Bing snorted. “What did Gil do?”
“He told me this might be something serious.”
“Whoa. What?”
“Or I could be just another weeklong binge.”
“Ouch.”
“Yeah.” Carma thumped her head against the carpeted wall of the van. “How did this happen? I came to town to check out the Patterson clinic and maybe get a little action on the side, and now I’m all twisted up in this…this…thing! With a man who just informed me that he’s afraid I’m the female equivalent of someone slipping him a mickey.”
Bing laughed, a surprised Hah!
Carma bared her teeth at the phone. “I’m glad you’re enjoying this.”
“If I recall correctly, you said, ‘I want to know exactly where I stand.’”
“If you make fun of me, I swear to God I will tell Johnny about the time you beat up Sara Dubois for flirting with your boyfriend.”
Bing made a noise that was the equivalent of an eye roll. “That was thirty years ago, and she also told everyone I was screwing around on him with one of the summer guys at the East Glacier Lodge. She needed her ass kicked. But as I was saying…”
“Yeah, yeah. Honesty. No games.” Carma scooted off the bed and crouch-walked to the front of the van to punch down the door locks. Which she would have done even if Gil hadn’t told her to. “And what about the therapy program? I promised to get it up and running.”
“Your job is development. You don’t have to stay and run the place. Besides, Grandma wanted you to get to know Gil better.”
Carma’s eyes went squinty. “And you would know that how?”
“Well…” Bing’s voice held a suspicious hint of amusement. “We may have talked about it once or twice, after she heard about the two of you hooking up at the Stockman’s. I told her all about Gil, and how much I admired what he did for Hank. She thought he sounded like a good man. I agreed.”
Carma had to grab one of the red velvet captain’s chairs for balance. “You never said anything about him to me.”
“I didn’t want to interfere,” Bing said loftily.
Carma blew a ripe raspberry into the phone.
“And I’ve been a little distracted with my own love life,” Bing admitted with a laugh.
“That’s more like it.” Carma let go of the chair and plopped onto her butt. “What now?”
“Do as they say and take it one day at a time. It comes down to figuring out what you need to be healthy and happy and whether he’s willing—or able—to give it to you.”
“Is that all?” Carma said, heavy on the sarcasm.
Bing’s voice softened in sympathy. “And if it doesn’t work out…”
It was going to hurt. A lot. Carma nudged the feather hanging from the rearview mirror. It twirled and swayed like it had all the way from Montana to Texas. Uncle Tony had had that feather blessed by the elders to protect and guide him on his journeys. Was this where it had been leading her, with a little help from Grandma White Elk? She watched it slowly come to a stop, the tip curved away from the open gate that led onto the highway…and toward Gil’s house.
Hell.
“I’m such a glutton for punishment,” she said.
“Aren’t we all? Keep me updated.”
Carma glanced at the dashboard clock she should’ve checked before she dialed. It read five minutes after eleven. “You may want to take that back before this is over.”
* * *
The next morning she was filling her coffee mug when Gil appeared in the door of the break room, looking lean, hard, and lethal if consumed in large doses.
“Yes,” she said, stirring in an extra dollop of cream.
He eyed her warily. “To what?”
“Proceeding…with caution.” She added sugar, stirred again, and sipped. Ahh. Forget orange juice, this was sunshine in a cup. “But it goes both ways. No promises until we’re both sure.”
He frowned. “How will we know if we can’t tell each other?”
She smiled, arching her brows.
“Oh.” His frown morphed into a scowl. “That’s fine for you, but how will I know?”
“I guess you’ll just have to trust me.”
She toasted him with her coffee, then squeezed past and gave in to the temptation to flounce down the hall in her killer turquoise sundress.
Chapter 30
Carma had barely started checking her email when Gil poked his head out of his office, a hand clamped over his phone. “I’m stuck on this call. Could you run over and make sure Quint is awake?”
