The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles) (17 page)

He smiled down into Ariel’s excited eyes. “Well, things certainly sound promising.”

They both looked over as Noble strode in the door, his dark countenance oozing frustration. He made his way toward Jed and the two men exchanged a few hushed words before Noble proceeded to his station and began rummaging around in his supplies and setting up for a night’s work.

Ariel leaned in and lowered her voice as to not be overheard. “So, Michael, if things are working out with our assignment . . .” She waited until he turned back to her. “Is it over? Do we leave?”

He glanced to Noble then back to her. “No. We’ll know when it’s time, and it’s not. Not yet.”

“So, what exactly do we
do
?” she asked.

Good question. One he’d wondered about himself. With Jed, he’d had to work much harder at getting and keeping him and Kyle together. Not the case with Noble and Braelyn apparently. But the emotions at play were the delicate issue here. And he couldn’t forget young Tristan. Michael knew that his role in this assignment was perhaps even more critical than ever before.

He turned to his innocent intern, seeing all she had yet to learn shining in her bright blue eyes. “We keep doing exactly what we’ve been doing. They’re going to need us for love and support as their spiritual emissaries on this journey and that’s something we cannot take lightly.”

“Oh. Wow, so much for me to learn—”

She was cut off as Jed and Noble followed behind Jed’s client. Michael and Ariel turned in unison as they heard Noble’s words clear as day:

“Yeah, dude, it’s all good. Sweet Cheeks next door and I are just friends and that’s all we’ll ever be. Period.”

Well double Devil Dogs. Back to the drawing board.

Chapter 21

If it wasn’t so pathetically—well,
pathetic
—it might be laughable, Braelyn decided as she studied herself in the mirror. Really. Who showed up for their volunteer shift at a nursing home dressed like a total and complete harlot? She sucked in her stomach and glanced down at the waistband of her hipster jeans to see the tip of her butterfly tattoo. Yup. A complete Jezebel. But really, how else was she going to get Noble to change his mind about his little declaration of “I’m Mr. Dudley Do-Right?” She had to tempt his baser instincts. She knew she was playing with fire trying to crumble his defenses to peek at the man inside. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. And, come on, nobody had said anything about love. Not yet, anyway.

Her heart quivered at the realization.

Shit.

Time to get this ship back on track. Seduction without strings.
That
, she could do. Right?

She studied her eyes in the mirror. “Desperate much?” She laughed at herself. Yeah, she had needs and she was desperate. But, luckily, it appeared to be limited to a certain hot neighbor who she’d be seeing this evening. Who was apparently protecting her virtue. Grrr.

She made her way out of the small, potpourri-infested bathroom in the nursing home lobby and scooted back into the dining room for bingo. Besides reading, this was her favorite activity, simply because it had been her grandmother’s favorite pastime. The memories of sitting and plugging the cardboard spaces with plastic chips while being cozied up in her Granny’s rose water scent and love were priceless. Now, calling out ‘
B-13
’ or ‘
I-24
’ over and over loud enough to be heard in China and sharing dessert and coffee with these wonderful people was the closest she could come and it was a paltry, but passable substitute.

Mr. Myers wheeled up to her, looking especially spry in a clean white sweater, his eyes twinkling and bright. “Hello, Missy. Your young man with you today? I was looking forward to telling him about the day my boys stormed a group of unsuspecting Japs.”

“Oh, no, Mr. Myers. I’m sure he’ll be sorry he missed you. He’s home tonight doing his homework. I’ll let him know you were looking for him so he’ll be sure to find you next time.”

He reached out and gripped her hand. “And your other young man? Your beau? Are you ever going to bring him to see us?”

Her guilty heart tugged. “My beau? I’m afraid . . .” She glanced up just as Ariel skipped in, filling the room with her buzzing energy. She focused back on Mr. Myers. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I don’t have a
beau
.”

Ariel joined them. “Hi, Bray! Mr. Myers!”

Ariel and Mr. Myers exchanged a look before the old man spoke. “My mistake. I’ll just carry on to my table. You give my best to your son, will you?”

She assured him that she would before turning back to Ariel. “Hey, there.”

Ariel gave her award-winning, always angelic smile. “How’s it going? How was work today?”

