Holdin' On for a Hero (7 page)

“I had to. Can we talk?”

“No.”

“Wyatt!” She grabbed his arm as he turned away from her. “Wait!”

“I said no.” His voice was filled with bitterness. “Go home. Go back to your rich friends—your Mercedes and country clubs. Just get the hell away from me.”

Chance dropped her hands and he walked away from her. She took a look at Billy Hawkes. He smiled in an embarrassed fashion and shrugged. “You wanna have another beer…dance or something?”

“No, thanks, Billy.” She tried to smile. “How about a rain check?”

“Sure, anytime.”

“Okay, I’ll see you.”

She returned to the motel and lay down across the bed. Wyatt’s behavior had both hurt and confused her. He acted like he hated her, like he couldn’t stand the sight of her. She thought about it and realized that he’d acted that way toward her ever since her highschool graduation.  Which made her angry as well as hurt.

“Where does he get off comparing me to Maurice and his cronies?” she said to the dark screen of the television set. “Just who the hell does he think he is acting like that? What did I ever do to him?”

There were no answers to her questions. Only more questions.

* * * * *

Wyatt woke up to find himself on the couch.  With a groan he sat up, threw the quilt aside and rubbed his eyes. Of all the people he would have expected to run into at Ralph’s, Chance was the last one.

Seeing her was a shock, one he was not prepared for. Even now he could see her in his mind—her long blonde hair streaming down her back like a shining wave and her golden eyes turned up to him.

“Stop it!” he scolded himself. “Just forget her.”

But he couldn’t help himself. Images of Chance floated through even as he tried to stop them. With a curse he rose and went upstairs to change clothes. After washing his face and brushing his teeth, he went outside and stretched in preparation for a long run. Sometimes that was the only way to get rid of the tension—just exhaust himself.

There
’
s not enough miles
, he thought as he started running. Chance Davenport had haunted him for a long time, and not fighting, drinking, fucking or running could exorcise her from his mind.

Chance stopped in front of John Wolfe’s house and sat looking at it for a few minutes. Coming to see Wyatt’s father might not be wise. But she had to find out what was going on with Wyatt and his father would know better than anyone.

She got out of the Jeep and walked across the yard toward the front door. Just as she reached the steps, John Wolfe walked out. His eyes widened in surprise and he stopped. “Chance? What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Wyatt.”

“And did you?”

“Sort of.” She looked down at her feet for a moment. “He wasn’t particularly happy to see me.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Yes” She looked up at him. “It does.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I was hoping you could tell me what’s going on with him. Why does he…why does he hate me so much?”

John looked at her for a moment then pulled open the screen door. “Come on in.”

Chance followed him inside and took a seat at the kitchen table. “Coffee?” he asked, as he picked up the pot.

“Yes, thank you.”

He poured two cups and handed her one as he took a seat across from her. Neither one of them spoke for a few seconds. Finally John heaved a sigh. “Chance, you have to understand, Wyatt’s a complicated man. Things have happened in his life, things that would be hard for anyone to deal with.”

“You mean your wife. I’m sorry, I don’t really know what else to say. I know it had to be horrible for both of you.”

“Yes.” John nodded. “It was. Do you know what happened that day?”

“I think so. Adeola, the lady who raised me, told me what she knew.”

“What exactly did she say?”

Chance repeated what Adeola had told her and John stood up to look out the back door with his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans. A minute or so passed then he turned to her. “There’s a little more to that story.”

Her eyes widened as he reclaimed his seat and started to talk.

* * * * *

Chance stood in front of the mirror in the motel bathroom, combing out her hair with a distant expression on her face. The things John Wolfe had told her were disturbing, to say the least. She could not stop thinking about it.

She put the comb down and went into the bedroom. She dressed in a long-sleeved knit shirt and jeans, pulled on a pair of sneakers and picked up a denim jacket from the chair. Hopefully she would find Wyatt at Ralph’s. If not, then she didn’t know what she would do. She didn’t feel that she could go to his house. He would probably throw her out if she did, so her best bet was to camp out at Ralph’s and hoped he showed up.

