In Search of Solace (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  That had led her to an empty parking lot and eventually into Vanna’s sights.

  Myrt scanned the room again and shook her head. How did I go from that to this? She tried to grasp the edge of the covers and winced when her hand gave a shout of pain. Vanna had helped with that injury, too. The second day at what she now knew was a hiking trailhead, Myrt had fainted as she’d walked towards the only water source she’d found and had woken with a sore and swollen finger. Vanna had offered to take her to a hospital, but Myrt had declined and asked for whatever treatment Vanna was comfortable giving. The memory of those moments were better left in the past, and Myrt stared down at the miraculously straight finger taped to its neighbor.

  All in all, I’d say I’m pretty lucky.

  She slipped her legs over the side of the mattress, wiggling her toes against the braided rug on the floor alongside the bed. A glance in the angled mirror showed her more green and yellow than the day before, the dark purples holding tight to the flesh around her eyes. Truck had called her a raccoon last night, and she hadn’t quite understood what he’d meant. She saw it now and grinned, pleased when the lifting of her cheeks scarcely made her wince. Raccoons were mischievous animals, innovative in how they looked at the world around them, and able to suss out some of the hardest puzzles.

  Yeap. Pretty lucky.

  Faint sounds crept under the edge of the door, and she tipped her head to the side. Voices, one low and rumbling while the other had a lilting brightness, their conversation muffled by distance until it was only a murmur. The noises that came through alongside the soft murmur were different. She knew those sounds, but Myrt also understood that here in Vanna and Truck’s home the noises carried a far different meaning than inside Sallabrook’s cabin. The squeak of mattress springs bounded to a rhythm augmented by the pleased cries Vanna offered, her tone pleading, but not for respite or assistance. Myrt imagined the tender care with which Truck had held Vanna in his arms last night would translate to a love-filled embrace in their marriage bed.

  Wanting to give them a privacy they’d never know about, Myrt stood and quickly dressed, then made her way downstairs. It took a few minutes to understand the coffee machine, which stood on the counter. Fortunately, there were clearly written instructions taped inside the cabinet door where Myrt found the canister of grounds, which meant soon enough the room filled with the delicious scent of brewing coffee. Finding all the foodstuffs needed for a hearty breakfast inside the refrigerator, she began preparations. The sounds upstairs had stopped, and rushing water filled in the silence. She mentally mapped the noise to her use of the bathroom yesterday to relieve herself and then wash up. They were bathing and would likely be downstairs soon, so Myrt laid the slices of bread she’d readied on a cookie sheet and popped it into the oven, this device also coming with easy-to-understand instructions in a plastic-covered sheet attached to the handle.

  By the time Vanna and Truck entered the kitchen, Myrt had places set at the table and was blowing on her fingers in between moving the oven-baked french toast to a serving plate. With a smile, Vanna came to her and wrapped her arms around Myrt gently, her voice soft as she greeted her. “Hope we didn’t wake you, honey. This all looks delicious. Soon as Truck smelled the coffee, he said you were a genius for knowing what his brain needed to wake up.” Vanna stepped back and reached around Myrt to open a drawer. “Spatula will keep your fingers from burning.” Instead of trying to take over and finish things, Vanna simply handed her the implement and turned away, her wordless movements telling Myrt she was trusted and her efforts were welcomed.

  Truck stood next to the coffee machine and lifted a filled mug to his mouth. He blew air across the top of the liquid and then sipped, smacking his lips with a grin. “Damn good cup of joe, Myrt. Thanks, honey.”

  She dipped her head nervously before turning back to the pan on top of the stove. Once all the pieces of toast were on the serving plate, she carried it and a pan of fried potatoes to the table, somehow not surprised to see Vanna perched on Truck’s thigh as he sat in a kitchen chair, her head resting against his shoulder. “It ain’t much.”

  “It’s food I didn’t have to make, so trust me when I say it’s perfect.” Vanna flashed her a quick grin as she reached out with a fork to transfer a piece of toast to her plate. “I’ve got some syrup in the pantry.” She stood, and Truck grabbed for her hip, laughing when he came up empty-handed. “Gotta be faster than that, old man.”

