by Jodi Thomas
Just as she stepped forward, the piping gave and Ronelle jumped up toward the road. Her foot slipped on the crumbling edge of the bridge and she hit her knee hard. A second later she yelled in pain and rolled. The stinging on her knee, the roar of a motorcycle, and the screech of tires all blended together.
Ronelle closed her eyes and tried to think of herself as invisible so no motorcycle would find her, but the steady pounding of footsteps coming toward her told her she’d failed.
“Lady, are you all right?” someone yelled.
It took her a second to remember to breathe. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked up into the face of the tattooed thug she’d seen at Marty’s duplex. He’d shaved his head, making him even more frightening, but up close she saw that he was younger than she’d thought. Maybe only eighteen or nineteen. Marty had introduced him as Border Biggs.
“I swear, I didn’t even see you or feel the hit. It was just like one blink the road was clear and the next you were there.”
She let him help her to her feet. “You didn’t hit me. I fell.” She limped when she tried to move her leg. “I’m glad you were able to stop before I became a speed bump.”
Border looked relieved. “You’re the mail lady, Marty’s friend. I didn’t recognize you without your hat.”
Touching her knee, she felt the blood through her jeans.
“You sure you’re all right, lady?”
“I’m fine. I just skinned my leg.”
“I could take you home.”
“No.” If the neighbors saw her pull up with Border Biggs, it would give her mother a heart attack when she found out.
“At least let me take you to Marty’s place. It’s only a few blocks. He knows all kind of things about patching people up. The last time my brother and I got in a fight, he came over and patched us both up.”
She tested her weight on her knee. Blood ran down her leg. Then, as if someone had dumped cold water on her, she began to shake. The horror of what could have happened filled her thoughts. If she’d been hit? If she’d been killed?
“All right.” She gave in. It would take her forever to limp home, and besides, she needed to get the wound cleaned as soon as possible.
When she climbed on the motorcycle behind Border, Ronelle pulled her hood down to cover most of her face. Her mother would think that she was insane, but Border had given no indication that their conversation was pre-killing banter. He knew Marty and he’d offered to help. If he headed out of town to a good murdering spot, she’d fall off the bike. After all, she was already bleeding; how much more damage could she do in a fall?
But he didn’t speed up. He drove slow and easy the few blocks.
When they climbed off the motorcycle he watched her limp a few steps, and then he picked her up and carried her to the door. Without letting her down, he banged on Marty’s side of the duplex.
He twisted the knob, saw it wasn’t locked, and walked in talking without waiting for an invitation.
Marty looked up from his computer and frowned.
“Now before you start yelling, Marty, I didn’t hit her with the bike, I swear. She just fell on that lousy road by the bridge.”
Ronelle looked at Marty, and it seemed to her that his face had gone pale.
Border stood before the desk, still holding her in his arms. “I don’t think nothing’s broke, but hell, I don’t know. I offered to take her home, but she said to bring her here.”
Finally, Marty moved. “Put her on my bed. I’ll get the first-aid kit.”
Border took a deep breath, obviously happy to have a plan. He walked her into the bedroom and gently set her down on a slim military-style bunk. “I’m real sorry you’re hurt,” he mumbled.
“I’m fine.” She tried to smile. “Just a skinned knee.” She moved her leg as if to prove nothing was broken.
Border nodded and backed a few feet away.
“Thanks for bringing her here,” Marty said from the doorway. “Mind closing the door you left open?”
“Sure. I’ll be right back.”
Marty didn’t move from the doorway as he stared at her. “How about I have a look. I made an A in first-aid. My specialty at the time was skinned knees.”
He yelled back at Border. “Mind bringing me a big pot of hot water and a couple of kitchen towels?”
“Glad to,” Border answered. “I’m fine as long as I don’t have to look at blood.”
Marty moved closer as she sat on the edge of the bed and tried to pull up the leg of her jeans, but they wouldn’t go more than halfway up her calf.
“You’ll have to take them off,” Marty said. “Or I could cut them off above the knee.” When she didn’t move, he added, “We need to clean that wound, I can see the blood dripping.”
“I’ll take them off,” she said. “Turn around.”
As she untied her shoes Border came back with the water and some towels. “If you guys are all right here, I need to be moving on. My brother’s expecting me over at Winter’s Inn. We promised to help Martha Q and my grandmother get Easter decorations down from the attic. The old witch will yell at us the whole time, but my grandmother will have supper cooked, which kind of balances it all out, I guess.” He hesitated. “But I could stay if you need me.”
“We’ll handle this. Go.” Marty opened a first-aid kit and began spreading supplies out on the bed.
Border was gone before Ronelle had time to tell him thanks.
She looked around the room. Except for the half-bed, the room looked more like a gym than a bedroom. There was even a bar above his bed and machines everywhere. The room was the same size as the living area, but it seemed cramped.
“Nice job of decorating,” she said.
“Thanks. Take off those jeans.”
“Turn around.”
He met her stare. “Ronny, I’m going to see your legs anyway.”
“Turn around.”
He swore and whirled until his back was to her. While she unbuttoned her jeans, he asked, “What were you doing walking? It’s freezing out there.”