She found a place to park beside the bar and went inside. As soon as she walked in, Billy Hawkes came up to her. “Hey, you come back to collect on that beer and dance?”

Chance smiled. Billy was cute in a childlike kind of way. “Well, actually, I was hoping to talk to Wyatt. Have you seen him?” Billy pointed across the bar to a table in the back. Wyatt sat alone with an almost empty bottle and a shot glass on the table in front of him.

“Thanks, Billy.” She gave his arm a squeeze.

“Hey!” He grabbed her hand as she started away from him. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea for you to talk to him right now. He’s kinda in one of his moods.”

Chance pried her fingers from his. “He seems to always be in one of his moods around me. Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

She walked over to Wyatt’s table and sat down beside him. He looked at her without comment and refilled his glass, setting the empty bottle down.

“Can we talk?”

“Nothing to talk about,” he said and stood.

Chance watched him go to the bar and get another bottle. She crossed the room and sat down at the table with Billy and Joe. Billy got her a beer and she took a sip, keeping her eye on Wyatt.

After a half-hour of strained silence, Joe and Billy excused themselves to move to another table. Chance sat silently, watching Wyatt. For two hours she didn’t move. He never turned or looked in her direction as he drank and talked with the men at the bar. She saw him finish the bottle and get another, then he turned and walked over to her.

“You wanna talk, let’s talk,” he said, his words slightly slurred.

“Here?”

“Good a place as any,” he said as he sat down.

Chance didn’t know where to start. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence she spoke up. “How long have you been back?”

“’Bout a week or so.”

“Is Ashley here with you?”

“We split up a year or so ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” he growled. “Found the bitch in bed with one of my friends. Glad to get rid of her.”

Chance watched as he tilted the bottle up once more. “Wyatt, why didn’t you let me know? I mean, Adeola’s really missed you. It would’ve been nice to hear from you now and then.”

“I was busy,” he replied and leveled his eyes at her. “Why’re you here?”

She looked at him for a moment. “Because of your call. I was worried.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he said and took another drink.

“Wyatt, don’t you think you’ve had enough?” She reached for the bottle.

“Don’t!” he barked loudly. “Don’t ever try to tell me what to do—you got it?”

“Yes,” she whispered, embarrassed by his outburst and all the curious eyes that watched them. Afraid of angering him, she remained silent. Eventually he began to sink in his seat.

She watched as his eyes began to close and slowly removed the bottle from his hand. She looked around, spotted Billy and motioned him over to the table.

“Will you help me get him outside? I think I should take him home.”

“Sure.” He nodded and motioned to Joe. Between the two, they got Wyatt loaded into his old Jeep.

“Listen, I don’t know how to get to his house,” Chance said as she got behind the wheel. “Would one of you mind showing me the way? You can take my car. It’s that black Wrangler right over there. Here are the keys.”

They both agreed to help. She waited as they started her Jeep and pulled out onto the road. She followed them to Wyatt’s house, glancing over at Wyatt every now and then. He never moved or opened his eyes.

“You want us to help you get him inside?” Billy asked as she stopped and turned off the ignition.

“No, thanks, I can manage, but I appreciate your help. Take my car. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure thing.” Billy smiled. “See ya.”

Chance watched the taillights disappear then turned to Wyatt who was slumped against the door. “Wyatt, Wyatt, wake up!”

He pushed her hand away as she shook him and opened his eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

“I brought you home.” She inclined her head in the direction of his house.

He rubbed his face and opened the door, almost falling out. Chance got out and ran around the Jeep to him but he pushed her away as she tried to steady him.

“I’m just trying to help!”

“I don’t need your help!” he barked and weaved his way to the front door.

She followed him inside since he left the door standing open, and looked around at the small but cozy den. Wyatt staggered into the kitchen and emerged with another bottle. He snatched a spread from the back of the couch, walked past her and went outside. For a few moments Chance just stood there, not knowing what to do. Then she followed him outside. He wandered out of sight and she ran to catch up with him.

