Читать книгу Daredevil's Run - Kathleen Creighton - Страница 8

He’d seen him come in, of course he had.

He’d thought he was prepared for this. Should have been. Hell, he’d talked to the guy on the phone two or three times since the day Wade had called him from the hospital to tell him the Angel he’d always thought was a figment of his childhood imagination was real.

“You look like Wade,” he said, feeling like he needed to unclog his throat. “A little bit—around the eyes.”

“Well, we both got the blue ones, I guess.”

This brother’s eyes were darker than Wade’s, Matt noticed. And looked like they’d seen a whole lot more of what was bad in the world. Which was saying something, considering Wade was a homicide cop.

“Yeah? Whose did I get?”

“Mom’s. You got Mom’s eyes.”

About then, Matt realized he was still holding his brother’s hand, and evidently it occurred to Cory about the same time. There was a mutual rush of breath, and he got his arms up about the same time Cory’s arms came around him.

Matt had gotten over being shy about showing emotions five years ago, so he shouldn’t be ashamed to be tearing up now. And he wasn’t.

He could hear some hoots and whistles coming from the court, though, so after some throat-clearings and coughs and a backslap or two, he and Cory let go of each other. Dee-Jon, Frankie and Ray had gotten Vincent picked up off the floor, and all four were churning across the floor toward them, along with Dog and Wayans in their regular chairs, moving in from the far sidelines.

“Woo hoo, look at Teach, I think he got him a girlfriend!”

“Hey, Teach, I didn’t know you was—”

“Yo, Teach, who the ugly bi—”

At which point Matt held up his hand and put on his fierce-coach look and hollered, “Whoa, guys—I won’t have any of that trash talk about my brother.”

By this time he and Cory were surrounded, and the exclamations came at him from all sides.

“Brother!”

“He yo brothah?”

“Hey, you told us your bro was a cop. He don’t look like no cop.”

“Yeah, he look like a wuss.”

Matt glanced up at Cory to see how he was taking this, but Cory was grinning, so he did, too. “Nah, this is my other brother. He’s a reporter.”

“You got a othah brothah? How come you never—”

“Reporter—like on CNN?”

“How come I never seen you on TV?”

“Yeah, Dee-Jon, like you watch the news.”

Cory waited for the chorus to die down, then said, “I’m the other kind of reporter. A journalist—you know, a writer.”

The kids didn’t have too much to say about that. The chairs rocked and swiveled a little bit, and some heads nodded. Shoulders shrugged.

“Huh. A writer…”

“A writer—okay, that’s cool.”

“He’s been in more war zones than you guys have,” Matt said, which got the kids going again.

Dee-Jon shot his chin up. “Yeah? You ever been shot?”

“I have, actually,” Cory said.

Obviously thrown a little bit by that, Dee-Jon hesitated, then said, “Yeah, well, I have, too. That’s what put me in this chair. I was just walkin’ down the street, doin’ ma’ thing, not botherin’ nobody, know what I’m sayin’? And this car comes cruisin’, and this dude starts in shootin’—like, eh-eh-eh-eh—an’ next thing I know I’m down on the sidewalk lookin’ up at the sky, and I don’t feel nothin’. Still don’t. But, hey, I can still satisfy my woman, don’t think I can’t.”

That brought a whole barrage of hoots and comments, most of them in the kind of language Matt had pretty much gotten used to and given up trying to ban entirely. He wasn’t sure about how his big brother was taking it, though.

But Cory hadn’t batted an eye, just started asking questions, asking the kids how they’d gotten hurt, what had happened to them that put them in the chairs. In about ten seconds he had them all pulled in close around him, and was listening while each one told his story, sometimes yelling over the other eager voices, sometimes almost whispering in a respectful silence.

Ray, describing how his dad liked to beat up on him and throw him up against a wall when he was crazy drunk, and one day missed the wall and threw him through a third-floor apartment window instead.

And Dog, admitting how he’d been living up to his nickname hotdogging it on his dirt bike out on the Mojave Desert, showing off for his friends the day he’d flipped over and broken his neck. “I was stupid,” Dog said with a shrug. “Now I gots to pay.”

Wayans wasn’t stupid, just unlucky, having been born with spina bifida. And Vincent hadn’t had much to do with the automobile accident that had injured him, either, just happened to be in the wrong intersection at the exact time when a corporate lawyer on his way home from entertaining a client at a Beverly Hills nightclub failed to notice the light was red.

