Wildly Inappropriate (17 page)

Georgia patted his hand jolting him out of his reverie. "Honey chile, she never got the chance. Somewhere 'tween here and home, she just went missin'."

"Why have I never heard this before?" he demanded. Anger began to coil under his breastbone, expanding with each heartbeat. There wasn't a thing between here and the farmhouse, just two roads that ran perpendicular, the public road and the long private lane Dan and his brothers lived on that led to the orchards.

She ducked her head. "I knew Rafe loved that woman more'n air. Weren't no way I could lie to Rafael De Marco. He jus' seemed to know whenever anyone done it. Plus he and Tim was always together, workin' on some car or other. So I got my sister to tell the police and Rafe that me 'n her had been to church in town that morning', instead of admittin' we were right here, cannin' peaches."

Tears trickled down the creases in her face. "Cammie used my phone to call the clinic in Greenville to make her appointment. They asked if she wanted to come in that day, but she said she couldn't get there till later that week. She still hadn't made up her mind for sure. She was jus' fine when she left, 'cept for dreadin' the lies she'd have to tell Rafe."

Georgia wiped at her cheeks with the paper napkin. In spite of his shock, Dan didn't think her knuckles looked all that swollen. "Once she didn't turn up, I thought she just went off somewhere to leave Rafe to deal with you young'uns, so he'd really see what her days were like. He loved you young 'uns, he did, but until she disappeared, he never wiped the first runny nose or changed a diaper. I thought she was teachin' him a lesson he needed to learn and she'd come back after a few days, but… well, we all know she never turned up. But they never found no body, so what was the point in tellin' the tale? It didn't have nothin' to do with what happened to her. I think she'd have backed out or talked it over with him first, but she never got the chance."

Dan couldn't get his head around the story Georgia was telling, but he fiercely wished he'd left the damn diaries right where he'd found them. He knew he should ask her some questions, but he couldn't think of a word to say.

The small clock in the center of a wrought-iron starburst on the wall behind the table made a soft chime, reminding him he needed to hurry or he'd be late getting Cynda to work on time. She'd said she'd need to go get some work clothes.

Getting to his feet, he numbly stumbled through the house and into the scorching August heat.

* * * *

It was nearly closing time but the restaurant was still busy. Cynda's shoulders sagged with exhaustion when she saw the hostess seat a table of four young men at a bartop in her section. Pasting on her fake smile, she approached the table on feet that felt like they were made of lead. Before she could reel off the specials, her heart hit her sensible black shoes when one tossed his ID on the table and announced, "My buddy here just turned twenty-one today. We're buyin' him a drink in every place in town." She checked the IDs of all four as dread congealed in her breast. Two legal, two not.

"Two Captain and Cokes and two iced teas."

It could be hard to tell which was which. She explained the dinner specials by rote and wearily approached the bar. The bartender was as busy as everyone else. Harry was biracial and unapologetically gay and of all the people who worked here, Cynda liked him the best. The two of them were the only black employees who worked in the front of the restaurant. All the others worked in the back. She returned Harry's sympathetic shake of the head, watching him scoop ice, measure out shots, and wield the bar gun as efficiently as if he'd had an extra pair of arms. Waiting to place her order, she seemed to feel someone staring. Turning her head to the left, she realized Daniel was seated at the far end of the bar closest to the stand where the servers made any non-alcoholic drinks. She moved around the long oak structure, dodging other exhausted servers rushing by with trays held aloft.

"Two Cap'n and Cokes," she said to the harried bartender when Harry pointed to her. "You're too early," she said to Daniel, spying the manager stepping out of the kitchen to look over the crowd. "Gonna be at least another hour before I get cut. If I get cut." Cut meant she'd be sent home before closing, something they all fought for. Those who stayed to close had to vacuum and roll silverware for the next shift.

"Nowhere else I need to be," he assured her.

"Girl, I haven't had a chance to tell you tonight how damn hot you look with your hair like that," Harry said, slamming two glasses on the bar and shoving the aluminum scoop into the ice bin. He gave her a wink before dropping his attention to filling the glasses with ice and rum.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Daniel glower. She bumped his hip with hers teasingly. What she chose to think of as jealously from Daniel made her forget for a moment how tired she was. She turned to the soft drinks stand across the aisle at his back and fixed the two glasses of tea. Placing them on a tray she spun, reaching past Daniel to grab the alcoholic drinks, asking Harry to please put the tea on the ticket with the booze for her.

