Guardian Groom

by Shelley Cooper

  Lyle settled his gaze on Kate once they’d taken a seat across from him at the empty table. Steve tried to read something in the other man’s eyes: recognition, surprise, evil intent. All he saw was polite interest.

  “My wife,” Steve said by way of introduction.

  “Pleased to meetcha,” Lyle said.

  True to her word, Kate just nodded.

  Lyle certainly looked the part he’d chosen to play, Steve reflected. Gone were the torn T-shirts, the gold chains and earrings, the black bandanna tied around his head, and the ever-present cigarette protruding from the corner of his mouth. In their place Steve saw a clean-shaven man who was neatly dressed in jeans and a white, short-sleeved shirt. If he didn’t know any better, he could almost believe Lyle was the convert he professed to be.

  Folding his hands in front of him, Steve centered his gaze unblinkingly on Lyle. “So, you’ve finally made your mama proud. I bet she’s thrilled to have a preacher in the family.”

  Lyle nodded gravely, as if he didn’t hear the sarcasm in Steve’s voice. “She is at that.” Then, grinning at Steve for all the world as if he were happy to see him, he added, “So, Stevie boy, it’s been a long time.”

  “We haven’t exactly been keeping the same company.”

  Lyle gave a soft bark of laughter and ruefully shook his head. “Ain’t that the truth? Man, you can say that again.”

  Steve nodded at their surroundings. “Kinda quiet around here. Must get boring, just hanging around.”

  “Boring? Are you kiddin’, man? This is where the action’s at!” Lyle’s voice grew impassioned. “Lives are at stake here. No, Stevie boy, I’m anything but bored.”

  According to the law of the hood, by all rights Lyle should be plotting his revenge, not hanging out here. He’d been betrayed by the man he’d thought of as a brother. It was his sworn duty to seek vengeance. So why was Steve suddenly feeling as if things didn’t add up, as if something was going on here that he didn’t understand?

  “Rumor is, you’ve found religion.”

  Lyle raised the Bible in his hand. “It’s no rumor, bro. It took the good Lord a good number of years to knock some sense into this thick skull of mine, but I’ve finally seen the light. I’ve mended my ways. From now on, I walk the straight and narrow. I’ve made it my life’s goal to bring the good word to others.”

  “Witnessing here won’t put food on your table, clothes on your body, or a roof over your head,” Steve pointed out.

  “Yes, but it does nurture my soul. That’s what’s important, brother. My soul.”

  “So is money for food, shelter and clothing. How are you paying for those?”

  Lyle’s fingers caressed the worn leather cover of the Bible. “I work nights busin’ tables at a restaurant a few blocks from here.”

  Steve wasn’t going to take Lyle’s word for it; he intended to check this claim out. “How are your brothers in the hood dealing with your...shall we say, change of heart?”

  Sadness flickered in Lyle’s eyes. “There is no hood, Stevie boy. Not for me, anyway. Like I told you, I’m a changed man.”

  “Lay off the bull, Lyle,” he said harshly. “I’m not buying.”

  Instead of blustering about being unjustly accused, Lyle stared at him calmly. “You gonna tell me why you’re here?”

  “I’m here to warn you.”

  “About what?”

  Steve leaned forward until he was almost nose-to-nose with the other man. In a voice that was no less menacing for its softness, he narrowed his eyes and said, “If I find out you’re the one threatening my wife, not even the God you profess to love so much is going to be able to save you.”

  Steve had expected one of two reactions: exaggerated innocence or heated denial. But Lyle didn’t act at all the way Steve had anticipated. Nor did he look the least bit intimidated by the threat Steve had made. What he looked was concerned. And that took Steve aback.

  “Someone’s threatenin’ this pretty lady here? And you think it’s me?”

  Steve clenched the hands he’d folded on the table and resisted the urge to wrap them around the other man’s throat and squeeze until the truth spilled out. He wished he had the evidence that would toss Lyle back behind bars, but so far the man had been crafty enough not to implicate himself. All Steve could do was poke, prod and provoke, in the hope that Lyle grew angry and careless enough to trip himself up.