Frankie tried to get away with his favorite story about getting attacked by a shark, but the others shouted him down, so he had to admit he’d gotten his injury skateboarding illegally in the Los Angeles River’s concrete bed.

Matt hung back and watched his brother, the way the kids responded to him, the way he listened, not with sugary sympathy, but with his complete attention, interest that was focused and genuine, and that made people want to open up and spill things they wouldn’t normally think about telling a stranger. He could see what had made his brother a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, although the whole war-correspondent thing was still hard for him to grasp. He’d been prepared to like this newfound long-lost brother—particularly since he’d had those dreamlike memories of him protecting him from the bad scary stuff of his nightmares. What he hadn’t expected to feel was respect. Maybe even awe.

“Hey, guys,” he said, breaking into the chorus of questions now being fired at Cory from all sides, “you want to know about my brother, go home and do an Internet search on Cory Pearson. That’s P-E-A-R-S-O-N for you semiliterates. Now get out of here so he and I can spend some time together. We’ve got a lot to catch up on. Go on, hit the showers.”

The response was predictable.

“Ah, man.”

“Hey, it’s early—how come we gotta quit now?”

“Yeah, I wanna hit something.”

“You can’t hit nothin’—you a wussy.”

“I’m ‘a show you wussy—you hit like a little girl.”

The noise drifted off across the court as the six kids headed for the locker room. Matt and Cory followed, slowly.

“I see what you meant when you said it’s not each other they’re mad at. That game they were playing—it’s what they call Murderball, right?”

“Officially,” Matt said, pausing to scoop up the forgotten volleyball, “it’s called quad rugby. It’s been an official sport of the Paralympics since…I think, Atlanta.”

Cory nodded. “I’ve done some reading up on it. The rules allow them to do just about anything they can to the chairs, right? But they can’t go after the occupant. Whoever thought up that game was a genius. Gives them a chance to beat up on the thing they hate most and can’t live without. One thing, though. Doesn’t the ‘quad’ stand for—”

“Quadriplegic—yeah, it does. And most people think the same thing, which is that quads can’t move their arms, but that’s not true. There’s a whole range of motion, depending on where the SCI occurred.”

Cory glanced at him. “But you’re not—”

“No—I’m a para-T-11, to be exact.” He grinned lopsidedly up at his brother. “That’s how we refer to ourselves. These kids are mostly paras, too. Dee-Jon is the only one who’s a quad, and he’d like to try out for the U.S. Paralympic team someday. No, when I started this program, it was supposed to be wheelchair basketball. But the kids had other ideas. They were so rough on the chairs, I finally quit fighting it and went looking for some sponsorship so we could get some rugby chairs. You might have noticed, they’re built a little differently than regular chairs, even the sports models.” He slapped the canted wheel of his own chair.

Cory grinned. “I noticed. Also noticed you’re short a couple.”

“We’re working on it. Those suckers cost a couple thousand apiece. We got lucky right off the bat, because the guy that hit Vincent got his law firm to cough up the cost of the first two. The U.S. Quad Rugby Team gave us one. And…you know, it’s taken us a couple of years to get the other three, but we’ll get there. Eventually.”

“I might be able to help with that,” Cory said, so offhandedly Matt wasn’t sure he’d heard him for a moment.

Then, when he was sure, he didn’t know what to say. He bounced the volleyball once and coughed and finally said, “That’d be cool, man. Really. Thanks.” He looked over at his brother, but Cory wasn’t looking at him. Carefully not looking at him. His profile gave nothing away.

“No problem.”

They’d reached the gymnasium door. Matt swiveled his chair about halfway to facing his brother and said, “I’ve got to supervise these guys, but I’ll be free in an hour or so, if you want to…uh, I don’t know. Like…hang out?”

Okay, he’d been hanging out with teenagers too long.

Cory grinned as if he’d had the same thought, and in the spirit of the moment, said, “Okay, cool. I’ll be here.”

Matt nodded and went wheeling into the hallway, leaving his brother standing in the doorway. Halfway to the locker rooms, from which he could hear the usual racket and hair-curling language as his team got themselves and each other into the showers, he paused and looked back. The doorway was empty.

So. He was alone. Nobody to see him when he let his head fall back and exhaled at the ceiling, not sure whether he felt like laughing or crying. What he wanted to do, he supposed, was both. So instead he smiled to himself, like a little kid with a new bike. Shook his head, whooshed out more air, scrubbed his hands over his face, smiled again. Sniffed, wiped his eyes and muttered some swear words he’d never let the kids hear him use.