She saw him sit down on a small rise overlooking the river in the distance. Without speaking she walked up and sat down beside him. He opened the bottle and took a drink then looked at her and extended the bottle. She took it and tilted it up, gasping as the fiery liquid burned down her throat.

“Thanks,” she croaked and cleared her throat. “Wyatt, why do you hate me so much?”

“Never said I did,” he replied without looking at her.

“Then why do you act like you do?”

He didn’t answer and she put her hand on his arm. “Will you please talk to me?”

Wyatt turned and looked into her eyes. “What do you want me to say, Chance?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that you’re glad to see me? I’m glad to see you. I’ve missed you, Wyatt.”

He opened his mouth as if to reply then closed it, shook his head and turned away to look out over the water. When at last he started to sway as if he was going to topple over, Chance took the bottle and stood. “Come on.” She extended her hand to him.

He looked up and after a moment took her hand. With his arm draped over her shoulder they made their way to the house. Chance thought she was going to collapse under his weight but she finally got him in the house and upstairs.

Wyatt fell face first on the bed and was out cold before he hit the mattress. Chance took off his shoes and spread a blanket over him then went downstairs. She wrapped up in a thick quilt and lay down on the couch. After a very long time she drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Three

The first rays of sun were streaking across the sky when Chance awoke. The room was chilly as the fire had long since died down. She took a couple of logs from the rack beside the fireplace, stirred the glowing embers and placed the wood on top of the coals.

She quietly tiptoed upstairs. Wyatt was still asleep with one arm thrown across his face. Chance went back downstairs to the kitchen. She looked around and found the coffee. She prepared a pot then wandered around the house.

It wasn’t a big place. Aside from the den and kitchen downstairs there was a bathroom beneath the loft area and a small sitting area piled with books.

In the rear of the house on the opposite side of the kitchen were two doors. She opened the first one and saw the room was crammed with weights and exercise equipment. She closed that door and she walked down the short hall to the last room.

Her eyes widened in surprise as she opened the door and looked around. One wall was dominated with a big picture window. Beneath the window sat a large drawing table on which a completed picture lay.

Chance looked at the picture and realized it was an illustration for a book cover. She had known all her life that Wyatt liked to doodle and draw but she never imagined he was that good. She studied the illustration for a few minutes and realized that the style was familiar.

She turned from the drawing table and looked around at the pictures that were tacked on the opposite wall. They were all excellent, but some were disturbing—scenes of violence and darkness. As she admired his work, she sat down at the chair in front of the drawing table. After a little while she turned the chair and looked around the room.

An old two-drawer file cabinet in the corner drew her attention. She went to it and knelt down, opening the top drawer. It was crammed full of sketchbooks. At first she was hesitant to look inside them. But with Wyatt asleep upstairs he would never know. And her curiosity was in control. She lifted out a stack, sat down on the floor and started looking through them.

The first couple were of scenes he had apparently sketched while in the Navy. There were faces of people from Africa to Alaska. In each picture the eyes of the people seemed to be alive. Wyatt had the ability to capture the soul of his subject in his work. Chance could almost feel the hearts of the people she saw in the drawings.

When she opened the next pad, a gasp of surprise escaped her lips. The book was filled with sketches and drawings of her. She flipped through the pages, marveling at what she saw. There were images of her at all ages. It was like seeing an album of her childhood.

She reached the last page and stopped to stare in complete amazement. The face was hers but she didn’t think she could ever look that sensual. It showed the form of a woman lying on her back on a large, slightly curved rock. The woman’s hair cascaded down over the stone in a shining wave. Her face was turned forward and there was a look of such sensuality in the eyes they seemed to call like a siren, drawing the viewer inside the picture.

The woman’s arms were crossed over her breasts, pushing the full mounds up together. Sunlight filtered down through the trees that towered overhead, dappling her body with sun and shadow. She seemed to be as much a part of nature as the trees and rocks. Chance stared at the picture, wondering why Wyatt would have drawn it.

“What are you doing?” His angry voice behind her made her jump.

