Long Live the Rebel

by E L Irwin

  Glaring at the slipper in annoyance, I turned from the railing and headed back inside. Josephine was content to stay where she’d sprawled in a patch of warm sunshine, so I left the door open behind me. I headed downstairs to retrieve my wayward scuff, the pavement still a little damp from last night’s rain. I quickly tiptoed the six steps or so it took to reach the offending object. As I bent to reach for it, I heard the door behind me snick shut. Whipping around, I looked to confirm it was indeed closed. Grabbing the slipper, I moved back to the door and grasped the handle. Locked. It was locked. NO! Grinding my teeth together, I tried to strong arm the door into cooperating with me, but no such luck. Dangit!

  I stepped back and eyed the open door above me on the balcony. Josephine watched me intently, her tail flicking back and forth. Searching around me, I tried to find a way to get to that open door. I found nothing. The garage, I thought suddenly, and headed in that direction. The garage door was locked as well. Of course it was. Heading back to the patio, I scanned around me again. My eyes landed on the patio furniture. I wonder if that table would be tall enough to give me the boost I needed.

  It took me several sweaty minutes of pushing, pulling, and shoving to get that heavy table to move. My balcony was not directly over the patio beneath it, but more off-centered. Several steps sat between the edge of the patio and the underside of the balcony. The best I could hope for was to get the table as close to those steps as I could, and then be able to sort of jump from the table and pray I’d be able to grasp the balcony railing before falling to my near-certain death.

  Taking a deep breath, I studied the setup, trying to do simple physics in my head. Well, I thought, here goes my audition as Indiana Jane. What I wouldn’t give for a bullwhip right now. Imagining my future conversation with Harley about my escapades, I climbed on top of that table, feigning bravery. Reaching as high and as far as I could stretch, I was still too far away. If I could just get a little closer. A chair! I needed a chair. I could place the chair on top of the table then stand on the chair, bringing me closer. It would be just a small leap to that balcony railing then. So, sweating even more, I hauled the chair up on the table. Unfortunately, it was one of those reclining-type chairs, not my first choice, but rather my only option. Telling myself that I’d be fine, no worries, nothing to fret over, I carefully climbed up onto the chair. Please, don’t let me fall, I whispered to Whoever might have been listening as I jumped.

  Shiv had been lying on the floor, quietly snoring, when the dog suddenly jumped to his feet and scratched at the door with a throaty rumble. Ryler opened it for him, leaving it open for his return, and headed back to the kitchen where he’d been pouring his coffee. Shiv scampered off into the scrub, scouting some scent or answering the call of nature. He was gone about ten minutes or so, when suddenly he was back and rumbling under his breath. He ran down the steps of the porch again then ran back inside, now barking loudly. Ryler headed for the door, scanning to see if anyone was approaching. The road was clear, however, so he growled at the dog to shut up. Shiv only barked louder, more aggressively. Ryler watched him for a moment before shrugging and heading out the door after the dog. “This had better be good, mutt,” Ryler grumbled.

  Shiv led him south, in the direction of the big house. And as Ryler reached the clearing, his sharp gaze instantly saw what was bothering the dog. Her. She. Jake’s daughter was dangling from the balcony; her feet swaying this way and that, trying to gain a purchase.

  Ryler ground his teeth, even as his pulse leapt in pleasure, and instantly hopped the fence, growling at Shiv to stay put. He moved quickly toward the girl, intending to aid her before she fell and hurt herself. As he neared her, Ryler saw better what she’d been doing; the chair and table sprawled beside the patio, just under her frantically swaying feet. He also saw what she was wearing. He stopped several feet away, needing to absorb the shock to his system. Those legs. Those darned, amazing legs. Her thin bathrobe had ridden up, and peeking out from beneath was her shapely backside encased in what looked to be a pair of blue, faded, men’s boxer briefs. A sun was tattooed on her upper left thigh in shades of white, yellow, orange, and black; the design reminding him of maybe something with a Celtic feel to it. Whatever it was, he liked it. A whole heck of a lot. Ryler swallowed as he stepped closer. And then her scent hit him — coconut, and cream and somehow, like the salty sea air, like the ocean — and he felt the blow deep in his gut, turning him inside out.

