by Nora Roberts
He pointed a finger at her. “Fated.”
She gave that little head shake and smile he was growing very fond of. “You have a close nuclear family.”
“You could say that. How’s the pizza?”
“It’s very good. When I make my own, I make a whole wheat crust, but I like this better.”
“Make your own? Like from a box?”
“If it’s in a box, it’s not making your own.”
“Most everything I make’s out of a box. You make pizza from scratch?”
“Yes, when I want it.”
“Even my mother doesn’t do that.” He put another slice on her plate, one on his, then topped off their wine. “Maybe you’ll show me the greenhouse later.”
“I’m not growing marijuana.”
He laughed, so quick, so delighted, it made her jump a little. “Wouldn’t that be interesting? But it’s not what I was thinking. I grew up with gardeners, so I’m interested. Not to say we don’t have a few around these parts growing some weed, for personal use or as a second income. My own mother did until she started having kids. And she’d still argue at the blink of an eye for legalizing it.”
“Legalizing, inspecting and taxing marijuana would eliminate the funds spent on the attempt to enforce the current laws, and generate considerable revenue.”
“There’s that viewpoint thing again.”
The dog shifted, sat up, stared at Abigail. “Allez,” she said, and he climbed off the porch, headed for a tree.
“Back to French. Did that dog just ask permission to pee?”
“He wouldn’t leave the porch without my permission.” She shifted herself, took a sip of wine. “I’ve reconsidered.”
“Too late, you’re already into your second slice.”
“Not the pizza. I’ve reconsidered having sex with you.”
He was grateful he’d just swallowed or he’d have choked. “Is that a fact?”
“Yes. After weighing the pros and cons, I’ve decided sex with you would be mutually satisfying. You’re attractive and pleasant. And clean. You kiss very well, and while I’ve found that’s not always a reliable gauge for skill in bed, it often follows. If you’re agreeable, we can finish dinner, I’ll show you the greenhouse, then we can go in and have sex. I’m on birth control, but I would require you wear a condom.”
He was damn near speechless. “That’s an offer, all right.”
“You don’t accept?” She hadn’t factored in a refusal. “I thought you wanted me, physically. You don’t?”
He put his plate down, got to his feet. Too wound up to give a damn what the dog thought—or did—Brooks pulled Abigail up, gave her a good, hard yank against him.
No soft kiss this time, no easy exploration. This exploded, firebombing shrapnel through her senses. Her balance swayed, crumbled. She had to cling to him or fall.
“Wait. Wait.”
Perhaps it was the tremble in her voice—or the low, warning growl from the dog—but though he didn’t let her go, he eased up.
“Ami. Ami.” Her hand trembled like her voice as she laid it briefly on Brooks’s cheek. Then she added a hand signal for the dog. “Ami, Bert. Pillow.”
When the dog sat, Abigail let out a shaky breath. “He thought you were hurting me.”
“Was I?”
“No. But I’d like to sit down.”
“Look at me.”
She took that breath again, then lifted her gaze to his. “You’re angry.”
“No, I’m not. I’m not sure what I am, but I’m not mad.”
“You don’t want me.”
“Do I have to answer that question again, and if so, will I need an ambulance when your dog gets done with me?”
“I … oh. Oh.” He heard the humiliation in the sound as she closed her eyes and nodded. “I understand. I was too blunt, too matter-of-fact. I should have waited for you to approach the subject, or, failing that, I shouldn’t have been so calculating. I’d really like to sit down.”
He let her go, sat beside her. “First, I’ve got nothing but good feelings about the idea you’re willing to go to bed with me. The problem, on my side, is having the feeling you’re handling it like a chore you want to cross off your to-do list.”
Exactly true, she thought, in delivery and intent. “I’m sorry. I thought it was the right approach. You’re not angry, but you’re at least a little insulted. I am sorry.” She gathered enough courage to look at him. “I know approach matters to some people. I know that. This was as poorly presented and demeaning as the woman in Ozark Art.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. And I hoped you’d reconsider at some point.”
“I wasn’t going to, then … I was nervous, and I mishandled it.”
“Nervous?”
“This isn’t how I usually … I don’t know how to explain.”
“Not without telling me more than you want to. All right. Let’s try this. We’ll finish this glass of wine, and you’ll show me the greenhouse. We’ll see how things go from there.”
“I’m not good with seeing how things go.”
“I’m real good at it. Let’s give it a try. If you don’t like how they go, we can always do things your way. I figure I can’t lose.”
“You mean you’d have sex either way.”
