by Cindi Myers
On her way to the filing cabinet, she passed the flower arrangement he’d sent this morning. Seven pink roses and a single red bud. One rose for each of the years they’d spent apart, and a bud holding the promise of a beautiful flower. She lingered in front of the vase, inhaling the subtle perfume. Red roses meant true love and passion. Troy was asking her to believe his love was true, and she wanted to. Oh, she wanted to.
So why did she have doubts? She turned her back on the flowers and resolutely made her way to the filing cabinet. As usual, the box labeled To Be Filed was overflowing. She grabbed a stack from the top and began thumbing through it.
After she and Troy had made love, she’d told herself his past didn’t matter. All she cared about was that he’d come back to be a father to Greg and a partner to her.
Then the policeman had pulled them over and she’d seen him change before her eyes. She’d realized in that moment how much she didn’t know about this man she was falling in love with all over again. And how much his past could affect their future. Had Troy really put prison behind him? How often had her father vowed to do so and failed?
The edge of a glossy sheet of paper caught her eye amid the pile of letters and carbonless forms. She slid a catalog from the stack and stared at the gleaming silver-and-blue motorcycle on the cover. A rugged-looking man straddled the bike, smiling into the camera, while a curvaceous blonde held on behind him. She thought of how it had felt to ride behind Troy, arms wrapped around him as they flew over the pavement.
“I’ve been looking for that. Where did you find it?” Mr. Morgenroth stopped in front of her and nodded at the motorcycle catalog.
She handed it to him. “It was in the papers to be filed.”
He nodded absently and began flipping through the catalog. “Here. Tell me what you think.” He opened to a two-page spread of gleaming motorcycles, crouched like panthers against a starting line. He pointed to a hulking bike loaded with chrome and leather. “That one.”
She looked at the picture and tried to imagine Mr. Morgenroth racing down the freeway. She bit back a smile. “Is this the one you’re buying?”
Her boss studied the picture, a dreamy expression on his face. “Maybe. Troy thought I’d like that, or maybe the Royal Star.” He smiled at her. “He’s been wonderful, answering all my questions and steering me in the right direction.”
Troy again. Would everything today lead back to him? She busied herself straightening the papers in her hands. “So you two have become friends?”
“I have been spending a lot of time out at Wiley’s.” He chuckled. “My wife says she always knows where to find me now.” He dropped the catalog onto his desk and frowned thoughtfully. “I’ll admit I had my doubts about Troy that first day he came in here. I thought he looked…rough.”
She nodded. “I remember. But now you’ve changed your mind?”
“I guess I overreacted a little because of my concern for you.” Mr. Morgenroth smiled. “I’m sure it’s no secret that I have a soft spot for you, Marlee. I’ve always thought of you almost like one of my daughters.”
She flushed. “I…I’m flattered,” she stammered.
“Oh, don’t be. My three real daughters will tell you I’m far too overprotective.”
She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Dear Mr. M. If you only knew…“I…I don’t see much of my own father,” she said.
“My dear, why not?” He shook his head. “Of course, it’s none of my business. Forgive me for prying. Though if you need someone to talk to…”
Marlee shrugged. “There isn’t anything to talk about. He wasn’t around very often when I was a child. I haven’t seen him in years.”
“I imagine that would be hard.” Mr. Morgenroth took a deep breath. “Well, I can’t put myself in your shoes, but as a man who’s about to become a grandfather for the second time, I will say that your father is definitely missing out, not having a relationship with you and your son. Maybe…well, maybe you can still mend the rift. People do change, you know.”
She shook her head. Every time her father had come home from prison when she was a child, he’d vowed to make a fresh start. He’d always ended up with his old friends, picking up the same bad habits. After a while, instead of quitting his life of crime, he’d simply quit coming home. Marlee and her mother had heard from him occasionally, but he never lived with them again. As far as Marlee was concerned, he’d made his choice years ago.
