Moonlight, motorcycles and bad boys

by Hallberg Lynnette

  And maybe, just maybe, a curly-haired, blue-eyed quarterback who’d ridden off into the sunset with a beautician instead of a sex-ed teacher.

  A glass of white wine in hand, she lit several more candles, pressed a button, and released the strains of soul-soothing string music. Then she slid into the warm water and let it comfort her.

  ****

  “Auntie Belham, what’s in this box?” Felicity had gone home from the services with her great-aunt and, despite the heat, managed to cajole her into dragging a couple of fans into the attic so they could dig around.

  Her dad had left some of his things there, and she dug out his old baseball mitt. “Can I have it?” She pounded her fist into the worn leather, feeling closer to him than she had since he’d left for overseas. Holding the glove to her nose, she swore she could smell him.

  Auntie Belham stood behind her. “Yes, honey, you certainly may. I think he’d like that.”

  When Felicity turned, her aunt’s eyes were moist. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you sad!”

  “You haven’t.” She drew Felicity into her arms. “It’s just that the boys grew up so quickly. Time is very fickle. Each day seems long enough, but put together, they have a way of speeding by lightning fast.”

  She tousled Felicity’s hair. “What else is in there?”

  They knelt, pushing a determined Ivan aside more than once, and found some pictures, baseball cards, and a Swiss-army pocketknife. The sort of treasures a young boy tossed into a box he planned to come back to in a day or so.

  Felicity chose a couple of the pictures—one of her dad wearing a huge grin and holding up a fish he’d caught, the other of him and Uncle Reiner dressed as cowboys for Halloween.

  “I’m sure we can find frames for those downstairs.”

  “Thanks.” Felicity hugged her. “I’ll leave the rest here for Dad when he gets back.”

  Ivan took off, poking his nose into every nook and cranny, sneezing from the dust, and making a nuisance of himself.

  Setting her goodies down on an old chest, Felicity unearthed another box from a pile of old magazines. “What’s this?”

  Squinting, Bel blew away a layer of dust, and slid her reading glasses in place. “Those are some of Reiner’s things.”

  In a flash, Felicity tore open the box.

  “I’m not sure he’d want—”

  Too late. She dumped the contents onto the floor and started to paw through them. She laughed at some of the photos. “Mr. Cool.” Then her mouth dropped open, and she sat flat on the floor, a picture in hand. “Holy cow!”

  Bel looked over her shoulder. “Yes, isn’t that a beautiful picture? The two of them made such a nice-looking couple.”

  Yeah, didn’t they! She flipped it over, read her aunt’s notes. Looked at the front again. Uncle Reiner, football captain, all decked out in a tux at the Senior Prom. And the Prom Queen, holding onto his arm and smiling up at him like he was God, was none other than Ms. McMichaels. Whoa!

  She laid it aside and continued to sort through the pile. At the bottom she found his yearbook. Despite Bel’s objections that it was personal, she snooped inside to read what his friends had written.

  Man, he’d been worse than she’d ever thought of being.

  Interesting, though. A lot of his friends mentioned Katie Sara. Ms. McMichaels. They must have been a really hot item. Flipping through the book, she found several pictures of them together.

  “How come Ms. McMichaels didn’t sign his book?”

  “Katie Sara finished her senior year at a private school.”

  Felicity’s antennae went up.

  Auntie Belham detected them. “Put that nose right back on your own face, dear, and keep it out of other people’s business. There were family problems.” She stood. “Now, clean up this mess you’ve made, and let’s go out for dinner.”

  When Felicity returned the box to a shelf, she slid the picture of prom royalty into her backpack. Family problems. A euphemism if she’d ever heard one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Hey, Rhonda, it’s Reiner.” He leaned on the buzzer. “I need to talk to you.”

  A drape shifted and a thread of light bisected the porch. He probably should’ve waited for morning, but patience had never been his strong suit.

  She opened the door just a crack, leaving the security chain in place. Reiner frowned.

  “It’s late,” she whispered. “The girls are asleep.”