“Sure.” Not that she felt it was necessary, but Gil had confessed on the drive to Huntsville that he was afraid he’d cursed his son with the demon insomnia and it was the cause of his tardies. Carma suspected otherwise. She didn’t think Quint did many things by mistake.
When she let herself in the front door, she wasn’t surprised to find him sitting at the table eating toaster waffles with fresh strawberries and a glass of juice on the side. He smiled politely. “Good morning.”
“Good morning.” She closed only the screen door, allowing a soft morning breeze to follow her in.
Gil’s house was all about comfort and family. The couch and chairs were made for sprawling, the walls and refrigerator scattered with photos of Quint from adorable infant, to a gap-toothed spelling-bee grin, to a recent basketball jump shot. A skateboard leaned in one corner, and the shelves of the entertainment center held the latest, greatest video gaming console and a tilted stack of plastic game cases. A pair of running shoes had been kicked off beside an end table that was cluttered with an Overdrive magazine, junk mail, and the current week’s Earnest Gazette.
Like the office, there was no trace of Gil’s life from before he was Quint’s father.
“Your dad asked me to be sure you hadn’t slept in. Since you’re up, I’ll just…” She started to turn back to the door.
“Analise says you’re some kind of psychic.”
Aw, hell. She turned back. “I have a knack for reading people.”
“Yeah?” He propped his elbow on the table and let his fork dangle over his plate. “Is that how you got so close to my dad?”
“That’s between him and me.”
He nodded, as if accepting her terms. “What about me? Do you tell him what I’m thinking?”
“He hasn’t asked.” She took petty pleasure from the involuntary flare of his pupils when he realized she hadn’t said she couldn’t read his thoughts. She should have stopped there, but once again she couldn’t resist. “I wouldn’t mind knowing, though—why did you make yourself ineligible for the meet last week?”
Quint stared at her for a full count of five. Then he said, “I didn’t want to show Sam up in front of the home crowd. We’re gonna be playing sports together for the next four years. They’re a lot more likely to be winning teams if he doesn’t hate me.”
“Wow. You’re a big-picture kind of guy.” She sat at the end of the table, at right angles to Quint so they weren’t eyeball to eyeball. “It would have been easier to just let him win the runoff.”
“No, it wouldn’t.”
She had to laugh. “Also very competitive. What happens this week when you are the anchor?”
“Not much. We’re going up against Bluegrass and Dumas and a couple of other big schools. They’re gonna blow us off the track.”
“Ah. And Sam won’t feel so bad when you’re the one eating their dust at the finish line.”
“Yep.”
Carma leaned back, laced her fingers together on the table, and gave him a long, frank stare. He was basically a good kid. And she should just shut up now and leave, but her gut said this scheming would blow up in his face at some point, and Gil was so consumed with worry about his parenting skills that he couldn’t see it.
“That’s some pretty
high-level manipulation,” she said. “I’m surprised you give a damn about Sam’s feelings after what he said about your dad.”
“It was true.” Then his eyes narrowed as he scented the trap. “I never told anyone. Do you really know, or are you guessing?”
“Why keep it a secret unless it was something bound to upset your dad?” And yes, he got points for protecting Gil from…whatever.
Quint watched her for another beat, then shrugged. “Sam said he didn’t know why I thought I was such hot shit when everybody knows I’m the reason my dad can’t ride anymore.” When she sucked in a shocked breath, he allowed himself a sneer. “What, you didn’t know? He wrecked his motorcycle the night my mom told him she was pregnant.”
“And…they told you this?” The flat declaration had shredded her heart. What must it have done to this child?
“I would’ve found out eventually.” His smile was a mirror image of Gil at his most scathing. “Better to hear it from them than some jerk at school. And I’ll get my payback when I take the starting quarterback position from Sam this fall.”