“Pretty great. Jeremy had an exceptionally good day, even without Oreos. Mom’s trying out chocolate chip cookies.”

Ariel giggled. “My favorite!” Together the women began passing out the bingo boards and markers. “Oh.” Ariel popped up like she’d remembered something urgent. “May I borrow your cellular phone? I just need to make a quick call and I left mine at home.”

Cellular
phone? “Uh, sure. It’s in my purse, over there.” She pointed to a table across the room.

Ariel darted across the room and found the phone. She fumbled with it for a couple minutes, looking very serious, holding it this way and that, appearing for all intents and purposes like she’d never seen one in her life. Maybe she’d never used an iPhone?

“You just touch the—” Braelyn began to call out instructions, but Ariel held up the phone, stopping her.

“I think it’s dead.”

“Dead?”

“Nothing’s happening.”

She walked over. “I just charged the dumb thing.” She took it from Ariel. Sure enough, it was deader than a doornail. Damn.

She glanced up at Ariel. “I left Tristan home to do his homework, but he said he had a pretty bad headache. I told him to take something and lie down for a while and Michael was gonna stop by and see him. Have you talked to him today?”

Ariel’s lips pursed. “Oh . . .”

“Oh, what?”

“Well, when I left the shop, Michael was pretty tied up with a client getting a tattoo that was going to take several hours. I don’t think he’ll make it by tonight. Sorry.”

All kinds of frustration filled Braelyn. Why hadn’t Michael just told her he was busy? She excused herself to use the nursing home’s landline to call home. Her heart sank when there was no answer. She knew Tristan slept like the dead, but the mother in her couldn’t help but worry.

“Hey, Ariel,” she spoke when she returned, “Would you mind if I head home? Tristan’s not answering and I really wanna check on him. Probably overreacting, but you know.” She shrugged.

Ariel smiled. “Yeah, no worries. I can do the bingo call. You go ahead. Hope he’s feeling better.”

She thanked her friend and headed out wondering why she’d left him home alone in the first place when he didn’t feel well. What kind of mother was she?

Tristan’s head was throbbing like someone had a jackhammer live and in living color to his temple and he thought he was going to puke. He crawled off the couch to search the bathroom cabinets for pain reliever. Nothing. He rifled through his mom’s medicine shelves and drawers. Mysterious girly creams, makeup, tampons.
Ewww
. Nothing for a freakin’ headache and he was getting desperate as the light started to pierce his eyes painfully.

He lumbered down the hallway and found the phone where he left it on the coffee table next to his empty Sprite can and chip bag. He picked it up and dialed his mom’s number.

Her voicemail picked up on the first ring. “Fuckin’ A, Mom,” he cursed as he threw the phone down and sagged back onto the couch. Why couldn’t she answer when he was in desperate need here? Stupid, smelly nursing home.

He rolled his head to try and relieve some of the tension in his neck, but his brain only threatened to explode. Or implode. He had to do something. Through the blinds he caught sight of Noble’s truck next door. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rose to make for the front door. Screw waiting for his mom. Maybe Noble would have something he could take. At this point, he’d trade every video game he owned for some relief.

He yanked on his tennis shoes and made his way across the yard to Noble’s door. He rang the bell because he couldn’t stand to knock, knowing it’d make his head split right down the middle.

The door opened and the scent of something spicy drifted out along with the strains of canned laughter from a television sitcom. Noble surveyed him up and down. “What’s up, man? You okay? You look like hell.”

Tristan sagged against the doorframe. “You got any Tylenol?”

Noble glanced next door then back to his face. “Sure, dude. Where’s your mom?” He stepped back and motioned him inside.

“At the nursing home. Bingo night.” Noble didn’t say anything as Tristan followed him into the kitchen and he pulled down a bottle from the cabinet. He shook out two caplets and motioned to the pot of chili on the stove. “You eaten?”

Tristan accepted the pills. “No. I think I’m gonna hurl.” He sat and swallowed the pills with the Coke Noble slid to him. “Thanks.”

Noble studied him a minute then tossed a package of crackers at him. “Eat some of those. If you have a headache because you need to eat it’ll help. So will the caffeine from the soda. Then go take a load off on the couch if you want. The game should be starting soon if you wanna hang out for a while.” He paused as he stirred the chili, then glanced back at him. “If your mom’s cool with it, anyway.”

