Slow and Steady Rush (28 page)

“Maybe I should have gotten my cousin to use you as his little plaything instead of Dalt. I should have known he would be too much for poor, old Whi—”

“Sheila.” Rick’s sharp tone cut the name in half. But Darcy knew.

“Whitey’s your cousin? Robbie might have been killed. Why?”

“Because he didn’t want me. Like my husband.” Anguish crawled out of her throat. A picture flashed of a primitive woman pulling at her own hair and clawing her face as a demonstration of her grief.

Sheila took tottering steps toward Darcy. Her foot landed ankle deep in a puddle, but she didn’t slow, keeping up an uneven march across the gravel. Her skin diffused a wicked brew of alcohol into the air. Darcy put a hand out to steady the other woman.

The unexpected slap sent Darcy’s head whipping to the side. Her bottom lip tore against her teeth, and she licked blood away. The scent and taste was a new experience. Rick pulled Sheila away, an arm around her waist. Sheila screeched and reached for Darcy.

A mirroring hurt to Sheila’s threaded Rick’s voice. “Get out of here, Darcy. She’s had too much to drink, but I can handle her.”

Sheila collapsed over his arm like a ragdoll. Her need to do Darcy harm morphed into heart-wrenching sobs. Rick’s gaze met hers, and she finally understood. He loved Sheila, suffered her bouts of jealousy and ill temper because he wanted to be her man, and yet knew he never would be. Not truly.

“Don’t say anything, please Darcy.” His dark eyes begged.

“Is the little bitch going to go tell the big, bad coach what I did?” Sheila’s sobs dissolved the earlier venom, and her voice reflected more fear than anything.

No one answered her. Rick scooped her up and rounded the corner, out of sight. The sound of vehicle doors slamming brought Darcy out of her funk. She dabbed her puffy lip with her tongue and slipped in the back door, heading to the mirror in Logan’s office.

“What’s up?” Robbie’s voice cut through the discordant clang of pots as he stalked down the dim hallway.

Four lines of grease cut over his pectoral muscles as if he hadn’t had the time to reach for a rag. More grease highlighted a cheekbone. He grasped her upper arm and tilted her toward the diffused florescent light emanating from the kitchen.

“Who the fuck hit you?” His teeth bared and his lips curled. Anger vibrated the air around them. Even though it wasn’t directed at her, her heart picked up speed with a shot of adrenaline. Was this the type of anger he’d dealt with as a teenager?

“I’m fine. It’s a little cut. Doesn’t even hurt.” She wrapped her hands around one of his rock-hard biceps and tried to rub his tension away.

“It’s not fine. Who was it?” He ran fingertips softly over her hot cheek as his thumb touched the cut on her bottom lip. No matter how angry, he wouldn’t hurt her, or any woman, for that matter.

“Sheila.”

“That bitch.”

Logan sauntered toward them with a smile, his shirt even dirtier than Robbie’s. His smile quickly reversed itself, and he ushered them both into his office. Darcy walked past the paper-littered desk to check the mirror.

A red handprint highlighted one side of her face, and her bottom lip pooched on one side, a small cut oozing blood. She leaned against the wall while Robbie prowled.

Logan closed the door and seated himself behind the metal, utilitarian desk. “What happened?”

“I ran into Rick and Sheila out back.”

Robbie interjected darkly. “I’ll rip Rick’s arms off and shove them—”

“He didn’t do anything except try to control her. She smelled like she’d taken a bath in gin. Anyway, she let slip that Whitey’s her cousin.” Both men made surprised noises.

Logan cursed. “I was sure Perkins had a hand it. Honestly, I hoped he had, so we could oust him.”

Robbie rubbed his forehead. “Rick knows and hasn’t made an arrest.”

“Sheila’s pretty messed up. He’s trying to help her,” she said.

Robbie stopped pacing and shot her with his icy gaze. “You sound sorry for her. I thought you of all people would want to rain vengeance down. You realize she’s the one behind all the rumors.”

“You didn’t see her. What she did wasn’t right, but she’s seriously screwed up in the head right now.”

Logan said, “She’s been coming in several nights a week. I’ve stopped serving her, but she’s drunk before she even hits the door. If Rick’s not working, he drives her home, or I call her mother.”

“This cousin. What’s the story on him, Logan?” Robbie asked.