  “I’m your old man,” he shot back, retrieving his own stack of toast. “Grab the butter from the fridge.” Using the edge of his fork, he cut into the toast. “Smells real good, honey.”

  Myrt watched their interaction with interest, noting again how happy they were around each other. Vanna had been pleasant yesterday, truly kind and caring, but the moment Truck’s footsteps were heard inside the house, she’d brightened somehow, as if she were more herself in his presence.

  Syrup and butter deposited on the table, Vanna slid her plate around in front of a chair, leaving Truck to his own devices. Probably a good idea, given the syrup. Pleased with contributing to these two people who’d taken her in overnight, Myrt watched as they ate. Until Truck noticed she hadn’t begun her own meal. Then he gently urged her to eat. Vanna’s gaze on him shared her sense of pride that he would care so for someone else.

  After a second stack of toast had made its way to his plate and been eaten, Truck pushed back from the table, hands folded across his stomach. He stared so pointedly at Vanna that Myrt knew it was some kind of silent signal. Sure enough, as soon as Vanna finished the bite in her mouth and swallowed, she leaned forwards, elbow to the table as she looked steadily at Myrt.

  “Myrtle, I know we talked yesterday about you staying a couple of days.”

  A sickening feeling curdled the food in her stomach, and she dropped her chin to her throat, eyes closed. Her heart pumped loudly in her ears, drowning out everything else in the room. Here she’d been thinking they didn’t mind her being around and her wanting to pay them back for their kindness, and then they’d been forced to share a meal with her while waiting on the right time to tell her to leave. Myrt’s throat clicked as she swallowed, and she shoved her chair back, standing and turning to leave the room.

  “Myrtle, stop right there.”

  Truck’s loud voice froze her in her tracks, but she didn’t turn, keeping her back towards the couple as she waited for the final blow from whatever proclamation he was about to make.

  “She didn’t hear a thing you said, babe. Look at her; she thinks we’re kickin’ her to the curb, when that’s the farthest thing from the truth.” Wooden chair legs scraped across the floor as the seating was quickly rearranged. “Make it right, Vanna, or we’re gonna lose her.”

  His words didn’t make sense. They didn’t line up with what Vanna had said, what Myrt had heard, so she waited, wondering.

  “Oh, honey, please. Please, come back to the table.” Heat from Vanna’s palm settled on Myrt’s arm, and she was pulled in a half circle. Eyes averted, she couldn’t bring herself to look into the woman’s face, not wanting to see the rejection that must’ve taken up residence there. “Come on.” Myrt went with the tug, passively following Vanna back to the table. She sat in her chair where it had come to rest from her quick departure, angled towards the door and well away from the edge of the table. A chair appeared directly in front of her, and she glanced up as Vanna settled herself, knees touching Myrt’s.

  “You thought we wanted you to leave?”

  Truck’s question was as gentle as the man could make his voice, probably, the sound more a soothing rumble than the growl it had been moments ago. Myrt nodded, compelled to answer him.

  “Oh, honey. Furthest thing in the world from what we want.” He positioned himself behind Vanna, both of them now between Myrt and the doorway. Not that she felt trapped or penned in, but the idea they wanted to put the brakes on her leaving gave her a sliver of hope. “Tell her, babe.”

  “Myrtle, stay.
Days, weeks, months, years even. We want you here because we want you safe and healthy. You’re a sweet girl, with one of the kindest souls, and we want to be part of your family if you’ll let us.”

  The pain that had set up residence behind her breastbone eased, unclamping slightly and giving her room to take in a shuddering breath. “I thought you were already tired of me.”

  “Farthest thing from the truth.” Vanna reused Truck’s words, her firm tone filled with reassurance Myrt needed. “With our son out of the house, it’s too quiet around here. I’d love to have a companion as you heal, and it’ll give me a chance to make sure you take care of yourself. It’s a mom thing, honey. Hurts my heart to think of you out in the world like this, or anytime. Life’s hard, and I—we—want to make it easier for you.”

