by Lucy Connors
“Well, at least the best burgers in the county,” he said, grinning at both of us. He started polishing his spotless counter again, and I led Victoria toward the last booth in the row, so we could have a little privacy to talk.
Nora, the diner’s only waitress, pointed at the rack of plastic-covered menus, and I took two as I passed by. Nora preferred to work hard only on days of the week that didn’t end in “Y,” but she was always cheerful about it, so nobody ever complained much.
“Drinks?”
“Water, please,” Victoria said.
I waited until I got closer and nobody but Nora and Victoria would hear me. “A Coke for me, Nora, and can I get an extra cup of ice, please, and a clean cloth?”
Nora’s sharp eyes scanned Victoria’s face, but she just nodded and headed toward the drink dispenser.
I gestured to Victoria to take the seat with its back toward the rest of the diner, and I slid into the seat facing her.
“Is it really bad?” She looked up at me, lifting her hair up out of the way so I could see, and rage flooded me. I wanted to go back in time and knock Sam Oliver down all over again.
“It’s bad,” I admitted. “Your skin is so fair that the bruising really shows up. I’m so sorry.”
“It was my fault.” She attempted a smile, and my gut clenched at her courage.
I doubted many girls—hell, many guys, either—who’d been clocked by one of the biggest guys on the Clark High football team would be brave enough to smile about it.
“If I hadn’t tried to get in his way, my face wouldn’t have punched him in the fist so hard,” she said, but then she flinched and put a hand over her face. “Okay, smiling actually hurts quite a bit. No more smiling.”
Nora showed back up at the table with our drinks, the ice, Tylenol, and a furious expression.
“Who did this to you, young lady? Mickey, I hope you beat the shit out of him, whoever it was,” she said fiercely, and warmth spiraled up through me at the complete sincerity in her voice.
She obviously hadn’t thought for a second that I’d been the one who hit Victoria, and it was almost pathetic how grateful I was for someone who didn’t condemn me on the spot—guilty of nothing more than being born a Rhodale.
Victoria studied the menu while she took a couple of Tylenol and put some ice in the cloth Nora handed her and then against her cheek. She ordered a chocolate milkshake and I asked for a shake, too, and a double burger and fries to go with it.
“Extra pickles,” Nora said, and I nodded my thanks.
She rested her hand briefly on Victoria’s shoulder. “Honey, if you want to call the cops on whoever did this, or you need a place to crash for a few nights while you get away, you let me know. Any friend of Mickey’s and all that.”
Victoria’s beautiful green eyes shimmered, but she didn’t let the tears spill over. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate that, Nora, but it really was an accident. I got in between two stubborn guys—”
“No need to say anything else, honey. Mickey, you make sure she doesn’t do it again, you hear me?”
I nodded and waited until Nora headed off with our order before I spoke. “She’s right. I need to make sure it doesn’t happen again, but first you have to tell me how to keep a stubborn girl from standing up for me whenever she thinks I need it.”
Victoria’s cheeks turned pink, and she shrugged. “You keep trying to take the blame for things that are my fault. What else can I do?”
“You can let me sink or swim on my own efforts, like everybody else in my life. Except my mother,” I said.
“Now you’re comparing me to your mother? I’m not sure how to take that,” she teased, and I could tell she was trying to distract me.
It was my turn to shrug. “My mom is smart and kind, and so are you. I think you two would like each other.”
Victoria blinked, moving the ice away from her cheek for a minute. “Most guys I know never talk about their mothers except to complain, like they think it’s not cool or something.”
“I’m not most guys.” I leaned forward and gently lifted her hand so the ice pressed to her cheek again. “The more you keep ice on this, the less it will swell. We can stop at the drugstore and get you some arnica gel, too. That really helps.”
Nora headed back toward us with our milkshakes, and she pulled a tube of the very stuff out of her pocket. “This will help a lot, honey. Apply some a few times a day, until the bruising goes away completely.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
“Take it. I have extra,” Nora advised, her lips tightening.
“Thank you,” Victoria whispered. “You’re very kind.”
“Humph.” Nora marched off, but I could tell she was pleased.
“What’s the story? Why does she have Tylenol and arnica gel?” Victoria questioned, looking grim, and I nodded.
The story was grim.
“Nora’s ex beat her nearly to death with her own furniture when she asked for a divorce. After she recovered from that, she made it her mission in life to make sure that any woman who needs to get away from an abuser has a safe place to land. She works at the women’s shelter several days a week.”
“How do you know all this?”
“Small town, small county. Also, Mom does a donation drive for clothes for the shelter a couple of times a year. Some of her students wind up living there with their mothers for a while, sometimes.”
A dark shadow crossed over Victoria’s face, and she dropped her gaze to stare blindly down at her milkshake. “Those boys . . . they were threatening to take me in the woods and . . . do you think they—that they—”
“Would have raped you if I hadn’t been there to stop them?” I was blunt, but she deserved an honest answer.
She nodded.
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I know Sam Oliver and the rest of them, and none of them have been the type to hurt girls in the past. I also think that somebody would have called 911. Sam wasn’t thinking straight because of his dad getting fired, and the rest was just mob mentality kicking in.”