  My arms were shaking with the strain of trying to hold myself up. I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to hang on. And just as I felt my fingers slip, gravity pulling me downward, large firm, warm hands grasped my legs. They gripped just below my knees then slid upward and were now supporting my weight.

  “Let go,” a low voice gently ordered. “I’ve got you.”

  The scream that had begun building in my throat in preparation of that fall, of the anticipated landing on the overturned patio furniture beneath me, caught on itself, choking me. I’d been avoiding glancing down, but at that warm touch, that low, almost growling voice, my gaze was ripped downward. Heat barreled through me again, making me dizzy. His eyes were a dark blue-gray, like icy, storm-tossed seas, but so much warmer, framed in thick lashes under slashing brows. His hair was dark, as dark as mine, darker maybe, cut short, military-style. His mouth, ringed in stubble, was set in a grim line. I swallowed, trying to calm myself, and he growled at me, the sound playing havoc with my stomach,

  “Let go. You won’t fall, I’ve got you.”

  So, I did. I let go. And he caught me. Ryler caught me. After letting go of the balcony, I instantly transferred my grip to him, his shoulders. I liked what I was now feeling under my palms. The way the muscle played under the skin. And then I was sliding through his hands, my backside snagging in his grip, but before that sensation could properly process, I was on the ground, on my own two feet, and he’d moved away from me.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I caught the sound of a near silent squeak. Like a hinge that maybe needed adjustment or oiling. But that wasn’t the focus of my mind right then, so easily dismissed in the face of what was happening, and what had just happened.

  “You like to live dangerous, AJ?” he grumbled almost angrily over his shoulder as he righted the table and chairs. “Was there something wrong with using the door on this level?”

  At his sharpened tone, I felt my hackles rise. “Well, excuse the heck out of me for getting locked out and inconveniencing you. I don’t recall asking for your help, you know.”

  Ryler just snorted at that. He’d reached my back door, and that faint whirring squeak occasionally sounded. My gaze flicked to his right leg, noting that he favored it slightly, and found myself wondering what might have happened to it, if he was wearing a brace for support. Ryler tried the door and found it to be locked, like I’d said. He turned back toward me, and I couldn’t help my arched brow nor the cocking of my jaw.

  “The spare key is here. No need to go climbing walls.” Ryler bent stiffly, and angled a large blue-colored flowerpot. He then turned back to the door and, without looking at me, held the key up for me to see before unlocking the door and swinging it open. Then he replaced the key and stepped off the patio, heading back toward the trees. That faint whir an ever-constant sound faded as he moved away from me.

  “That’s it?” I asked, disbelief heavy in my tone.

  He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. In rapid succession, his gaze hit me, the open door, the table and chairs, then came back to me again. His jaw was tight. “What else do you need?”

  “Nothing,” I mumbled. “I just… you’re just leaving like that? Don’t you even want to come inside? We haven’t been properly introduced yet.”

  “You’re AJ. I’m Ryler. Now we know each other,” he fairly snarled as he headed off. “And I’ve got things to do. Thanks anyway.”

  In growing irritation, I watched him walk away. Stomp away was more accurate, despite the fact that he favored that leg t
he entire way. What the heck? My mind and my body were currently at war with each other. Because my head said he could kiss off, but my body was chiming something entirely different. And I wasn’t exactly sure who would win this battle.

  Ryler’s hands were still tingling, still shaking. He could still feel her, even now, the heat coming off her, her skin.

  He tightened his fists then opened them.

  Tightened.

  Opened.

  The entire walk back to his cabin.

  Those legs. That skin. Her scent. His heart was still pounding. His mouth dry. Ryler glared at the large dog beside him. “Thanks for that. Now stay away from her, ya hear?”

  Shiv responded with a cocked head and huff of breath then whined low. Ryler walked back into the cabin, ignored the coffeepot and mug, and reached for an ice-cold bottle of Guinness. He had it half finished before he took a breath. Dang her anyway. Trouble. She was nothing but trouble with a capital T.

