Bravo Unwrapped (17 page)

“Just get out of my way.”

Bowie's jaw went granite-hard. He braced his legs wide apart, planting himself even more firmly in her path. “What are you gonna do, Glory? If you don't marry me, what kind of life do you think you're gonna have?”

“I don't want to talk about this. I'm
through
talking about this.”

Bowie clearly wasn't. “Who's gonna take care of you, huh?”

Glory let out a hard huff of air. “I'll take care of myself, thank you very much. Me and my baby will get along just fine.”

“It's my baby, too.”

“Then get a job. Help support
your
baby.”

“I will, damn it. I said that I would. Glory. Look…” He reached for her.

She slapped his hand away. “Keep your paws to yourself.”

“Bowie,” Chastity tried again. “I've had it. Stop this. Now.”

His mother's command had zero effect. Burl Ives launched into “Silver Bells,” and Bowie kept right on talking. “Look at you, Glory. You graduated high school with a big, fat C average. You've never been anywhere and you're
goin'
nowhere. You're a motel maid, for crying out loud. You need me. You and me, we could have a life together, if you would only—”

Glory put her hands over her ears and announced in a sing-song voice, “I'm not listening to you….”

In B.J.'s arms, Mr. Lucky started squirming, sharp claws digging in. She unhooked the animal from her sweater, bent and let it down. It zipped out the door into the hallway and vanished. A very smart cat.

“You
never
listen,” Bowie grumbled. “That's half our problem and that's the damn truth.”

“Shut up, shut up. I can't hear you….”

Bowie pumped up the volume. “Well, I know who you
have
been listening to.” He was shouting now, all but drowning out the holiday tune on the stereo. He pointed an accusing finger in B.J.'s direction. “You've been listening to Ms. New York City over there, now, haven't you? That bitch has been filling your head with crazy ideas.”

Beside B.J., Buck swore. “Bowie. You're done.”

“The hell I am. I'm just getting warmed up here.”

“Buck…” B.J. tried to hold Buck back again, but he only shoved her stalling hand away. Three long strides and he stood beside Glory.

Out of the corner of her eye, B.J. saw that Lupe had begun dismantling her equipment. Did the photographer sense big trouble coming?

B.J. certainly did.

Buck said, “B.J.'s never done a thing to you. You apologize to her and you do it now.”

Bowie grunted. “Stay outta this. It's got nothing to do with you.”

“You talk trash about B.J., you bet it's got to do with me. Apologize.”

B.J. cleared her throat. “Buck, I really don't—” It was as far as she got. Buck chopped the air with a furious hand.

He spoke to his brother again. “Apologize.”

“The hell I will.” Bowie went into a crouch.

Buck scoffed. “Oh, what? Now you want to start a fight? I'm sad to say, it figures.”

“You want a piece of this, big brother?” Bowie wiggled his fingers, waving Buck forward. “You want a piece of me? Come on. Come on and get it.”

“Buck!” cried Chastity. “Bowie!” Neither of them so much as glanced her way.

Buck advised, “Glory, step back.” With a tiny cry, Glory spun and ran to B.J. B.J. caught her and held on tight as Buck asked Bowie, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Bowie remained in his crouch, ready for action. “What do you mean, what's wrong with me? I'm a man and that's my woman over there. I love her. She's havin' my baby. And if you'd keep your own woman out of it, you can bet Glory and me would work things out between us just fine.”

The Burl Ives album ended, the final festive notes lingering in the air.

Buck spoke to his brother again. “I hate to say it. But you're an idiot, Bowie. A mean, bitter guy who beats up on women to try to convince himself he's something vaguely resembling a man. How the hell did you let that happen to you?”

Bowie's response was a guttural, “Son of a bitch.” He
launched himself at Buck. Glory let out a scream and buried her head in B.J.'s shoulder as the brothers went down, landing on an empty decoration box, crushing it flat.

“Buck, Bowie, stop!” Chastity shouted.

Her sons weren't listening. Buck gained the top position. He levered back on his knees and landed a punch square in Bowie's face. Blood exploded from Bowie's nose. He let out a sound that could only be called a battle cry. With a mighty heave, he shoved Buck off him, gathered his legs under him and jumped to his feet. Buck rolled and got upright, too.

They traded more blows. Blood was flying everywhere. A lamp went over and Chastity swore. “That does it,” she said. She took off through the hall doorway, just as Bowie leapt on Buck again.

For the second time, the brothers went down, breaking Chastity's coffee table in the process. The sounds of splintering wood joined with the heavy male grunts and the sickening thuds of fists on flesh.