“Mob mentality, though—that’s led to rapes and worse,” Victoria pointed out, and I didn’t disagree.
She put the ice down on the table, and I saw that her hands were shaking. “This is going to get worse before it gets better, isn’t it?”
I grinned and took her hands in mine, both to warm them up and to stop the trembling. “Hey, at least you’re optimistic.”
She blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“You think things are going to get better.”
Chapter 25
Victoria
I started to laugh; it was that or cry, but my face hurt too much to laugh. The Tylenol would probably start to kick in soon, so I tried to sip the milkshake. It was thick and good, and the icy smoothness actually helped my jaw feel a little better. Or maybe it was just my inner chocolate fiend telling me that. Either way, it made me happy.
Nora brought Mickey’s enormous platter of food, and I stole a few French fries while he demolished the rest of the plate, and we talked about anything other than the feud. He told me about growing up with his family and a half, and I told him about the pressure to always maintain the Whitfield image. He thought I’d like his half sister, Caroline. I told him Buddy would adore him, especially when he heard that Mickey knew how to play ball.
“There’s a great league he can be part of this summer,” he said, before downing the rest of his milkshake.
“I mean this in the nicest possible way, but do you have a hollow leg? How do you eat like that and stay in such great shape?”
He flashed one of those unfair sexy smiles of his, so hot it almost melted the ice I was still holding to my cheek. “You think I’m in great shape?”
“You know you are.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t ask me to stroke your eg
o when I look like an escapee from the World Wrestling Federation.”
His smile faded. “You look like the bravest and most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. I spend half of my time wanting to be with you and the other half knowing I should stay away from you, for your sake.”
“Don’t say that,” I said, my breath suddenly catching in my throat. “Not now, not after all this. I don’t think I could take it.”
We stared at each other for a long time, trapped in the moment, the other diners’ voices fading to a distant buzz in my ears, and finally he nodded.
“Okay. Tell me about riding and races and horses. Why don’t you ride sidesaddle, like the rich girls in those movies?”
I started to laugh. “Ouch. Okay, I don’t ride sidesaddle because I’m not a delicate flower living a couple of hundred years ago, or somebody who takes part in the very specialized niche of sidesaddle riding and competition.”
“Tell me about thoroughbreds, then.”
I told him about the ranch and the horses and about how I’d always lived for the time we spent at the ranch with Gran. I’d never felt at home in the city, not really, and it was only when I was out on the ranch, working in the barn or riding, that I felt like I could finally take a deep breath.
“Riding is the closest a person can come to flying without an airplane, Mickey. It’s incredible. And yet so many things can go wrong; the balance is so delicate—it’s dangerous, too, but the risk is worth the reward, a hundred times over.”
Was I still talking about riding? Or the chance at a relationship with Mickey? I realized I didn’t even know.
“I wouldn’t have agreed the other night, watching you fall,” he said dryly.
He paused. “Was the horse okay, by the way?”
His concern made me smile. I couldn’t have cared about anybody who treated my beloved horses callously.
“She’s fine, thank goodness. Anyway, it wasn’t her fault. Horses are the most amazing creatures. So powerful and so incredibly beautiful, Mickey, and even when I’m mucking out the stalls or cleaning hooves, I can’t help but be struck by the wonder of nature and feel privileged to be around them.”
I stopped, suddenly aware that I was rambling like an idiot, but he was nodding seriously.
“It’s like Kentucky,” he said. “Or how I feel about it, anyway. There are so many parts of this state that are suffering crushing poverty, but when you drive by and see a little kid digging in the dirt of a barren yard in front of the backdrop of the Kentucky hills, there’s a kind of stark beauty in it. Almost as if God is saying, poor folks can be beautiful, too.”
The words reverberated in my mind, catching at my emotions.
“Who are you?” I whispered, leaning forward and reaching across the table to touch his sternly gorgeous face, almost afraid he’d disappear beneath my fingertips. “The face of an angel, the soul of a poet, and the fists of a fighter. I don’t know how to understand you, Mickey.”
Mickey caught my hand with his and then turned his head and pressed a soft kiss in my palm. “I’m not the only poet at this table.”
“So which of you two poets wants a piece of our excellent pecan pie?” Nora asked. I jumped, almost knocking over my glass of water.
“You move quietly,” I said, smiling at her.
“Nah, I clomp around pretty loudly. You were both too busy staring soulfully into each other’s eyes to notice.” Her eyes were twinkling when she said it, so I couldn’t take offense or even be too embarrassed, although my cheeks flamed hot anyway.
“I’ll have pie,” Mickey said, and I groaned.
“Where does he put it?”
Nora laughed. “Been wondering that about teenage boys for nearly forty years, hon. That and how is it fair that they get the best eyelashes?” She grabbed Mickey’s face and tilted it up, so I could fully admire the long dark sweep of his lashes.
“Okay, okay,” Mickey muttered, pulling his face away and grinning sheepishly. “Enough. I’d better get Victoria home. Why don’t I take that pie to go?”
