Cooing to her infant, the woman was unaware of her eldest son’s defiance.
He peered at Evie. She crossed her arms in perfect imitation of the boy’s stance, her grin fighting to break free.
What the hell was he supposed to do? If he’d acted that way in front of his mama, he would’ve spent the next week cleaning toilets and brushing the dog. How did parents teach kids respect these days?
“Do you like to gamble, Willie?”
“Sure.”
“Two out of three. Rock-paper-scissors. I win—you sit down over there and be quiet until your mama’s ready to go. You win—?”
“I get a twelve-pack of beer.”
“Try again.”
“A gallon of cookie dough ice cream.”
“Deal.” He rested his fist in his palm. Willie followed suit. “On the count of three. Ready?”
Willie nodded.
“One, two—” they pounded their fists into their palms, “—three.” He ended with his hand flat and Willie’s fingers splayed into a V.
“I win!” Willie announced, bouncing on his toes.
“Not yet. We have two more to go.”
This time, Willie did the count. “One, two, three.”
He kept his hand fisted and Willie stayed with the scissors.
“One for one.”
Willie scowled. The count came faster this time. Rock to rock. Tie.
Paper to paper. Tie.
Paper covers rock. Two to one. Game to Deke.
“Again,” Willie demanded.
“That’s not how it works, Sport.”
Willie shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the ground.
“Did you forget the terms of our deal?”
Silence.
“A man pays his debts—and honors his mother.” When Willie’s feet stayed planted in place, he pushed harder. “Of course, you’re not quite a man yet. What are you? Ten?”
“Twelve!”
“Ahh. Not a boy, but not a man.” He rubbed his chin, already hearing the sandpaper scratch of newborn whiskers. “I wonder what decision you’ll make? The boy’s or the man’s?”
Willie glanced between him, his mom, and little brothers. Ego warred with honor. He left them in suspense a moment longer before shuffling over to a chair and plopping down.
His mother mouthed a “thank-you” as she accepted the clipboard.
“Bobby, Steve—go sit next to your brother. Behave yourselves while I take Clara inside to see the nurse.”
The younger brothers dutifully sat on either side of Willie.
Evie stepped aside to allow the mother entrance, a soft, proud smile on her breath-stealing face. Her approval wrapped around his chest like a warm blanket. Already he wondered what he could do to make her smile at him like that again.
After the ladies went inside, he ignored the boys and turned his mind to the guy in the rusted truck. Frank Cleamer. The name didn’t ring a bell, but he’d been away from Rockton for over a decade.
A few minutes later, the Med Mobile door opened, and the mother waved to her son. “Steve, you’re next.”
Willie continued to sit with his chin tucked into his chest and his hands stuffed into his pockets. The deal said nothing about not pouting. He gave the kid points for keeping up his end of the deal, though.
When the last boy was summoned into the RV, he jogged across the lot to the pharmacy-grocery store to purchase four quarts of cookie dough ice cream. He dropped the bounty into the passenger seat of the Taurus. With the vehicle parked beneath a tree, the kids’ treat shouldn’t melt too much before they finished up.
Out of all the things Willie could have asked for, he’d chosen ice cream, which told him little of it reached the boy’s belly. A kid should be able to enjoy a scoop of cookie dough from time to time—no matter how much gray the punk added to his mom’s hair.
Five minutes later, the brood left, but not before a chorus of cheers erupted from the vehicle. He kept his back to the commotion, a grin on his face.
“What’s all that about?” Evie asked, stepping down beside him.
“Sounds like they’re ready to go home. What’d you do to them?”
“The normal poking and prodding. Nothing that would create any excitement.”
“We’ve been invited to dinner.”
“By whom?”
“Rita Sampson and friends.”
“Rita?”
“Spokeswoman for the good people of Rockton, who wish to thank you and Lisa for your generosity.”
“Why? This is our job.”
Did she really not understand the value of her work? “These are proud people, Evie. They might not be able to pay you, but they sure as hell can feed you.”
“We’re happy to help where we can. They needn’t go through such trouble.”
“They don’t see it as trouble. They see it as a way of giving thanks.”
“But I don’t have a dish to take.”
“We’ll stop at the store.” He moved close, framing her cheek in his palm. “What is it? Why are you making excuses not to go?”
Rather than answer, she nuzzled into his touch, and guilty need stabbed him in the gut.
“Tell me.”
“I don’t like to be in the spotlight.”
“Aren’t you the outgoing Steele? The one who flits around at all the social gatherings?”
“I’m the Steele who likes for everyone to be happy. Sometimes I have to step outside my comfort zone in order to make that happen. But I never like being the focus of everyone’s attention.”
“You won’t be. Lisa and I’ll be at your side.”
“I had hoped that—” her gaze roamed the parking lot before resting on his again, “—you and I could have some more alone time.”
“Evie, what happened last night—”
“Please don’t tell me it was a mistake,” she burst out. “I think I can handle almost anything but awful follow-up.”
His mind scrambled for a new word. Giving in to his desire had been a mistake, one that caused him significant guilt and untold joy. No word existed for such conflicting emotions.
