Some of my best friends are Catholic.”
He smiled. “What a coincidence. Get in.”
Nicky clapped and said, “Yay!”
We turned left out of the drive, went a short distance, and cut down a gravel road past a muddy fenced area that looked like a bomb had hit it. No underbrush grew beneath the mostly-dead trees. A ditch ran through the middle of the mess with a trickle of dirty water in the bottom of it. There were even three vultures perched high on a bare limb.
“What happened there?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Look at it—the trees are dead, it’s all dug up…” Then I saw the cause. Pigs.
“Hogs,” Malcolm said. “They root around and make a mess.”
“And they’re stinky,” Nicky said. She oinked at them.
“You’re right about that, sweetie,” Malcolm said with a glance in his rear-view mirror. He oinked. She giggled.
“What’s the difference between a hog and a pig, anyway?” I asked.
He looked at me like he was trying to determine if I were serious. I just looked back, waiting for an answer. Surely I’m not the only person in the world who doesn’t know. We came out on a paved road, and he turned right. I was keeping track so I could find my way again, just in case.
“Technically,” he said, “a pig weighs less than one-hundred-twenty pounds, and a hog weighs more.”
“Ohhh,” I said. “That’s good to know.” Technically, that made JJ a hog. Although I could think of a few other choice names to call him as well.
“They’re all fat,” Nicky said.
After a moment, Malcolm added, “Yes, and they’re all swine.”
Amen.
A few minutes later, we turned off the blacktop into a dirt parking lot filled with pickup trucks, SUVs, a few cars, and one tractor. The church was rosy-pink brick, small and old, but each side contained tall stained-glass windows as colorful as any I’d ever seen. A stone’s throw to one side was a field of cattle, and in the back, a cemetery. Most of the others hurrying through the heavy wooden doors were either senior citizens or families with small children. Nicky and Malcolm held hands, and I followed. The walkway was cracked, and we had to hop over a few puddles left by the rain.
Malcolm acknowledged other parishioners with a nod, and we slid into a pew about halfway down on the left. Nicky genuflected to the floor, as only the young and those who have recently received First Communion do, and I followed. Malcolm’s fingertips lightly brushed my side as he guided me in, sending a jolt of heat to my core.
I knelt. Malcolm did the same. Our elbows touched where they rested on the back of the pew in front of us. God, I prayed most fervently, a little help here, please?
Shortly after the first song, Nicky asked to switch places so she could sit next to her father. Perhaps God listened to me after all. I revised that thought the moment she slipped up the aisle to attend the children’s liturgy, and Malcolm slid closer to me. I spent the rest of the time admiring the rainbow of sunlight coming through the windows, deluding myself I was contemplating the images portrayed. The artist had a remarkable imagination for halos. Each one was an exquisite work of art of its own.
As we filed out, several folks stopped to extend their sympathy to Malcolm over Norman, or ask if there was any news, and exclaim over how tall Nicky was getting. A few old ladies introduced themselves to me—but I could tell they already knew who I was. And I’m sure they all knew and disapproved of my not wearing proper undergarments.
By the time we reached the truck, I thought I would faint from the strain of maintaining a smile for so long. Malcolm took it all in stride, graciously pressing the flesh like a seasoned politician, alternating between asking about absent family members and promising to be in town for the next parish council meeting.
He was clearly a well-liked and respected member of the community. If any local sentiment supported the sale of Winterlight to developers, it was not evident in this crowd.
With Nicky strapped into the back seat, Malcolm asked, “How about breakfast?”
“Can we go to The Brick?” she asked.
“Of course. But we’ll have to help Miss Parker with the work when we get home, okay?” She nodded. He looked at me. “Okay?”
God wasn’t listening to me at all. He was too busy laughing. I’m sure He loves it when humans get themselves in uncomfortable situations like this. I don’t know what Malcolm prayed for, but the look in his eyes when he said, okay? was hungry, and his appetite was definitely not for scrambled eggs.
The Brick was a little café five miles south. As its name implied, it was red and had the squat proportions of a big brick lying on its side.
The hostess seated us and brought coffee while we looked at the menu. A waitress gave Nicky crayons. She sat next to her dad, flipped over the placemat, and began coloring. I had taken the seat across from him.
“They have a decent buffet, if you don’t like the menu.”
“Can I have French toast?” Nicky asked.
“If you have a bowl of fruit,” he answered.
She frowned.
“I’ll split one with you,” I offered.
She nodded vigorously. “Okay.”
Malcolm smiled at her. He did that a lot.