“Well, we’d better get back to work.” Mr. Morgenroth stood and pulled a pair of tickets from his shirt pocket. “I wanted to talk to you anyway. I have a pair of tickets to the Ice Bats game tomorrow night, but Alice and I are going to be out of town. Maybe you’d like them instead. You and Troy could go.”
She started to tell him to give the tickets to Trish or Nancy. A hockey game wasn’t her idea of a romantic date. “Greg’s crazy about the team,” she said, hesitating.
“You can probably pick up an extra ticket at the box office and take him along.”
Or Troy could take Greg. Greg would love that. She hugged the stack of papers to her chest. She hadn’t yet allowed Troy to take his son anywhere by himself. But she couldn’t believe he’d do anything to harm the boy.
She nodded. “I’d love the tickets, Mr. Morgenroth. Thank you.” This would be her gift to Troy and Greg. And to herself. She had to learn to trust Troy. A hockey game was as good a place as any to start.
“I WONDERED IF YOU’D like to go to the hockey game tomorrow night.”
Troy’s grip tightened on the phone receiver. Marlee had called him at work for the first time—and she was asking him out. “Yeah. That’d be great. I didn’t know you liked hockey.” When he’d known her before, Marlee had been uninterested in sports of any kind.
“I don’t. But Greg’s a huge fan of the Ice Bats. Their mascot visited his school last year and he’s been dying to go to a game ever since. And since Mr. Morgenroth gave me tickets…”
“You’d let me go with Greg—just the two of us?”
“Yes. I think it’s time. Don’t you?”
“Yes.” He’d hoped she’d trust him enough to do this a long time ago. But he knew what a big step this was for her. “Thank you,” he added.
“I got the flowers,” she said, her voice softer. “They’re beautiful. Thanks.”
He shrugged even though he knew she couldn’t see him, and shoved his free hand into his pocket. “I just thought…They made me think of you.”
An awkward silence stretched between them. Marlee took a deep breath. “The game starts at seven. Why don’t you come over about six?”
“Okay.” They said goodbye, then he hung up and stood staring at the phone. It was an old-fashioned black model with a rotary dial, the plastic smudged from years of mechanics’ greasy hands. One day, he’d have a job that kept his hands clean. He wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to do yet; something to help people. Something to make Marlee and Greg proud of him.
“So, was that your girlfriend?”
He looked up as Scotty strolled into the office, a sheaf of invoices in his hand. Scotty deposited the invoices in a tray on Wiley’s desk, then plopped into the chair. “How’s Marvelous Marlee doing?”
“She’s just marvelous.” He hadn’t told Marlee about Scotty’s nickname for her.
“If I had me a woman like that, I’d be happy as a pig in slop.”
Troy didn’t want to talk about Marlee with Scotty. “Frank Britton came by here looking for you yesterday,” he said instead.
“I know. He left a message for me.”
“You two hanging out together now?”
“Not exactly.”
When Scotty didn’t elaborate, Troy shrugged and started to turn away.
“I tried to be friends with the old man,” Scotty said. “He’s got a pretty sweet setup there in that apartment building. He has the keys to all the apartments and everything. Can you believe they gave a guy like Frank that kind of access?”
“T
hat doesn’t say much for their security,” Troy admitted. If management had run even a cursory background check they’d have discovered Frank had a long record. Did they really think he was just a harmless old man?
Scotty picked up a pencil and tapped it on the desktop. “He said I smelled like trouble.” He laughed. “I told him that was my new aftershave.”
Maybe Frank had gained a little wisdom over the years. “Is he right?” Troy asked. “Are you looking for trouble?”
Scotty’s gaze slid away. “Not me, man.” He tossed the pencil onto the desk. “Though I’m sure as hell tired of working this job for crap wages.”
“Nobody’s making you stay.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just here until something better comes along.”
Troy had found his something better, with Marlee and Greg. Nothing else mattered—not a job or where he lived or what other people thought of him—now that he had them back in his life.
“MAMA! HE’S HERE!”