  “This is important, Rhonda.” He rested a hand on the doorjamb. “I wouldn’t be here otherwise. I promise I won’t wake Krista and Nicole.”

  Still, she hesitated. Loyal to the end, he thought. She’d walk the plank before betraying Katie Sara. But damned if he was giving up and walking away with his tail between his legs. Not his way. “Okay, look, I understand that—” He stopped cold. “You’re bleedin’.”

  Quickly, she raised a hand to her face. “It’s nothing. Just a nosebleed. It happens once in awhile.”

  Even through the small opening, he could see other bruises now that he looked closer. “Like every time Woody happens to show up?”

  She started to cry soundlessly.

  “Let me in, Rhonda.” He spoke softly.

  Looking totally defeated, she undid the chain. He wrapped his arms around her, toed the door shut behind him, and held her close while she cried, all the time imagining what he’d do to Woody when he got his hands on the slimy bastard.

  He stroked her hair and made little shushing noises. “It’ll be okay, honey. Why don’t you lie down on the couch? Let me get you some ice for that nose. For your eye, too. The SOB.”

  He rummaged around in the kitchen, managed a couple of makeshift ice bags from dishtowels and rubber bands. “You have any aspirin?”

  “Upstairs in the bathroom. I can get it.”

  “Stay put,” he said. “My legs work just fine.”

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he nearly stepped on Krista. Sound asleep, she lay curled at the top of the landing, blanket clutched in one hand, the other tucked beneath her angelic face. Her cheeks were as pink as her little nightie, and her baby-fine blond hair curled wildly around her face.

  Something in his chest twisted. Jesus, how could Woody give up something this precious?

  He knelt by the sleeping princess and leaned in to pick her up. Without waking, her little arms curled around his neck. She snuggled in close, all sweet-smelling, and he knew he’d be a dead-goner if he ever had a daughter. That little one could have asked him right then and there to walk on fire, and he’d have been hotfooting it in an instant.

  After he tucked her in, he checked on Nicole and found her sound asleep, too. Slipping into the bathroom, he grabbed the aspirin from the medicine chest, amazed at how girlie it was compared to his. It even smelled different. A lot different. Of course, Felicity’s… He shook his head.

  “Find them?” Rhonda asked when he got back downstairs.

  “You bet.” He handed her three, along with a glass of water. “Here you go. These should help. I found Krista asleep at the top of the stairs.”

  “Not again!” Rhonda struggled to get up, but Reiner placed a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “She’s fine. I tucked her in. Sweet little thing.”

  A warm glow spread over Rhonda’s bruised and battered face. “Isn’t she?”

  “Yep. Found some chamomile tea in your cupboard, so it’s brewin’. Thought maybe a cup would help you relax.”

  Her brow furrowed.

  “What?”

  She rubbed her hands over her face, winced, and replaced the ice bags. Despite the small cut, her lower lip curled in a smile. “I’m just wondering what y’all have done with the real Reiner Broderick. Are they going to pay the ransom?”

  He tousled her curls and chuckled. Dimming the lights, he said, “Don’t you be tellin’ anybody I’m drinkin’ tea now. Absolutely ruin my image.”

  She laughed. “Your secret’s safe
with me.”

  While they drank their tea, they talked about ordinary things and friends. She caught him up on people’s lives. When he took her empty cup, he made a point to slide his hand over her wrist, noticed her pulse had returned to normal.

  “Feelin’ better?”

  She nodded. “I’m so embarrassed you walked in on this. I’m sorry.”

  He sat on the edge of the coffee table and looked her straight in the eye. “Woody is the sorry one here. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “I should have called the police.”

  “Maybe.”

  A sigh escaped her. “Earlier, you wanted to ask me something.”

  “Doesn’t matter now.” He ran a hand over her hair. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

  “I will, but first, I’ll answer your question…if it doesn’t break trust with Katie Sara.”

  “Fair enough. When she disappeared that night, I blamed Mrs. McMichaels. Mrs. Channing now, I guess.” His brows rose. “I was pissed at you, too.”

  “I know.”

  “No matter how many times I asked, all you’d tell me was that her mother enrolled Katie Sara in a private school somewhere to finish the year and then for the summer term to get a jumpstart on college.”

