Читать книгу Discovering You - Brenda Novak - Страница 10

3

The next morning Mack walked into the kitchen. “What happened last night?” he asked.

Rod glanced up from his cereal bowl. He wasn’t feeling any better for having slept. As a matter of fact, he was worse. He wasn’t bleeding anymore and some of the scrapes he’d sustained when he fell from his bike were starting to scab over, but every muscle was sore. He could hardly move without wincing. He was beginning to wonder if he should’ve listened to Chief Bennett and gone to the hospital—not for his leg but for his hand. It was almost twice its normal size and hurt whenever he tried to use it.

“Last night was freaking crazy,” he said. And Mack didn’t know it, but the fight wasn’t the only crazy part. Rod felt terrible about what’d taken place between him and India. He should’ve gone to her place. So what if she wanted to pretend he was her dead husband? It wasn’t her intention to be hurtful or selfish; she was just looking for an escape from the pain. He’d had low moments like that in his life, hadn’t he? When he’d needed to be with someone?

Besides, there were worse tasks than giving a woman a little pleasure and comfort...

“Grady woke me up, said you’d been in a fight with the prick who was giving Natasha so much trouble.” Mack walked over to the cupboard to grab himself a bowl. “When I opened my eyes this morning, I thought maybe it was a bad dream. But now that I see you...”

Rod used his left hand to bring the spoon to his mouth. “I wish it were a dream.”

“Tell me the other guy looks worse.”

“He should. He’s the one who’s in the hospital.”

“Good for you,” Mack said. “I don’t feel the least bit sorry for him. Sounds like he’s where he deserves to be.”

Rod rested his elbows on the table. “Whether he deserved it or not, I wasn’t trying to hurt him that bad. He can’t fight worth shit, but he doesn’t seem to understand his own limitations. Every time I’d step back, thinking he’d had enough, he’d take another swing at me.”

“Stubborn son of a bitch,” Mack grumbled. “So how’d it end? Did someone call the police or what?”

“I called. The fight didn’t happen outside the bar. It happened on the road when I was on my way home. And he needed an ambulance.”

Mack whistled. “Which officer came out? Hope it was Howton. Far as cops go, Howton’s not too bad.”

“None other than Chief Bennett. Just my luck, right?”

“He’s not a big fan of yours, not since your ex-girlfriend filed that complaint claiming you beat her.”

Rod grimaced at the reminder. “I never touched Melody.” He’d never even been tempted to strike a woman, but if he ever did, he wouldn’t have the police to fear as much as his older brother. Dylan would beat him to within an inch of his life—and Dylan was one of the few people who could do it. “She was pissed off that I was calling it quits and was trying to get back at me.”

“I know that, and you know that. But once this kind of accusation’s been launched, the dude never gets the benefit of the doubt. There’ll always be people who wonder, and I think Bennett’s one of your skeptics.”

Rod thought so, too. What Melody had done still enraged him. It was so unfair. But the more he protested, the guiltier he looked. He’d had to let it go. He could only hope that someday she’d come forward and tell the truth.

Maybe when she was over him. Until then...

“Bennett’s not a big fan of any of ours,” Rod said as he shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. “But at least he’s not as bad as the former chief.”

“You would’ve gone to jail if Stacy was still in charge,” Mack agreed. “He loved to yank Dylan’s chain, and he knew he could do that by harassing one of us.” He poured himself some of the Wheaties Rod had on the table. “Does Natasha know you wound up fighting the guy who kept coming on to her?”

“Not unless Grady woke her, too. Why?”

“She won’t be happy about it. You heard her last night. She thinks she can fight her own battles.”

“Yeah, well, it got personal when he crashed into my bike.”

“I’m sure Grady didn’t wake her. He only came into my room to ask me to go with him, in case you weren’t in any shape to help load the bike.”