“So, have you talked to your father lately?” I asked. I’d meant that to sound nonchalant, but it was apropos of nothing in our conversation. No future in detective work for me. I’d have to ask Dex how he did it.
He didn’t look up from his menu. “Why do you ask?”
I sipped my coffee and smiled at the waitress while she poured more for him. “Just curious. You know, I never talk to my parents, so I like to see how adults with normal relationships do it.” If it were someone else acting so ridiculous, I would have laughed.
&nbs
p; He looked at me then, and didn’t smile, exactly, but there was a sparkle of challenge in his eyes. “Define normal.”
“Anything other than what I have with my parents would qualify.”
He closed his menu. “Don’t be so sure.”
The waitress swung by and took our order. I decided to drop the subject. Maybe I could get something useful out of Hank and Clara.
“Are we going to see Grandpa today?” Nicky asked.
Malcolm took her hand and kissed it. “Not today, Pumpkin. Your mom will be by later so you can go back to Chicago.”
“I want to stay here.”
“I want you to stay too, but summer vacation starts in a few weeks. Then, we’ll be together so much, you’ll be sick of me.”
“Oh, Daddy, I could never be sick of you.” She circled his neck with her arms, pulled him toward her, and kissed him.
I looked away, thinking a trip to the restroom was in order, and that’s when I spotted JJ.
- 25 -
I know the color fled my face, because I’m sure all the blood drained from my body at that point. It hadn’t occurred to me I might see him again, let alone so soon, but I should have prepared myself. As it was, I felt something I’d never felt before. Frozen. Not angry or scared, just witlessly rooted to the spot. Malcolm took one look at me, extricated himself from Nicky’s embrace, and followed my stare over his shoulder.
Either JJ didn’t see us or he was ignoring us. He went to the register, paid, and didn’t look our way. I darted a glance at Nicky. She’d gone back to her drawing. My wits began to return, and with them, an overwhelming urge to hide.
“I’ll take Nicky to wash up,” I said.
I thought I was dealing with it, but I’d only been ignoring it. I’d been attacked. The man who did it was in the same room with me. I was afraid. Malcolm’s hand came down on mine before I could get out of my chair.
“Stay,” he said. “No matter what happens.”
He held my gaze with his, willing me to feel protected. I’d never depended on someone else and wasn’t sure I could start now. Running away was a much better solution. But I left my hand in his grip, kept my eyes on his, and took a deep breath. I’d rather be galloping downhill toward a bottomless ditch on a scared horse, but I remained still. I thought of how I would steady that animal, what I would do to convince her she was brave and powerful, that she could handle it. I pretended to be her. I let Malcolm’s strength pervade my senses, and tried to believe that whatever happened, it would be okay.
He drank his coffee. I drank my coffee. Nicky colored. JJ saw us just before he slipped out the door. He paused to allow a couple to enter, and appeared to consider his next move. The background hubbub of people talking and dishes clattering receded to a fizz of white noise. He had a band-aid over the bridge of his nose and a black eye. I hoped it was from my punch. I hoped it hurt like hell. He looked me right in the face, then locked his gaze on the back of Malcolm’s head. If JJ had a gun, Malcolm would be in the crosshairs. An easy shot. No more than twenty feet separated us.
Malcolm studied my face, and I’m sure he could tell exactly what was going on. I’ve never been a good poker player.
“Look at me,” he whispered in that warm tone that usually made me go all soft and moist. When I didn’t respond, he squeezed my forearm. “Vi.”
I blinked and looked at him. The waitress brought our food. He kept hold of me, his thumb lightly rubbing the underside of my wrist, looking for all the world like a man with no more on his mind than enjoying breakfast.
JJ started toward us.
“He’s coming over,” I whispered. I took a long drink of water.
“He’s not important,” Malcolm said for my ears alone. “He’s a scum-sucking pig who doesn’t deserve to live.”
I gagged on my water and almost spit it across at him.
A feral smile touched the corners of Malcolm’s mouth. JJ stopped at the edge of our table. Neither of us looked up, but Nicky did, and I wished she wasn’t there. I tried to draw her attention by rattling the ice in my water glass.
“Ain’t this a pretty picture,” JJ said.
“It was, until you showed up,” Malcolm said.
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna get what’s mine, Mac, and soon.”
“You have what’s yours, JJ, and then some.” Malcolm ran the index finger of his free hand down the handle of his fork, then along the knife’s edge. His eyes had hardened to the same shade of cold silver as the utensils. “If you know what’s good for you, you will go far away, and you will stay there.”