  Rhonda removed the ice bag from her nose. “That’s all I knew. That’s still all I know.”

  His eyes simmered. “Don’t you think that’s strange? I mean, why all the hush-hush about the school? Where she went? Why keep it a Goddamn secret?”

  He plucked a Barbie doll off the floor and, without thought, fiddled with the hooks that were undone on the dress’s back. “The thing is, Katie Sara and her mother didn’t have two nickels to rub together by then. They’d lost their house, for God’s sake. How could she afford to send Katie Sara to a private school…and why?”

  Rhonda shook her head. “I don’t have any answers for you.”

  “Guess it doesn’t really matter, does it? Katie Sara could have gotten in touch with me if she’d really wanted to. They have phones even in Siberia. Paper and pencil in jail. I handed her my heart, and she ran off with it like a thief in the night.”

  “She was only seventeen, Reiner.”

  “Yeah.” His stomach clenched. “And I was eighteen.”

  “Her mother called the shots.”

  “She could have contacted me.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Things aren’t always as simple as they seem.”

  “So tell me about them.”

  She shook her head tiredly. “I don’t know anything about the circumstances. Honest.”

  “Would you tell me if you did?”

  “Maybe.”

  “The sorority of sisterhood.” He scrubbed at his face, then stood. “Well, enough maudlin talk. You’ve had a tough night. What else can I do for you before I go? Will the kids need anything?”

  “No. You’ve been wonderful. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Wasn’t anything.” He leaned down, kissed the top of her head.

  “One more Prince Charming taken.”

  He gave her a quizzical look.

  “Private joke.”

  ****

  Reiner had never known Tim to move so fast. On the way home, he’d phoned him to let him know what the creep had done to Rhonda and suggested they make a house call. All over the idea like white on rice, Tim had practically beaten Reiner home.

  “We’ll take my Jeep. I called Rocco. He’s coming with us.”

  “Sounds good.” Reiner hopped out of his ’Vette and into the Jeep.

  Tim whipped out of the drive the second Reiner closed his door. He fastened his seat belt as they cruised down the deserted side streets to Rocco’s house.

  “I can’t believe Rocco wants any part of this,” Reiner said.

  “Heck, yeah. Think if it had been his Mary or his baby girl somebody did that to. Woody’s a jerk! Besides, this is personal, and Rocco knows it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Tim squirmed in the driver’s seat. “You were so hot under the collar about Dru Dennison and Katie Sara at the fair, you probably don’t even remember Rhonda ate barbecue with us.”

  “Sure, I do. Her girls, too.”

  “So did I.”

  “I know that.”

  “We sat together. At the far end of the table, away from you. Primarily in self-defense.”

  He snorted.

  “I like her, Reiner. I mean, I really like her. Girlfriend-boyfriend kind of like.”

  Shocked, Reiner sat up straight in his seat. “She’s got two kids.”

  “And I’ve got two dogs. So?”

  “So,” he drawled, “let’s make sure Woody doesn’t hurt her again.”

  When they pulled up to Rocco’s, he hopped into the rear seat. Five minutes later, Tim backed into a cracked, oil-stained driveway. The light from a TV flickered in an open front window from which gunshots and shouting erupted.

  “Must be watchin’ some cop show,” Rocco guessed.

  Tim banged on the door.

  “Go away!”

  Reiner put his good shoulder to the door, and the flimsy lock gave. The door splintered and crashed inward.

  “What the hell?” Sprawled on the sofa in tee shirt and boxers, a bottle of beer in one hand, Woody scooted to a sitting position.

  He didn’t quite make it to his feet before Tim crossed the small distance, kicking a coffee table out of the way to tower over him. Rocco and Reiner mounted guard on either side.

  “What’s wrong with you guys?” Eyes nearly popping out of his head, Woody’s voice rose three octaves. “This isn’t legal!”

  “Nope,” Tim said.

  “You got no right comin’ in here like this.”

  “Debatable,” Rocco said.

  “You busted my door.”

  “Yep,” Reiner said.