“I don’t regret what we did, but things just got a whole lot more complicated.”
“How?”
Sugarcoating the truth wouldn’t make this situation any easier. It might get him off the hook for a few days, but the bite in the ass would eventually come. All the Steeles appreciated straight talk, no matter how unwelcome. Evie was no different.
“My uncontrolled actions planted a seed within your heart. A seed of hope. Hope where none should exist.”
12
Evie followed the crumbling asphalt trail that led up to the Roundhouse pavilion. She could see how the structure got its name. Thick wooden beams rose from a concrete platform, reaching up to a green roof with a few missing shingles. The Roundhouse was just that—round. The twelve-sided pavilion easily held two hundred people, with enough room for serving tables and a podium, if need be.
All of this she viewed through Visine-laced eyes.
The eye drops might have eased the redness from her tear-burned eyes, but they’d done nothing to soothe the rupture in her heart.
After their bout of incredible lovemaking, how could Deke still believe they wouldn’t be a good fit? That their age difference would create a crevasse too vast to bridge?
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Lisa massaging her temple.
“Another headache?”
“Just a little pressure behind my eye. I took something to knock it out before we left.”
Evie peered over her shoulder at Deke and found him studying Lisa. Something unpleasant lanced her stomach. This wasn’t the first time she’d detected something more to his and Lisa’s relationship. She shoved aside her jealousy. Whatever had been between them was in the past. She couldn’t let something like that eat at her. She couldn’t. Not with everything else going on.
“I’m starting to worry,” Evie said. “You’ve be
en getting headaches more and more often.”
“You’re a sweetheart, my friend. But I’m sure they’re a reaction to our funding situation.”
“What funding situation?”
Lisa’s eyes widened. “N-nothing. I’m speaking nonsense.”
Evie grasped her arm. “Is the Med Mobile’s funding in danger?”
Her friend’s stricken features told her all she needed to know.
In one smooth move, Deke pushed between them, linking his arms with theirs. “Let’s discuss this tomorrow. Tonight, we’re going to have fun.” He nudged Evie. “Right?”
Questions clawed against Evie’s throat.
“Right?” he coaxed with a little more force.
So many people depended on the MedTour—patients, Lisa, pharmacies…her. What would they all do without it?
“Of course,” she said.
“Lisa, Evie,” Deke said, “this is Rita Sampson, one of the BBQ organizers.”
A tall, slender woman closing in on her late seventies stepped forward and gave her a warm smile followed by a big hug.
“Nice to meet you both. Glad you could squeeze in a bit of fun.”
“This is incredibly kind of you,” Lisa said.
“Nonsense. What y’all have done for us is far kinder than a bit of potato salad and pulled pork. We’ve been praying for your mobile to stop in Rockton, and now you have and we’re right thankful.” She waved them forward. “Come inside and say hello.”
They spent the next hour eating and gossiping and dancing. After the initial introductions, Evie settled into a rhythm, one that felt more natural than she’d expected, less like a façade.
She loved these people. Not just the residents of Rockton, but small town folks, in general. They knew how to laugh, how to help their neighbors, and how to do right by their family.
Her gaze fell on Deke. He lounged next to one of the boys they’d treated that morning. The two spoke in low tones, their conversation punctuated by an occasional laugh.
The patience he displayed with the child surprised her. He rarely sat still long enough to eat, and his mind never stopped. But he appeared content just sitting there, chatting with the boy.
What kind of father would he be? Patient and mentoring? Annoyed and distant? Or the worst of all, absent? She’d never seen him shy away from kids over the years, and the attention he was giving her young patient now spoke volumes. Something close to pride warmed her insides.
Her attention jumped from one family unit to the next, paying particular notice to the mothers. What kind would she be? Caring, supportive, and nurturing, like her mama? Evie prayed that would be the case. Prayed she and Deke would one day find out their parental mettle together.
A couple in their middle-to-late sixties entered the pavilion. Standing at least six feet tall with a barrel chest, beer belly, and spindle legs, the man greeted some folks and flat-out ignored others. In contrast, the petite woman, with long black hair streaked with silver, doled out tentative hellos and short hugs as her husband split through the crowd ahead of her.
Rita approached the couple. “Good evening, Mitch. Iris. So glad you could join us.”
Iris held out a metal pan covered in plastic. “I made Rice Crispies treats.”
“They look delicious.”
“Have you met our guests of honor?”
Iris looked to her husband, who stared at her and Lisa as if they’d interrupted his nap.
“This is Lisa Frye and Evie Steele.”
“Steele?” Mitch asked, ignoring Lisa’s outstretched hand. “Of Canyon Ridge?”
Steele Ridge now, but Evie didn’t correct him. “Yes, sir.”
“I hear your family’s bought everyone out of house and home.”
“Mitch!” Rita scolded. “What a thing to say to our guest.”
Without thought, Evie’s gaze sought Deke’s. He caught it, his focus shooting between her and the jerk, whose head appeared ready to explode. Something sharp and menacing swiped down his features before his long strides tore across the pavilion.