  Ryler’s head echoed with the sound of his promise to Jake. He knew he was going to have to bite the bullet here soon, fulfill that promise. But not yet. Not when he had to hold himself on such a tight leash around her. Because right now, what he wanted most was to taste that skin, her mouth. To hear her raspy voice make that little sound she’d made just now when he’d first gripped her legs. It was all just driving him a bit crazy. So, for the time being, he’d keep his distance. Though he knew that soon there’d have to be a reckoning.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Sequim

  It’s been two days since I last saw Ryler. Two days since he’d obviously unwillingly come to my rescue — yes, I was now able to admit that he had, in fact, rescued me. Two days that I’d spent storming around the house, grumbling under my breath, imagining stomping up to his door, banging upon it, and giving him a piece of my mind. But of course, I’d done none of those things. No, I’d just stayed here and stewed, going through that envelope, looking at photos, and trying to wrap my mind around everything.

  I’d read one of the letters that Jake had left for me. Folded with the letter was the copy of the arrangements my mom had made with him. It made me sick to my stomach to think that she’d lied to me my whole life. Telling me my father was dead, supplying me with a fake photo, fake name. All so she could have me to herself because she was mad that Jake wouldn’t leave the military for her. Did she not understand how much it hurt him, how much she’d been stealing from me? It was more than I could focus on and process in one — or even two or three — sittings. This was going to take me a while.

  In my perusing around, I found a key labeled for the garage in one of those multipurpose junk drawers that everyone seemed to have. Now, as I opened the garage side door, I let my eyes adjust before stepping inside, not knowing what I might find. The light switch sat to the right of the door, and after flicking it on, I entered the somewhat cavernous space. It was, I supposed, a normal type garage — not that I had gobs of experience with garages. Jake had what looked to be a Jeep of some kind, sitting in the center of the garage, partially covered under a brown cloth tarp. The hood of the vehicle showed it to be black; at least, what I could see of it was black. I wondered if it still ran.

  To one side, I spied several lawn and garden tools — rakes, shovels, and a wheelbarrow. Hammers, wrenches, and things like that rested, untouched for some time — at least by the amount of dust covering them — on the workbench at the back of the garage. I was turning away, intending to leave, not being interested in those types of things, when I spied the tire of a bicycle hanging from the rafters toward the far left of the garage.

  Upon further inspection, I found it was actually an entire bike, not just the tire. I stared at it for a moment or two in consternation, trying to figure out how to get the darn thing down. Because I sure as heck was not going to ask Ryler for any help. After a few minutes of searching, I found a sturdy, folding stepstool tucked back behind the open garage door. And with minimal difficulty, I was able to lift the bike down to the ground. I looked it over; the bike was white, had a wide, comfy-looking seat, and everything seemed to be in working order. A wire basket was attached to the front. Back on Coronado, I’d biked around the island quite a bit. I knew it might take me all day long, but I decided to ride into town, do some more looking around. Maybe get myself a little more familiarized with the area.

  Two hours later found me coasting into Sequim. I’d looked through the paperwork that Kerry had left for me, and found a small county map with roads highlighted, showing the route into town, as well as several spots of interest. Sequim is one those charming little towns that you might see on postcards. The lampposts were painted a deep lavender, reflecting the flower the town was famous for. Baskets, both hanging and standing were everywhere, filled to overflowing with various flowers and other kinds of foliage. I found it all very charming. And as I meandered around, just taking in the sights, I noticed a large commotion off to my left, down a block or so. Angling in the direction the noise was coming from, I found a farmers market in full swing and decided to check it out.

  I parked the bike in one of the bike racks and locked it up then began a slow stroll through the area, just taking in all the wares. In addition to the normal fruits and vegetables one might expect to find at a farmers market, I also found booths that were selling everything from fudge, to handmade jewelry, paintings, sketches, and photos. Leatherwork, woodcarvings, candles and soaps, jams and jellies, and fresh breads and pastries. There were vendors selling cotton candy, hotdogs and burgers, and thankfully, I found an espresso stand as well.