“I was…I was…just looking around,” she explained, stumbling over the words in embarrassment.

“You mean you were snooping.”

“I didn’t mean to. I was just looking around and I found this room. I didn’t know you were such a talented artist. That picture on the drawing board—it’s for a book cover, isn’t it? I recognize the style. You’ve done a lot of them, haven’t you?”

Wyatt stared at her stoically without reply and she looked down at the sketchpad still in her hand. “Why did you do these, Wyatt?”

He snatched it from her and put it on the drawing table. Then he shoved her out of the room and closed the door. “That’s private and I don’t appreciate you going through my things.”

Chance stumbled as he pushed her again farther down the hall. She reached out to steady herself against the wall. He walked by her and disappeared into the kitchen. She started after him then stopped. She was getting nowhere. So far he had not had a kind word to say to her and it was just getting worse. The way things were going, she wasn’t going to find out what was bothering him. Until he got over his anger there was no point in even trying to talk to him.

Resisting the urge to try and get through to him, she ran into the den and snatched up the keys to his Jeep from the coffee table. She didn’t bother to tell him she was leaving. She felt if she did he would only tell her how he hoped she never came back.

She ran outside, climbed into the Jeep and started it. She had no doubt that he heard the engine but he didn’t come outside. She drove back to Ralph’s bar. Her Wrangler was parked in the back lot. She stopped and went over to it. The doors were locked and the keys were not in the ignition. She had no idea how to get in touch with Billy Hawkes so she decided to just leave the Wrangler where it was and come back later that night and hope that Billy showed up.

As soon as she arrived at the motel she took a long, hot shower then checked her messages. There was a message from her father, demanding that she call him immediately. She almost decided against it, but then changed her mind. Abbott answered the phone at the estate.

“Davenport residence. How may I help you?”

“Hi, Abbott, it’s Chance. Is my father around?”

“One moment, Miss Chance.”

She pulled her attaché case over closer as she waited for her father to pick up. He came on the line a moment later. “Do you mind telling me just where the hell you are?”

“On assignment,” she lied without hesitation.

“Assignment?” He sounded as if he didn’t believe her. “What assignment?”

She didn’t answer his question. “Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

“I want to know why you went to see Neil Brown!”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s for a piece I’m putting together.”

“What piece?”

“Look, I really don’t have time for this right now. When the piece airs you can watch it. But right now I have a lot to do. So unless there’s something else—”

“I want you to quit that goddamn job!” he shouted. “I’ve have had enough of your foolishness. It’s high time you settled down and started a family. I spoke with Walter Stillwell just yesterday, and even though you treated him abominably he would still take you back. And you couldn’t find a more suitable husband, I might say. Why, Walter is worth at least—”

“He’s ancient,” Chance interrupted. “And I’m not interested.”

“Ancient?” Maurice’s voice rose even higher. “What kind of remark is that? He’s a year younger than I, and I hardly consider myself ancient. Besides, you need someone more mature and—”

“I have to go,” she cut him off. “Bye.”

She hung up the phone before he could say any more, grabbed a pillow from the bed and clamped it over her face. After a long scream she let the pillow fall away from her face. She wondered what it would be like to have a father who genuinely cared for her, instead of one who only cared for furthering the family fortune.

Chance pushed thoughts of Maurice aside and dialed her office number. When her production assistant, Steve answered she began listing the things they needed to do to get information on the situation with the proposed casino and the trouble the Cherokee were having trying to get and keep a contractor. Her conversation lasted more than two hours and by the time she was finished, she realized she was hungry.

She left the motel and drove around, looking for a place to eat besides the diner.

* * * * *

Wyatt added wood to the fire and sat down on the couch. There were still vestiges of anger left from his argument with Chance. He knew that part of his anger stemmed from the embarrassment he felt at her discovering the sketches and drawings he had done of her.

He stared at the the sketchbook that contained the drawings from the coffee table, and finally opened it. The pictures seemed to possess life to him. But then he saw them through the eyes of memory. They were part of him. He should have thrown them away a long time ago. Several times he had started to, but something always stopped him. Maybe his masochistic need to punish himself for ever caring about her in the first place.

