Busted

by Diane Kelly

  Ignorance is bliss. Now that’s wisdom.

  Chet and I had been happily married for several years when our marital bonds began to loosen. I had fallen in love with a country boy and his snaggletooth smile, unassuming manner, and simple, family values. But that small-town boy disappeared. While I found big-city life to be stressful, hectic, and isolating, Chet thrived in Dallas, becoming a successful commercial mortgage broker. In the process, he changed all the things I’d loved about him. He wore a set of invisible braces to straighten his teeth, traded in his Nickelback CD’s for Michael Bublè downloads, and became more interested in property values than family values, insisting we put off having children until he was established in his career. We grew apart and, though we’d once meant the world to each other, we were heading in different directions, living in different worlds, wanting different things out of life. Our marriage had not been a mistake, but the relationship had run its course. Our time had passed.

  We cut our losses before things got ugly, making love one final time the night before our divorce hearing, hugging each other and weeping in front of a confused family court judge far more used to estranged couples using his courtroom to engage in verbal sparring. Neither of us argued over the property, both insisting the other take what mattered to them. He kept the contemporary three-bedroom house in Dallas, paying me half of the accrued equity. I took the Bundt pan and our collection of classic rock CDs, and came home to a lonely life in Jacksburg.

  If I ever meet Fate, I’ll give that bitch the slap she so desperately deserves.

  Clenching my eyes closed could not hold back the big, angry tears welling in them. Several escaped and rolled down my cheeks. I heard the squeak of bedsprings and opened my eyes to find Lucas sitting up on his bunk, watching me. Purple-black rings underlined his eyes, courtesy of his earlier stunt on the floor of the Watering Hole.

  He leaned forward to get a better look at me. “You crying?”

  I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand. “No.”

  “Liar. I seen you crying.” He paused a moment. “You all right?”

  “It’s just allergies. Mountain cedar.”

  “Bullshit.” He stood, stepped over to the switch, and turned on the light in the freezer.

  I blinked against the harsh light, wiped away the last of my tears, and pointed to the bag on the floor. “Shut up and eat your dinner.”

  Glick sat back down on the bunk, pulled the bag onto his lap, and unloaded the contents onto the rumpled blanket next to him. He peeked under the foil at the chocolate cake, then looked at me. “Dessert, too? You got a thing for me or something?”

  His teasing smile told me he knew a romantic relationship was out of the question. Our time had passed, too. I realized now why he’d never called me for a second date all those years ago. After his mother had abandoned him, he’d had his hands full trying to survive, a mere kid all alone with no one to help him.

  I gestured at his etching on the wall. “Nice eagle.”

  Lucas glanced over at the bird and shrugged. “Guess that’ll be added to my charges.”

  “Nah. Too much paperwork involved. Besides, I kind of like it.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  He wolfed down the dinner in two minutes flat, not even complaining about the warm root beer. When he dug into the cake, he forked an enormous bite into his mouth and closed his eyes. “This tastes just as good as I remember.”

  I sat up straight on the blanket. “When did you have Mom’s Thunder Thighs cake?”

  He stabbed at the cake with his fork, separating another large bite. “First grade Christmas party. You and me was in the same class, remember?”

  My memories contained only vague recollections of first grade. A pair of red Keds with white rubber toes. Calluses on my hands from hundreds of trips across the monkey bars. A skinny, elderly teacher with a bleach-blond bouffant. Uncle Angus dressing me in a ruffled floral dress for my mother’s funeral in early summer, not long after school let out. But whether Lucas had been in my class that year I couldn’t recall.

  “We were in Mrs. Pelfrey’s class,” Glick said. “That woman was a royal bitch.”

  “She wasn’t so bad.”

  He shoveled the dessert into his mouth, swallowed, and pointed at me with the fork. “Maybe she was nice to you, Miss Goody Two-Shoes. But she hated me. She sent me to the office if I so much as sneezed. That was back when the principal was still allowed to paddle.” He put a hand on his butt and rubbed as if he could still feel the sting.

  The icky feeling returned to my stomach. Lucas got the short end of the stick, both literally and figuratively, and what’s more, he got it at home and school, too. It’s a wonder he hadn’t turned out worse.

  Glick swallowed his second bite of cake. “Your mom showed up for the Christmas party wearing a red Santa hat with a bell on the tip and carrying a huge chocolate cake. Best cake I ever had. She snuck me seconds when the other kids weren’t looking.” Glick licked fudge frosting from the back of his fork.

  Lucas Glick remembered Mom. Her hat. Her cake. Her kindness.