Logan scratched at his stubbled jaw, his gaze on the floor. “I’ve never met him, but I heard tell his mama got sent up with a charge of selling meth this winter. Before you got to town.”

Robbie exploded with a string of colorful curses.

Logan said, “We’ll go talk to him together. I have the feeling you’re in the mood to punch first and ask questions later. You can’t afford that kind of trouble.”

“We’re going right now, and if things aren’t worked out to my satisfaction I reserve the right to beat the ever-living shit out of him.”

“Fair enough.” Logan headed to the door. “Let me tell Brian to keep an eye on things.”

Darcy grabbed Logan’s arm and glanced back and forth at them. “I want to come too.”

“You’re going back to Ada’s.” Robbie grabbed a twill jacket and shrugged it on. “I’m walking you to your car and watching you leave.”

An inescapable hand circled her wrist and tugged her in his wake. He didn’t touch her in any other way. They reached her car, and he let go, crossing his arms on his chest. She had things to say, but now was not the time to lay her heart out for him to smash to pieces in his Hulk-like state.

“I do need to talk to you, Robbie. Will you come by the house?”

“If this gets wrapped up, I might.” He opened her door and gestured her in.

His noncommittal answer was obviously all she was going to get. A fair amount of relief shot through her body, knowing she’d avoided the confrontation. For the moment.

#

Robbie slammed his fist into The Tavern’s back door, springing it open. Some of the radiating pain from his heart seeped into his ill-used hand. Dammit, he had to break things off with her, but how? Every time he was within ten feet, all he wanted was to take her in his arms and hear her whisper those three words again, even as they signaled the death-knell of their relationship.

He had two choices—spill his guts and watch her turn away in disgust or push her back to Atlanta and keep his secrets intact. She’d be happier there with some doctoral yuppie. Someone who could take her home to meet his parents. Someone who didn’t let anger control him. Someone who deserved her sweet warmth. Not him.

Logan sat behind his laptop and scribbled on a piece of paper. “Got the last known address of his mom. Trailer park close to Jasper.” Logan gazed over the top of the screen. “Hopefully, the drive will give you a chance to simmer down. Is everything all right between you and Darcy?”

“It’s fine.” It was as far from fine as Robbie could imagine.

“Look, I’m by no means an expert on women, but I do know my cousin. If you want to talk—”

“I don’t want to fucking talk about it.”

Logan held his hands up. “Okay. But, I care about both of you and—”

Robbie grabbed the scrap of paper and rocketed back out the door.

Logan followed, shaking his head, and pointed to his blue-and-white truck. “No offense, dude, but you’re in no fit state to drive. I’d rather not get wrapped around a tree.”

Robbie stared Logan down, but the other man didn’t back away, and Robbie conceded. Logan was right. Robbie wanted to smash the accelerator through the floorboard. He climbed in beside Logan, and they headed north.

The battle between the vibrating build of dynamic energy in Robbie’s body and common sense brought on a headache. “Are you even going the speed limit, grandma?”

“Nope,” Logan answered in an annoyingly calm voice. “You need time to get your head out of your ass.”

Logan was right—again. Robbie closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, picturing red tendrils of anger trailing out of his body. The throb in his temple subsided, his heart rate slowed from a gallop to a lope, and his bunched shoulders relaxed. He was still mad, but the killing instinct was gone.

Logan cut him several glances before heaving in a deep breath and opening his mouth.

“I swear to God, if you mention your cousin, I will punch you in the throat,” Robbie said in a falsely pleasant voice.

Logan’s mouth snapped shut, and they spent the rest of the ride in silence. Logan checked the GPS on his phone and pulled into a run-down trailer park. He rolled to a stop in front of a formerly white singlewide. A rusted-out washing machine, one-wheeled bike, and compact freezer landscaped the front. Everything was dark.

“This is a complete crap-hole,” Robbie muttered, following Logan to the front door.

At Logan’s knock, rustling sounded inside, and a light clicked on. The door opened with a metallic squeal. Whitey held a flashlight and blinked at them. Robbie could see the moment their identities registered. Whitey’s eyes widened, and he tried to shove the door shut, but Logan blocked it with a boot.

“Can we come in?” Logan didn’t wait for an invitation but pushed his way inside, Robbie on his heels. Food waste, dirty clothes, and teenage body odor backed him up a step. A small kitchen was on the right and a bedroom on their left. They stood in a small den graced by a brown, sagging couch.