"Two under, two over?" Harry guessed. Cynda nodded, making a face.

"Better keep a close eye on them," he warned. "Manager's on a rampage about underage getting served. Same exact deal as your table happened last night, and he's pissed. The overs kept letting the unders sneak drinks from their glasses. He almost fired Lauren over it. Said she should've known from how fast the glasses got emptied that two people weren't drinking all of those drinks."

He'd fire Cynda sooner, she knew. Lauren was white. Dumber than a pet rock, but white. Nodding absently, still basking over Daniel's glare, Cynda hurried to dole out the drinks, her heart sinking when they ordered appetizers. She was handing their order in to the kitchen when she saw another of her tables spill a drink. By the time she had that mopped up, two more tables asked for their bills. The appetizers were up, and she hurried to place them on the table, eying the glasses with alcohol, but they sat in front of the legal patrons. The group ordered a second round and she relayed the order across the bar, darting a smile at Daniel.

At the front door a couple began fussing loudly about being told the kitchen was closing. Cynda squeezed her eyes tightly closed when the manager stepped in and led them to a booth in her section. "Cynda is your server and if you can tell her what you want, she'll see to it your order gets in before the kitchen closes," he assured them with a bright smile. She wanted to kick him in the balls, but dutifully pulled out her order pad and tried to smile at the couple. "Hot fudge cake," the man ordered for the woman seated beside him in the booth. "Extra chocolate sauce, double whipped cream, and two forks."

Dessert wasn't so bad. Cynda scribbled the order and had turned away when she heard the man add, "And a rib eye steak, medium rare, loaded baked potato, and a side salad."

Seething, she turned back, carefully recording the order.

Suddenly, she heard Daniel's deep voice. "You need to hand that drink back to the person who's old enough to drink it, son. And do it right now."

Cynda whirled, gaping in horror at the sight of Daniel reaching across the center of the round bar table to wrest a glass away from one of the underage guys with his huge hand.

The manager practically knocked Cynda down in his rush to get to the table, but on his way past, he muttered in her ear, "I sure hope your Good Samaritan's willing to pay your bills when I fire your ass for this."

Seething, Cynda stalked around her section. Her mood didn't improve when the dessert couple decided they wanted their food to go just as soon as she placed it on the table. While she switched their food from plates to foam containers, one of her tables walked out without paying.

Fighting tears, Cynda dutifully went to in search of the manager and found him not five feet from Daniel. She explained what had happened.

"You'll have to pay for that," he stated.

"Their bill's fifty-seven dollars," Cynda protested. "I bet I haven't made seventy tonight."

"Nevertheless," the man said, turning away. "You put that cash on my desk before leaving, or don't bother coming back."

Ninety endless minutes later, Cynda stalked angrily out the side door with Daniel at her back. She ignored his protestations he'd only been trying to help, both with the underage drinkers and with the unpaid tab he'd forked over the cash for. Looking around the nearly empty parking lot, she stamped her foot in frustration when she didn't see his truck.

He pointed over her shoulder to a wrecker parked along the entrance drive, half on the grass. A mangled vehicle perched on the back of the wide ramp. "Had a call out, that's why I got here so early. Wreck happened about a half mile from here."

Wordlessly, she strode to the big truck, waiting for him to unlock the door, wondering whether she had the strength left to climb the two steps into the tall cab. Her anger grew when he picked her up and put her into the seat.

"Need to stop for gas," he informed her when he landed in the driver's seat.

"Fine," she snapped, slouching tiredly against the upholstery, as close to the door as she could manage without falling out.

He spun the large vehicle expertly around, looking at her with a puzzled expression when the light caught them. Seething, she ignored him, staring out her window at the brightly-lit signs of closed businesses dotting this section of the main highway through town. He geared the truck into low and lumbered across the four lanes, pulling into the only gas station that was open this time of the night.

"Need to pee," she muttered, shoving the heavy door open.

