A Wish and a Prayer (16 page)

Rocky wanted to somehow banish the bleakness she saw in his eyes.

“Are you still going to get your bike?”

“Yes. You heard Bernadine, we're not running scared, so I'll be here at six.”

“Then I'll be ready. We'll have to take rain checks on that drink.”

“I know, but I'm glad we were there to help.”

M
al dropped Bernadine and Crystal off at home. Inside the house, Crystal asked, “You sure you're okay?”

“I am. I'm just sad about the people who died.”

“Me, too.”

“Thanks for helping out in the kitchen.”

“No problem. At first I thought the booms were thunder, then Doc Reg knocked on the door and said there was a fire. We could see it from the porch. He left Devon and Zoey with me and told us to stay put, but when we heard more of those big booms, Eli came over and said he was going to see what was happening, so we got everybody and rode in. Are we going to be in trouble?”

Bernadine hugged her close. “No, sweetie. You all did what you thought best, and no one can yell at you for that. Plus Rocky and Mal were glad for the help.”

“I hope they catch the person.”

“Me, too. Now I'm going up to shower, and then to bed. You should do the same.”

Crystal gave her another hug. “I'm glad you're okay,” she said fiercely.

“Me, too.”

Lying in bed, Bernadine stared unseeing into the darkness while the memories of the fire played in her head. Now that it was all over, the terror and helplessness that had been holding her in its grip since the initial blast dissipated was replaced by righteous anger. How dare someone do this! How dare cost a couple their life just for coming to see a movie in celebration of their anniversary! If she had to offer every dime she had as a reward for information, she would. The arsonist was not going to get away with this! Whoever it was would be found, prosecuted, and locked up if it took the rest of her life.

Chapter 18

E
arly the following morning, Rocky left her trailer and walked out to her truck. The sun was just rising, and it tinted the dawn sky with pinks and gold. She shivered a bit in the chilly air. Even though it was late April, spring was still having difficulty giving winter the final boot, and as a result the temperature was in the mid-forties. Glad for the warmth of her old black leather jacket, she got into her truck and started it up.

Hoping her engine didn't disturb Tamar, the CNN guys, or Reverend Paula after the rough night they'd all had, she backed down the gravel drive that led out to July Road and used it to get to Main. Passing the Dog, she saw the lights on, indicating that Mal and Brian, the part-time cook who filled in for Siz on the weekends, were on their jobs. A minute later she drove by the rec and slowed to take in all the activity. A line of cop cruisers and unmarked cars were parked out front. Men and women in jackets emblazoned with local and national acronyms were all over the site, carrying clipboards and talking on phones. She saw Trent talking with a group of them, and Bernadine too. In the light of day the aftereffects of the fire could be seen in the burned remains of truck and cars littering the lots and the half-melted streetlights, warped and deformed like a picture by Salvador Dalí. Shaking her head sadly at the madness, she drove on to Jack's.

Jack.
She'd been looking forward to this all week. Their shared ride home from the hospital had been nice. The look of utter surprise on his face when she walked into the waiting room was one she'd remember for a long time. He didn't impress her as being someone who was caught flat-footed often, so she gave herself points. And yes, she was nervous, probably more than she'd been in quite some time, but she was determined to see this through, no matter how many times she had to keep telling the Doubting Thomas voices inside to shut up and take a seat.

She pulled into the James driveway at precisely 5:55. Jack exited his front door, pulling his jacket on over his shoulder while trying to hold on to a red plastic coffee cup with the hand in the sling. He seemed to be managing it okay, and she liked that he was on time.

When he got in, he brought with him the faint hint of a nice cologne and his smile. “Morning.”

“Morning.” She had another one of those moments where she found herself just staring at him. Snapping out of it, she backed down the driveway while he secured his seat belt.

“So, how are you?” he asked.

“I'm good. You?”

They were heading to the highway.

“Doing good, too.”

On the plains of Kansas early-morning radio was dominated by farm reports, so she had her iPod plugged in. David Sanborn's horn flowed sweetly. Traffic was light. Rocky didn't know what to say, so she let the music take over the silence.

“Thanks for the invite,” he said to her.

“You're welcome.”

“What kind of bike are we picking up?”

“Vincent Black Shadow.”

She could tell by his furrowed brow that he didn't have a clue as to what that was. “It's okay, most people have no idea what it is either, but it's a motorcycle—a classic. My dad used to have one when I was growing up. I've been looking for one to either buy or restore for about a year now.”