“I just had the chance.” She didn’t want to tell him more. She removed her jacket, then her shoes, and last her jeans, knowing they were ruined, but she folded them on the floor anyway. “You can turn around now. I’m ready.”
He turned to face her and took his time looking at her bare legs before he ordered, “Put your foot on the footrest of my chair.”
To her surprise he moved his foot off the rest without using his hands.
“You can move your legs,” she whispered.
“A little. That doesn’t mean I can walk.” He wet a corner of the kitchen towel and brushed it over the long thin cuts at her knee. “Not so bad. I think we can clean this up in no time.”
She sat completely still as he cleaned the wound and spread Neosporin on it. “Doesn’t look too bad. The bleeding has pretty well stopped. The main problem will be infection, so keep it clean and wrapped for a few days. At night let it breathe all you can.”
“You sound like a doc.”
“I made it to the first year of med school before the thrill of skiing pulled me away. Then there were several times my skills came in handy on the slopes.”
He put his hand behind her knee, lifted her leg up, and straightened it out over the arm of his chair. As he wrapped the cuts, his hands moved over her leg, touching her.
When he taped off the gauze, he rested his hand just above her bandaged knee. “Lie back, Ronny, relax a few minutes. You’ve been through a fright.”
She leaned back against his pillows.
“Now, breathe deep, honey. Let your muscles relax.”
She took deep breaths and let her heart slow. He lifted both her legs and she stretched out atop his bed. “I’m right here. You’re safe here.”
He placed his hand just above her knee, lightly stroking her skin.
She believed him. Her mother always told her the only safe place in the world was home, but she’d lied. The big kid with the t
attoos hadn’t hurt her. Marty hadn’t hurt her. They hadn’t yelled at her or told her what a fool she was.
Without opening her eyes, she asked, “Why do you call me honey?”
She heard him laugh. “I knew those lips would taste like honey even before I kissed you.” His hand brushed her skin. “I’ve been thinking about the feel of your mouth all weekend, but I never guessed . . .”
“What?” she said when he didn’t continue.
“Never mind.”
“No.” She rose to her elbow. “What did you never guess?”
“That you’d have such a body under all those baggy clothes.”
“I don’t,” she started.
He rolled suddenly forward, his face only inches from hers. “The hell you don’t.”
“But I’ve seen models . . .”
“Men don’t want models, honey, they want women. Real women.” He moved his warm hand up to her hip.
The look in his eyes told her just how beautiful he thought she was.
Before she could argue, he kissed her. His arm circled behind her as he pulled her closer to him. Against her lips he whispered, “You got a body that would drive the men in this town crazy if they ever got a look at it.”
The kiss that followed was hard and fast. When he pulled away, he whispered against her ear. “You ready for lesson two?”
She nodded slightly. Afraid and excited.
He held her head at just the right angle and waited until she closed her eyes, wet her lips, and opened her mouth lightly. Then he kissed her long and tenderly. When she relaxed, he lowered her head in the crook of his arm and began kissing his way down her throat while his hand made lazy circles over her abdomen. The thin T-shirt made his touch almost skin on skin.
When he straightened, he leaned back and watched her move slowly, trying to figure out where her arms should go and where her head should rest against his arm.
When she looked at him, nervous and embarrassed, he said simply, “Keep moving, Ronny. I love watching you just move.” He fisted her shirt, pulling it tightly across her breasts. “You’re a work of art in motion.”
She didn’t say a word, but she began to shake. No one had ever talked to her this way.
“Cold?” he guessed. “You’ve had quite a shock.”
She nodded, for lack of anything else to say.
He pulled the covers over her gently.
After he’d tucked her in, his fingers pulled her hair free of the knot and gently combed it back away from her face as he lifted her head to the pillow.
“I better be going . . .”
“No.” He stopped her. “Stay just a minute longer.” He brushed her arm. “Stay and let me look at you.”
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. If she’d said a word she might have cried. No one ever saw her.
He raised her arms above her head to the pillow, and then slowly moved his hands beneath the covers and brushed his fingers along her sides. “Are you still cold?”
She closed her eyes, thinking his touch was warming her to her toes. “I’m fine. Just fine, thank you.”
His hand slid along her arm, slowly caressing her. “I don’t know where you got the idea that you’re not beautiful, Ronny, because you are. Looking at you is almost as pleasant as touching you.”
She caught her breath when he moved his hand to her waist and tugged her T-shirt up a few inches.
“Any objections, honey?”
“None,” she whispered.
His warm fingers spread out over her middle and she bowed with the pleasure, then settled back, hoping for more.
She heard the wheelchair move slightly and felt his breath on her cheek. “You all right with me touching you? Because if you’re not, we stop now,” he asked as he pulled the bedspread up higher with one hand.
“I don’t want to leave,” she whispered as his mouth brushed against her cheek. “I want to be with you.”
He tucked the covers around her. “Stay then. Rest. I’ll wake you in an hour.”
Ronny drifted to sleep to the rhythm of his touch. His strong fingers gently brushed over her with calming, loving strokes.