  A local band — The Jolly Rogers they called themselves — was playing; they had an interesting sound, similar to Ed Sheeran — part blues, part rock, part pop, part something else entirely. I liked them though, and after listening to several songs, bought their album. I continued my meandering, taking my time, looking through each booth, just breathing in the atmosphere that Sequim offered. After buying several items that had caught my interest, I found a small table off to the side where I could enjoy the music, and my coffee. I tried not to feel self-conscious about being here, tried to play it cool and just be incognito, but I drew a few long looks from multiple sources. Questioning, interested looks. I ignored them all for the most part, telling myself they weren’t connecting me with Jake, just noticing that I was one among many strangers in their town.

  Time went faster than I’d anticipated. When The Jolly Rogers broke for a while, I glanced around and noted that the sun was already beginning to descend. And not wanting to ride back to Jake’s in the dark, especially on unfamiliar roads, I decided I’d better get going. I’d brought a small backpack in place of a purse, so I was able to store most of my finds and purchases in that, at least the ones that didn’t fit in the basket on the bike.

  I was just a little way past the edge of town proper when I noticed my bike felt funny. Sluggish. Slowing, I looked down at the tires and found my front one was flat. Freaking just great! I quickly climbed off, inspected the tire, and found nothing wrong other than that the tire was definitely lacking in air. Unsure what to do exactly, I considered my options. Did I head back to town and try to locate a bike shop? Or just continue on back to the house? After a moment or two, I decided I was tough enough and would just walk the bike back to Jake’s. It wasn’t that far. I could do it. I’d gone maybe a mile and half when I heard the sound of a loud engine coming up on me. The sun hadn’t quite set yet, but it had definitely sunk well below the tree line, casting me and my surroundings in shadow. As the vehicle came nearer, the headlights illuminating the roadway in front of me, I moved the bike over some, so as not to be in danger of getting hit. But all the same, I heard the engine as the driver downshifted, slowing the vehicle.

  My nerves were a little frayed at this point. I’d been worrying over wild animals that might come out at night, looking for their evening meal. And though I knew I was being an idiot, I couldn’t help but wonder about Harley’s warnings to me as well. I’d glanced around repeatedly,
looking for a sparkling presence, or a huge shadowy wolf-like image stalking in my direction. Now it seemed I’d have another kind of animal to worry over. The vehicle pulled in behind me and came to a stop, the headlights dimming until just the running lights were on. Next, I heard the door open. Turning, I saw the outline of a man moving in my direction. My heart lodged in my throat.

  Coronado wasn’t isolated. There are people around at all hours. It was busy and loud. But here? There was nothing out here. No lights; save for those from the vehicle behind me, and the ever-fading sunlight. No one around. And it suddenly dawned on me just how alone I truly was. Apprehension left a bad taste in my mouth. I stepped around the bike to face the driver, putting the cycle between us, mentally preparing to have to defend myself if need be.

  “Hi,” I said to the man, wanting him to know that I saw him, that I wasn’t afraid of him, even though I kind of was. My eyes took in the dark-colored Bronco in the background, wondering if anyone else was inside.

  “Is there something wrong with the bike?” The voice rumbled toward me from the gloom.

  My heart lurched in my chest, pounding out a slow, thudding rhythm at the sound of Ryler’s voice. Heat curled like a satisfied cat in my middle. I couldn’t form words yet, needing a moment to collect myself, so many emotions flooding through me. Relief — sheer, intense, relief. I wasn’t about to be murdered. Annoyance at his tone of voice as if I’d gotten a flat just to tick him off or something. Fire — flashing, burning fire — at the rebel yell that was now sounding inside my skull to accept the challenge he offered. Wonder — that he was affecting me so thoroughly, so unwantedly. So, my tone might have come out a tad sarcastic as I replied, “No, Ryler, there’s nothing wrong with the bike. I was bored and decided to let all the air out of the tire so that I could push it home, you know, just for kicks. Seeing as how there’s nothing else to do in this backwoods town of yours.”