  “I don’t just think it’s you, Lyle. I know it is. You’re the one sending her those threatening letters. You’re the one who pushed her into the street Monday morning. You’ve got a score to settle. I understand that. But you settle it with me. You stop threatening my wife. She has nothing to do with us.”

  Lyle spread his arms, as if inviting Steve to search him. “I haven’t threatened anyone, Stevie boy. Like I told you already, I got no score to settle. The slate is wiped clean. You’re lookin’ in the wrong place.”

  Steve felt his lip curl. “Is that so? Then why do I have this vivid recollection of you shouting at the top of your lungs, while they were dragging you away to your cell, how you were going to get me and everyone I ever cared about, if it was the last thing you ever did?”

  “I’m not the person I was then,” Lyle said. “Like I told you before, man, I’ve seen the error of my ways. I’m not interested in revenge.”

  “Then explain this. Why did my wife start receiving those letters the minute you were released from prison?”

  Lyle shrugged. “Coincidence? How should I know, man? All I know is, I didn’t send them. And I didn’t do no pushin’, either.”

  No heated protest. Just calm denial. This wasn’t going at all the way Steve had expected. Could he be wrong? Could Lyle really have changed? Was Kate’s biggest fan someone else entirely?

  He sent a questioning glance Kate’s way. Is he the man? She shook her head, and mouthed the word “no.”

  “You could have paid someone to do your dirty work for you,” he said to Lyle, not yet willing to give it up.

  Lyle looked amused. “With what? Busin’ tables ain’t exactly put me on Easy Street.”

  Steve didn’t want to believe that the Lyle he saw sitting before him was a different man from the one he’d helped lock away. People just didn’t shed their skin overnight, like a molting snake. Lord knows how much he’d wanted to change what he really was, deep inside. For a time, he’d even believed he’d succeeded, until one regrettable event had proven how wrong that belief had been. He was no longer fool enough to hope it could really happen.

  “Isn’t this the part where you quote me passage and verse to convince me of your innocence?” Still hoping to provoke some sort of reaction, Steve made his voice deliberately insolent.

  Lyle’s smile was both sad and understanding. “No, man. One thing I’ve learned is that you can’t convince a brother who’s determined to disbelieve.”

  “You’ve got that right, at least. Want to tell me where you were Monday morning around eleven?”

  Lyle thought a minute. “With my parole officer. I can give you his number, if you like.”

  “I like.” Steve committed the name and telephone number to memory. “What about one o’clock that same day? Where were you then?”

  “Here, like always. Ask anyone. The man who runs this place has an office in back. Reverend Hopkins. He’ll tell you how much time I spend here.”

  Frustrated that things hadn’t turned out at all the way he’d planned, Steve pushed his chair back. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Kate follow suit.

  “I’ll be watching you, Lyle,” he warned. “Make one wrong move, and you’re going back to the slammer for a long, long time.”

  Lyle stood, too. “Watch away, Stevie boy. Watch away. I got nothin’ to hide.”

  Taking Kate by the elbow, Steve ushered her away from the table.

  “Stevie,” the other man called softly.

  Pausing, Steve glanced over his shoulder.

  “It does my heart good to see you and your old l
ady still together. There’s too much divorce these days. Seems like no one takes their marriage vows seriously anymore. What God has joined together, let no man divide. Right, bro? Be happy, man. Keep the faith. You’ll catch this guy.”

  Until Lyle brought it to his attention, Steve hadn’t realized he’d referred to Kate as his wife. Not once, but several times. It would have been easy to chalk the mistake up to a slip of the tongue, and he was half tempted to do so. But this was an afternoon for facing truths, unpalatable though they might be. Steve had learned two very important things during this visit. Number one: In all probability, Lyle wasn’t the man they were looking for. And number two: In his heart, he still thought of Kate as his wife.

  He waited until Kent had signaled the all clear and they were back in the car to speak. “You really didn’t recognize him?”

  “I’ve never seen him before,” she confirmed.

  “What about his voice? Did it sound familiar?”

  “No. The voice of the man who pushed me was deep, almost bass. Lyle’s definitely a tenor. I don’t think he’s the man we’re looking for, Steve.”