After a few minutes, when he had himself under control again, he swiveled and wheeled himself on down to the locker room.

Matt slid a dripping medium-rare hamburger patty onto Cory’s plate and said, “Don’t be shy, bro. Dig in.”

“Looks great,” his brother said, helping himself to slices of tomato and onion.

But behind the rimless glasses, his eyes held shadows. He hadn’t said much, either, the whole time Matt had been fixing the burgers, just watched everything he did with that quiet focus that seemed to be his natural way. Now, with food on the table, and nobody with any particular reason to say anything, silence fell. It didn’t seem like a comfortable silence.

Matt doctored up his burger the way he liked it, took a bite, chewed and swallowed, then said, super-casually, “Hey, man. I hope you’re not blaming yourself, or anything like that.”

Cory put down his burger, and one corner of his mouth went up as he glanced over at Matt. “For what part?”

“What part? For losing track of us—Wade and me and…the little girls. Waiting so long to try to find us. What the hell did you think I meant? This?” He hit the rim of the wheel and threw him a look. “Why would you be blaming yourself for this?”

Cory shrugged and picked up his burger. Put it down again and stared at it as if it had turned bad on him all of a sudden. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Okay, wait.” Matt couldn’t believe this guy. He huffed out a laugh. “You’re not thinking you could have changed what happened to me. If you’d been here. That’s crap. That’s just…Look here, okay? I probably would have found some other way to screw up my life. It’s just the way I am. You’ve got no way of knowing this, but I’ve always been a daredevil, taking chances I shouldn’t, even when I knew better. You being around wouldn’t have changed that.”

Cory gave him an appraising look, and the light was back in his eyes, as if he’d put the guilt away, for now. “A chance-taker, huh? That why you chose to teach in an inner-city school?”

Matt snorted. “Hadn’t thought about it quite like that, but…yeah, maybe. Probably.”

“Wade told me he was surprised—that’s an understatement, by the way—when you decided to become a teacher. He said you weren’t ever much for school…being indoors. Said you reminded him of Tom Sawyer. You’d always rather be outdoors, mixed up in some sort of adventure. And by the way, he blames you for any and all trouble you two got into when you were kids.”

Matt laughed silently, nodding while he chewed. “He would.”

“You did get through college, though. That’s something.”

“Yeah, well, I guess it’s a good thing I did…as it turns out. Gave me something to fall back on, career wise. Not that I’m any great shakes as an academic, you understand. I started out teaching phys ed, substitute teaching now and then. Now I teach ninth grade social studies in addition to the PE. Seems to be working out okay. It’s a challenge, though, I grant you, going up against the gang influence—drugs, the whole culture of violence. I like it, though—and you’re right, maybe because it’s a challenge. Like…maybe I had something to prove to myself. Maybe.”

Cory said mildly, “Seems like you could have done that just as well by going back to your old job.”

“Hey,” Matt said, letting himself back away from the table. “Forgot the beer. Can I get you one?”

“Sure.”

He could feel those dark blue eyes boring into him as he made his way to the fridge, got out two cold ones and came back to the table. His brother didn’t push, though. Just waited, as Matt was discovering was his natural way.

Matt slid one of the cans across to Cory and popped open the other. Took a drink, then figured there was no use avoiding the subject. He should have known it would come up, and was going to come up again, his brother being who he was.

“The mountains, you mean. The river.” There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

“I had a talk with your former partner,” his brother said quietly.

Matt took another swallow of beer. Not that it helped wash down the knot in his throat. “Yeah? How’s she doing? The rafting business going well?”

Cory’s half smile and steady gaze told Matt he wasn’t fooled. “Seems to be. Although Alex…maybe not so well.”

The kick under his ribs caught him by surprise, made him check with his beer halfway to his lips. He coughed to cover it, set the beer down and said carefully, “What do you mean?”

“She’s pretty angry with you, you know. And hurt. Doesn’t understand why you broke things off with her.”

Matt leaned back in his chair and steadied his hands on the wheels. Emotions he’d learned to control threatened to break loose, something he didn’t want, not now, not with the brother he was trying so hard to impress watching him like a hawk. He huffed out a laugh he hoped didn’t sound bitter. “That doesn’t surprise me. I wouldn’t expect her to understand.” He added, as an afterthought, “Don’t expect you to, either.”