Which was undoubtedly true with Quint’s talent, brains, and every advantage his mother could give him. But his approach felt so…underhanded. Definitely not something he’d picked up from his dad. Gil tackled everything head-on. Was this the way things were done in his mother’s family, or at his fancy private school? Either way, parts of Quint’s education were sadly lacking.
Carma tried appealing to his logic. “I grew up in a small town, and I can tell you for a fact that this kind of crap will eventually circle around and kick you in the ass. It always does.”
“Well, since you’re the expert, what do you suggest I do?” he asked, all brittle condescension.
“Have you considered looking Sam in the eye and calling him on his bullshit?”
Quint’s lip curled. “Sure. That oughta smooth things over.”
“Maybe not, but at least it would be honest, and in the long run that’ll earn you more respect.” She hesitated, then added, “From your dad too.”
“Nice. You’re playing the Dad card and calling me manipulative?” Quint shoved away from the table and grabbed his backpack. “Thanks for the totally unsolicited advice. I’ll take it under advisement.”
When the door slammed behind him, Carma dropped her face into her hands. Unsolicited advice, and not even a full twelve hours after Gil had told her not to go meddling in his life without an invitation.
She dragged reluctant feet back to the office. Somehow, she had to tell Gil that she’d been dishing out unsolicited advice again, without spilling any of the secrets Quint had shared. Or mentioning that she feared the kid had the breeding and training to be a sneaky little bastard if left to his own devices.
She hadn’t even made it all the way to her desk when the door to Gil’s office flew open, making her slosh newly poured coffee down the front of her favorite white shirt. “What the hell did you say to Quint?”
Uh-oh. Carma grabbed a tissue and dabbed at her chest. “Is there a problem?”
“Oh, nothing major.” Gil braced one fist on the doorframe and the other on his hip. “The principal just called to inform me that Quint walked up and punched Sam Carruthers in the gut. Before they set foot on school property, thank God. Otherwise they’d both be suspended.”
Oh hell. And also Go, Quint. Fighting might not solve anything, but what Sam had said was downright cruel. Carma wouldn’t have minded punching him herself.
Which might be the Blackfeet in her talking. As a tribe, they’d never been known for turning the other cheek.
“You were worried that he doesn’t express himself. I just suggested he should be more open.” She smiled weakly. “I guess Sam knows exactly how he feels now.”
Gil hissed and slammed the door.
Behind her, there was a stifled laugh. Carma spun around to find Rochelle standing in the door of the main office. Great. No one had told Carma that she’d be in today.
The older woman made a Come into my office gesture. “I have a few questions, if you don’t mind.”
Like she had a choice. Carma got up, marched past, and sat down, feeling like she’d been called in by the principal. Rochelle shut the door before strolling around to settle into Merle’s deluxe leather executive chair, looking right at home. She rested her elbows on the desk, laced her fingers together and rested her chin on them, eyes sparkling.
“Tell me everything.”
* * *
Barely over a month in his custody and Gil’s formerly upstanding son had a split lip, skinned knuckles, torn jeans…and a pretty sweet right uppercut according to Hank’s buddy Korby, who’d been one of the teachers that dragged Quint and Sam apart. Gil caught himself wishing he’d been there to see it and scowled. Winning was not the point, as the principal had been happy to explain at great length. Gil had also received a summons from the guidance counselor and a recommendation from the school nurse to update Quint’s tetanus vaccination.
Through the paper-thin wall Gil could hear Carma put someone on hold and pick up the incoming call, her voice calm and friendly, as if there wasn’t a shitstorm raging across town. One she’d helped stir up, dammit. Well, fine. She could haul Quint to the clinic in Dumas for his shot and go meet with the counselor about the kid’s “violent tendencies.”
He’d considered dragging Quint’s butt out of class to inspect the damage and read him the riot act, but decided it was better to let the kid stew all day. The waiting had always been sheer torture for Gil when he knew he’d gotten on the wrong side of Miz Iris or Steve. So he stayed put, annoyed to realize putting it off was nearly as brutal for the parent.
