by Fiona Archer
He opened his mouth, about to speak, when the kid dipped his hand into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a handful of coins. With great care, the youngster counted the pennies and quarters, as if every coin mattered in some grand budget. Keeping what looked like a dollar in coins for himself, he piled four quarters on top of the plate.
Not a thief. Mike’s gut instinct roared out there was a story here. He couldn’t walk away now.
“There’s cans of soda in the fridge,” he said.
The boy spun around. Eyes wide, mouth open, his hands fisted before he snapped his gaze to the back door. Locked. He could get it open, sure. But it would take extra seconds. And Mike’s body filled the space of the only other doorway. Those narrow shoulders lifted then sunk as he sighed in apparent defeat, yet when the boy turned around, his green eyes held a spark of rebellion. Physically defeated, yes, but defiant nonetheless.
“No need for panic, kid. I’m here for coffee.” To emphasize his point, Mike strode over to the pot and filled his mug, half expecting to hear the sounds of feet beating a hasty retreat, but none came.
A small win and one he’d take as an invitation to hang around.
After walking to the table, he dragged out a chair with his foot. Sitting down with his back to the open doorway, he deliberately left a space wide enough for the kid to scoot past.
“The name’s Mike Langley.” He met the kid’s stare with a neutral expression.
Remaining in the one spot, the boy let his backpack slide down his arm so that it hung on the curve of his wrist. “I know.”
Mike raised one brow. “Then you have me at a disadvantage. Care to share yours?” He sipped his coffee. Hot and black, the jolt of caffeine went some small way to warm the spot in his chest that had stayed hollow since Reagan walked away.
Even sitting down, Mike edged out the kid in height. With his neat clipped hair and no shaggy fringe to hide behind, the boy met his stare. “Danny. Danny Scott.” The hand at the boy’s side seemed to jerk before he lifted it out to Mike.
Impressive.
“Pleased to meet you, Danny.” Mike grasped the smaller hand, careful to keep his grip firm but not overpowering, his aim to encourage, not subdue. After a few seconds he let go, dropping his hand to rest on his thigh. His other arm lay on the table, his body language open, non-threatening. “How do you know my name?”
“I’ve seen you around town. You’re friends with Miss Edwards.” Danny shrugged, as if it was of no consequence. “At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
Mike’s protective instincts flared. After seeing a few people’s reactions to Reagan in the days following the discovery of her mom’s body, he couldn’t help but defend her against idle gossip. With exaggerated care, he said, “What else have you heard about Miss Edwards?”
Danny’s eyes widened and he stepped back. Great job, idiot. “Nothing. She’s really cool. I hang out at the library and heard one of the volunteers mention you’re dating her is all.”
Mike shook his head and offered up a wry smile. “Sorry, kid. I’m feeling protective of our librarian. You know how it is, taking care of my lady.”
To his surprise, Danny drew himself up to all of his approximately five-foot-two height and nodded with more wisdom than should befall a young man of his tender years. “I’d do the same for my mom.”
An inner alarm pinged. Something in his tone suggested he’d done just that, more than once. “And your dad?”
“Gone.”
“I’m sorry,” Mike said, but Danny was already shaking his head.
“Don’t be. We’re better off.” The kid glanced at the money on the table. “I wasn’t stealing.” He gestured to the wrapped sandwiches. “I wash up in the kitchen each afternoon and can take whatever I like from the fridge. Sometimes I leave a donation.” Pride strengthened his pubescent voice.
No charity for this kid.
Mike put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, none of my business. Sounds like you’ve negotiated a good deal there. As long as Flynn didn’t make those sandwiches. He’s a lousy cook.”
A smile crept at the edges of the boy’s mouth. “He offered me Vegemite once. I didn’t wash up that day.”
Mike threw back his head and let out a rip of laughter. This kid had potential.
“Get yourself one of those sodas and pull up a chair.” Mike counted the beats while Danny mulled it over. Dammit, he wanted to find out more about him. What made a kid this young turn out so serious, and why were he and his mother better off without a man in the house?
Danny fixed Mike with one of those penetrating stares only kids can muster. “Why are you here?”