“I’m pretty good at understanding,” Cory said.

There was a moment when Matt thought he wouldn’t answer, when he swiveled away from the table. Then for some reason he came back.

“Okay,” he said, then paused while he thought about how to start. “Look. All during rehab they tell you the hardest part of getting your life back is facing up to what you were before. Like, as long as you’re in the hospital, in rehab, you’re in this completely different world, and you’re surrounded by others in the same boat you’re in, or worse off than you. You look forward to going home, that’s what you’re working toward, the light at the end of the tunnel. And then when you finally get there, instead of being this great thing, it’s like bam, everything hits you at once. Everywhere you look you see stuff that was part of your old life, stuff you can’t do anymore. That’s hard.” And how’s that for understatement?

Cory nodded. “I can see how it would be. So you tried to avoid that part altogether. By not going back to the life you had before.”

“Yeah, I did,” Matt said, quietly defiant. “Do you blame me?”

“I’m not into blaming anybody—” Cory’s smile flashed “—except maybe myself.”

“And I told you not to do that. I mean it. I’m okay with my life. I mean, hell no, I’m not okay with being in a wheelchair, but I’ve accepted it. What else can I do? Look, I went through all the stages—first, you’re just numb, then you’re in denial. You tell yourself you’re going to get over this, you’re going to get well, you’re going to walk again. When you realize you’re not, you hit bottom. There’s rage, despair, bitterness—some people never make it past that. Some people choose to end it right there. I don’t know why I managed to get through it, but I did, and I’m glad I did. I’ve got a job doing something important. At least, I think it is. I think maybe I can make a difference in some kids’ lives, and that keeps me going, getting up every morning.”

“I think so, too. I hate to sound like a big brother, but I’m proud of you.” Cory coughed and took a swallow of beer—a ploy Matt was familiar with, had used himself a time or two—then frowned at the can in his hand. “But there’s more to life than a career. Trust me—this I know from personal experience.”

It was an opportunity, and Matt jumped on it with great relief. Leaned forward, grinning, and said, “Speaking of which, I haven’t heard about yours, yet. You’re married, I know that much. Your wife’s name is Samantha, right? So, tell me about her.”

This time his brother’s smile was different, somehow, as if somebody had lit a whole bunch of candles behind it. “You’ll meet her yourself, soon enough. She’s flying out tomorrow.”

“No kidding? Hey, that’s great. No kids, though, I’m guessing?”

The candlepower went just a shade dimmer. “Not yet. Sam’s been busy with her career—she’s a pilot, did Wade tell you?—and then we’ve both been occupied with this search. Still two missing, you know. The twins—the little girls are out there, somewhere. We’re not ready to give up just yet.”

He took off his glasses, frowned at them, then shifted those deep, dark, see-everything eyes back to Matt. “What about you? You broke things off with Alex, so…what now? Do you have anybody special in your life? Do you plan to get married someday, have kids of your own? I’m assuming everything’s…”

Matt jumped in with a cough and a hurried, “Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. Works just…fine. You know….” And after an awkward pause, “I’d like to find somebody, sure.” From out of the past a pair of hazel eyes fringed with black swam into his mind and gazed at him accusingly. You found her, you idiot. And you were too stupid to know it.

His consciousness protested. Hey, I wasn’t the stupid one.

You could have changed her mind if you’d tried hard enough.

I would have. I meant to. I thought I had time….

Cory’s voice broke into his inner debate. “You and Alex…”

“Whatever we were,” Matt said evenly, “it’s history.”

“That’s…not the impression I got from her.”

Matt jerked away from the table, needing a physical outlet for the anger that spasmed through him. “Look—you don’t…You have to know her.” He gave a short, hard laugh as he wheeled into the kitchen and lobbed his empty beer can into the sink, liking the clatter it made. “She’s got some issues, believe me.”

His brother’s mild tone told him he wasn’t impressed by the display. “So, tell me about her.”

Sam’s “Hey…” was mumbled and sleepy, and Cory closed his eyes in contrition.

“I woke you. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about the time difference.”

“No…no, ‘sokay.” He could hear rustlings, and for a moment, knowing she preferred to sleep nude, enjoyed the mental picture of his wife getting herself propped up on pillows and the sheet pulled up across her breasts. “Tell me. You’ve seen him? Talked to him?”