“It’s true,” Mitch said. “Got friends over there. They ain’t too happy about how that Steele boy’s flinging his money around and changing names.”
“I don’t give two hoots about what’s going on over there,” Rita said. “This is Rockton, and we don’t treat guests this way.”
“Who died and left you boss of this town?”
Evie and Lisa moved to stand on each side of Rita.
“My mama told me once that if you don’t have anything good to say, don’t say anything at all.”
Mitch whipped around to find Deke standing inches away. He took an involuntarily step back, the submissive action angering him further.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Hello, Daddy.” Deke nodded to the woman, who now stood near Lisa. “Mama.”
“Derek,” Iris Conrad whispered, using his birth name.
“I asked you a question, boy.”
“Enjoying some BBQ. What are you doing here? Besides making everyone uncomfortable?”
“Thought I told you not to come back.”
“Mitch,” Rita warned, “I told you—”
“Shut up, woman.”
Deke got right up into his dad’s face. “Don’t ever speak to a woman like that again.” His nostrils flared. “You drinking again?”
“Get the hell away from me.” Mitch shoved against Deke’s chest. His son didn’t budge.
“Come on, Mitch.” A blond-haired man in a plaid shirt and jeans clasped Mitch by the elbow. “Let’s go see if the corn cobs are off the grill.”
“Take your damn hands off me, Ray.”
“What’s going on over here?” a redheaded man with thick biceps asked. His dark brown eyes roamed down Evie’s body before shifting to Deke. “Well, well. Look who decided to return. Fed man Deke Conrad.”
“Prickett.”
“Sergeant Prickett.” He took a swig from of his beer bottle. “Things have changed around here since you turned traitor.”
“Sergeant, don’t you have some weights to lift or something,” Iris Conrad piped up.
“Iris,” her husband warned.
“I swear to bejesus,” Rita said, throwing her hands up. “This is supposed to be a party. What do we have? A bunch of apes bumping their chests together. “Ray, Andy, get these boys a corn cob.” She linked arms with Deke and Evie and motioned for Lisa to follow. “I need a shot of whisky. How about you?”
Deke watched his father refuse all attempts of appeasement. Stubborn old man.
He rubbed the ache at the center of his chest. The three shots of whisky that Rita had pressed on him had gone a long way to numb the pain. But he knew from experience that nothing could make it go away.
How had they come to this?
Why had they sacrificed family for ideology?
He swallowed back the lump, remembering the tears framing his mother’s blue eyes—his eyes—before she’d shuffled after her husband. Now she sat a few feet away from her husband, alone. Not sending even one glance her son’s way.
After a decade of his dad’s cold shoulders, he’d gotten used to the old man’s silence. But his mother’s desertion hurt. She’d always been there when he’d needed her. Always had the right words to soothe any fear, any pain, any injustice.
Something had changed in the past few months. She’d cut off all contact with him. Not one word of explanation. Not a single whispered goodbye.
Did this sudden change have something to do with his dad drinking again? Where had his strong, loving mother gone?
The hollow ache in his chest sharpened.
A touch at his shoulder pulled his attention away from his parents.
“Are you okay?” Evie asked.
“I’m fine.” He pushed the tension from his body and produced a smile. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
She studied his features a moment before turning to Rita and Lisa. “Will you excuse us?”
“Of course,” they said in unison.
Evie slid her hand inside his and led him away from dozens of curious eyes. He didn’t resist. When he’d accepted Rita’s invitation, he’d known he might run into family—or, at least extended family.
She guided him into a cove of shrubs. In the center rose a large paint-chipped fountain that hadn’t seen water in at least a decade. Sitting on the concrete ledge encircling the fountain, Evie patted the space beside her. “Join me.”
He sat, feeling old and alone.
Except Evie was here.
It was enough for now.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
“Not really.”
“Does that mean you won’t talk about it?”
A corner of his mouth twisted. “Don’t you have enough of your own family drama?”
“Makes me somewhat of an expert.”
Deke raised a brow.
“Or maybe just a good listener.”
He raked a hand through his hair, not wanting to analyze his screwed-up family.
“How long have you been estranged?”
“My dad hasn’t spoken to me since I went to work for the federal government. My mom—that’s new.”
“Is your dad anti-government? Or does he have a beef with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service?”
“A little of both.”
“But for your dad to turn his back on you, in such a public way, seems excessive.”
“Conrads tend to hold grudges longer than most people, and my father doesn’t care what others think.”
“You really don’t want to talk about this.”
Deke pushed off the wall, no longer able to sit still. What little he’d divulged about his family had brought all the old, harsh feelings to the surface.
“There’s no point in discussing it.” He paced along the scrubby hedgerow. “Even if I were to quit my job, the damage is done. My dad won’t welcome me back and I don’t grovel well.”
“What about your mom?”
“She’s made her choice—to stand by her husband. I have to respect her decision. To do anything else would only upset her.”
“You don’t think she’s being mistreated, do you?”
“My father’s many things, but he’s not a wife beater.”
“Mental abuse can be as damaging as physical.”
Roaming Wild (Steele Ridge Book 6) Page 8