  “You don’t even know me.” That was a concerning truth, because she hadn’t told them much about Sallabrook, a glancing slide across the top of the truth. Her husband had beaten her and she’d run away. No reason to go into the gory details simply because things were difficult. “I could be a thief.”

  “You’re not.” Myrt glanced up at Truck, surprised to see a fierce expression on his face so at odds with the tender tone his words had taken. “Trust me when I tell you I know thieves and liars and bad people of all types. So when I say I believe my gut, it’s because I’ve had exposure and am a damn good judge of people.” He lifted his chin. “You’re no more bad than my Vanna is. You’re sweet and kind and young. So fuckin’ young, honey. I expect you’d cut off your hand before you did anything to hurt her or me. I’m seldom wrong about something like this, so don’t even think you can feed me a line of bullshit.”

  “I don’t understand.” This was the best way to approach it, the way her mother had told her the schools used. A give and take of ideas, where admitting to ignorance was seen as the highest merit of honesty. Myrt’s mother had been educated, having gone to college a whole semester before her disastrous marriage. If she hadn’t died…

  “We have a room. You need a room. Vanna’s alone in the house a lot now, and my…” He sighed softly. “My job means I have to be gone sometimes.” His slight hesitation was more pronounced because the rest of his words were so definite. His jaw firmed, and he stroked a hand down his beard. “I don’t like when she’s out here all alone. Kitt, our boy, had a dog, and havin’ an early warning system always made me sleep better. But the pup moved out with him, which leaves Vanna here by herself. If you could see your way clear to staying with us for a time, that’ll soothe my mind, honey.”

  “Myrt, I hate I hurt you like I did.” Myrt’s cold fingers were covered by Vanna’s warm palm and gripped gently. “I started off wrong. What I was trying to say was, you and I had talked about a couple of days, but I wanted to extend our invitation indefinitely.” Vanna gave their joined hands a shake that Myrt felt to the soles of her feet. An emphasis to her words, a physical reassurance that this was a real offer. “We want you here, and not only because you make a mean breakfast.” Myrt looked up in time to see Vanna share a watery smile with Truck. “We want you here because we need you, maybe more than you can believe right now. But it’s the truth.”

  Each breath was more difficult, her throat tight. Vanna’s kindness stirred something inside Myrt, eventually eliciting the kind of gratitude her mother had modeled. Myrt stared down at her lap, her gaze slowly coming into focus on the clothing she wore. Everything on her body was from the generosity of this woman who had crowded close to try to right an imaginary wrong. Myrt turned her hand inside Vanna’s grip, folding her fingers around the other woman’s and holding tightly.

  “It’s been a long time since someone made me feel worth saving.” Her lips were dry, a condition hardly changed when she ran the tip of her tongue across the surface. “Since someone talked to me like I mean something. Just that right there’s worth nearly anything. Makin’ me feel like somebody. It’s hard to hold on to yourself when everything comin’ at you is ugly. You’re offering me a slice of sweetness right here, and I’m not stupid. I’m going to hold to it until you take it back.”

  “We won’t.” Vanna’s fingers spasmed in hers, an expression of pain crossing her face. “Not takin’ anything back. Not ever. You’re part of the family now, honey.”

  Chapter Three

  Vanna

  Unsnapping the clothespin, Vanna removed the towel from the line. Dropping the fastener into the bag hanging nearby for that purpose, she snapped the fabric away from the breeze, ensuring any creepy crawlies that might have taken up residence were forcefully evicted. Matching edges, she folded the towel into a square, then into a column, and then into thirds, dropping the finished product into the basket at her feet. Two steps along the line and she repeated the process, interrupting her movements only to bring the fabric to her face and sniff, the smell of detergent mixing with the rich pine of the surrounding trees.

  The back door of the house creaked behind her, and Vanna glanced over her shoulder, smiling at Myrt, who was making her way outside with another basketful of wet things.