His mother’s obvious amusement was not helping.
He was walking Rochelle through the reporting options in the management program when he heard Analise say, “I hope the other guy looks worse.”
“His left eye is almost swelled shut,” Quint said.
As Gil turned to see the scraped knees below Quint’s track shorts and the bandage around his knuckles, Carma crossed one leg over the other and folded her arms, fixing Quint with a hard stare. “I would like to state, for the record, that I did not tell you to go punch anyone.”
“I don’t remember asking you to tell him what he should be doing,” Gil said, throwing her own confession back at her.
She flushed. “I know. I shouldn’t have butted in—”
Gil braced his feet and crossed his own arms, refusing to relent. Yeah, he was a jerk, but this was his kid, and he would be in control of this situation.
“I started it,” Quint blurted.
Carma blinked at him. “That doesn’t mean I had to finish it.”
“And by it you mean…” Gil prompted.
Quint and Carma exchanged a glance—something like Please don’t tell and I won’t if you won’t on both sides.
“She called me on my attitude,” Quint said.
Attitude? Gil’s arms fell limp at his sides. Jesus Christ. That was the one thing he’d figured they’d gotten right. Quint was polite to the point of pain.
Quint made a face. “It’s there. She’s just the first person who’s been able to see it. Other than Gwen, ’cuz she’s just like me.”
Gil transferred his disbelief to Carma, but she pressed her lips together and angled her chin away, done talking. Whatever answers he wanted, he would have to pry out of Quint. Gil stifled a sigh.
But Quint went on without prompting. “I’ve been working on Mom since clear back last fall. I started complaining more about the racist bullshit at my school, and from parents at our games. And a couple of times I rode my bike in parts of our neighborhood where I knew they’d call security because one of those people was casing their house.”
“What?” Gil’s blood turned to slush, frozen by icy rage.
Quint’s offhand shrug was not reassuring. “I
always had Gwennie hanging close enough to jump in if they needed a pretty white girl to swear I wasn’t there to murder them in their driveways. And we avoided the ones that are rabid enough to pull a gun.”
A gun? Krista had neighbors who would consider taking a shot at a boy on a bike? “You’re a kid, for Christ’s sake! And you live there.”
Another shrug. “They just see black hair and a brown face.”
A face like his dad’s. Holy fucking hell. And why hadn’t Krista told him about any of this? “Why would you purposely scare your mother half to death?”
“If I made it seem like the city was a bad place for me, she wouldn’t feel like it was her fault that I wanted to move here.” He hesitated, then almost apologetically said, “I wanted to live with you.”
The shock must’ve literally staggered Gil because his mother braced a hand between his shoulder blades as if to steady him. Maybe herself too. Had she dreamed of him or Delon declaring that they’d decided they preferred to be with her?
There was something wise and fatherly Gil should say now, but damned if he knew what it was, so he blurted, “Since when?”
“I always liked hanging around the shop, and with Beni on the ranch.” Quint’s shoulders crept up. “Then a couple of years ago we all went to Amarillo to watch Uncle Delon at the rodeo, and rode on some midway rides, and we stopped at the Lone Steer for supper. The whole time nobody looked at us weird or asked if I was a foreign exchange student. It was so cool to just be one of the family.”
A lump the size of a baseball swelled in Gil’s throat, negating his ability to say anything, right or wrong.
“Why did you wait so long?” Analise asked, sounding a little choked up herself.
“It was hard for Dad to take time away from work to look after me when I was younger. I planned to tell Mom that I wanted to come here for senior high, then Douglas got offered the position in Namibia and I had the perfect excuse.” Quint ducked his chin. “I should have asked you myself, though, instead of making Mom do it. I was just…” He drew in a breath, then let it out in a rush of words. “I was afraid to see how you reacted, in case you didn’t want me.”
Relentless in Texas Page 24