With a curse, he closed the pad and tossed it back on the table. He had to get out of there. The memories and old feelings she had stirred were too painful and too filled with anger. They ate at his soul and he couldn’t take it anymore.

Wyatt shrugged on his coat, he left the house and started walking. He had no idea where he was going. At that point it didn’t matter.

* * * * *

Chance spent the day driving around, trying to get a feel of the place. Everywhere she went she got the impression that people were nervous about something, but no one wanted to talk to her. She stopped around six in the evening, had a salad and coffee at the small diner then returned to her motel.

She went over her notes then watched television for a couple of hours, but paid no attention to what was on. She was battling with herself. She’d come there expressly to see Wyatt and now she was stalling. There was no need to ask why. Seeing him had fanned embers of love and desire that had never died into a steady burn. The more she saw him, the hotter that fire rose and she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to stand the heat. But she could not be a coward. Something was wrong, and she had to find out what it was. Even if it meant getting hurt.

She had to help Wyatt whether he wanted her help or not. If he hated her for it, then better she learn to accept it and more on. At half-past nine she changed clothes and left. When she got to Ralph’s Bar, the parking lot was packed. She understood why when she got inside. There was a pool tournament in progress.

Chance made her way through the people to the bar and ordered a beer. Just as she was stuffing her change into her pocket, someone tapped her on the shoulder.

She turned and smiled at Billy Hawkes. “Hi! Want a beer?”

“Sure,” he agreed enthusiastically. “And I guess you want these.”

She took her keys from him. “Thanks.” She motioned for the bartender. As soon as she paid for the second beer she turned back to Billy. “So, are you in the tournament?”

“Naw, don’t have the fifty dollars’ entrance fee.”

“If you did could you win?”

“Are you kidding? I could clean house.”

“Oh?” She arched her eyebrows. “You want to put your money where your mouth is on that?”

“Whadda you mean?”

“I mean I’ll put up the entry fee. But, if you win, we split the purse and if you lose—let’s see, if you lose then you have to tell me all about the trouble with the casino and these Holling people I keep hearing about. Deal?”

Billy’s smile faded to be replaced with a look of anxious indecision. For a few moments Chance thought he was going to turn her down. Then he grinned at her. “What the hell. I’m not gonna lose. Deal.”

She dug the money out of her pocket and gave it to him, then watched as he set off to the other side of the bar. He disappeared into the crowd and she walked over toward the door where there were less people. As she neared the door, Wyatt walked in.

Both of them stopped cold and stared at one another. Finally he walked over to her. “I’d like to have my Jeep back, if you don’t mind.”

She pulled the keys from her pocket and handed them to him. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“I can buy my own.”

“Fine.” She was determined not to let him make her mad. “See you around.”

She walked away but turned and looked back as she reached the bar. Wyatt was watching her with a dark scowl on his face. He saw her look at him and abruptly turned and left. Chance started to go after him but stopped when Billy walked up to her. “Okay, I’m up next. You gonna be my cheering section?”

“Sure.” She couldn’t turn him down, he looked so excited.

He grabbed her hand and pulled her along with him toward the pool table. She waited with him until it was his turn to play, then gave him a hug. “Good luck.”

Billy won his game quickly and she congratulated him. “Well, I guess I won’t be getting any information from you,” she teased. “If the rest of the games are like that one. Unfortunately, I can’t hang around to watch. There’re some things I have to do.”

“What about your cut of the prize?” he asked, clearly disappointed that she was leaving.

“I’ll catch up with you later to collect,” she promised. “See ya.”

“Yeah, okay.” He gave her a smile. “Later.”

Chance went outside, got in the Wrangler and started it. If she had any sense she would just go back to the motel and get a good night’s sleep then get up and go home first thing in the morning. The trouble was, when it came to Wyatt, not only did she not have good sense, she had no sense at all. She couldn’t help it. Despite everything, she loved him, and she had come this far so she might as well give it one more try. Pulling out onto the road, she headed in the direction of his house.