She merged onto the highway and blew by a few slower-moving trucks. Once the road ahead was clear, she set the cruise control and relaxed. She glanced his way. “Did you love your wife?”

“Madly.”

She liked that. Men sometimes stumbled over that question, as if owning up to their feelings was against some kind of male code, but he'd answered without hesitation. “Was that too nosy?”

“No.”

“How'd you meet?”

He sat back, and the dreamy look that came over his face seemed to match the feelings he'd proclaimed so unashamedly. “Met her at the campus bookstore, and from the moment I met her, I was in love. Did you love your husband?”

“Thought I did until I caught him in my underwear.”

He spit out coffee and began coughing.

“There are napkins in the glove box.”

Continuing to cough, he gave her a sideways look, then wiped his mouth and used another napkin on the drops of coffee dotting the black console. “So that's what you meant on Saturday when you said you were afraid I'd wind up wearing your underwear. I've been thinking about that on and off all week.”

“ Needless to say, I wasn't happy.”

“How'd he look?”

“Think Cletus in a bikini.”

He was still smiling. “That must've been something.”

“Oh, it was. So much something I made Trent drive me to the airport so I could leave town.” She paused as she thought back and said in a soft tone, “Really thought Bob would be the one. Nope.”

Rocky wasn't sure what telling him all this meant, but if they were going to be embarking on whatever this was they were doing, she wanted him to know the ins and outs of how life had shaped her—good and bad. She turned to see how he was taking all this and met eyes so filled with quiet interest, she had to look away or drive off the road.

“That your only marriage?”

“Yes. I don't seem to do well in relationships. Either the guy's crazy or I am. Nothing's ever worked out.” Maybe because she'd never opened up this way before, and neither had the men.

She had the truck rolling. The cruise control was set at eighty-five mph—just the way she liked it, even though it was an invitation to a ticket. As they blew past a marked cruiser hiding in plain sight on the shoulder, she hoped the patrolman would let her fly on, but in her rearview mirror she saw him swing out and gun after her. “Damn.”

He peered into his mirror. “How fast you going?”

“Eighty-five.”

He stared with so much surprise, she chuckled, “It's one of the things Tamar and I have in common—a girl's need for speed.”

Slowing the truck, she pulled onto the shoulder, rolled down her window, and said, “Can you hand me that red envelope out of the glove box, please?”

He complied.

Watching the trooper close the distance between his vehicle and hers, Rocky realized she knew him. The recognition made her relax somewhat. When he reached the window, she said, “Hey, Carl.”

“Rocky?” He swept surprised eyes over her and then Jack.

“How've you been?” she asked.

“Been good. You on your way to a fire?”

“Nope. Going to Hays to pick up a bike.”

“Who's he?”

“A friend.”

The way Carl scrutinized him from beneath the circular brim of his hat made Jack think the cop would say more, but he didn't, shifting his attention back to Rocky.

“Let me have your license and registration.”

She passed them to him. He gave Jack another glance before walking back to his cruiser to run her info through his onboard computer.

“You two know each other, I take it?”

“Yeah. Dated him for a while a few years back.”

“Ah.” Jack's brain instantly began asking all the questions the male brain does when confronted with a former boyfriend, but he had enough sense not to say anything out loud.

Carl returned and gave her back her license and registration. “Letting you off with a warning, Rock.”

“Thanks.”

“How long you had this truck?” he asked, checking it out approvingly.

Jack put the registration into the red envelope and closed the glove box.

“About a year.”

“Heard you were back in town.”

“Since you're looking at me, you heard right.”

“Still a hard-ass wiseass.”

“Always.”

He smiled for the first time. “Okay, go get your bike, and slow down, would you, please? I don't want to scrape your hard-ass wiseass off the pavement.”

“Thanks, Carl.”

He tossed Jack a farewell nod and departed.

She merged back into the traffic and after a few minutes eased it back up to eighty-five. It didn't surprise him that she'd paid no attention to the trooper's parting request. “Why'd you two break up?”

“Found out he was married. I don't do home wrecking. Do you think Shakespeare's Kate was really a woman of color?”

The gears in Jack's brain jumped off the track. Had he missed something?

“
Taming of the Shrew
. Scene Two. Petrucchio says: Kate, like the hazel-twig is straight and slender, and as brown in hue as hazel-nuts.”

Jack blinked. “Um?”

“Took a Shakespeare class at the community college a few years back. I asked the professor about it, and you'd've thought I was playing the dozens with his mother, the way he looked.”

Jack was still trying to get his brain to move. “What did he say?”