  In the weeks since Myrt had come to live with Vanna and Truck, they’d settled into an easy routine that was comfortable and good. The girl was up way too early of a morning, but Truck had come to appreciate having coffee ready and hot when he rolled out of bed. If Myrt had her way, she’d feed them a banquet breakfast every day, and it was only when Vanna had shared her worries about Truck’s diet that Myrt had slacked off on her over-the-top efforts. Now cut fruit was as likely to make an appearance as a ham and cheese omelet, which Vanna appreciated far more than Truck did.

  Days like today, when the two women worked together for a common goal, were some of the best. Vanna hadn’t enjoyed a companion like this in a long time.

  As if on cue, her phone buzzed in the pocket of her jeans, and she slung the towel she was working on over her shoulder, digging the device out. She tapped the icon to accept the call, and a woman’s image lit up the screen, a broad smile on her face as she cradled her youngest child against her shoulder.

  Sharon had come into her life much as Myrtle had—caught up in desperate need, filled with terror at having experienced the worst of humankind. As with Myrt, Sharon had lived with Vanna, sharing the house with Kitt, Vanna’s son. That had been before Truck, and the profound changes he’d wrought in Vanna’s life. It had also been before Gunny had found Sharon, latching on like she was the most precious thing he’d ever known. They saved each other.

  “Vanna Mom!” Girlish shrieks came from the background, and Vanna could see the tops of Sharon’s two daughters bumping up and down. From the corner of her eye, she saw Myrt’s head lift quickly as the girl stopped in place, a wave of surprise rushing across her face.

  “Cade and Kitten, I can scarcely see you girls. Where are you?”

  Sharon rolled her eyes, and the video jittered before she stopped trying to push the girls away. “Stop it now, kiddos. Josh, get down, buddy. Time to go play in the backyard. There are bugs there, remember?” The little boy whose cheek rested on her shoulder shook his head back and forth, snuggling in tighter against her neck. “Vanna, I wanted to talk, but this is just…ugh.” Sharon blew bangs off her forehead with a stream of air. “I’ll call you back?”

  “No, just hand the phone to Cade. Let me talk to the girls for a minute, then I’ll get her to bring it back. That’ll give you a minute to see why Josh boy doesn’t wanna go hunt for bugs. Tell him Vanna Mom’s worried about her boy. Bugs are a big deal.”

  “Okay, give me half a sec—” Sharon turned away from the phone, her brows drawn together. “Cade, can you take—no, Kitten, Cade’s going to hold the phone. Stop. Cade, can you please—?” The view changed from Sharon’s profile to a close-up of a girl no more than ten years old. This was Cadence, Sharon and Gunny’s oldest. Katherine was two years younger, followed by Joshua a year later. Cade, Kitten, and Josh were the light of Vanna’s life, and she loved the kids as if she were their blood grandmother, instead of an adopted one.<
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  “Girls, oh my goodness. I swear you grow inches between every time I get to see you. And look at that pretty tattoo. Does Daddy know you’ve got a cartoon on your cheek? It’s gorgeous. Both of you are my little sweethearts.” She kept up the quick and engaging patter, tag-teaming the girls effectively while in the background she could hear Sharon talking to Josh. After catching up on the outcome of an earthworm experiment (turned out the children had found out captured earthworms could escape a bowl if left unguarded overnight), listening to them sing her an off-tune rendition of a popular country song, and soaking up the excitement of seeing her girls again, Vanna gently guided the interactions back around to the girls’ mother, and a few minutes later the phone was returned to Sharon’s hands. Sans Josh, who now seemed to be off chasing his sisters through the backyard, accompanied by the bright barks and low woofs of Sharon and Gunny’s pack of dogs.

  “Whew.” Sharon puffed her bangs up as she walked into the shade next to the house and sat where she could watch out over the backyard. The home and terrain were familiar to Vanna, her many visits over the years giving her a good sense of things. “That was chaotic to the extreme.”

  “What was up with Josh?” Vanna studied Sharon’s face, noting the fatigue etched in the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes. “He’s getting too big for you to cart around like that, kiddo. Gonna wreck your back.”