He laughed again, reached out and took her hand for a squeeze. “What a woman. Let’s just see—damn it.” He broke off when his cell phone rang. “Hold that thought. Yeah, Ash, what’s the problem?”
She saw his face change as he listened, saw it go quiet and a little hard. “No, you did right. I’m on my way. You wait, you hear? Wait until I get there.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Abigail as he closed the phone.
“It’s all right.” But she didn’t look at him as she rose to pick up the plates.
“This kind of thing is part of the package,” he began.
“I understand that, of course. But you’re off duty.”
“So I must be using it as an excuse? No.” Gently, he laid a hand on her arm. “No, Abigail. This particular problem is one I ordered whoever got the call on it—which was inevitable—to contact me. On or off duty. I need to handle this situation.”
“I see. I do understand.”
“I’d like to come back.”
“You don’t have to feel—”
“Abigail, I’d like to come back, if I can. If I can’t, I’ll call you. I’m not sure which it’s going to be.”
“Because you have to see how it goes.”
“That’s exactly right. I have to go.” He leaned down, kissed her. “I’d rather stay.”
She believed him, and the belief warmed something inside her as he strode off the porch and around the house toward his car.
So tonight, the job sucked, Brooks thought, as he drove toward Tybal and Missy Crew’s. But he’d given this situation considerable thought since the last time Ty had drunk himself mean. Tonight, one way or another, Brooks intended to fix it.
EVERY WINDOW IN THE CREWS’ HOUSE glowed up like Christmas, while neighbors gathered on the lawns as if the domestic disturbance qualified as a party. Ash kept them back from the house where bluegrass blasted through the wide-open door and the occasional crash rang out.
As Brooks got out of his car, Jill Harris—house on the left—walked over.
“Somebody’s got to go in there before he wrecks what’s left of that place.”
“Is Missy in there?”
“She ran out, barefoot, crying, her mouth bleeding. I can’t keep making these calls if nothing’s going to be done about it.”
“Will you file a complaint?”
“I have to live next door.” At five-foot-nothing, Jill folded her arms across her pink cardigan. “I tried talking to Missy about it once, while she sat in my kitchen holding a bag of my frozen peas to her black eye. She ended up calling me a dried-up old bitch who couldn’t mind her own business. Now she doesn’t speak to me. You think I want him banging on my door one drunken ni
ght?”
“All right, Ms. Harris. Come on, Ash.”
“Do you want to send someone out to find Missy?”
“No. She’s around here somewhere, or she hightailed it over to her sister’s. She knows we’ll respond.”
Part of him wondered if she’d come to enjoy the drama of it all, and he didn’t like the wondering.
“She’ll wait for us to haul him off,” Brooks continued, “then she’ll come back home, wait till morning to come tell us she slipped on the soap or some shit. I want you to stand by, but don’t talk to him. I don’t want you to say anything.”
“I can do that.”
Brooks didn’t have to knock, as Missy had left the door wide open when she fled. He stayed on the stoop, called out.
“I don’t know as he can hear,” Ash began.
“He’ll hear. We’re not going inside. We’re staying out here, where we’ve got better than a dozen witnesses.”
“To what?”
“To what happens next. Ty! You got company at the door.”
“I’m busy!” Brooks watched a lamp fly across the living room. “I’m redecorating.”
“I see that. Need a minute of your time.”
“Come on in, then. Join the fuckin’ party!”
“I come in there, I’m hauling you to jail. If you come out here, we’ll just have us a conversation.”
“Chrissake. Can’t a man get some chores done in his own home?” Ty stumbled to the door, big, glassy-eyed, blood pockmarking his face where Brooks assumed flying glass had nicked it. “Hey, there, Ash. Now, what can I do for you officers of the goddamn law tonight?”
“Looks like you’ve been sucking down that Rebel Yell pretty hard,” Brooks said, before Ash forgot himself and responded.
“No law against it. I’m in my own home sweet fucking home. I ain’t driving. I ain’t operating heavy machinery.” He cracked himself up, had to bend over and wheeze as the laugh took his breath away.
“Where’s Missy?”
“Hell if I know. I come home. There’s no supper on the table. But she had time to whine. Whine, whine, whine, nag, nag, nag. Where I been, what I been doing and who I’m doing it with.”
“Is that when you hit her?”
The glassy eyes went sly. “You know how clumsy she is. And when she’s on the whining and nagging she can’t see straight. Stupid bitch walked right into a door. Then she takes off.” He gestured, spotted the neighbors.