“Doing a favor for Flynn. He asked me to try hanging out with you guys here on Tuesdays.” He wasn’t lying and nobody said he had to deliver the “vent-my-spleen” version.
Either way, Danny accepted his answer, dropping his backpack and grabbing a soda before sitting across from Mike. He reached over for his sandwiches. After unwrapping the napkins, he slid them over to Mike. “Want one?”
Mike hesitated. The kid worked for this food and while his clothes were clean, they were a long way from new. He could do with maybe an extra twenty pounds but then again, at his age, Mike had outgrown clothes on a monthly basis, his body not bulking up until a couple of years later.
In the end, the fact that Danny made the offer swung his decision. Such generosity should be honored. “Thanks, I’ll take one half. I’m expected up at the ranch house on King’s Haven tonight. If I ruin my appetite, Gretchen will give me hell.” He bit into the beef and mustard on rye. “Mmmm, these are good. Definitely not made by Flynn.”
Danny smiled as he popped the can of soda. “They’re always sitting here, waiting for me. I come in each school day. Sometimes I visit the library, too.”
They sat together and ate in silence, Mike washing his hands while Danny finished off the rest of his half. With the same care he’d taken before, the kid folded the napkin around the remaining sandwich and placed that and the two oranges in his backpack.
“You’re here each day? Does your mom work in town?”
“At the market.” Danny slanted his mouth. “They’re nice people and don’t freak out when I check in with her before I come here. We’re lucky she found work.”
True. Jobs in King’s Bluff were difficult to find. Noah, Flynn, and others were working hard to change that, but the big changes they’d already implemented were only now starting to pay off. Other plans were dependent on future events, such as who had a vote on the town council.
“That’s great she’s working. I’m sure she’s happy you’ve got a safe place to come to after school.” He sipped his coffee. There were so many questions he wanted to ask but common sense told him to go slow. He needed Flynn. The guy had a gift when it came to talking to kids, especially those that had serious shit in their recent history. He’d know what to say.
Hoping he didn’t sound as pathetic as he felt, Mike plunged on in. “Where is everyone today? Last Tuesday I came and there were kids everywhere.”
Danny rolled his eyes. “Big baseball game. The local high school is playing one in the next county. They organized a bus.”
“Not your thing?”
“Nope.” Danny chugged back another gulp of soda. “I can name all the actors that have played Dr. Who. Their sidekicks, too, including the black and white stuff from the 1960s. But I don’t know any players from the Wyoming Cowboys.”
Okay, even Mike had an idea there and he was a blow-in from Jersey.
“So you’re into sci-fi. Don’t mind that show myself. What else?”
“Plants.”
Mike felt his brows rise but couldn’t stop himself in time. “Studying them?”
“Planting them. Mom and I always did the yard work. Mowing, weeding and stuff.” No sign of the dad pulling his weight. “She loves flowers. Got tired of me yanking out what she’d planted a week before, so we went to the library so I could look up a book on
flowers and stuff. That’s how I got to know Miss Edwards better.”
He pictured Reagan poring over gardening books with Danny, sharing stories of her father’s love of horticulture and her own efforts to keep it going. She’d willingly devote hours to nurturing knowledge and confidence in such a bright spark as Danny.
“I suppose you think that’s girly.” The boy dropped his gaze to the table. “Gardening and stuff.”
He’d bet a week’s worth of doing the laundry the kid’s father had said so—and often.
Mike stretched his legs out in front of him, skirting Danny’s smaller ones. “Cooking.”
The kid blinked. “Huh?”
“That’s one of my hobbies. All types of cooking. Do you think I look girly?”
“Nuh-uh.” Danny shook his head, his mouth slightly open.
The more he talked to the kid, the more he felt like he’d started on a journey he couldn’t turn back on until he’d reached whatever destination fate or luck had in mind.
However, there were more secrets he needed to uncover first.
Coming out and asking the kid how long his dad had been gone wouldn’t work. He’d have to finesse. “How long’s she been at the market?”
Danny lowered his gaze and shifted in his chair. Bingo. “Since Dad left us.”
“He moved away?”