Whitey shuffled backward and plopped on the edge of the cushion. The light shook in his hand, casting moveable shadows on the walls. The bravado of their earlier encounters was gone. “Are you going to beat me up?”

“We want to talk. Can you turn on a lamp or something?” Logan asked.

“Electric got turned off. Water too.”

“How long have you been living here by yourself?” Logan shuffled a little farther inside.

“Since Mama was arrested. I had to drop out and find a job, but no one wants to hire me.” Whitey scratched his head, and Robbie hoped the place wasn’t lice infested.

“How’re you related to Sheila Robinson?” Logan looked as reluctant to touch anything as Robbie and crossed his arms in the middle of the narrow den.

“Her brother’s my daddy. Knocked Mama up but didn’t want nothing to do with her. Or me.”

“Did your aunt pay you to come after me?” Whitey startled at Robbie’s low rumble.

“She promised to get Mama a real lawyer. Not one of those state-appointed ones. If they’ll give her another chance, I’ll help her stay clean, I swear.”

The desperation and pain in Whitey’s voice resonated. The path Whitey had taken paralleled Robbie’s, except Robbie had football and a coach who’d cared enough to lie for him, cared enough to give him a shot at a better life. Did Whitey deserve the same?

“Did she get your mama a new lawyer?” Robbie asked.

“No. She said I screwed up like I always do. That it’s only a matter of time before I end up in prison like Mama.” A sob escaped, and the circle of light dropped to the floor. “For what it’s worth, I wish I hadn’t done it. Any of it. I’m sorry.”

Robbie took in the trailer. The kid had been living in the dump for months by himself. Whitey wasn’t blameless by any stretch, but the real culprit was Sheila. Or was it? If Logan and Darcy were right, the woman was an alcoholic and had lashed out, trapped by pain.

Robbie squatted in front of Whitey. “You can’t stay here. Do you have any clean clothes?” The boy hesitated before shaking his head. “You can borrow some of mine. You’re coming with us.”

“To the police?” he asked in a small voice.

Robbie stared into Whitey’s eyes, the fear so familiar, he might be looking in a mirror. “Not the police.”

Logan said, “You can clean up at my apartment. We’ll discuss a job so you can repay Dalt for the damage you caused, but if you put so much as a pinky toe out of line, I’ll haul you down to the station. Understood?”

“Understood.” Whitey nodded with the energy of a bobble head.

“If there’s anything in here you want, you’d better grab it,” Robbie said.

Robbie led the way out the door and took a deep breath of clean, night air. While the flashlight moved around the trailer, he asked, “You’re okay with taking him in?”

“We can’t leave him here, that’s for damn sure. Anyone who loves their mama that much has to be redeemable, don’t you think?” Logan’s grin flashed white. “You okay not getting vengeance?”

“I got that out of my system in Afghanistan.”

“What about a job? I can put him to work as soon as I get the restaurant running, but that might be a couple of years. He can’t work at a bar.”

Robbie looked to the swaying leaves overhead. “Henry Wilson has a ‘Help Wanted’ sign posted in the window of the antique store. He needs muscle to haul furniture.”

“That sounds promising.”

Banging from the trailer mingled with highway noise.

Logan said softly, “If you could convince Whitey to testify, you could probably get Sheila for attempted murder or felony assault and battery.”

Robbie rubbed at his forehead, his headache back. “Sheila needs as much help as Whitey. Maybe more.”

Whitey backed out of the door holding a small duffle and a framed picture. Out of the relative darkness of the trailer, Robbie could see the toll the weeks had taken. He was leaner than the Whitey who had attacked him under the bleachers. The nose ring was gone, and oily hanks of hair covered his pink scalp. He looked defeated.

Logan threw the duffle in the truck bed, and Whitey scooted to the middle of the bench seat still holding the picture. The boy’s pungent body odor was nauseating. Without comment, Robbie cracked a window.

Back on the main road, he pointed at the picture. “Is that your mama?”

Whitey traced a finger over the woman’s face before handing it to Robbie. “It’s from before the drugs. I was eight.”

The boy in the picture smiled with blissful innocence while his mother’s face had a world-weary cast no amount of makeup could disguise.

“That’s how I like to remember her.” The boy took the picture back and held it to his chest. “Coach Dalton, I’m sorry. For everything. I was showing off at the convenience store, and under the bleachers, I thought it was the only way to save Mama. You scared me, and everything got out of hand.”