“Just came from having dinner with him. He fixed us hamburgers.”

“Umm. Yum.”

“Sam, I wish you could have seen him. He coaches a bunch of teenagers with SCIs. Have you ever heard of ‘Murderball’?”

“I have, actually. Well, gee, Pearse, what did you expect? He’s your brother. So, how is he? I mean, you know, about…”

“Being paralyzed? He seems to have adjusted very well. Ask me how it was seeing him like that.”

“Okay.”

“In a word, awful. I kept thinking I could have changed things if I’d…you know. That he wouldn’t be in that chair if I’d been there for him.”

“Pearse—”

“I know, I know. He already told me what he thought of that notion. There is something I’d like to do for him though. This is something I think I might be able to fix.” And maybe it’ll help with these guilt feelings…

“Okay, tell me. Can I help?”

“I think so, yes. You’re still coming tomorrow, right?”

“Right. Hitched a ride with the U.S. Navy. Leaving at O-six hundred. You’re picking me up at Edwards, right?”

“You bet.” Cory let out a breath. “I’m going to take Matt back to the mountains, Sam. He’s adjusted okay in most ways, but…he’d never admit it, but I think he’s lonely. He’d like someone—a wife, kids—but I don’t think he’s ever going to be able to find anyone as long as he’s got this unresolved thing for Alex Penny. His expartner. I’m positive he’s still got feelings for her, and it’s a big hurting empty inside him.”

He listened to some more rustlings, and then, “Darlin’, I know you want to help your brother, but meddlin’ in his love life? I don’t know about that…Do you think taking him back to the life he used to have is such a good idea? Seems like that could be pretty hard.”

“Oh, yeah. He admitted that. He said it was the reason he chose not to go back. But I think there’s more to him not going back than not wanting to face his old life. He’s got more guts than that.” He paused. “I think he’d have gone back if she’d asked him to.”

“Well, why didn’t she? Maybe she doesn’t have the same feelings he does.”

“That’s just it—I think she does. Sam, she’s still hurt and angry after five years. That doesn’t come from nothing.”

“True.” He heard a swallowed yawn. “Then why? Is she just proud? Stubborn? What?”

“Mmm, I don’t know. Some, maybe. But Matt told me some things about her that might help to explain why she didn’t ask him to stay. Apparently she grew up in a trailer park in a little town on the Mojave Desert. Single mom, father deserted her mother as soon as he found out she was pregnant. Mom was bitter but tough, and raised her daughter to fend for herself, be self-sufficient, not depend on anybody but herself, and especially not a man. She died of cancer about the time Alex met Matt.”

“Oh boy.”

“Yeah. Add to that the fact that Matt’s got his pride, too, and he’s trying to prove to himself he can make it on his own, doesn’t want pity, doesn’t want charity, so the only way he’s going to stay on the river is if his partner convinces him she really wants and needs him.”

“Which goes against the whole mind-set she was raised with. So, how do we go about fixing this?”

“I told you. We’re going to take him back to the river. I want to book us a rafting trip—you, me and Matt. They do trips with all sorts of disabled people, so I know it’s doable. Then, once we get him there, we let nature take its course. I’ll butt out, I promise.”

“Okay,” Sam said, softly laughing, obviously not believing that for a minute. “That’s fine…but how do you intend to convince this little brother of yours to go along with your plan? From the sound of things, he’s got a mind of his own.”

“I’ll put it to him in the one way he won’t be able to refuse,” Cory said, letting his smile into his voice. “He’s a bit of a daredevil. So, I plan to dare him.”

“No way,” Alex said. “Not in a million years. Out of the question.”

“You go, girl,” Eve said, clinking beer bottles with her across the remains of their burgers and fries.

“That’s what I’m gonna tell him, too. First thing tomorrow.” Alex took a chug from the bottle, then lowered it and demanded of Booker T, who was gazing at her from under his beetling white eyebrows and shaking his head, “What? You don’t think I won’t? Eve’s right. Why in the hell should I let my paraplegic ex-partner book a tour with me when he friggin’ deserted me? Didn’t even have the guts to come back here and help me run this damn outfit? Who needs that? Who needs him?”

This time Eve’s “Hear! Hear!” was echoed enthusiastically by Bobby and Ken and a couple of the other river guides who were obviously a beer or two up on the rest of the crew. Randy, the photographer, who had his mouth full, gave a thumbs-up gesture. Linda, Booker T’s wife, who also manned the Rafting Center’s store and was too kind and sweet to say a bad word against anybody, just smiled and shook her head. Booker T scraped back his chair and stood up.