  A rush of sweet memories flooded my mind, bringing fresh tears to my eyes. “I’d forgotten about the Santa hat.” She’d worn it so her hair, bald in patches from the chemotherapy, wouldn’t scare the kids. The hat was probably still around in one of the boxes in the attic. I’d have to look for it come Christmas time.

  Glick took a swig from the can of root beer. “That spring we took a field trip to the Fort Worth zoo, remember? Your mom was one of the chaperones.”

  My memories contained a hazy recollection of a bumpy bus ride and a rogue monkey flinging poop at Mrs. Pelfrey, a blob of it sticking to her hair, much to the amusement of her students. Mom had to put a hand over her mouth to hide her grin. She’d had such a warm, sincere smile. I’d often been told my smile was just like Mom’s. Not lately, though. Lately I hadn’t had much call for a smile.

  Lucas downed another chug of root beer and set the can on the floor. “I skinned my knee running to see the lions. Mrs. Pelfrey said it served me right for breaking the rule about no running, but your mother put a Band-Aid on my knee, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and carried me around piggy-back the rest of the day.”

  Giving a hurt kid a piggy-back ride was just the thing Mom would have done, even if she’d been exhausted from the cancer eating away at her. A smile crept onto my face as I thought about Mom, how selfless and caring she’d been. Apparently she’d been a rare source of comfort to Lucas, a child in desperate need to know someone—anyone—cared.

  When Lucas noticed me smiling, his expression turned uncomfortable. He crushed the aluminum can in his fist, as if that tough act could negate the intimate feelings he’d shared with me. Too late. But it was time to change the subject before I fell to pieces and started bawling like a baby.

  “You spend a lot of time over in Hockerville, right?”

  Glick nodded. “Service some septic tanks over there. Those snobs in Hockerville think their shit don’t stink, but believe me, it does.”

  We laughed together and it felt good. I’d almost forgotten what my laugh sounded like.

  “Know anybody who drives a yellow and black Ninja?”

  Lucas cocked his head. “Know the bike. Seen it around Hockerville a few times. Around Jacksburg, too, but I got no idea who it belongs to.” He squinted at me. “Why?”

  “No reason.” I shrugged. “Just curious. It’s a cool bike.”

  He smirked at me. “Just curious, my ass. You got a thing for the guy who rides it.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You can’t have a thing for someone you’ve never met.”

  “I’m in love with Pink and I’ve never met her.”

  Lucas had me chuckling again. Holy crap, am I actually enjoying his company? Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all—when he wasn’t liquored up, that is.

  “Want to run over to Hockerville and bowl a few games?” I asked.

  He raised a brow. “
Like a date?”

  “Like two old classmates desperate for some fun.”

  “So you won’t be putting out, then?”

  I stood. “Keep dreaming, buddy.”

  He cleaned himself up as best he could in the men’s room and we stepped outside. I unclipped my white cop helmet off the police bike and handed it to Lucas. “You can ride bitch.”

  We stepped over to my Sportster. After I took a seat, he climbed on behind me, reaching his arms around me, his hands out in front of my chest, fingers splayed wide. “If I accidentally grab onto something I ain’t supposed to touch, it ain’t my fault.”

  “Don’t even think about it.” I seized his outstretched hands and positioned them down low around my waist.

  He leaned forward and spoke into my ear. “What’s everyone in town going to think if they see the police captain hanging out with the resident fuck-up?”

  “If I catch anyone looking, I’ll whack you with my nightstick.”

  “Works for me. I don’t want nobody thinking I’m friends with the po-po.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  GAMES PEOPLE PLAY

  We set out on the road to Hockerville.

  Hockerville was the antithesis to Jacksburg and the towns enjoyed a sometimes-healthy, sometimes-heated rivalry. But for better or worse, the citizens of Hockerville knew they couldn’t survive without Jacksburg and we in Jacksburg knew we needed Hockerville. If your toilet was clogged, you called a plumber from Jacksburg. If your arteries were clogged, you saw a cardiologist in Hockerville. If your floors needed waxing, you called a housekeeper from Jacksburg. If your brows needed waxing, you went to a salon in Hockerville. And if you wanted the best chicken-fried steak in Ruger County, you ate at the Chuck Wagon, situated halfway between the two towns.

  The manager at the bowling alley let us have the lanes at no charge, freebies being one of the perks of going out in uniform. Lucas sprang for the snacks. “It’s the least I could do after calling you a pig earlier.”

  I shot him a pointed look. “You called me a fat sow, and I’ll have both popcorn and nachos.”

  “Fair enough.”

  We bowled a couple of games with me winning the first by just a hair, Lucas trouncing me in the second. We were gearing up for a third when Glick looked up from the ball return and asked, “How come you got divorced?”