“Holy Mary, the tree!” cried Glory.

“Grab it,” said B.J. In unison, they turned to the tree and grabbed the trunk from either side.

“Get back,” Glory shouted. She held the tree steady and kicked out at Bowie as he rolled too close. “You get back from this tree, Bowie Bravo, or I will kick you silly.”

“Oof! Ow!” Bowie grunted and groaned as Glory kicked him from behind and Buck hit him, a rapid-fire series of punches to the midsection.

“Get away from the tree!” Glory shouted again.

“Okay, okay.” Buck got Bowie by the leg, dragged him clear of the tree and then sat on him. “Had enough?”

“Get offa me, you—”

Buck hit him again as Chastity reentered the room. Nobody noticed she had a revolver in her hand until she aimed at the ceiling and fired.

T
he shot echoed and plaster rained down. Glory cried out.

And then there was silence, except for Bowie's groans.

Buck armed blood off his face, dragged himself off Bowie and staggered to his feet. Bowie just lay there, clutching his stomach and groaning some more.

“Look at this mess,” muttered Chastity, shaking her head at her ruined coffee table, her broken lamp, the flattened boxes of decorations and the glittering shards of shattered ornaments littering the floor.

Buck pressed a cut on his lip. Blood seeped through his fingers. “I'll pay for all this, Ma, don't worry. We'll get everything back good as new.” He stood over his vanquished brother. “Bowie?” he growled.

Bowie groaned some more.

“Now,” said Buck.

“Awright, awright. B.J., I'm sorry I called you a bitch.”

“Apology accepted.” B.J. spoke up loud and clear.

“Good, then.” Buck held down a hand.

But Bowie wouldn't take it. Moaning low, he rolled to his side, gathered his legs close to his chest, and rolled again, groaning sharply as he got his knees beneath him. He dragged himself upright, still clutching his ribs, blood dripping from his nose. “Damn,” he muttered, glancing around at the damage. “Sorry, Ma…”

Chastity only shook her head some more.

Bowie turned his bloody face to Glory then.

“Oh, Bowie…” Her frustrated love for him was clear to see in her shining brown eyes.

They shared a long, aching glance. He whispered, “Glory…” as if her name held all his hurt and angry confusion—and his one slim chance for redemption, as well.

She gave a cry and took a step toward him.

But he put up a hand. “Don't.” And then he turned and staggered out, disappearing through the doorway that led to the dining room.

Several seconds later, they heard the back door slam shut.

Chastity surveyed the devastation. “Well. The good news is, right at the moment, none of my guests are in the house.”

Glory's longing gaze was locked on the dining-room doorway through which Bowie had vanished. She spoke to the man who was already gone. “Oh, Bowie…” The words faded off into a heart-heavy sigh.

“Go on, then.” Chastity made a shooing motion with both hands. “Go after him. See if he'll let you patch him up a little.”

With a tiny cry, Glory rushed off the way Bowie had gone.

Chastity scooped up a fallen box of tissues from the floor and shoved it at Buck. “Stop bleeding all over my parlor.”

He yanked out several and dabbed at a cut on his temple and another one on his cheek. Since his lip was still dripping, he ended up pressing the wad of bloody tissues to that.

“B.J.” Chastity was all business now. “Take Buck upstairs, will you? Bandage him up. There's a first aid kit in his bathroom—check the cabinet under the sink.” She dropped the tissue box on the marble-topped side table and sent a glance Lupe's way. “I'll need a little help here.”

Lupe dared for the first time to step away from the corner where she'd piled her equipment. “No problem,” she said. “Whatever I can do…”

 

Upstairs in Buck's bathroom, a tiny cubicle containing a commode, a sink and a narrow shower stall, B.J. flipped down the yawning toilet seat. “Sit.”

Still pressing the bloody tissues to his cut lip, Buck dropped to the seat. B.J. turned for the sink and the cabinet beneath it. The first aid kit—a white plastic box with a red cross on the lid—was right where Chastity had said it would be.

B.J. set the kit on the back of the toilet. She ran water in the sink and wet a few washcloths. Armed with a wet, wrung-out cloth, she turned to her patient.

He studied her face. “You mad at me?”

She didn't answer, only took the wad of tissue from him and tossed it in the wastebasket that was tucked into the tight space between the commode and the wall.
Carefully, she set to work cleaning up his poor, battered face.

The cuts on his temple and his cheek had pretty much stopped bleeding. They were both turning a deep purple-black. She gave him her cloth. “Press this to your lip for the moment, will you?”