  “You can’t touch me.” He elbowed himself higher on the seen-better-days crushed velvet sofa.

  Reiner glanced at Tim, then at Rocco. No one said a word. The menacing silence taunted Woody. Ashen-faced, he tried to get up. When Tim dropped a hand to his shoulder, he let out a shrill yelp.

  “You sound like a woman,” Tim poked.

  Woody licked dry lips. “Whadda ya want? You come bargin’ in here, you’d better have a good reason. You think just because…”

  His words trailed off as Reiner moved closer, flanking Tim. Rocco closed ranks on the other side.

  “Kind of intimidatin’ to have three guys hulkin’ over you, isn’t it?” Rocco asked.

  “I ain’t afraid of you.” Woody’d scraped his bravado from the floor and dusted it off. “Ain’t afraid of none of you. I could take any of you down.”

  Reiner cocked one brow.

  Woody swallowed loudly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “One at a time.”

  Reiner crooked his finger in a come-and-get-me motion.

  Woody’s eyes flicked to the other two as if he thought they might actually come to his rescue. “I don’t have to prove anything to you, Mr. Big Shot. You guys can’t come crashin’ in here destroyin’ my property, then expect me to take on all three of you. This is my house, damn it! You got no right comin’ in here.”

  Leaning in close, Tim pinned Woody with a piercing glare. “You listen, and you listen good. You go near Rhonda again—”

  “That’s what this is about? That b—?”

  Tim’s hand whipped out and grabbed the neck of Woody’s tee shirt. He jerked him up and off the couch so that his feet dangled above the floor.

  The beer dropped from Woody’s hand. He tore at the shirt and swung out with his other hand. “You’re chokin’ me.”

  “Got that right.” Tim tossed him back on the couch, then pointed a finger at him. “I’ll be back to finish the job if you so much as breathe on her too hard. Understand?”

  Woody nodded.

  “You sure?”

  Woody nodded again.

  Tim turned to Reiner and Rocco. “What do you think? Figure he und
erstands?”

  Reiner studied Woody, looked at Rocco, then gave a thumbs-up.

  “Good,” Tim said. “Then we’re done here.”

  Without another word, Reiner stepped around the door that dangled on one hinge, Tim and Rocco behind him. Once outside, he leapt from the porch steps and walked sedately to Tim’s Jeep. When he turned to the others, they shared a high-five.

  “That ought to take care of him,” Reiner said, brushing at a scrape on his cheek. A piece of the door’d caught him.

  “Yeah. Rhonda should be safe.” A muscle in Tim’s jaw worked. “What a sniveling coward! Picking on women.”

  “Take me back to mine.” Rocco hopped in the Jeep. “Good night’s work, guys.”

  ****

  A quick glance at his watch under the streetlight showed almost midnight. Way too late to be ringing Katie Sara’s doorbell, but it couldn’t be helped. He had to know.

  When she didn’t answer the instant the first bell chimed, Reiner rang the bell again. And again. “Katie Sara, let me in.”

  The door flew open, and she stood there in short pink pajamas and bare feet. Grabbing his arm, she yanked him inside, then slammed the door behind him.

  “You cannot keep showing up at my house in the middle of the night. Philomena Passarelli and Marge Fisher will blab it all over town. Probably plaster a picture of us, me in my pj’s, on the front page of The Paradox Press.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I do.”

  “Did you have an abortion?”

  She went as white as the ball of fur wrapped around her legs. “What?”

  “Simple question.” His face ached, and it hurt to breathe. “Did you have an abortion?”

  “No!”

  “You’d swear that on a stack of Bibles?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “In church, but…”

  He held up a hand to silence her and, like a deflated balloon, drooped onto her loveseat.

  She perched on a chair across from him. The cat jumped into her lap, and she absently stroked him. “Why did you come here tonight to ask me that?”

  “Gimme a minute, will you?” He kneaded his eyes with his fists, found them damp. Fought feelings he hadn’t known existed. God, he was so mixed-up. The idea of a baby—like that sweet thing he’d tucked into bed tonight. Only his and Katie Sara’s.