“Then we won’t mention it,” Rod said, but he knew there’d be no keeping it from her. Not only did she live with them, when she wasn’t in school she also worked at the shop, doing the bookkeeping and other administrative tasks. She’d see his scrapes and bruises and know something was up.

“So what now?” Mack asked. “What’re the chances this incident will just...go away?”

Rod dropped his spoon in his empty bowl. “Not very good. If that guy—Liam Whatever—decides to press charges, it could be a problem.”

Mack scooped up a spoonful of cereal. “He started it. But that might not matter. You’ve been in too many fights to get the benefit of any doubt.”

Rod didn’t appreciate the candor. “You’ve been in as many fights as I have, little brother.”

Mack didn’t argue. He grinned, completely unrepentant. “Have you heard if the jerk’s going to be okay?”

“Haven’t called the hospital yet.”

“He had no business trying to cop a feel off a nineteen-year-old girl.”

That was true. She’d asked him to leave her alone several times. He wouldn’t, which was why they’d stepped in. But talking about Natasha always brought up something Rod didn’t like. He sometimes got the impression that Mack cared a little too much about their stepsister’s love life. Or, rather, he cared in the wrong way. Natasha was nothing like her insufferable mother. Rod was willing to look out for her as a big brother should, or he wouldn’t have stood up for her last night. But Mack was the family pet. Surely there was someone else out there, someone better, as much as Rod hated to use that term, for his kid brother. Natasha was basically a decent person, but anyone who’d been raised by Anya would have issues, and to say she could be prickly was an understatement.

Fortunately, Natasha was heading off to Utah to attend college in the fall, so they only had to get through the summer. With any luck, Mack would meet another new girlfriend—he went through quite a few—while she was away, and Rod’s concerns and suspicions wouldn’t amount to anything. Then, if their father ever divorced the freeloading drug addict he’d married, they’d all be done with Anya.

“I need to go out and find my phone,” he said.

“I could help with that, if you want,” Mack volunteered.

Rod gave him a wry smile. “Nice try, but I think you’ll be more useful at the shop. We’re always busy on Saturdays. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

Mack scowled. “Why bother? You can’t do anything with a broken hand.”

“It’s not broken,” Rod argued and hoped to God that was true.

The creak of footsteps told them someone was coming down the hall. Rod expected it to be Grady. Unless there was some reason not to, they usually drove to the shop together.

But it wasn’t their brother. It was Natasha, still sporting the X on the back of her hand that told the bartenders she was underage and couldn’t be served last night. Her bleached blond hair was spiked and she wore a nose ring, but no one could deny she was attractive in spite of everything she did to hide her natural beauty. Rod could see how Mack might like her. A lot of guys did. Despite her wild hair and her piercings and tattoos, she had a certain...raw sex appeal. But that didn’t change the many reasons it’d be stupid to get romantically involved with her.

“Thought I heard you.” Her gaze settled on Mack first. It had a tendency to do that—and to return to him again and again. When she finally shifted her attention to Rod, she gasped. “What the fuck happened to your face?”

He walked over to put his bowl in the sink. “Watch your language. We’ve talked about that before. You’re a girl, not a truck driver.”

“Oh, stop with the misogynistic bullshit. I’m of age. I’m not just a girl anymore, and I’ll say exactly what I want,” she told him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. So what happened?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re hopeless.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to tell me?”

“Grady’ll have to explain. I gotta run.”

“Why can’t Mack?” she asked.

Rod took Mack’s bowl and dumped it into the sink.

“Hey!” Mack cried. “I wasn’t finished!”

“You can eat later,” Rod said, messing up Mack’s hair just to piss him off. “Let’s go.”

Mack knocked his hand away, then halfheartedly tried to comb his hair back into place with his fingers. “Go where?”

“You told me you’d help me find my phone, remember?”

Rod thought Mack might give away the fact that they’d already decided he should go to the shop and not help find the phone, but he didn’t. He didn’t speak until he’d passed Rod’s smashed bike, which Donald and Sam had set to one side of the driveway, and climbed into Rod’s truck. “First you don’t want me to go. Now you do. What’s up?” he asked once Rod had started the engine.

