by Becky McGraw
“Dance in your bra, and I’ll do it,” he said, and his eyes darkened more.
Twyla gnawed her lower lip and thought about it. She’d worn her sports bra to dance before. Yeah the one she had on was a little skimpier, but she definitely needed him to help her. She was on her own here, and had to figure out something. “I’ll do it, but I want you to mouth the words. No touching,” she said firmly, and waited until she heard him repeat them.
Ryan would probably kill her if he found out, but he wouldn’t find out. She wasn’t about to tell him. But she was going to get him out of jail come hell or almost-naked breasts. The man opened the door wider, and Twyla went back inside the even mustier back office. She held her breath until she reached the front. Hopping up on the bar, she scrambled up to her feet, and unbuttoned her shirt.
“Find some music for me,” she said sliding the shirt off of her shoulders.
***
Ryan paced the jail cell again, and shoved a hand through his hair as he made the turn to do it again. He was sure he’d almost worn the concrete down between the door and the wall, he’d walked it so many times now. He needed to figure out how the hell he was going to get out of here. He had to get to Houston and see about his mother, his wallet was in his damned truck, and Heather had his cell phone. If that wasn’t bad enough, he had to be in a cell next to Zack who taunted and threatened every five minutes.
At least he wasn’t in that cell with him. Ryan felt for sure they would be having round two of their ‘discussion about Twyla’ with their fists. No matter how many times Ryan told Zack that he was sorry, that he had only been trying to work the situation out himself before telling him, Zack didn’t believe him. It wasn’t the truth anyway. He never planned on telling Zack at all. Because he wanted to save Twyla the embarrassment and harassment that would follow. In the process he’d bought himself an endless supply of both from her brother.
“When I get out of here, I’m going to finish what I started,” Zack growled, standing at the bars with his teeth bared, and his face pressed to the bars.
“I’ll be ready for you, buddy,” Ryan growled, finally tired of ignoring him. Putting up with him wasn’t shutting him up, and neither were the guards who had to hear Zack taunting him. This podunk little county jail they’d brought them to was small, and words echoed through the hallway. He knew, because he’d heard them talking about some pictures or something they’d found in Jared Wilkins’ trailer.
“Bring it on, pussy,” Zack spat and Ryan snapped.
He stormed the bars and put his nose to Zack’s. “When my ribs heal, I’ll show you what a pussy is, punk. I’m tired of this shit, and your mouth! My fucking mother is dead or dying, and because of you, I’m stuck in this jail cell! I owe you a good ass whipping.”
Zack just stood there killing him with his glare, and Ryan had enough of that too. His hand shot through the bars and grabbed the back of Zack’s hair, jerking his head back, before quickly slamming his forehead into the metal bars, hoping that would knock some sense into his former best friend.
Zack howled and staggered back rubbing his forehead while he cursed a blue streak. “That’s just a taste, buddy. You want more you know where to find me.”
Ryan gave him one more heated glare then huffed out a breath. He walked to the single cot against the other wall and plopped down. He looked up when a guard appeared at the door, and Ryan thought he was about to get more bogus charges leveled against him, because of what he’d just done, but the guard didn’t look pissed.
The officer shoved his keys into the door then held it open. “You’re out.”
“Really?” Ryan asked with surprise, as he shoved up to his feet and almost ran for the door. He was getting the hell out of there before the man changed his mind, or discovered he’d made a mistake. Ryan didn’t know who was responsible for springing him, but he wasn’t asking questions. He walked very swiftly to the door at the end of the hallway to wait for the guard.
He heard Zack yelling behind him, “What about me?!? When am I getting out?” Ryan bit back a laugh when the guard told Zack he wasn’t getting out.
But Ryan wasn’t going to believe he was getting out either, until he was beyond this final door. Anything could happen. The way his luck was running, the odds that something would happen were too good. He had no idea who would bail him out, and not Zack. An angel, that’s who. This had to be a gift from on-high, because Ryan certainly didn’t deserve to be bailed out after his stupidity. Maybe the judge had dropped the charges. That would be the ultimate gift. But that wasn’t likely. Someone must’ve put up his bail money.
