Sky took Windy's hand and chose a table away from the redhead's station. He didn't want to be reminded of gritty sex in cheap motels. He might not be Windy's date, but he considered her a friend, a lady he wouldn't disrespect by ogling another woman.
Windy scooted her chair forward. "I take it Hank isn't here."
"No, but we can grab a bite while we wait. I'm pretty sure this was the name of the place he and Lucy had argued about. He wanted to come here, and she wanted to go home."
Windy handed Sky the lone menu on the table. "Not much to choose from."
The limited selection didn't surprise him. The Country Moose was more of a bar than a grill, offering items like jalapeño nachos and potato skins. Drinking food, he called it.
Their waitress appeared, a blonde with dark-brown roots and a bright smile. She complimented Windy on her "awesome" hair and told Sky he had "the coolest eyes." When she brought their drinks, she leaned on the table and flashed her pearly whites.
"You two look good together. People say that about me and my old man, too. He's a bartender." She lifted a pen to the order pad. "That's how we met."
Sky nodded indifferently. This gal's love life didn't interest him, but he appreciated the part about him and Windy looking good together. He didn't want anyone thinking they made an unusual pair. He had this awful fear Hank would see right through their ploy.
They ordered from the limited menu and sent the chatty waitress on her way. Sky considered stacking the appropriate amount of quarters on the pool table to signal his interest in a future game, but thought better of it. Windy didn't seem like the billiards type, and he needed to sit tight and keep an eye out for Hank or Jimmy. He didn't want to be caught off guard.
"This doesn't seem like the kind of place where someone could get into a brawl," Windy said. "The bouncer at the door was pretty big."
"Just because that last place was such a dive, don't let this one fool ya. Take a good look around, honey."
While Windy took his advice and studied the other patrons, he made his own assessment. Both the men and the women at the Country Moose exhibited a hard, feral edge—the kind that came from living on the wrong side of the tracks. Sky knew he fit in just fine. He figured Windy's wild locks had fooled their waitress into believing she was one of them. Good girls weren't supposed to have bedroom hair. Nature had played a trick on Pretty Windy.
She turned away from the hard-drinking crowd. "How did you find this area, anyway? It's certainly off the beaten path."
Sky reached for the beer he intended to nurse for as long as possible. He wanted to smell like Hank's favorite brew without actually being hammered. "I'm a drifter. Off the beaten path comes natural."
The waitress brought the potato skins they'd decided to share. "Last food call," she said. "Kitchen's getting ready to close."
"This will do us fine," Sky responded, knowing Windy would pick at the snack like a little bird. They had nothing in common, not even their appetites. For a girl who liked to cook, she didn't eat more than a thimbleful of food at a time.
While Windy removed bacon bits from a cheese-laden potato skin, Sky dipped his into a side of sour cream and watched the front door.
She sipped a tall cherry cola. "See anything interesting?"
"No." Sky dropped his guilt-ridden gaze in a hurry. The busty redhead had smiled at him from across the room, reminding him of the sexual itch he hadn't scratched in over eight months.
She fingered her straw, absently stirring her drink with it. "What about that red-haired waitress who keeps staring at you? Don't you think she's interesting?"
A corner of the cheesy potato wedge he'd been eating nearly stuck to the roof of his mouth. Was he that transparent or did Windy have eyes in the back of her head? "She's all right."
"A walking sex machine I'd say. Probably just your type."
He found himself grinning. For some odd reason the catty barb pleased him. "Jealous, Pretty Windy?"
She glanced away. "Your taste in women is none of my business. You and I are just roommates."
Roommates. Yeah, right. That enormous white lie had gone on long enough. "That's bull and we both know it. If our attraction were a chemistry set, we would have blown up the house by now."
She had the grace to laugh, even though an obvious case of nerves had set in. "Chemistry was my worst subject."