The room had grown dark when he whispered, “Wake up, sleepyhead, and get out of my bed. The least I can do is feed you after all the pleasure you brought me.”
“Pleasure?” she mumbled, more asleep than awake.
“It’s been a million years since I’ve touched a woman, and even in your sleep you moved to my touch.” He leaned close and slowly kissed her, deepening the kiss as she woke.
When he broke the kiss, she felt his hand patting her hip. She sat up with a start. “I didn’t mean to sleep. Did you . . . did you touch me all over?”
“Would you have minded if I did?”
Tears bubbled in her eyes. “Yes. I don’t want to miss it.”
He laughed. “You didn’t miss it, honey. I felt the weight of your breast in my hand and the nice roundness of your hip, but I want you awake when I touch some parts of your body.”
She nodded, scrubbing away her tears, and sat up. “You must think I’m an idiot.”
“No. I think you’ve been asleep maybe all your life. You’re just waking up. At a point in my life when all I wanted to do was disappear from life, watching you is like pulling back the curtains and letting light in for the first time in a long while.”
Tears started falling down her cheeks again, and she shoved them away.
He pulled her hands away from her face and didn’t let go as she began to talk to him, really talk, like she’d never done to anyone on the planet. When she finally stopped she sat for a while, then laughed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Ronny, you can drop by anytime. I could drive you home anytime you’re ready.”
“No.” She stood, brushing the bandage as if she could brush away the pain. “I can walk.” She reached for her shoes.
He laughed. “Put on your pants first.”
“No.” She shook her head. “They’re bloody. Mother might see them and go nuts.”
He seemed to understand. Rolling a few feet to a shelf, he pulled out a pair of black jogging pants. “Here, wear these. They’ll be too big, but they’ll keep you warm until you get home.”
She didn’t have time to debate. Her mother was probably already on her way back from the meeting. Pulling on the pants, she slipped into her shoes and grabbed her coat. “Thanks, I have to run.” At the door, she turned. “I’ll see you Friday for lunch.”
“No,” he yelled. “I don’t want to wait that long. Try for Monday.”
“Lunch?” She smiled.
He nodded. “And lesson three.”
She would have run back and kissed him good-bye, but she remembered his demand. No kissing when she was standing.
At his door, she paused. “Marty?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Could we do that again sometime . . . even if I don’t need first aid? It felt good to have you touch me lightly like that.”
He smiled. “I’ll look forward to it.”
She darted away, embarrassed that she’d been so bold to ask.
Ronny ignored the pain and jogged her way home. She’d just slipped into her pajamas when she heard the garage door. Shoving Marty’s jogging pants under the bed, she hurried to the kitchen.
When her mother walked in carrying an empty salad bowl, Ronny looked up from her crossword.
“Have you been sitting there all night? I swear. Couldn’t you at least move into the living room and watch TV? Working those little crosswords will ruin your eyes. When you’re sitting around with glasses thick as safety glass you’ll wish you’d listened to your mother.”
Before Dallas could rage on, Ronny asked, “How was the meeting?”
She never said another word as Dallas talked herself into exhaustion. Even when they’d retired to separate bedrooms, she could still hear her mother mumbling in her sleep. Ronny knew that her mother thought the world would go to hell in a hatbox without Dallas
Logan to explain everything.
Dallas would never take the time to see where her daughter was going.
Ronny smiled. She’d made up her mind. She was going to fall in love.
Chapter 37
TRUMAN FARM
AFTER SPENDING ALL DAY SATURDAY IN HIS CLOSET OF A room trying to figure out what parts of his drunken rage had been real and what came from the bottle, Noah elected to just sleep. He didn’t want to see Reagan. Every part of his body hurt, but if what he thought had happened in the hallway hadn’t happened, he decided he didn’t want to know yet. The truth might hurt worst of all.
Lately, when he drank, he drank slowly all day long. He hated being drunk, but he liked the dull feeling of being halfway in-between. Not sober enough to do any serious thinking, not drunk enough to do anything stupid.
When Reagan brought him orange juice on Saturday, he pretended to be asleep; later that night someone set a tray by his bed, but he didn’t eat anything.
Sunday morning he knew he’d have to face Reagan. Bran had probably told her the details of how he’d found Noah passed out in the bar anyway.
When Noah got downstairs, everyone smiled at him and said hello. Foster even asked how he was feeling, but no one, not even Reagan, asked him any questions.
Aunt Pat, whom he seemed to have inherited when his sister Alex married Hank Matheson, was reading to Uncle Jeremiah, who looked to be sound asleep. Noah wandered into the kitchen and found Rea setting up to make pies. He sat down and watched her for a while, then asked, “Why do you love making pies so much?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe because when I lived in children’s homes between foster homes, we never got pies, not real ones. I find it hard to believe anyone would want to eat a store-bought one after tasting homemade.”
Noah had never given it much thought. “What are we having today?”
She smiled. “Chocolate. Both Pat and Jeremiah are having a little trouble with their teeth.”
“And they can gum chocolate.”
“Right.”
Noah looked down at his hands. “You mind if I borrow your pickup again? I need to go to town and thank someone after I say I’m sorry. It won’t take me thirty minutes.”