He did as instructed, seeking eye contact—which she carefully avoided. She turned again to the sink and wrung out a second cloth. When she faced him once more and began dabbing at the cut on his temple, he nudged her leg with his knee.

She paused to tap the offending knee. “Stop that.”

“You
are
mad at me.”

She grimaced as she dabbed and swabbed, thinking it had to hurt him.

Buck seemed oblivious to the pain. “B.J.? Come on…” He turned his head enough to brush the uninjured half of his mouth across the inside of her wrist.

She resolutely ignored the way her skin heated at his touch. “Will you sit still?”

He grabbed her wrist. “Think about it. What was I supposed to do? He called you a bitch.”

She jerked free of his grip. “Oh, let's see. You might have just…let it alone, maybe?”

“Stand there and do nothing while he called you an insulting name? Uh-uh. I don't think so.”

“Believe me, I've been called worse.”

“Not while I was around.”

“Buck. Listen carefully. I don't need my honor defended—and if I do, I'll defend it for myself.”

“But you weren't defending yourself. You were letting it happen.”

“So what? That was my choice—the wisest choice, by the way. Look at you. All cut up and bruised and
bleeding. And think of the mess downstairs. If you'd left it alone, I wouldn't be patching you up right now. Your mother wouldn't be down there cleaning up the disaster that used to be her front parlor.”

His hand dropped to his thigh and a heavy sigh escaped him. He looked beyond her, toward the open door to the hallway.

Fine,
she thought,
don't look at me, then.
She finished cleaning the cut at his temple, spread some healing salve on it, and bandaged it up. The injury high on his cheek came next. She cleaned it, too, and put on the salve.

“Your right eye is swelling up.” She applied a butterfly bandage to the cut on his cheek.

He squinted at her through the eye in question. “Well, yeah. So?” He lifted one shoulder in an eloquent shrug, one that said he'd had black eyes before and was not impressed that he had another one.

“I'd better get some ice for it.” She straightened and turned for the door.

He caught her hand. She stopped in midstride, but refused to turn back to him—not even when he raised her fingers to his battered mouth.

His lips touched her skin in a light kiss that sang through every nerve in her body. “Somebody had to call Bowie on the way he's been acting. He needed taking down a notch.”

“I don't think brawling solves anything.” She remained resolutely facing the door.

He lowered her hand and gave it a squeeze. “As a rule, I would agree with you. But with Bowie, we've pretty much run out of alternatives. Sometimes, when a man gets too far out of control, the only thing that will bring him up short is a hard right to the jaw—and besides…” He let the word trail off.

Reluctantly, she turned to him. “Besides, what?”

He tugged on her fingers. “C'mere.” When she finally gave in and stepped between his spread knees, he let go of her hand and tipped his head back. Those gorgeous dark eyes gleamed at her, one of them soon to be no more than a swollen purple slit. “I didn't start it. You were there. You know I didn't.”

Her fingers itched to soothe the bruise on his jaw. “You challenged him.”

“Somebody had to.”

She realized he was probably right—much as it went against the grain to have to admit that she'd let Buck get in a fight for her sake and done hardly anything to stop it. “Okay. I understand. I guess…” She allowed herself the touch she'd been longing for. Lightly, she stroked the sore spot at his jaw.

He prompted, “But?”

“Oh, I don't know. Right there at the end, I realized…”

“That?”

“Oh Buck, he really loves her. It's more than…animal attraction. More than just possessiveness because she's having his baby. He loves her truly and deeply, I think. And she really loves him.”

“That's right.” His tone said he knew already—he'd always known.

And she supposed that he had. “He's not very good at loving, is he?” Buck shook his head and she added, “It's just so sad, that's all.”

“So you're not mad…you're sad?”

“Life can be so cruel, you know?”

“It's always possible that they'll work it out, eventually.”

“How? Like we did?”

He captured her hand again. Gently, he twined his fingers with hers. It felt good—right—to have her hand in his, their fingers woven together. “Hey, come on. It may be six years later, but look at us. Right here. In this dinky bathroom. Together.”

But for how long?
she thought.

She didn't say it, though. It didn't matter for how long. For now, she was sticking with this moment, and this moment only.

She felt the tender smile as it trembled across her mouth.

He said, “There you go. A smile. Much better.”

“Your eye is looking more swollen and purple by the second. Mind if I get the ice now?”

“Only if you hurry back.”

“Won't be a minute. I promise.” He allowed her fingers to slip free of his. “Keep that cloth against your mouth,” she chided. “That gash worries me. You could need stitches there.”

“Get the ice, B.J. I'm going to be fine.”