He’d had plenty of time to cool off and think about it sitting in that cell. Ryan realized he should have just let the police deal with Jared Wilkins. From what he’d overheard while he was in that cell, it sounded to him like they were going to take care of the slimy bastard anyway. If he had just waited a day or two, he probably wouldn’t be here.
Ryan had just been so pissed after hearing what happened to Twyla. After seeing her laying in that hospital bed, he was not in his right mind. All he wanted at that minute was to feel Jared’s throat under his hands, while he squeezed the life out of him. He’s damned lucky he hadn’t done that, or he definitely wouldn’t be getting out of here tonight. Or ever.
The guard finally settled Zack down and came to open the door. As he walked through the door, Ryan felt like a heavy lead apron was removed from his shoulders. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of freedom. When he opened them again, white blonde hair caught his attention, and his eyes met Twyla’s across the room, where she sat beside a very greasy looking man. She unfolded her arms and stood, then glanced back at the grease monkey. He stood and smiled with a tooth about every mile in his mouth.
He stood, and strangely shook her hand. “Thanks for the dance, Daisy. I’ll be coming to see you at the Cowgirl.”
Her eyes darted to Ryan then back to the man. She held out her hand. “Keys, please, Larry. Thanks for driving. Do you need me to call a cab for you?”
“No, I’ve got it. Called a friend to come get me,” he replied with a wink and a wheezy chuckle, as he dropped Ryan’s keys in her hand. The man’s eyes took a tour of her body, and Ryan’s fists clenched at his sides. He held himself back, but just barely. The last thing he needed was more trouble tonight.
He stomped across the lobby to stand beside her. “Get me the hell out of here,” he growled, then flashes of her in that hospital bed made his stomach lurch up to his throat. “And what the hell are you doing out of bed?!?”
This woman didn’t have a lick of sense. She was on death’s door in the hospital this morning, and tonight? She was consorting with greasy wrench monkeys like they were friends.
“I came to save your crazy ass,” she said folding her arms over her chest. She glanced at Larry, and forced a smile. “Thanks for your help, Larry.” He walked off and her angry gaze swung back to Ryan. She held out his keys to him. “If you want to get out of here, get your ass in gear. If not, I’ll get the two grand plus I just paid to spring you back.”
Ryan snatched the keys from her. “Since when do you have two thousand dollars? I thought you were broke,” he asked snidely.
“I’m a resourceful woman, Ryan,” she said smartly. “I can take care of myself, and help you when you get stupid, which is often.”
Twyla turned to push through the front door, and Ryan followed her as she double-timed it down the steps and strode across the lot toward his truck. He caught up to walk beside her, and said, “I’ll drop you off at your apartment. I’ve got to get to Houston.” They stopped at the truck, and he unlocked the doors. When he hopped inside, Twyla was already in the passenger seat buckling her belt. “I’m going with you,” she said firmly, and Ryan’s hand stilled on the keys in the ignition, as his gaze flew to her.
“No, you’re not. You need to be in bed taking care of yourself, or having someone take care of you. You were in bad shape this morning.”
She
looked surprised for a second. “You came to the hospital?”
“Your daddy didn’t tell you?” he asked, anger tightening his chest.
“The only thing my daddy told me was that I was coming back home with him and mama. After I told him that wasn’t happening, he got pissed. When he delivered my new television as a peace offering, mama wouldn’t let him say much.”
“Well, I was there,” Ryan grumbled as he cranked the truck. “And you’re going home, because you’re not in any shape to be up on your feet.” Ryan was surprised that Twyla had an argument with her parents. Usually when Mr. Taylor spoke, it was law in that family. In the fourteen years he’d been around them, he’d never heard either Zack or Twyla argue with him when he laid down the law.
“Ryan?” Twyla said sweetly, and he looked over at her. “You’re gonna learn just like my daddy did this afternoon. Nobody is telling me what to do anymore. I’ll do what I damned well please, and go where I want. And I want to go to Houston with you. I know you’re going because something happened with your mother. I’m not letting you go alone. If your stepdaddy gives you grief, I can get to your mother, where you can’t.” She slammed her back against the seat and looked out the window. “Since my arm is busted, I don’t have anything better to do for the next two weeks.”