“Buncha assholes got nothing better to do than stand around outside. I’m in my house.” Ty pointed to his own feet to prove a point.
“Redecorating.”
“That is key-rect!”
“Maybe if you spent less time redecorating and more time fucking your wife, she wouldn’t walk into walls and take off.”
“I’m gonna get me some paint and … What’d you say?”
“You heard me.” Beside him, Ash goggled, but Brooks kept his eyes trained on Tybal. “I guess you can’t get that pea-shooter you call a dick up anymore.”
Ty swayed back and forth on his size-fourteen boots, blinked his bloodshot eyes. “You better shut your fucking mouth.”
“Then again, when you’re equipped with a cock the size of a gherkin, what’s the point in trying to get some wood?”
“Get off my property, you fucker.” Ty shoved him, and that was enough. But Brooks wanted to nail it shut.
“That the best you got?” Brooks put a sneer on his face. “I guess it figures a dickless wonder does the pushy shove like a girl. Next thing, you’ll be pulling my hair and crying.”
Though he was prepared for the punch and Ty was teetering drunk, it still carried some weight. Brooks tasted blood as Ash let out a wondrous Jesus Christ beside him.
And on a roar, Ty charged.
Brooks sidestepped, turned his foot just enough that Ty tripped over it and went flying into the yard.
“Now you’ve done it. You’re under arrest for assaulting an officer.”
“I’ll kill you.” Scrambling to his feet, Ty came at Brooks, fists flying.
“Add resisting arrest.” Brooks dodged or blocked most of the blows. “You want to give me a hand securing the prisoner, Ash?”
“Yes, sir.” Breaking out of his openmouthed shock, Ash ran forward.
“You keep your hands off me, you pissant cocksucker.” He swung at Ash, went wide, but connected with his shoulder.
“That’ll be a second count of assaulting an officer. I think it’s clear we’ll be throwing drunk and disorderly into the mix.”
Between the two of them, they got Ty down on the ground, cuffed him. As they hauled a struggling, cursing Ty up, Brooks scanned the faces on neighboring lawns.
“I’m sending a deputy out shortly,” he said, raising his voice. “He’ll get statements from y’all. I don’t want any bullshit, you hear? You say what you saw. Anybody doesn’t, I’m charging with obstruction of justice. Don’t test me.”
He put a hand on Ty’s head, boosted him into the back of the cruiser, then swiped the back of his hand over his bloody lip. “Deputy Hyderman, you follow me in.”
“Yes, sir, Chief.”
He ignored Ty’s rantings as he drove to the station, did his best to ignore his aching jaw as well. The warning look he shot Ash had the deputy keeping his mouth shut as they loaded Ty into a cell.
“I want a lawyer. I’m suing your ass, then I’m kicking it for saying that shit.”
“What shit?” Brooks locked the cell door.
“That shit about I ain’t got a dick, and I can’t get it up to do Missy. You fucker.”
“Damn, Ty, you must be drunker than you look. I haven’t seen your dick since the showers in high school PE, and I can’t say I paid it much mind then. I never said anything about it.”
“You lying sack, you said it was the size of a—a—something small.”
“You’re drunk, you had the music blasting. You don’t know what you heard. Deputy, did I say anything to impinge the prisoner’s manhood?”
“I … ah. I didn’t hear anything.”
“I’m going to have Deputy Fitzwater go out and take statements from the witnesses. Here’s what’s going to happen now, Ty, and this time you should listen good. You can get a lawyer, all right. You’ll need one. I’m filing charges for assault, for resisting, for D-and-D and for creating a goddamn public nuisance. You’re going to jail, and not just overnight. Not this time.”
“Bullshit.”
“Assault on a police officer? That’s a felony, Ty. You got two counts, plus the resisting. You could do five years.”
His rage-red face went white. “Bullshit.” And the word shook.
“You think about that. A lawyer might get that down to, oh, eighteen months in, with probation. But you’ll do real time for it, that’s a promise.”
“You can’t send me to jail. I’ve got to make a living.”
“What you’ve been doing the last couple years? I don’t call it living.”
He thought of Tybal out in center field—fast on his feet, an arm like a rocket. Of Ty and Missy shining all through high school.
And told himself what he’d done, what he would do, was for that bright, shiny couple.
“You think about that tonight, Ty. Think about spending the next year or two, or more, down in Little Rock. Or the chance I might give you of spending that time on probation, contingent on attendance and completion of alcohol rehabilitation, anger management and marriage counseling.”