  “Unfortunately, neither do I.” He hesitated. “About me introducing you as my wife...”

  Kate held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain. I know it was just for effect. You were hoping Lyle would trip himself up by admitting that he knew we were divorced.”

  If only that were true, he thought.

  “What are you going to do now?” she asked.

  “Check out Lyle’s alibi. Just to be sure.”

  “And after that?”

  With all his heart, Steve wished that Lyle was the man they sought. He was a known entity, someone they could track and eventually outwit. Instead, the person stalking Kate was still an unknown, shadowy figure who was all the more dangerous because of that anonymity. Her biggest fan could be anyone, from an old school chum she’d unwittingly slighted to the Pope himself. The only thing they were certain of at this point was that the person who’d shoved her in front of that bus was male. With every passing moment, their suspect pool only grew, instead of diminishing. Damn.

  Oh, they’d keep an eye on Lyle. Steve wasn’t a fool. But in his gut he knew nothing would come of it.

  “Look elsewhere,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” Kate replied. “It’s obvious this has really gotten you down.”

  He should be the one comforting her, he thought guiltily. “I’m sorry, too.” Shaking off his bad mood, he adopted a businesslike attitude. “But I’m not down. I prefer to look at this positively. After all, we’ve just eliminated one player from the field. We have one less suspect to concern ourselves with.”

  He was thankful when she let the matter drop. Instead, she surprised him by asking, “Do you play Scrabble?”

  “Why?”

  “I’d like to invite my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Edmund, and her friend, Clara Mae Edgington, over to play this evening.”

  So, she’d been thinking about the weekend, too. Was she just trying to fill the empty hours, or did the thought of their being alone together disturb her as much as it did him?

  He also wondered why, despite her assertion that she didn’t want to put him in danger, she hadn’t invited David. After all, she was willing to entertain her next-door neighbor. Could it be that she wasn’t as enamored of him as Steve had supposed?

  “I guess I could manage a game or two,” he said.

  Kate’s smile was wry. “Your enthusiasm is overwhelming.”

  He grinned. “I don’t suppose you could talk Mrs. Edmund and her friend into a game of Trivial Pursuit?”

  She looked scandalized. “With your photographic memory? That would hardly be fair, would it? A word of advice, though. Don’t let their sweet-old-lady act fool you. When it comes to Scrabble, Clara Mae and Mrs. E. are ruthless.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “One more thing,” she added, as if the idea had just occurred to her. “When you’re making up next week’s schedule tomorrow, I want to slot a visit to the cemetery on Sunday.”

  The image of the toddler in the stroller flashed in his mind. Had the sight of that little girl prompted Kate’s request?

  “The cemetery?” he asked, his chest tight.

  “Yes. I want to take flowers to my mother’s and Molly’s graves.”

  Other than the funeral, he’d never been able to visit his daughter’s final resting place. “Do you do this often?”

  “Every Sunday.”

  Relief coursed through him. “It’s not safe, Kate. We need to vary your routine.”

  “Then we’ll go in the morning, instead of the afternoon.” The look in her eyes told him she’d brook no resistance on this one. “I need to do this, Steve. I’ll understand, though, if you don’t want to come. Kent can go with me, instead. I won’t mind.”

  He’d never said goodbye, he realized. Not in his heart, anyway. Maybe it was time.

  “That won’t be necessary. I’ll go with you.”

  Chapter 9

  Mrs. Edmund looked as if she had just stepped out of a nineteenth-century painting. The elderly woman was slight and stooped, with snow-white hair, paper-thin skin and piercing blue eyes. Despite the warmth of the night air, she wore an ankle-length print dress. A matching kerchief covered her hair.

  In contrast, Clara Mae Edgington had broad, upright shoulders and a solid body that hinted at a robust constitution. Her outfit consisted of a no-nonsense black, knee-length dress and a pair of sturdy black shoes. Ace bandages encircled her ankles, and her stockings had been rolled down to form a ridge just below her knees. Though she didn’t need it, like Mrs. Edmund, she relied on a cane to help her maintain her balance.