Should he try to explain? Probably not. If he brought it up, his brother would only deny feeling any attraction to their stepsister. To Mack’s credit, he did his best to avoid her. Rod had noticed the effort he put into that. But...as hard as his brother was fighting whatever he felt, there was still a kind of tangible energy whenever he and Natasha were in the same room. “You’ve never touched Natasha, have you?” he asked.

Mack’s eyebrows slammed together. “What the hell are you talking about? Touched her in what way?”

“You know what way.”

“Unless you’re looking for a better fight than you got last night, don’t ever ask me that again,” he snapped, instantly furious. “That’s too screwed up for words.”

“I know she’s attractive, but...she’s off-limits.” They weren’t related by blood, and they hadn’t grown up together, so Rod could see where the confusion might come in. Two people from different families meeting after adolescence because their parents had married through some prison website could cloud the “related” issue. But Rod couldn’t stand the thought of his brother being tied to someone who’d make Anya a permanent part of their lives. There were too many other women out there who didn’t have an addict for a mother, didn’t bear the stigma of ever having been called their sister—and didn’t have the emotional problems Natasha did.

“You think I’d ever be able to forget that?” Mack said.

Rod felt like shit for even asking. He should’ve gone with his first instinct and kept his mouth shut. “No, of course not,” he replied and peeled out of the drive.

* * *

When India heard the sound of an engine, she peered through her plantation shutters. She knew it had to be one or more of the Amos brothers. Other than a handful of houses half a mile down the road, they were her only neighbors. She liked the countryside, with its wide-open spaces. That was why she’d chosen this location.

Sure enough, someone was leaving in a big blue truck.

She recognized Rod immediately. He was in the driver’s seat, which was closest to her as the vehicle rolled by. She was fairly certain he had Mack or Grady with him, but it was difficult to see. The passenger didn’t matter, anyway. Knowing that Rod wouldn’t be around for a while eased her anxiety. She hadn’t begun to get over her embarrassment about what she’d done last night. The fact that they could bump into each other if she so much as went out to weed the front flower bed made her reluctant to leave the house.

God, what had she been thinking?

Rod had to be scratching his head, too, wondering what kind of woman had moved in next door. The further she got from that moment, the more horrified she became. It bothered her so much that, when she couldn’t sleep last night, she’d gotten up and baked him some cookies. She had a special snickerdoodle recipe that had been her mother’s. Besides a few pieces of jewelry, some photo albums and a handmade sweater, that recipe was about all her mother had left behind. Charlie would often take platefuls of her snickerdoodles to the other doctors and nurses at the hospital, so she thought Rod might like them, too.

In any case, they were her peace offering. She’d just relocated, planned on starting over. She didn’t want the first person she’d met in Whiskey Creek to hold a terrible opinion of her. She and Rod could be neighborly even if they weren’t exactly friends, couldn’t they?

As she watched his taillights disappear around the bend, she breathed a sigh of relief. Now she had the chance to make her delivery when he wasn’t home, which was the opportunity she’d been looking for—if only she could figure out what to say on the accompanying note and get it over there before he got back. She didn’t want to write anything that might make him think this was another invitation. That was why she’d driven to the Gas-N-Go early this morning, before the closest supermarket was open, to buy a package of paper plates—so she wouldn’t have to put the cookies on a dish he’d feel obliged to return. She was merely acknowledging that she’d screwed up and was promising it wouldn’t happen again. She preferred to leave it at that.

She imagined seeing him in the future, out in the yard or on the road, and giving him a polite wave. She wasn’t sure they could get to a polite wave from “Will you take me to bed?” Especially with just a plateful of cookies. But she’d already made them. She figured it was worth a try.

Dear Rod, she wrote. Then she made a face at the words. “Dear” sounded both too familiar and old-fashioned. Unfortunately, “Rod” without the “Dear” didn’t seem right, either.