Tristan nibbled a saltine. His stomach seemed to accept it with minimal protest. “Yeah, it’s cool. She never gets home before nine on bingo nights.” He sipped his Coke again. “So, no work tonight?”

Noble dished up some chili and sat down across from him. “Nah. Monday nights are usually pretty slow. I took off early.”

Noble made short work of his bowl of chili plus had a second helping while Tristan downed a few more crackers. And while his headache didn’t subside, thankfully, it did loosen some of its death grip.

After Noble rinsed out his bowl, they both made their way to the living room where the commentator announced the beginning of an exciting Monday night football game. Personally, Tristan had never really given a rat’s ass about football. He’d never really understood the game. He preferred basketball. When it came time for NCAA Sweet Sixteen, man, he was all over that. And, right now, he could care less about the Packers and the Steelers, so he plopped down on Noble’s couch and closed his eyes.

After several minutes of the monotonous noise of the crowd, the referees, and the plays, Noble’s deep voice broke through and startled him from that place between wake and sleep. “Don’t like football?”

He peered over. Should he be honest or play it off to his headache? Why did the expression on his father’s face the last time they’d been together pop into his head right now?
“What’s the problem, Tristan? Don’t you like her? Well, you’d better get used to her, she’s going to be my wife, and more importantly right now, she’s pregnant with your little brother or sister. I won’t have you upsetting her with your God-damned temper tantrums.”

Yeah. His “temper tantrum” had been asking his dad to pick him up on time from his mom’s and honor his promise to take him to the dirt bike races. A guy weekend. It’d been a long time coming. And when he had finally shown up, it’d been with
her.
So Tristan had been a little pissed. He had a right. He hadn’t seen him since and his dad was apparently totally cool with that because he’d sent his mom papers to terminate his parental rights. In other, not so fancy words, he was fired from being his son. What a kick in the balls.

“Tristan?” Noble reached over and lowered the volume on the TV.

He thought back to the things Noble had told him about his own shitty childhood. Weren’t they just two peas in a dysfunctional freakin’ pod? He shifted on the couch and glanced at the silent screen. “It’s cool, man. I’m just more of a basketball fan really,” he admitted, knowing that Noble would never judge him or cut him out like his father had.

“Sweet. Me, too. You play?”

He turned back. “A little.”

“I have this abandoned park I shoot hoops at to blow off steam. Maybe we can play sometime?”

Even as he wondered if Noble really meant it or if he’d stand him up like his dad did a hundred times, Tristan gave a half smile. “Yeah, that’d probably be cool.”

Noble reached for the remote to adjust the volume back up. “Sweet. And if you ever get that heap running, we can ride the cycles out there.”

Tristan leaned his head back on the couch with a grin, not bothering to remind Noble that he wasn’t sixteen, didn’t have a license, and didn’t even know how to drive a motorcycle yet. Honestly, at that moment, it didn’t matter.

Chapter 22

Noble noticed two things when he swung open the door to the frantic pounding. Scratch that. He noticed three things. The pure, unadulterated fear in Sweet Cheeks’ eyes. The way her huge ragged breaths strained her tight blouse against her chest. And—annoyingly third—the primal surge of protectiveness that overcame him at the sight of her.

Braelyn’s words tumbled out before he could speak. “Noble, I don’t . . . I’m not sure what to do . . .” She shot a glance back toward her house, as if seeking something. “I’m so scared.” She turned back to him, her eyes huge with unshed tears. “I left Tristan home with a headache, and then he wasn’t answering the phone, and I came home to check on him, and now . . .” She dropped her head, unable to continue.

Instinctively, he reached for her and she sagged into his arms. “He’s . . .” he started, but her sobs cut him off.

She clutched fistfuls of his shirt. “What . . . where . . . oh, God. Why did I leave him? What kind of shitty mother am I?” She peered up at him, the sight of her about breaking his heart.

“Hey,” he tried to shush her, “it’s all right. He’s fine.” He used his thumb to wipe her tears as she continued to berate herself and mumble something about calling the cops if he wasn’t with a friend named Nate.

“Darlin’,” he tried again, a bit firmer this time, wondering if this was what they called the vapors or some shit like that. “He’s
fine
.”