“We got boatin’ to do tomorrow, people,” he announced to a chorus of boos, which he ignored. “Time to be headin’ on home. C’mon, sweet pea.” He pulled out Linda’s chair for her and offered her a hand with a gesture like an old-time gentleman, which he did sort of resemble with his sweeping handlebar mustache with its waxed and curled-up ends. Then he gestured at Alex. “You, too, baby doll. Morning comes early.”

“Ah, hell, Booker T, we’re just getting warmed up. The night is young!” And as far as Alex was concerned, home was the last place she wanted to be. Home was quiet, and empty. She wanted music and noise and a few more beers. Hopefully enough to block out the memories.

Evidently Booker T could read her mind, because he shook his head and said, “Come on—we’ll drop you off home,” as he took her by the shoulders and guided her up out of her chair. His touch was gentle, and although Alex could have resisted it, she didn’t. It was a mystery to her why, but Booker T was the only human being on the planet she’d let boss her around like that.

So, she laughed and hollered her goodbyes and Booker T hooked one arm around her waist and the other around Linda’s, and he danced them both out the door of The Corral with a Texas Two-Step to the Billy Ray Cyrus song that was playing on the jukebox. By the time they got to the parking lot, they were all singing along with Billy Ray at the top of their lungs, having a good time. Alex thought it would be a fun idea to ride in the back of Booker T’s king cab Chevy truck and keep right on singing all the way—the whole half mile—to her house, but Booker T somehow managed to maneuver her into the backseat instead, where she had to sit on some coiled-up rope and leather gloves and a bunch of other stuff she couldn’t even begin to guess the nature of.

Booker T slammed the door on her complaining and got into the driver’s seat while Linda climbed in beside him. He started up the truck and pulled out of the parking lot, and Alex scooted forward and put her folded arms on the back of his seat.

“Booker T?”

“Yeah, baby doll?”

“I’m tellin’ him tomorrow. I mean it. No way am I booking Matt Callahan for a tour. Huh-uh.”

“And why’s that?”

“Well…hell, isn’t it obvious? I mean, he’s a—”

“Cripple?”

The word stabbed into Alex like a thorn, and she sucked in a shocked breath because she’d never thought Booker T would say such a thing. Something so mean. But it’s what you were thinking.

I was not!

“No! You know it’s not—shoot, we take disabled people on the river all the time, you know we do.”

“Well, then?”

“Jeez, Booker T, he wants to go on the Forks. That’s a class V. He can’t—”

“He’s done it before, dozens of times.”

“Not in five years, he hasn’t!”

Booker T pulled up in front of Alex’s little house, set among the granite boulders and bull pines with the privacy and isolation she normally loved. He cut off the motor, and in the silence said quietly, “That’s what’s bothering you, isn’t it? The fact he’s been gone five years. What are you afraid of, Alex? That he can’t do it, or that he still can?”

Still can…make my heart hammer and my skin hot? Still can…make me want him?

She sucked in another breath—an angry one, this time—and whooshed it out along with, “No, that’s not—Look, I’m not afraid, okay? That’s just stupid.” I’m not afraid. I’m not.

“Okay, you’re not afraid. So, why not book his trip?” He opened his door and got out, then opened hers for her and held out his hand to help her down. “You’re not chicken, are you, baby doll?”

She could see the snaggletoothed smile lurking underneath that mustache. Damn him.

“Damn you, Booker T.” She let him walk her to her door and open it for her and turn on the lights, then paused in the doorway to give him a sideways look. “You know you’re the only person on God’s green earth that gets to call me ‘baby doll.’ You know that, don’t you?”

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with you,” Booker T said as he started off down the pine needle-strewn walk, heading back to his pickup.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Hey, Booker T—” She stomped her foot and started after him, and he paused with one hand on the truck’s door handle to turn back to her.

“You never got to be any lovin’ daddy’s little girl,” he said, then yanked open the door, climbed in and drove away.

He left Alex standing there with tears smarting her eyes, cussing out loud and ashamed at herself because she’d just remembered. Booker T and Linda’s only daughter, Sherry Ann, had died in a car accident when she was just seventeen.

But she still wasn’t booking Matt Callahan and his brother on a trip down the Forks of the Kern. No way, José.