Stunned, Ryan’s head spun toward her. “What the hell do you know about my stepfather?” he demanded.
Her eyes slid back to his. “I know that he uses your mother as a punching bag, and you tried to stop him. That’s why you wound up living with us.”
Ryan hadn’t ever talked to her about that situation. Zack was the only one who knew. And he’d evidently spread that private information to his family. Another thing he owed his former best friend an ass whipping for. “I don’t want to talk about it. And you’re not going with me. I can handle this alone.”
“What about the restraining order? You want to end up in jail again?”
Ryan was flabbergasted. It sounded like Zack had told Twyla everything about his family issues. Some friend he was. “I’m not going to jail again,” he ground out as he backed the truck out of the parking spot and slammed it into first gear.
“If you go there, you’ll lose your cool and you know it. Just like you did today, especially if your mother is in bad shape. If your stepfather is there, you’ll go to jail just by just showing up there. I can at least help you keep your calm, and maybe get close to your mother to see how she’s doing, where you can’t.”
“I don’t want your help.”
The situation was probably ugly, and exposing Twyla to that kind of ugly would probably scar her for life. When that kind of ugly rubbed off on you, it never came off. It sure hadn’t with him. His memories affected everything he did, how he handled situations.
A prime example was how he’d tried to handle Twyla, and screwed everything up by overreacting when he found her working at that bar. If Ryan hadn’t known exactly the kind of men that frequented those kind of places, men like his stepfather who thought of women as objects there only for pleasure and service, and remembered the consequences of a woman hooking up with a man like that, Ryan might not have reacted so badly. But he knew too well. And his mother did too, because that’s where she’d met his stepfather, while she was working at one of those places because it was good, easy money.
Because Ryan had those experiences, he would probably react the same way the next time too, and Twyla would get pissed at him again. It was just a part of him now, so that was yet another reason he was no good for the woman sitting beside him. Never would be.
“And I didn’t want your help either,” Twyla said softly, dropping her hand on his arm. “But because you cared about me, you came when you thought I was in trouble. The way you went about helping was all wrong, but you tried. I appreciate that, and now it’s my turn to help you.” She squeezed his forearm, and the warmth of her palm seeped into his body to melt some of the coldness. The fact that she was speaking now without anger in her tone made him feel better too. Maybe she was on her way to forgiving him for being such an ass in how he went about trying to help her. “It’s what families do for each other, Ryan. Let me help you.”
Well, her family wasn’t his anymore, but at least he hadn’t lost the most important member. Twyla was still in his court. Evidently she still cared about him. If he refused her help, that could change. “Okay, thank you.”
Besides, having Twyla there with him might make the fact that he was sure his mother was dead this time easier to bear. At least maybe he wouldn’t feel as alone as he thought he would when he lost the last relative he had in the world.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ryan squeezed Twyla’s hand so tight he knew he had to be restricting the blood flow to her fingers, but he couldn’t turn loose. Thank God, he’d brought her with him, or he’d probably be going off the deep end right now. His heart was squeezed just as tightly in his chest by fear, as he waited for the Chaplain to come into the family conference room at the hospital where they’d been led when Ryan announced himself at the reception desk downstairs.
He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer. Lord, if she’s with you, she’s probably better off. If she’s not, please help her have the strength to leave that bastard. If he killed her, please help me put justice in your hands, and not kill him myself.
The door opened and Ryan’s eyes flew up. Twyla’s thumb stroked the area between his thumb and forefinger soothingly, as a man dressed in black except for a white tab color, with peaceful blue eyes walked into the room holding a folder. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes, as he sat down in the chair beside him. Before he even opened his mouth, Ryan knew. His heart knew, his soul knew. Hell before he even walked into this room, the hospital, he knew.