She finally stopped her rambling and stared up at him. “How do you know?”

Was that suspicion in her eyes? “Because he’s napping off a migraine on my couch.”

She released her grip on his T-shirt and rushed into the living room. He ambled behind slowly. Once she’d apparently seen that her baby was sleeping peacefully and he hadn’t ax murdered him, she spun around and strode into the kitchen.

He waited a beat before following, not sure if he was in for a verbal sparring episode. Because, frankly, the game was just getting good when she showed up and she could save it if she was pissed about him helping out her kid.

He found her leaning against the sink, facing out the darkened window. She didn’t move when he entered, but she spoke anyway, emotion making her voice wobbly. “You know, for someone who doesn’t want to be my hero, you sure do save the day quite often.”

He didn’t say anything. What was there to say?

After several seconds, she spun and caught his gaze. “I really appreciate you taking care of him.”

He nodded, thankful she seemed to have gotten herself together.

He knew her eyes tracked his gaze as he took her in. Her curve accentuating top. Low-slung jeans that allowed just the tiniest sliver of skin to show on her belly.

“Noble?” she whispered.

His eyes sliced up to hers. Something had shifted in her stare and desire was shimmering off her in waves. Or was that him? “So . . . still living up to your name?”

“Barely.”

She nodded and sucked in a deep breath, showing him a bit more skin on her stomach and just a hint of the ink he’d put there himself. There was something intensely erotic about that. He spun toward the fridge and yanked it open. “You want a soda?”

She accepted one and they both allowed a bit of the sexual tension in the room to ease without a word. Well, as much as was going to ease with her wearing that outfit.

She fiddled with her can instead of drinking. “Do you mind if we skip tonight’s lesson? I don’t think I’m up for it.”

“Yeah. Sure.” He inclined his head toward the living room. “Wanna hang out for a while? Catch the end of the game? Tristan’s still crashed out anyway.”

A look of relief crossed her face. “That’d be nice.” She moved away from the counter to follow him.

He realized too late that there was no place for her to sit if he took up the sole recliner and Tristan was still sprawled out on the couch. She didn’t bat an eye as she plopped down cross-legged on the carpet and focused on the screen. Once he sat, she scooted until her back rested against the chair between his knees.

She sipped her drink and stretched to put it up on the coffee table. “I love football. But, I’m more of a college fan. You watch NCAA at all?” God, he might love her after all.

“Yup. Go Longhorns.” His fingers wound themselves into her soft hair to gently massage her scalp without his permission. It had to have been her intoxicating sweet shampoo scent.

“Mmmm . . .” Her head dropped to his thigh. “I’m a Hoosier girl at heart. We might have a problem there.”

He couldn’t speak. Only breathe as she nuzzled his leg, sighing and murmuring occasional nonsensical sexy noises as he massaged her head, the drone of the football game in the background. How was he going to honor his promise to remain just friends with her? Holy hell, she all but oozed
take me.
And he wanted to take her every way from Sunday. And then do it again.

Her head rolled back to within inches of his crotch as his fingers worked their way down her neck, the graceful arch of her throat highlighted by the light of the television screen. What he wouldn’t give to bend over and put his mouth just where her pulse was pounding its rapid staccato rhythm. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Tristan shifted and groaned. Braelyn’s head snapped up. They both glanced over at the still sleeping boy. She shifted and looked Noble in the eye. Understood. Hands off. He readjusted himself in the chair and folded his hands across his stomach. But, as the commercial cut off, he’d be damned if he hadn’t missed the ending of the game toying with Sweet Cheeks in a sexual haze.

She inched away and stood as he muted the volume. “Thanks for tonight. For everything.”

He watched her internal debate as she studied her sleeping son. “He crashed pretty hard. It must’ve been a really bad headache. Why don’t you let him stay here?”

Her startled gaze flew to his. “But, I can’t.”

“Why not? He’s out like a light. No sense waking him up.” He tilted his head as a thought occurred to him. “He’s safe with me.”

Her mouth parted as she started to speak then she snapped her lips shut as if she thought better of her words. She glanced away. “I know he is.” She turned back to him with her haunting amber eyes. “It’s just . . . never mind. I know he’s safe with you, Noble. Thank you.” She bent and brushed a kiss to Tristan’s brow. “Just send him home when he wakes up in the morning.”