“Tried to. Didn’t make it. Killed in a road smash. Went under an eighteen-wheeler.”
He’d had to ask.
“I’m sorry, kid. I know you said before not to be, but I am. That couldn’t have been easy for you or your mom.”
Danny jerked his gaze up to Mike’s, his eyes flashing as his small hand squeezed the can of soda like a sponge. “We’re better off. He can’t hurt either of us now.”
Mike stayed silent until Danny’s free hand unfurled from a fist. “My dad’s an ass.” He shrugged. “He’s still alive. Living with my mom in New Jersey. I hardly see him.” Taking another sip of his coffee, he felt the rightness of the words before they fell out of his mouth. “We’ve never gotten on. He demands perfection—always. Or at least what he termed perfection.”
He waited for the normal clenching of his gut whenever the subject of Tony Langley entered his head. But there was none.
Danny eased the pressure on the can, the aluminum creaking as his fingers peeled away one at a time. “He ever hit you?”
“A couple of times.” His father’s yelling was as clear today as back then. Don’t you cry, boy. Men don’t cry. Since when was a ten-year-old a man? “But then I got bigger.” Harder. Meaner. “He kept it to words after that.” It was the verbal abuse he remembered so vividly compared to the belt. Or those two times he’d used his fists.
Mike watched the boy. “What about you?” Please, God, he hoped the kid was spared the worst.
“Words. He was a big guy.” Danny glanced at Mike’s hands before his gaze traveled up Mike’s arms to his chest. “Not as big as you. But he was mean. He hit Mom. She’d get in his way, talk back, so he’d forget me and start in on her.”
That was a lot of guilt for a kid to carry. “That’s what good moms do.” Unlike mine. “Why’d he leave?”
“He came home drunk one night. Broke Mom’s nose.” The muscles around Danny’s mouth tightened, pinching the corners of his lips. “I thought he was gonna kill her.” Danny’s throat moved in a sharp swallow. “So I called 911. Dad heard and took off just before a deputy came. Soon after that, another turned up. Told us he’d died on the highway.”
Slowly, he raised his gaze the rest of the way up to meet Mike’s. “That’s the night Mom and I became free.”
Amen, little buddy.
“Your mom’s lucky to have you by her side.”
“We’re both lucky.”
The words were said with such dignity, Mike could only stare back.
He’d have to meet Danny’s mom sometime, let her know what a fine young man she’d raised.
“Hey, Danny, it’s five o’clock,” the counselor called out from the main room.
The kid jumped up from his seat, swinging his backpack behind him and weaving his arms through the straps. “Gotta go.” He made it to the doorway before turning around. He stared at Mike for a few seconds before speaking. “You gonna be here next Tuesday?”
“Yeah,” he surprised himself by saying. “Think I will.”
Danny gave a quick jerk of his head that resembled a nod. “If I see you, cool.” In a swirl of navy backpack, he ran down the hall.
As the distant sound of the front entrance door banging flowed back down to the kitchen, Mike stared at his mug of coffee. Maybe he didn’t entirely suck at this counseling gig. Had he just made himself a friend? One who enjoyed gardening? Gardening…removing weeds, planting flowery stuff…An idea was forming.
* * * *
Quinn drove his rented SUV into the driveway of the brick and stone mansion located in one of Seattle’s most beautiful and exclusive areas, Capitol Hill. The property was gigantic, with more bathrooms than he had immediate family members and a breathtaking view of Lake Union, which he planned to enjoy in his very near future, along with a glass of Kane MacKenzie’s thirty-year-old scotch.
By the time he’d exited the vehicle, a man dressed in dark pants, gray shirt, and tie waited for him at the door. Quinn dropped the car’s keys into his outstretched hand. The butler managed a slight nod with his “Thank you, sir.”
The formality reminded Quinn of the high protocol observed by some in the BDSM community. Alex MacKenzie was one of them when it suited him.
“Evening, Jenkins. I’m in for the night, thanks.”
“Very good, sir.”