“Told me, Don't be ridiculous. Told him to read the passage, but he refused. I dropped the class.” She glanced over. “So, what do you think?”

He thought he had yet to meet a more fascinating woman. “I think you amaze me, Rocky.”

“Good. Not sure what men like you talk about when you're off the clock. Don't want to bore you.”

“No chance of that.”

She nodded as if pleased. Jack was still mulling over his fascination when they exited the highway and drove into Hays.

They pulled into what appeared to be a salvage yard, by the look of all the rusted cars and farm equipment strewn about. The truck halted in front of an old cinder-block building that had the words “Wellers Cars and Parts” across the front in letters so faded and weathered they were barely discernible. She gave the horn a quick toot. A few seconds later an old man in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved denim shirt came out, leaning on a brown cane. He walked slowly over to her rolled-down window with a smile splitting his whiskered face. “Morning, Ms. Rock. How you?”

“Doing good, Freddy. This is my friend, Jack. Jack—Freddy Wellers.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Wellers.”

The old man peered into the cab. “Same here, Jack. What do you do?”

The abrupt question caught him off guard. “I'm the teacher in Henry Adams.”

Freddy scanned him silently with piercing blue eyes. Jack felt like a sixteen-year-old being scrutinized by his date's father.

“You treat her nice, you hear?”

“Yes, sir.” He sent a hesitant glance Rocky's way. Her profile showed Sphinx-like amusement.

But to her credit and his relief, she pulled Weller's attention away by asking, “My Shadow ready?”

“Yep, and in better shape than I thought. Needs a lot of TLC, though. You sure you don't want me to do the work for you?”

“Positive. I got this. Jack's going to help.”

Jack's lips parted in surprise. In spite of having had a biker roommate, he knew next to nothing about motorcycles. Freddy looked as doubtful as he felt.

“Bike's around back.”

“Hop in.”

He complied, and once he was settled, warned, “Drive slow, now. Don't want you running into nothing.”

“Me?”

“Yeah you, Miss Lead Foot.”

“Chicken,” she tossed back teasingly.

“Cluck cluck.”

She shot Jack a smile that made his insides feel like they'd been warmed by the sun. He was really enjoying being in her company.

The drive around the building took just a few seconds, and the sea of car parts as far as he could see caused his jaw to drop. Piles of tires, fenders, and flattened doors were stacked sky-high. As she made a turn that drove them deeper into the yard, he marveled at a small mountain range of old engines, transmissions, and busted windshields rising next to hundreds of mounded struts and blackened exhaust pipes that would never breathe again. There were tractor parts and ancient refrigerators along with washing machines, banged-up dryers, and stoves with no doors. He now understood why Freddy had cautioned Rocky to drive slow. If any of the stacks fell, it would take first responders years to recover their pancaked bodies.

Freddy must have seen the wonder on his face. “Pretty impressive, huh?” There was pride in his voice, as if he were showing off a field of diamonds.

“Definitely.” What impressed him most was the sheer size of the operation. He felt as if he'd been transported to a hallowed graveyard where old car parts, tractors and discarded appliances went to die. “Is this all for sale?”

“Nah. Sometimes a restorer or a kid needs something for an old wreck they're working on, but most of it's scrap I'm saving.”

Jack wanted to know why, but was too busy staring around. They passed another giant pile of truck doors, all green. He couldn't help but put his earlier thoughts into words. “I feel like I'm in the place where car parts go to die—sorta like the elephant graveyard.”

The old man chuckled. “If there was a place like that, this would be it.”

The truck finally stopped in front of a garage with five open bays. Jack wondered if the building was original property, or if it had been salvaged too. The area around it was yet another graveyard, this time of bicycles. Piles of handlebars, frames, bike tires, and rusted-through fenders were everywhere. Jack was so focused on taking it all in, he realized Rocky and Wellers were getting out of the truck. He hustled to join them.

Rocky was cognizant of only one thing, and that was the bike sitting in the shadows of the garage's bay. She'd been trying to get her hands on a Vincent for nearly a year, and the sight of it was so moving, she paused, taking in its shape and unique design before approaching it almost reverently. Seeing past its terrible physical condition and filled with awe, she ran a hand over the rusted bars, the torn and rotting leather seat with its stuffing exposed as if it were made of silk. It was in bad shape. Rust and age obscured the fine curved lines and the once-black engine that had given the formerly beautiful piece of high-powered machinery its name. She'd paid an incredible amount of money for the bike, but once it was back on the road, it would be priceless.