Nora nodded, scribbled something on our check, left it on the table, and headed off.
My face started to hurt again at the mention of home. I wasn’t ready for that.
“Mickey, I don’t know if I can.”
“I know, but Principal Scott will have called your house. They’re going to be wondering where you are, and probably calling the National Guard any minute.”
My eyes widened. “Crap. I left my phone in the truck. I wasn’t even thinking about that.”
He sighed, closing his eyes. “Yeah, and my Pa will have half his deputies out looking for me. This was a wonderful bubble of escape, but it’s time to face the music.”
I cautiously tried moving my face. It still hurt, but the Tylenol had kicked in and given me a little relief.
“I don’t—wait. Tomorrow night I have to go to some stupid Founders’ Day dance downtown. Are you going?”
He shook his head. “Not a chance. When Pa hears I’ve been suspended, he’ll hit the roof. My mother won’t be happy either; she’s a teacher. Buddy’s teacher, actually. Anyway, they won’t let me show my face at the dance.”
“Buddy loves his teacher. She told him he was very observant.” I grinned when he looked confused, but then my stomach sank again. “Well, I should probably stay home anyway, since I’ll look like Frankenstein’s monster by tomorrow.”
“Wait a minute,” Mickey said slowly. “You tell them you want to stay home. I’ll stay home. Then I’ll come get you and we’ll get out of town and have an actual date, someplace where nobody knows either of us. No Rhodale crap, no Whitfield crap—just me and you. What do you say?”
I should say no.
There was no way I was saying no.
“Yes.”
We picked up the pie, paid the check, and left Nora a great tip. She pulled me aside before we left and pressed a piece of paper in my hand.
“Just in case, honey. You stick with Mickey, you hear? He’s good people.” She smiled, and I impulsively leaned forward and hugged her. My mother would have been horrified.
When we got outside, I saw that she’d given me her phone number. I held it tight, feeling her kindness permeating the paper as if it were a tiny scrap of magical protection.
Mickey drove again, holding my hand all the way. We pulled into the now-empty school parking lot, and he kissed me very gently before he got out of the truck, careful not to hurt my poor wounded face.
When I pulled away to breathe, the slow, sexy smile that spread across Mickey’s face scattered my thoughts even further.
“You have to quit biting your lip, Victoria.” He wrapped a strand of my hair around his fingers. “Every time you do, it makes me want to kiss you again.”
I smiled and deliberately bit my lip, and he groaned.
“Sure, use my own pitiful confessions against me. One of these days, I’ll get you completely alone for longer than five minutes, and then we’ll have this discussion again,” he said—either a warning or a promise—and a thrill of anticipation zinged through me.
“Maybe tomorrow,” I said, trying not to sound too eager.
“I really hope so,” he said fervently, making me laugh.
“There. That’s the smile I wanted to see before I let you go face the dragon,” he said, stepping back from the truck. “Call me later if you can.”
“I will,” I promised. “Good luck with your parents.”
He nodded. “I’m going to need it.”
Chapter 26
Mickey
The principal had called my parents. There was plenty of yelling from Pa and disappointed looks from Mom, until I explained the whole thing, and then my sweet, kind, peace-loving mother told me she hoped I’d broken Sam’s nose.
That took the wind out of me and Pa, and we kind of tiptoed around after that
, doing chores and eventually making dinner on the grill out back so she didn’t have to cook, while trying not to talk too loudly.
“Do you think she’s going through the change?” Pa looked anywhere but at me when he asked it, and I turned and started studying the rain gutters to see if they needed cleaning. The Rhodale man’s way to handle female stuff. Any minute now, one of us would head off to club a woolly mammoth or something.
Mom’s voice came floating through the kitchen window. “I heard that. I am not going through the change. I can be proud of my son for being chivalrous and standing up to bullies who were trying to harm an innocent girl without it having been caused by hormonal imbalance.”
Her face appeared in the window, and she stared out at us, waving a spatula around. “Maybe this can be the first small step in resolving this nonsense, once and for all. A Rhodale protecting a Whitfield! A Whitfield and a Rhodale getting along! Film at eleven!”
She moved away from the window, and Pa and I stared at each other, dumbfounded.
“Film at eleven? Is that like ‘catch it on YouTube’?”
Pa shook his head. “I have no idea. Maybe I need a beer.”
I reached into the ice bucket Mom had put out on the back porch. “Here’s a Coke. Learn to love it. I think your drinking days are over for a while,” I advised.
After that, we had the most pleasant family dinner we’d had in weeks. I kept looking back and forth between them, wondering when the other shoe was going to drop—hard—probably on my head.
None of this made any sense. I do my best to toe the line, and Pa’s always got something up his ass about me. I punch a kid and get suspended, and everything is peachy.
Parents. Who could understand them?
I went and got the double-sized piece of pie that Nora had packed for me from the fridge and shared it out between the three of us.
“Nora says hi,” I said.
Mom paused, holding a forkful of pie in front of her. “Yes, I know. She called me. Said you were eating a good lunch, and you were a good boy.”