Because of all the sparks she must have caused, he decided, wishing he could touch her hand, stroke each slender finger, rub his thumbs over the half-moons on her nails. She looked womanly tonight—tumbling hair, a top that exposed her navel, great-fitting jeans. She'd tried to dress for honky-tonk barhopping, but he knew she was the kind of girl mothers wanted their sons to marry. The kind of girl a low-down cowboy had no business dreaming about.
He filled his lungs with air, forced himself release it. "I think there's something I should tell you."
Her caramel eyes grew big and doelike. "I'm listening."
He moved his chair next to hers, close enough to protect their privacy. "You don't have to worry about me making a pass at you."
"A pass?"
"Yeah." His tongue felt heavy, as if he'd swallowed a bucket of wet sand. "As in I won't try to take you to bed." When his palms turned sweaty, he rubbed them against his jeans. "I gave up sex. I've been celibate for over eight months."
Clearly startled, her jaw went lax. "Why? You seem like such a sexual person."
He wished he could tell her some outrageous lie, such as he was on a spiritual quest that forbade him from physical pleasure. But she deserved to know the truth. Especially since she was the one playing havoc with his hormones. "I'm a user, that's why. I haven't cared about the women I've slept with." He pulled a hand through his hair, then remembered he'd banded it into a ponytail. "And believe me, there's been a lot. Too many." Not that he'd been completely stupid. He had used protection. Every time but one, he thought wryly. He couldn't have fathered a child if he'd used protection then.
She cast her sweet, limpid eyes on his. "Are you punishing yourself, Sky?"
Was he? Yes, he thought, for leaving his child, for not knowing how to make a commitment. "I don't have it in me to get emotionally involved with a woman, but on the other hand, sleeping around feels wrong. I figured if I steered clear of sex, there wouldn't be any morning afters to feel bad about."
She grazed his cheek in a warm, comforting gesture. "I think I understand why you made that choice, but don't sell your emotional capabilities short. You're a kind and decent man. You have so much to offer. All you need is the right woman."
Sky closed his eyes and let her touch wash over him. She had a healer's hands, and a healer's heart, too. She had called him kind. Decent. If only he had the courage to tell her everything. But if he did, she'd hate him. Windy had dedicated her life to children, and he'd walked out on his own flesh and blood. She wouldn't forgive him that.
He opened his eyes, looked right at her. "Happily ever after. The right woman, the perfect man. I don't think that fairy tale exists."
She removed her hand from his cheek and reached for her drink. "I believe in it. In fact, I've based some important decisions around that theory." She sipped the soda and smiled a telling smile. "I'm still waiting for the right man."
Still waiting for the right man. Coming from Windy, he had a pretty good idea what that meant. He kept his voice pitched low. A noisy, crowded bar was a hell of a place for this conversation. "Are you saying you've never had sex?"
She nodded. "Does that surprise you?"
Yes. No. "Are you holding out for your wedding night?"
Her smile turned wistful. "Not necessarily, although I've always thought that would be romantic."
An ache that he figured had to be envy shot through his gut. Some lucky guy would get to make love to Pretty Windy, carry her to bed, remove her flowing white gown, cover that smooth, luxurious skin with his hands. "You deserve the American dream. A husband, kids, a house with a garden. Whatever you want."
&
nbsp; "Thank you, but don't forget about a career. Married women have careers these days."
"Yeah." He pictured her married to another professional. A doctor, maybe. Someone smart and successful. A guy who didn't come with emotional baggage. A guy who loved kids. He'd be good-looking, too—the clean-cut sort who felt comfortable in a suit and tie. Sky lifted his beer. He hated the guy already.
She sat a little straighter, both hands around her glass. "I'm glad we talked about this. I think it will take some of the pressure off that chemistry between us. What can happen, right? I'm a virgin, and you're celibate."
"Yeah. We're quite a pair." Realizing how close they were, he moved his chair away. Her virginity and his self-imposed celibacy hadn't changed a thing. Their attraction remained, crackling between them like a frayed wire. Electrocution was only a heartbeat away.
"We can concentrate on being friends," she said. "It's possible for a man and a woman to be friends."