Why was it a shock then when the words rolled out of the man’s mouth, warbled and as if in slow motion? “I’m so sorry, son. Your mother went to be with the Lord this morning. She’s at peace now.” He put his hand over Ryan’s other hand that rested on his knee.
The words finally registered in Ryan’s brain, and a rumble started in his chest. He felt strange. Numb, not in control of his body. His legs started shaking first, then his torso, and finally his arms. That feeling worked up to his face, and a roar exploded from him that had to be heard down the hall. He squeezed his eyes tight, and bore down against the incredible pain that shot through his chest. His heart felt like it was splitting in two.
As hard as he’d tried, Ryan had failed to save her. He could barely breathe, and was fighting hard to hold back another roar. Instead he felt wet heat track down his face in a torrent, and turned his head to the side, sucking in shallow breaths trying to get back his control. It was Twyla’s hand that gripped his tightly now, her soothing words he heard as she stroked his hair, his face. Her voice choked up, trembling, she said, “Ryan, let it out, baby. I’m here for you. I’m so sorry.” She kissed his cheek, then his temple, and he turned his face toward her.
Oh thank, God, she was there for him, he thought, as he turned to her and pulled her into his arms, her warmth comforting, her whispered words soothing, as she cried with him. Ryan buried his face in her shoulder, sucking from her strength, because he needed it. If he let her go, he felt like he’d probably shatter into a million pieces. Twyla’s arms were the only thing holding those pieces together right then.
The priest’s hand dropped on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know you’ll help your sister through this,” the priest said.
Twyla squeezed Ryan tight once more then leaned away and kissed him, before she slid her arm around his shoulders as he turned back toward the clergyman. He sucked a few gulping breaths, then blew the last one out. “This isn’t my sister, sir. Twyla is ah, my…friend.” Twyla’s fingers dug into his shoulder, and Ryan put his hand on her knee.
Twyla never had been his sister. He’d been stupid to ever pretend that he felt that way about her. She was a lot of things to him, his friend, his lover and his rock. But she had never
been his sister, or anything close to it. Twyla had always been there for him, even when he treated her like crap. He didn’t deserve her. Had never done anything to deserve her. He loved her, but considering her family’s hatred of him now, he could never tell her. He wasn’t going to make her choose between her family and him. And right now, he had more than enough to deal with.
The priest looked confused for a minute, then cleared his throat. “I wasn’t talking about Twyla, son. I was talking about Mary, your sister.”
Ryan swallowed hard, and shook his head trying to clear it. He knew there was some kind of communication gap going on between him and the kind, older man. Maybe he was going senile or something, or misunderstood the situation. He had Ryan confused with someone else.
“Sir, Ryan doesn’t have a sister,” Twyla finally supplied, and squeezed his shoulder again.
“I’m afraid he does. Mary is with the Department of Family Services, since your stepfather is in jail pending his murder trial. They asked me to find out what you’d like to do.”
“Do?” Ryan finally croaked, his brain stuck in neutral.
“Yes, do you want her to go into foster care, or are you going to assume responsibility for her upbringing now?”
Ryan’s blood drained down to his toes as he looked at Twyla. Her face was white too, and she looked as stunned as he felt, but he gathered up his senses. “She’s coming with me, of course,” he said rawly. Good God, he had a sister he had never met. “Um, how old is she?” When it came out, the question sounded dumb to him too.
The priest’s wiry gray brows lifted, and he smiled. A real smile, one that lit up his eyes so they twinkled. “Why Miss Mary is twelve. She had her birthday two weeks ago according to her. And she got a pony named Boney from her mother, because that’s how he looked when she got him.”
Ryan did some mental math. It had been twelve years since he’d seen his mother. She hadn’t looked pregnant then, but she had to have been. With what the priest just said, she must’ve been about three months along. And that bastard had beat her then too. Pregnant with his child. Rage carried every drop of blood in his body to his head and it felt like it would explode. He was on the verge of exploding. Going to that jail, dragging that bastard out of that cell and saving the taxpayers a lot of money. But Twyla squeezed his arm, and Ryan managed to contain himself. “Where, um, do they live?” he asked.