  After ushering the two women into the living room, Steve had murmured something about refreshments and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Kate to handle the greetings.

  “Thank you for inviting us over, dear,” Mrs. Edmund said as she made her slow way to the card table Kate had set up in the middle of the floor. “I’ve been looking forward to our game ever since you called. Haven’t I, Clara Mae?”

  “It’s all she could talk about,” Clara Mae confirmed. “Thank you for the invitation, Kate. Although why a pretty young woman such as yourself would want to waste the evening with a couple of old biddies is beyond me.”

  “Old biddy, indeed,” Mrs. Edmund harrumphed. “Speak for yourself, Clara Mae. You’re only as old as you feel, and right now I feel about twenty-seven.”

  “You may feel twenty-seven, but you look seventyseven,” Clara Mae retorted.

  Smiling, Kate pulled out Mrs. Edmund’s chair and waited while the older woman gingerly settled herself. She only hoped that she had half her neighbor’s energy, and her youthful outlook on life, when she was the same age. One thing was for certain: there never was a dull moment when Mrs. Edmund and Clara Mae were around. Which was exactly what Kate was counting on.

  “I’m glad you both could come. I’ve been looking forward to tonight, too.” More than they would ever know.

  Truth was, she had invited the women over because she’d panicked at the thought of spending the weekend alone with Steve. And to cut down on his flute playing. Beautiful and haunting as the music was, like his presence, it aroused emotions in her that she didn’t want to deal with. Plus, it was driving her crazy. Why couldn’t he just while away his free time watching ESPN, like any other normal adult male?

  Instead, night after night, he sat in her den, or in his room, and played songs about life and love. “Danny Boy.” “Clair de Lune.” “I’ll Take You Home Again, Kathleen.” “When A Man Loves A Woman.”

  And night after night, Kate lay awake, listening and wanting him. Last night, he’d played “Unchained Melody,” and it had been all she could do to force herself to remain rigid in her bed, teeth clenched and arms held stiffly at her sides, while she fought the urge to go to him. Like the words to the song, she’d hungered for his touch and his love with a ferocity that had shaken he
r to her very being.

  That was when she’d told herself it had to stop. She was to the point now that she even wished her biggest fan would do something—anything—to take her mind off Steve. If something didn’t happen soon, she might even be driven to calling her brothers and asking them to take turns coming over. Not that they didn’t do that already. But weekends were traditionally the time they devoted to their own private lives. And a weekend without any warm bodies to run interference between her and Steve was definitely not what the doctor had ordered.

  She was spending too much time with him. That was the problem. His proximity was making her forget what had torn them apart in the first place. Or maybe she was remembering all the wrong things, like how incredible they’d been together physically. That he’d been her only lover probably fed into the hunger that seemed to grow exponentially with every passing minute.

  He was the sum of all the fantasies she’d ever had. The only way she could see of changing that was to become involved with someone else. Call David, the voice inside her head kept urging. But David wasn’t the man who was going to make her forget Steve. She knew that now. She would only be using him for her own selfish purposes if she continued to lead him on, and that she would not allow herself to do.

  If she didn’t get a break soon, though, she was afraid she’d start hoping for the impossible. She was afraid she’d start believing that she and Steve could make things work, an event as probable as her column winning the Pulitzer prize.

  The theory behind the Scrabble invitation had been twofold. First, Mrs. Edmund and Clara Mae would serve as a much-needed buffer between her and Steve. In addition, both women were avid players. Kate would have her hands full getting them to quit after three or four games. Mrs. Edmund might appear frail and shrunken with age, but when it came to her games, she had incredible stamina. Kate would be lucky to shoo the duo out the door by midnight.

  And that was the whole point of the exercise. If she exhausted Steve enough, both physically and mentally, it was her dearest wish that he’d be too drained to pick up that blasted flute. He’d go straight to bed, and for once Kate could get a good night’s sleep. That was what she really needed to put things into perspective. A good night’s sleep, and she’d be able to meet his gaze again and not ache for the feel of his mouth on hers. A good night’s sleep, and she’d be able to look at him and not yearn to have their bodies, naked and straining, entwined.