After throwing that note away, she started over and skipped the salutation completely:

I wasn’t myself last night. I’m sorry. Please accept these cookies as my apology and know I will never cross that line again.

Sincerely,

Your neighbor—who is cringing at her behavior but promises she’s not as bad as you must think.

She didn’t allow herself to analyze what she’d written or change it again. She slipped the card into its envelope, grabbed the cookies and a roll of tape and hurried over to the stairs that led up to the deck outside his bedroom. She couldn’t go to the front door and ring the bell, or his brothers would know she was leaving him something. If he had to explain, she was afraid of what he might say.

“With any luck, he’ll forgive me, and we’ll just go on as if it never happened,” she mumbled and put the foil-covered plate on the railing.

As she searched for a place to tape the note, she saw that he hadn’t closed his door all the way. He didn’t seem to take much care when it came to protecting his personal property, but she could understand why he might not be too concerned. There wasn’t a lot of crime in Whiskey Creek; that was one of the reasons she’d moved there. Also, for the most part, everyone knew everyone else, which would make a man like Rod an unlikely victim.

He was an idiot to pick a fight with Rod Amos. That was what one of the paramedics had said.

Since she had such easy access to his room, India wished she could put the cookies on his bed or dresser, so she wouldn’t have to worry about ants, rodents or other animals finding them before he did. But entering his house wasn’t a serious consideration until she heard someone outside, around the front.

“You’ll have to drive over later,” a male voice called out. “I’m late as it is.”

Damn! She was afraid she was about to be spotted...

“It won’t take me long to shower,” a female voice responded. “Rod’s hand is jacked up. Mack texted me that he doesn’t think Rod’ll be able to work, but Mack will be at the shop in an hour or so.”

“We’ll manage. See you there,” came the response.

An engine started. India had to do something or whoever was driving that car would see her the moment he backed up, and she definitely didn’t want to be caught lurking outside Rod’s door.

Snatching up her cookies, she stepped into the room.

“Hey, keep it down!” someone shouted, this time from inside the house instead of at the door. “What do you think this is? I’m trying to sleep!”

That was a woman, too, but not the woman India had already heard, a fact that became more apparent when the first woman snapped an equally irritated response. “Yeah, well, some of us have to work.”

Half expecting an argument to flare up, India held her breath. Neither woman seemed to be in a good mood. But nothing else happened. The younger one must’ve gotten in the shower so she could go to work, because everything fell silent.

“Thank goodness,” India whispered. She thought she could leave now, but she couldn’t help taking a look at Rod’s room while she was there.

He had a big bed, which he hadn’t made. His torn and bloody clothes from last night lay on the floor, along with some cleats and a football. Other than that, the place was clean. It was even sort of decorated, which came as a surprise. Twenty or more baseball caps lined the dresser, and a collection of grilles and hubcaps from old cars hung all over the walls.

India was tempted to throw away the clothes he’d left—they couldn’t be saved—and straighten the bedding. She supposed it was the mother in her...

Actually, if she was being honest, it had nothing to do with the mother in her. She liked him enough to want to touch the things that were most personal to him...

A door opening and shutting somewhere else in the house reminded her that she needed to get out.

She set her cookies on the railing, where she’d put them before, taped the note beside the foil-covered plate and hurried down the steps and across the lawn.

Once she reached her screened-in porch, she knew she was safe. But then she turned to give the cookies and note a final glance and realized she’d left his door open a little wider than she’d found it. She hated that he might guess she’d invaded his private space—especially since she had—but she wasn’t going over to correct it. In the future, she planned to keep her distance from Rod Amos and anything or anyone associated with him.

Now she needed to figure out a way to approach her in-laws about getting her daughter home, so she could bring some normalcy back into her life, or the loneliness that dogged her every step would completely destroy her.

Before she could commit herself to that course of action, however, she had to call the detective who was handling her late husband’s case.