Who was she trying to convince, him or herself? "You want another soda?" he asked, noticing her empty glass.
She nodded. "Yes, please. It's hot in here."
"Yeah." Heat seemed to follow them, flow through their bodies like a warm, rhythmic current. Turning to look for the waitress, he caught sight of a surprise. His heart skipped a beat. "Hank just arrived. And he's got Lucy with him."
Windy took one look at the couple in the doorway and felt sick. Hank stood taller than she had expected with tree-trunk arms squeezed into a sweat-stained T-shirt. When he ambled forward, the dingy jeans slung low on his hips strained to make room for a protruding belly. His face, unshaven and ruddy, was framed by dark-brown hair cropped close to his scalp.
Lucy, pale and thin, clung to his arm as though her life depended on his generosity. A lit cigarette burned in her hand, a column of ashes gathering on its tip. Her clothes were clean but faded; her wiry, red hair clean but faded, too.
They headed to a table near the jukebox, where it appeared the bouncer had told Lucy to extinguish her cigarette. Unlike the previous bar, the Country Moose enforced the California smoking ban.
Sky signaled their waitress and ordered Windy another soda, then pointed to Hank and Lucy. "Will you tell that couple's waitress that their tab is on me."
"That big ape a friend of yours?" the blonde asked.
"I owe him a drink," Sky responded diplomatically.
"It's your money." The blonde turned on her booted heel and disappeared.
Sky and Windy exchanged a look. "What do we do now?" she asked.
"Wait and see what happens. I'd rather Hank approach us than the other way around."
She drew a deep breath. "I wasn't expecting Lucy to be here. Were you?"
"No. I guess a part of me was hoping she left him that night. That she would have taken her kids and split." He sipped the domestic beer. "Why do you think he brings her to these dives? I thought his type preferred to party without their wives."
Windy pushed away the platter of half-eaten potatoes. "Most abusive men are extremely possessive. If Hank takes Lucy with him, he can keep an eye on her. Control her, in a sense."
Sky lifted his beer again, a shadow of guilt deepening the shade of his eyes. "I'll bet he was mad as hell about what I did the other week. Probably took it out on her."
Windy reached for his hand, squeezed it. "You can't blame yourself for someone else's actions."
They held hands and stared at each other, waiting and wondering what Hank would decide to do. Sky's touch spread through Windy like melting butter on warm bread: rich, thick and comforting. For a man who claimed he couldn't give of himself emotionally, he spent plenty of time protecting others. First Edith and now Lucy. And Lord only knew how many in between.
Their waitress brought Windy's soda. "Here you are." Motioning toward Hank, she spoke to Sky. "He says he doesn't want you buying him drinks. And he wasn't very polite about it, either."
Sky watched her go, then cursed. "Well, that backfired, didn't it?" He stole a quick glance at Lucy, who sat beside her husband with her shoulders narrowed. "Now we'll never get to talk to Lucy."
Windy reached for Sky's hand. "We'll find a way, okay?"
"How? We both know Hank will never let her out of his sight." He pulled away, the disappointment in his eyes turning to despair. "You know what I think?" He closed his vacant eyes, opened them. "I think that Lucy doesn't have a family, that there's nobody who cares."
Windy hesitated to respond. Second-guessing Lucy's background seemed unproductive at this point. There was no cut-and-dried profile on abuse victims. "It's hard to say. There could be a hundred different case scenarios. Her family could live out of state, or they could be involved in her daily life, but she refuses to let them intervene."
Sky shook his head. "No. I'm telling you. There isn't anyone. She's an orphan."
An orphan. The word choice set off an alarm bell in Windy's head. Adults rarely thought of other adults as orphans. Unless of course… "Is that what happened to you, Sky? Did you lose your family?"
The despair returned to his eyes, deeper this time, more intense. "I…" He rocked his chair, looked away, then back again. "Yeah, I think so, but I'm not positive."