Marlee didn’t need Greg to alert her to Troy’s arrival. She’d already heard the throb of the motorcycle engine. She raced to the front window in time to see the bike coast into the driveway. She caught her breath as she watched Troy dismount and pull the helmet off his head. He reached his hands in the air and stretched, a languid movement that sent a flush of heat over her.
He sauntered up the walk to the door. She stepped back from the window, but continued to watch him. What woman wouldn’t? He was the kind of man women fantasized about, all taut muscle sheathed in black leather, the danger tempered by the possibility of tenderness.
For Marlee, the danger—and the tenderness—were no fantasy. She only hoped her physical desire for Troy hadn’t overwhelmed her common sense. She wanted to do what was right for herself and for Greg.
“We’re going to see the Ice Bats! We’re going to see the Ice Bats!” Greg opened the door and launched himself at Troy, clinging to his hand as he chanted the good news.
“Your mom told me you were a fan. Guess she was right.” Troy chuckled and lifted Greg into his arms.
A different kind of warmth swept over Marlee—love for her son, coupled with the assurance that she was doing the right thing, letting him spend an evening alone with Troy. The two of them needed this chance to get to know each other better, without her interference.
Troy turned to her. “Thanks for inviting me. Next time I see Mr. Morgenroth, I’ll have to tell him thank you, too.”
“He mentioned he’d been coming by the shop pretty often.”
“He can’t seem to make up his mind about a bike. Though, I think he was checking me out, seeing if I was okay for you.”
She thought of what Mr. Morgenroth had said, about feeling as if she were one of his daughters. She flushed. “He hasn’t really been doing that, has he?”
“Let’s just say I seemed to answer his questions to his satisfaction.” He grinned. “And he told me a lot of things about you, too.”
“What kind of things?”
“Don’t worry. It’s all good. Scotty’s taken to calling you Marvelous Marlee.”
She frowned at the mention of the ex-con. “So Scotty’s still there?”
“Yes.” Time for a change of subject. “If the game starts at seven, I guess we’d better get going.”
Greg squirmed in Troy’s arms. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
“Take my car.” Marlee pulled her keys from her pocket.
“I want to ride on the motorcycle,” Greg protested.
“You’ll have to wait until you’re older for that,” Troy said.
“And come home right after the game,” Marlee said. “Remember—tomorrow’s a school day.”
Troy nodded and took the keys, then kissed her cheek. “Thanks,” he whispered. His eyes met hers for a brief moment, communicating a depth of emotion words couldn’t express.
She followed them outside and stood on the porch and waved until the car was out of the driveway and headed down the street. Then she went back inside to her strangely quiet house.
She walked down the hall to Greg’s room.
She sat on the side of his unmade bed, and looked at the toys and books on the shelves. The toy motorcycle Troy had given Greg held pride of place on the bedside table. A picture the two had colored together one afternoon was tacked to the closet door. Troy had breached their little fortress, insinuating himself into their lives.
The idea of Troy sharing anything with them had terrified her at first. She’d feared he’d steal Greg’s love, or even Greg himself, away from her. Now she could see how wrong she’d been. Greg could love a mother and a father.
She picked up Greg’s teddy bear and hugged it. She had room to love her son and Troy. She wondered now if she’d ever really stopped loving him, or if she’d only sealed off that part of her heart, waiting for him to return.
The ringing doorbell startled her out of her reverie. She set aside the stuffed animal and hurried down the hall. Had Troy forgotten something?
She checked the peephole as she reached for the doorknob and froze. Two men in blue uniforms stood on her front step. For a split second she thought about pretending she wasn’t home. She’d hide in the bedroom until they went away.
Don’t be ridiculous, she chided herself. You haven’t done anything wrong.
With trembling fingers, she opened the door just wide enough to peer out. “Hello?” she said.
“Marlee Britton?” The older of the two officers held out his ID for her to examine. Detective Brad Getz.