He nodded and followed her toward the front door. “Hey, you care if we shoot some hoops together sometime?”

She stopped abruptly and spun around. “Tristan? Basketball?”

“Yeah?”

“Um, this is
my
kid we’re talking about? The one I can barely get off the couch from his video games long enough to do, well, much of
anything
?”

Noble grinned. “Yup. That one. So, it’s cool?”

“If you can get him to do something other than play
Zombie Wars
or tinker on his bike, I’ll give you a medal myself.” She smiled up at him, her eyes filling with merriment.

“You’re on.” He opened the door and she stepped out as a cool wind whipped in, snaking around his legs. He made a mental note to dig out a blanket for the kid before he went to bed. “‘Night, Sweet Cheeks.”

“Goodnight, my hot Knight-in-Shining-Armor next door,” she chimed with a flirty note to her voice. She took a couple steps before she spun back around just as he was shutting the door. “Oh! Noble? I’d meant to ask you . . .”

“Yeah?” He propped his hip against the door, blocking out most of the cool breeze.

Her demeanor changed as she fidgeted, tucking her hands into her pockets and biting her lip. “Had you, uh, well, had you given any thought to my offer to help you find your mom?”

The smile dropped from his face as cold dripped down his skin. And not from the air. Every muscle in his body went rigid. Why was she bringing this shit up again? “No.”

She wiggled back and forth from foot to foot. “Oh. Well. I was just thinking, if you had, that is . . .” She rushed on quickly, her words nearly tripping over themselves as she took his silence for acceptance. “I found this awesome website that we could use. I’m sure it would work. All we’d need is her name and social if you have it and last known whereabouts. I’m assuming that’s the reservation, right? You’re Navajo? I think that’s what Tristan told me, but I never thought to ask. Dumb of me, I guess . . .”

“Braelyn! Enough!” He cut her off.

She pressed her lips together and her eyes widened. He hadn’t meant to shout. But, dammit. “We’re not searching for my mother.” He bit out the words. “Period.”

She nodded once. “Okay. But, can I ask why?”

He released his breath. Hardheaded woman. “Because.” He glared down at the moon-soaked ground and bit back a heavy sigh. This was the last thing he wanted to get into. Now or ever. He glanced back up to her face. “Because she walked away from me when I was just a kid and didn’t look back. She didn’t want me. Didn’t give a shit about me. So why should I give a shit about her?”

She took a step in his direction. “But, how do you know?”

Her softly spoken words had his head snapping up. “What do you mean, ‘How do I know?’ She left and didn’t come back. End of story.”

Somehow his hand ended up in hers. “We both know life isn’t always that cut and dry. I’m a mother, Noble. And I would
never
just walk away from my son. Never. Maybe she was trying to get a better life for you and something happened to keep her from you.”

“And maybe not. Not all mothers are like you.”

“No, they’re not. But you’ll never know, will you?” She shook their joined hands. “Wouldn’t you just kick yourself if you hated her all these years then found out she wasn’t the horrible person you imagined her to be?”

“Why do you care so much?”

She shrugged. “Call me crazy, but I care about you. Why should you be alone in the world if you don’t have to be?”

“I’m not alone.” Though his heart ached with the truth of her words.

She blinked at him. “You know what I mean.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’d give anything for one more day with my grandmother. And it breaks my heart that a mother and son are apart if maybe they don’t have to be. Who knows? Maybe she’s out there looking for you. I know I would be if it were me.”

He rolled his eyes. “Such an optimist.”

“Such a pessimist.”

“Well, I think I’m right.”

“Yeah, but what if there’s even the slightest chance
I’m
right? Don’t you wanna at least look into it?”

He glanced away with a noncommittal shrug.

She snuggled into him as she felt his resistance crumbling and kissed his chin. “So, you’ll let me do it?” His cheek. “Please?”

“Fine,” he relented. “But if you find out that she really is a trashy bitch who ran away from her life and kid, I want no part of contacting her and I want to hear all kinds of ‘
You were right, Noble
’ coming out of that pretty little mouth. I am not above a major ass ‘I told you so.’”

Her giggle carried on the night breeze, lifting his heavy heart. “Agreed.”