"Not here." Daniel shook his head and that lit her fuse.

She jumped out of the truck. He did the same on the opposite side.

She yelled across the long, flat bed on the back of the truck, her eyes meeting his when they both peered under the wrecked car on the rollback. "You don't fuckin' own me. I been in that store a thousand times. And I can do my damn job without any help from you. I wasn't gonna pay that tab. Never one time has that manager asked one of them white girls to pay for a walk-out. Jus' me. And you went and helped him penalize me for bein' black."

Whirling, she ran across the lot into the store, dashing into the ladies' room.

* * * *

"Trouble wif' yo bitch?"

Dan turned to stare at the amused-looking black guy who leaned against the side of a tricked-out Buick Regal with windows tinted to an illegal depth at the pump behind him. He took in the white strip of boxers above the man's baggy jeans, the mesh shirt, and cockeyed Yankees cap, but it was the guy's words that generated his immediate dislike.

"She ain't mine."

"That's good to hear." The guy flashed Dan a smile decorated with gold metal. Dan rolled his eyes. "No offense, but I do hate it when I see a fine black sista like her with some white cracker like you."

Dan ignored the obvious drunk in favor of watching Cynda through the large panes of glass as she ran to the back of the store, gritting his teeth because of the thumping bass coming from inside the Buick.

Turning away, he slammed the garage credit card through the slot and punched in his zip code. The tank was about half full when he heard Cynda's shriek. He whirled, staring in disbelief. The guy had crossed the lot and was holding her around the waist. The damn fool was trying to kiss her. If she'd stayed in the truck—

His pace was deliberate when he rounded the back of the wrecker. His tone was more so. "A minute ago, you had the balls to call her a bitch, and now she's your fine black sista and you dare to put your hands on her?" Dan drawled. "Why don't you pull your fucking pants up before you go pickin' a fight? Because I gotta tell you, I'm in the mood to goddamn give you one."

Yankee Hat laughed, holding onto Cynda, who was struggling to get loose. "I got my boys in the car wif' me."

Dan barely looked at the two guys that climbed out of the Buick. A skinny guy with bad skin dangled the remains of his six-pack from one hand. He'd swing that, Dan decided.
Pussy.
The third one wore a Clemson jersey that was four sizes too big. He ignored them, unconcerned when they took up positions behind Yankee Hat.

"Bring 'em all, you're gonna need 'em," Dan said pleasantly. "Get your fucking hands off her." He jerked Cynda out of the prick's arms, tucking her behind him before he drove his fist into the guy's stupid gold-plated grill.

Yankee Hat went down like a ton of bricks. "Glass jaw?" Dan asked politely, stepping over the guy's crumpled body. Simultaneously, he fended off the five beer cans arcing toward him with his left forearm before he dropped the skinny one in one shot, enjoying the feel of his fist sinking into the idiot's soft solar plexus. "Your turn. Get you some," he encouraged the Clemson fan, flicking his fingers in a come-on motion toward his chest. The last one stood uncertainly just beyond his reach, but Dan was furious. "Make your stand for Black Pride and Brotherhood and all that bullshit. Call it anything you like, it's still disrespecting a woman."

"She ain't my bitch," the Clemson guy replied, helping Beer Can to his feet. The yeasty scent of malt liquor overrode the stench of gasoline and hot asphalt as Dan gulped deep breaths and silently begged the guy to take a swing.

"She's nobody's bitch." Dan had no idea why he was yelling. "But the next fool to call her one in my presence is gonna need an ambulance." He drove the toe of his work boot into Yankee Hat's ass as he rolled to his knees. "Get the fuck out of my face,
gangsta
. You might wanna use your brains instead of your dick next time. Didn't your mother teach you not to put your tongue into something that doesn't belong to you?"

Cynda was crumpled into a ball on the dirty asphalt when he turned, sobbing as if her heart was broken. Dan picked her up gently.

"You never had no choice before, have you?" she wailed. "I know good and well you ain't gonna sell King that land. And now you insulted me and helped my manager disrespect me. You think this fixes that?" Her fists pounded his chest. "I'm not your play toy, not out here in the real world," she shrieked.