The foyer, with its herringbone tiled floor was studded with doorways affording a glimpse into rooms decorated in a modern, warm style that permeated the Pacific Northwest. Good thing he’d kicked butt in orienteering. A mansion this size could hold a man hostage for hours. That is, except for the state-of-the-art security system that no doubt detected his presence before he’d passed the front gate. Alex and Kane had the lowdown on his exact location even as they traded conversation in their den, the agreed-to meeting place once Quinn arrived back.
He went down a flight of stairs and turned left toward the den.
Muted voices drifted out from the doorway. Two men and a female. Judging from the whiny tone of the woman, not one of the more obedient subs the men often housed on the estate.
“But I don’t want to go.”
“Tasha, your driver will be here any moment. Kane and I have business to discuss. The matter’s settled,” he heard Alex say with his trademark commanding tone.
Quinn leaned on the doorway, surveying the wood-paneled walls studded with abstract paintings. Various lamps dotted tables that butted up against plush covered couches upholstered in dark leather. The floor had a striped carpet of different shades of brown, blue, and beige. Overall, the room had a “gentlemen’s club” feel to it, one that had been dragged into this century.
Kane lay sprawled on a lounge chair, his black hair cropped short. During those months heading up MacKenzie Corps projects in Alaska, he’d embraced a long-haired, wild-man persona that fitted the daredevil younger brother to perfection. Dressed in a navy T-shirt and jeans, he nursed a whiskey glass filled with amber-colored liquid on one thigh and studied a book in his lap.
Quinn had no doubt Kane was aware of his presence.
Closer to him stood Alex, still dressed in his work attire of immaculately tailored dress pants and shirt, its collar opened by a few buttons, his one apparent concession to informality. Born with the same gray eyes and black hair as his brother, the added slash of silver at his temples enhanced the aura of controlled power that emanated from the man.
Quinn didn’t take a step back to anyone, but Alex MacKenzie, ex-SEAL team leader, was a lethal bastard in and out of the boardroom.
A woman—Tasha, he guessed—was clinging to Alex as if they were drowning at sea and he was her personal life vest. With her sleek
Nordic locks and tall stature, she reminded Quinn of a Viking ice queen.
Quinn moved forward, the tread of his boots tapping on the parquet floor.
The woman spun around to face him, brows raised as she swept over him with her gaze. Judging by the sour curve of her mouth, he’d come up short. “You’re to wait outside. I’ll be there when I’m ready. Go away.”
It was time to dethrone the Ice Queen.
“I don’t think so.” Quinn filled his voice with power and stood to his full height, around eight inches taller than the Nordic miss.
Alex MacKenzie’s face hardened, outlining the uncompromising line of his jaw. “Tasha, you owe my good friend an apology. This is Quinn Sullivan, a guest in my house,” He lowered his voice. “And a fellow Dom.”
The woman shivered at the coldness of Alex’s tone. She’s a sub?
“I’m sorry.” She blinked, then dropped her gaze but not before Quinn spied the calculating glint in those blue eyes. “You caught me at a bad moment. Alex is dismissing me for no reason.” She stuck out her bottom lip in the way spoiled woman learn from birth.
“You normally dictate how long you’ll stay at a Dom’s house?” Quinn asked.
She flashed her gaze back up to his. “No, of course not.” A flair of panic crept into her voice.
The muscles around Alex’s mouth pinched. “Some time in the stocks will serve as a reminder. I’m afraid you won’t enjoy Friday night’s club visit as much as I.” His voice and Tasha’s answering plea faded as his friend grasped the woman’s arm and steered her out the door and beyond.
Quinn sat down on the couch opposite Kane, meeting his friend’s cynical gaze. “Your standards have lowered.”
The younger MacKenzie scoffed. “She’s not mine.”
“But you share.” When had that changed?
“Not that one. She’s all Alex’s. Sunk her talons into him a month ago at some charity function and has held on since. I’m guessing the status quo will soon end.” Kane’s gaze flicked over Quinn’s shoulder.
Alex sighed from behind Quinn. He’d entered the room as silent as when on patrol in some godforsaken hellhole. “You’re right there. I’ve allowed convenience to overrun my standards.” Alex shoved his hands into his pockets, stretching the fine wool of the tailored pants. “That issue will be rectified soon.”