She prayed he wouldn't sink into himself, into the pain she saw. This was the first time he had spoken honestly about his past. "What is it you remember?"
"Even though the details are vague, I know I lived with other people's families when I was a kid."
Foster care, Windy thought, her heart aching. Of course there were good foster families, people who cared, but being shifted from home to home took its emotional toll on a child. "If you were a ward of the state, that means tracing your roots may be possible. We could contact Social Services—"
"A ward of what state?" he asked.
"Whatever state you're—" Her aching heart dropped to the floor. "You don't know what state you're from, do you?"
"No." His voice remained quiet, lonely and distant. "And Reed isn't my real last name. I don't remember what my true name is, but I know it's not Reed." While he spoke, he glanced back at Hank and Lucy periodically, apparently still concerned about the frail young woman he assumed was a fellow orphan. "I am Skyler, though. That much I know. You see, I have what's called selective memory. Some things are clear, others a complete washout."
Selective memory wasn't much to go on. "Edith said it's possible you'll remember everything someday," she commented, not knowing what else to say. If he had been orphaned, then he had no one, she thought. No one but Charlie, Edith and herself. In that dawning moment Windy didn't want to let him go. Ever.
When their waitress returned, they both refused another drink, then sat quietly amid the vast, noisy bar, country tunes continuously wailing on the jukebox.
A morose thirty minutes later, Sky rocked his chair then grabbed Windy's hand. "Look," he said, his eyes suddenly bright. "I think Lucy's headed for the ladies' room."
Windy watched the young woman dart across the room, dodging other patrons in her quest. She squeezed Sky's hand and rose. "Hank can't follow her in there," she said, hope forming her smile, "but I certainly can."
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
Hours later and unable to sleep, Windy fixed herself a cup of herbal tea. Approaching Lucy hadn't been easy. The other woman had seemed nervous and flighty. And she'd refused the name and number of the abuse shelter, claiming, "I don't need any help."
Their hasty conversation had ended with Windy offering Lucy her personal number. "I'm listed in Burbank as W. Hall," she'd told the redhead. "There's no address, but you can get the number from information. Call me if you ever need to talk."
Windy sweetened her tea, then left the kitchen. Lucy had referred to Sky as "Good Sam with the pretty blue eyes." What a fitting description, she thought, a smile tugging her lips. Good Sam. Kind-hearted Skyler.
When she passed Sky's door and heard his voice she stopped, unable to decipher his words. He must be inviting her to his room to re
sume their conversation. After returning home from the bar, they had discussed Lucy at length, wondering and worrying about the frail young woman.
Since the door was slightly ajar, she pushed it open farther, then stared in confusion. Sky sat on his bed, holding a teddy bear at arm's length.
"Sky?"
He looked up and dropped the toy in a near panic. "Damn it, Windy. Haven't you ever heard of knocking?"
"I…" She glanced at the stuffed animal. The fuzzy brown bear appeared old. Tattered and worn, frayed ears sat atop its misshapen head while both eyeballs hung by a thread. Even its smile seemed tired. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I thought—" she glanced at the bear again "—I thought you knew I was in the hall and that you were talking to me."
Clearly embarrassed, he frowned. "Well, I wasn't."
She stood awkwardly, clutching her warm teacup. She couldn't go back to bed. The discarded teddy bear wouldn't let her. "Is he important?" she asked, determining the bear's gender by the faded blue ribbon tied around its neck.
Sky's frown deepened. "Yeah. Sorta. I've had him forever, I guess."
Intrigued, she inched closer. Apparently the tired little bear was a link to his childhood. "A lot of people keep mementos from their past," she said, hoping to ease his discomfort.
"Do you?"
She sipped her tea, nodded. "I save lots of things." She had even kept one of the flowers he had given her, pressed in her Bible to remember him by.
He pushed a stray hair off his forehead. He wore his usual sleeping attire: gray sweat shorts and bare bronzed flesh. "I'll bet you don't talk to stuffed animals, though."
SKYLER HAWK: LONE BRAVE Page 8