  I raised my brows at him. “That’s a little personal, isn’t it?”

  “Well . . . yeah.”

  I paused for a moment. Guess there wasn’t any harm in telling him. “My marriage was over the day I opened the bathroom cabinet and found a pumice stone, self-tanning cream, and a box of Clairol hair color in sable brown.”

  Lucas shrugged. “So?”

  “They weren’t mine.”

  “He cheated on you?”

  I shook my head.

  “He was gay, then?”

  “No. Just very concerned with his looks.” For right or wrong, it had bothered me that Chet spent twice as much time in the bathroom as I did. It didn’t seem natural for a man to put so much effort into his appearance. He’d said image was critical in the real estate business, but still. I’d never marry a guy prettier than me again.

  Glick was quiet for a moment. “You regret marrying him?”

  Even though things hadn’t worked out for Chet and me in the long run, I had no regrets. I shook my head. “Getting married to Chet and moving to Dallas helped me figure out what I really want out of life.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A house. A husband. A kid or two. The simple things.” Unfortunately, I’d also learned that just because the things a person wanted from life were simple didn’t mean they were easy to get.

  On the fourth frame of our third game, the group of men who’d been playing in the lane next to us packed up and left, a lone guy slipping into the now-empty lane. Like me and Lucas, he appeared to be around thirty. He stood a lean five-foot ten and wore a short-sleeved red-and-white striped cotton shirt over a faded red tee, both un-tucked. A pair of khakis, slightly wrinkled from the day’s wear, rested nicely on his trim hips. He had the light skin that came from working an office job, the fair tone in striking contrast with the shiny black hair that stuck up in short spikes as if he’d forsaken the comb and simply run his fingers through it. He wasn’t sloppy, though, more like casual, as if he had much more important things to concern himself with than his appearance. I found myself wondering what those things might be.

  A plastic badge was pinned above the breast pocket of his shirt. He must’ve forgotten to remove it at the end of the workday. The badge read “TreyTech.” Huh. The guy must be some kind of computer geek. Geek or not, he was a hell of a bowler. The monitor overhead showing he’d outscored me and Glick by a hundred points.

  Lucas addressed the guy as he stepped over to retrieve his custom blue swirl-patterned ball from the return. “Dude, where’d you learn to bowl like that?”

  The guy glanced up at Glick. “Right here.” His deep voice held a hint of a southern accent. “My father was the Hockerville league champion from eighty-five through ninety-three. Taught me everything he knew about the game.”

  Lucas looked away. Clearly, his father had taught him nothing. I wondered if he’d even known his dad.

  As the guy set up to bowl another frame, his shirt pulled taut across his well-defined shoulders. His biceps flexed as he sent the ball spinning down the lane, and a warm flush rushed through my body. Wait, was I attracted to this guy? Sure, he had a nice body, but brainy nerds, even attractive ones like him, had never been my type. My type was tough, adventurous, and daring, like the guy who rode the Ninja was sure to be.

  After sending his ball at warp speed down the lane, the man turned around and our eyes met for the first time.

  Whoa.

  My brain felt as if it had been hit full-force with a strike, all intelligible thoughts scattering. His gray eyes were intelligent and intense, yet hinted at something dark and dangerous, like rain-slick asphalt. Clearly, there was more to this guy than lean muscle and a sharp mind. Our gazes locked for a moment, then a flicker of recognition seemed to pass across his face. Odd, since we’d never met before. But I sure wouldn’t mind meeting him now.

  His lips drew into a cockeyed grin, confident, bordering on cocky. Apparently, my gaze had lingered on him just a bit too long. A blush crept up my cheeks, one that wouldn’t be camouflaged by foundation or blush since I wore neither. Why bother? My motorcycle helmet would just smear any makeup. But this guy wouldn’t get the satisfaction of thinking he’d caught me getting hot and bothered over him. My eyes moved to the monitor above him, which showed the remaining pins. “Seven-ten split. Tough break.”

  “I’m always up for a challenge.”

  Now his smile was definitely cocky. And now I was also definitely intrigued.

  The guy retrieved his ball from the return, then glanced my way as if to make sure I was watching him. He ran his palm once over the ball like a quick caress, positioning it in his hands. As he plunged his fingers into the holes, my thighs clenched involuntarily. Gah! I was far more desperate than I’d realized if a bowling ball seemed erotic.

  Lucas and I watched as the guy turned his back to us, stepped into position, and with both grace and athleticism sent his second ball down the lane at the speed of light. The ball slammed into the ten pin at just the right angle to send it crossways across the lane into the seven pin. The pin teetered for a moment before falling backward. A spare.