My eyes strayed to JJ’s belt buckle, then wandered up to his face. It had turned an unflattering shade of dark red.
“Or, what?” he asked on a derisive snort.
“You’ve gotten off easy so far. That’ll change.”
JJ leaned close. He smelled of engine oil.
“Don’t get in my way, Mac. I’ve had everything that’s yours already, one way or another.” He raised his hand toward me. “This one—”
Malcolm rocketed out of his seat. I flinched and clamped my hand on his arm before a piece of cutlery became embedded in JJ’s chest.
Nicky yelped, “Daddy!”
People at nearby tables stopped eating to stare.
Malcolm stood nose-to-nose with JJ. “Your time is coming,” he hissed, “but lucky for you, this isn’t it. Get out.”
I tugged on Malcolm, and he eased back into his seat. A war of words was one thing, but they were close to blows. And I’m pretty sure my hair was literally standing on end.
“This ain’t over,” JJ said, and he walked away.
“No,” Malcolm said to JJ’s receding form, “no it isn’t.”
He kept his eyes on JJ until his dilapidated truck pulled onto the highway. In the set of Malcolm’s jaw and coldness of his gaze, I could see that long-buried antipathy had risen to churn just below the surface. And I could almost read his mind. JJ was a dead man walking. A feeling like icy fingers walking up my spine gave me a shiver. What the hell had I gotten myself into?
Malcolm turned his attention to us, composed and unruffled. I felt like I’d been through the spin cycle a couple of times.
“Daddy, why are you having an argument with JJ?”
“We’re not having an argument, sweetie.”
She gave him a look. She knew an argument when she heard one.
“Maybe a little disagreement,” he said. “Grownups have them.”
She mulled that over, and then asked, “Like you and Mommy?”
Holy shit. Maybe now I could hit the bathroom?
He took a deep breath before answering. “Yes. Like me and Mommy.” He laid his arm on the table. “You poked me,” he said to me. A row of four crescents showed where I’d dug my nails into his flesh. “Look at that.” He showed his arm to Nicky.
Nicky giggled. “Vi, why did you poke Daddy?”
“He needed a good poke.” I forced myself to smile at her. “Everyone does once in a while.”
“I’ll give you a poke,” Malcolm said to me with a wink.
I widened my eyes in mock horror and took a bite of salad thinking I should have ordered waffles with extra whipped cream. Surely I could get a side order.
How did he set the anger away? Where could I get a side order of that level of emotional restraint?
“By the way,” I said, “you should have said hog.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“When you called him a scum-sucking pig. Technically, he’s a hog.”
He leaned back from the table. “By God, you’re right.”
“Yes,” Nicky said in a very good impersonation of her father, “and they’re all swine.”
- 26 -
Back at the ranch, Malcolm removed and cleaned my truck’s battery, and hooked it to a charger. He said he didn’t have a great deal of hope for it.
“You think I need a new one?”
I hated to spend the money, but he’d paid me the day before, so I could af
ford it. He’d overpaid me, actually. Said to consider it a signing bonus. The problem was, as Dex One had pointed out, I hadn’t opened a local checking account yet. I could do that after the morning chores, but I didn’t have anything to drive.
“Tomorrow, I have to go to a client site in the city. I’ll be there most of the day, but I can pick one up for you on my way home.”
“That’ll work.” It would have to. But I didn’t like the idea of being alone at the farm without a vehicle.
“Just in case, take these.” He gave me the keys to the SUV. “I can use the Jag.” He dusted off his hands. “I’m going to help Nicky with Mike.”
We walked into the barn together.
“You know how to use a shotgun?” he asked.
I stopped. I hated guns. I’d never held one and had no interest in learning how to shoot one.
“No.”
“There’s nothing to it—”
“No.” I walked away.
He caught up with me. “Vi, this is no time to be stubborn.”
My stomach began to knot. “It’s not open for discussion. I said no. I mean no.”
“Why not?”
Hadn’t I just said it wasn’t open for discussion? The funny thing was, I didn’t have a reason. I didn’t know anyone who had been killed with a gun. I’d never been shot. Maybe it was irrational. I didn’t like them.
“They’re…loud.” I went into the tack room and shut the door. He didn’t pursue it.
A few minutes later, Nicky came in. She’d changed from her church clothes into the jods and boots from the day before. I assumed she wanted Mike’s tack, but she didn’t go to the bridles or saddles. She didn’t appear to have any purpose.
“Going riding?” I asked.
She shrugged.
“Don’t forget your helmet,” I said.
Candace Carrabus - Dreamhorse 01 - On the Buckle Page 17