“Yes?” She stared at the identification card, the picture and letters blurring in a haze of fear and nerves.
“May we come in for a moment?” Detective Getz asked.
“What is this about?” Marlee asked.
“I’m Detective Youngfield.” The second officer produced his ID. “We have a few questions for you about Troy Denton.”
Numb, she led them into the living room, where she sank onto the sofa, her legs unable to support her anymore. She stared at the two policemen, saying nothing.
“Ms. Britton, do you recognize this man?” Detective Youngfield handed her a photograph. It was obviously a mug shot of a young, thin man with a hooked nose. Staring at him, Marlee felt as if a heavy weight had dropped onto her shoulders, so heavy she could scarcely remain upright.
“Do you recognize him?” the officer repeated.
She nodded. “I’ve heard him called Scotty.” She returned the picture.
“When was the last time you saw him?” Detective Getz asked.
“A couple of weeks ago, I guess.”
“Where was this?”
“At Wiley’s Custom Cycles. He works there.”
“With Troy Denton.”
She dug her nails into her palm, fighting panic. “Yes, Troy works there. Officer, what is this about?”
“Have you heard Troy talk about Scotty any?”
“Not really.” Scotty calls you Marvelous Marlee.
“What about this man? You know him?” Detective Youngfield handed over a second mug shot.
Marlee began to tremble, and for one awful moment she thought she might be sick right there in her living room. “That’s Frank Britton,” she said. “My father.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE POLICEMEN STAYED with Marlee for another half hour, asking questions she didn’t want to answer. “When was the last time you saw your father?” “Did you know he’s been seen speaking to Troy Denton on at least two occasions?” “Do you think they could be friends?”
Her father and Troy—friends? A friendship he hadn’t told her about? “I haven’t been in touch with my father in almost ten years,” she said. “We don’t speak. I don’t know what he’s up to and I don’t care.”
“What about Troy Denton? Do you care about him?”
She glared at Detective Youngfield, who’d asked the question. After a few long seconds, he averted his gaze.
“We know Denton has spent a lot of time over here,�
�� Detective Getz said.
“How? Have you been watching him?” she asked.
“We’re conducting an investigation. Do you know where Denton is tonight?”
“He’s at an Austin Ice Bats game—with my son.”
“Are you sure about that?” Detective Youngfield asked.
“My boss gave them the tickets. My son was very excited about going.”
“Has Denton given you any gifts lately?” Youngfield continued. “Jewelry or art or anything like that—things someone in his position might not realistically be able to afford?”
She shook her head. Troy hadn’t given her jewelry or art, only toys for Greg, flowers and…“He gave me a new washer and dryer.” Where had he gotten the money for those, especially since he hadn’t been working for Wiley’s very long at that point?
Detective Getz stood. “Thank you, Ms. Britton,” he said. “We’ll be in touch if we have more questions.”
Marlee followed the two men to the door. “You’re not going to the Ice Bats game, are you?” she asked. “My son is there…” She swallowed panicked tears. “If you’re going to arrest Troy for something, at least wait until my son isn’t with him.” Greg adored Troy. Seeing his hero hauled away in handcuffs would destroy her innocent boy.
“Has he committed a crime that you know of?” Detective Youngfield asked.
“No! But you obviously think he’s done something wrong, asking all these questions.”
“We merely need Mr. Denton to give us some information,” Detective Getz said.
“Do it when Greg isn’t with him,” Marlee pleaded. “He’s only six. You’ll frighten him.”
“We’ll wait until your son is back home,” Getz said. “If we can.”
Marlee watched at the window until the patrol car had pulled away from the curb and disappeared down the street. Her neighbors were probably watching, too. Next time she saw them there would be questions—the kinds of questions her childhood neighbors had had.
What were the cops doing at your house last night? What have you done?
She wrapped her arms across her stomach and began to pace. The police hadn’t come right out and said Troy was mixed up in anything, but their question about expensive gifts made it clear they thought he was. And somehow Scotty and her father were also involved.