But that feeling soon vanished with the realization that she had actually carried on a conversation, twice, with the notorious Luke McGuire. And even more shocking, she had enjoyed it, right down to the nervous hammering of her heart. It had been... exhilarating. Liberating, somehow.
And frightening.
She just wasn't sure what she was frightened about: his presence, or her own reactions.
And she wasn't sure she wanted to know.
Chapter 5
Luke stood outside the community center, pondering. He'd already gone up to the bulletin board and read the notice, so he knew today was one of the days his mother was giving her fire-and-brimstone sermon.
He walked toward the small meeting room. It only held about fifty people, and if he remembered right, there were windows on either side of the main doorway, allowing a view of the back few rows of seats. And if he was guessing right, in the back would be where David was, no doubt sulking at being forced to sit though this yet again, just so his mother could be sure he wasn't out doing evil with his no-good half brother.
He went to one of the windows and looked in. No sign of David. He went to the other side and tried it from that angle. He could just see the top of someone's head in the last row. The hair was bleached and long on top, shorter below.
Bingo, he thought.
He stood outside the door for a moment, pondering if he wanted to do this. It didn't take him long to decide.
She expects the worst, doesn't she? Don't want to disappoint her....
He slipped on the black leather jacket he'd been carrying because it was really too warm to wear it. But it was effect he was after now, and he knew the jacket completed the picture the black jeans and motorcycle boots began. He reached up to the hair he was now glad he hadn't gotten cut and pulled a couple of the strands he was always pushing out of the way down in front of his face. She'd always hated that.
He yanked open the door and strode in. "—all over the county. Children barely old enough to take care of themselves having children of their own."
His mother's voice rang out strongly. It was a message kids needed to hear, he admitted. He just didn't like being this close to her particular message. She looked... polished, a carefully burnished version of the woman he remembered, smoother, more studiedly elegant; she'd finally reached the perfection she'd always wanted.
"The tragedy of teenage pregnancy, the ruination of young lives, you have no idea what it's like until it's too late, until it's happened to you, until you have an unwanted child weighing you down, crippling you—"
She'd spotted him. For the first time in his life, he saw his mother looking too shocked to speak. She stood there with her mouth open; she would have a fit if she realized she looked like a goldfish, he thought.
David spotted him then and leapt to his feet, a huge grin on his face. The rest of the attendees were starting to turn now, to see what she was gaping at. They'd probably never seen the polished Jackie Hiller rattled, and he took a perhaps petty satisfaction in being the one to have done it.
"Hi," he said cheerily to the room at large. "I'm the visual aid."
"You," she breathed, only the microphone on the dais enabling him to hear the furious word.
"Yep, me." He glanced at the rest of the group. "I'm the reason for all this. You know, the tragedy, the ruination, the weight. Or, if you like it more bluntly, I'm the unwanted bastard child that started this campaign."
Whispers started around the room, coupled with darting glances at the elegantly dressed woman at the lectern.
"Get out!" He didn't need the microphone to hear her this time.
"Hey, Mom, just trying to help. I mean, if looking at me doesn't scare them, what will?"
Luke heard a peep of laughter he knew had come from David. He gave his little brother a crooked grin. Then he jerked his head toward the door he'd come in. David jumped up, grabbed his backpack and started toward him.
Their mother was still yelling at them when they went out the door.
* * *
"—the time the clock tower was painted black? I just know that was him."
"I always suspected as much. And when the entire fleet of school buses had their tires slashed that time, you know who was behind that."
"Oh, I'm sure he was. He got away with so much."
"Except for Marie Clancy. He's lucky she only hit him with her rake."
"If I were him, I'd steer clear of her. I don't why he dared to show his face in Santiago Beach again anyway."
Not for any reason you three would believe, Amelia thought as she put down the cantaloupe she'd been considering and hastily pushed her cart away from them.
She'd been there a few moments before she'd realized what the two men and a woman were talking about. Once she had, she'd been oddly frozen, unable to do anything but listen. By the time she'd been able to move, she'd heard way too much.
There was no way, she thought, that one lone teenage boy could possibly have been responsible for everything they'd talked about. They talked as if he'd run a one-boy campaign to bring Santiago Beach to its knees.
But she also knew that where there was this much smoke there was generally at least a match burning. So Luke was no angel, but he was hardly the devil incarnate, either.
But still, it bothered her that she had taken so much pleasure in talking to him, that she had found being with him so exhilarating. Was there something wrong with her, that she was still so... tempted by a man like that? Her parents would have been scandalized. And Amelia had never, ever done anything remotely scandalous.
She stopped at home—the small house bought by her parents despite its dark, dreary look and turned into a light, airy cottage—to put her groceries away, then headed to the store. She usually walked, since it was only about three blocks away and she told herself she needed the exercise, and rare were the days when the weather was bad enough to keep her from it. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to live in a place that actually had weather, instead of this perpetually sunny land where most of the time the only difference between seasons was in degrees of dryness.
As the day passed she caught herself looking up eagerly every time Lt. Worf sounded a warning, then feeling a bit let down when one of her regulars walked in. She chastised herself mentally, telling herself she was acting irrationally, downright silly. But still, when Worf boomed out a another welcome, she looked.
"You know," Jim Stavros said with a grin as he walked in, "you got me watching that show on the reruns, because of that silly door thing of yours."
Amelia laughed. Jim was one of her best customers. He read across the board and was always willing to try a new book on her recommendation.
Jim was also a cop. Had been for twenty-five years. She usually didn't think about that, except for the occasional reminder when he refused to read a new police procedural that had come in, saying it made him crazy to see mistakes.
Jim had been a cop, although not the sergeant he was now, in Santiago Beach when Luke had been here.
She told herself not to ask; she chattered about other things, asked him about his wife, Joann, a nurse at the local hospital, and their kids, anything to keep from having a gap in the conversation, and then, when he stood at the register, wallet in hand, it slipped out.
"Luke McGuire? Oh, yeah, I knew him. All of us knew him. Heard he was back in town."
It seemed pointless to dissemble, so Amelia just nodded.
"Hell on wheels, that boy was. Still is, I hear. Already been stopped once on that bike of his."
Amelia went still. "Stopped?"
Jim nodded. "For speeding, on the canyon road. Same place I used to nail him. I'm surprised he hasn't gotten himself killed. He did crash once, back then. Lost it on that same road and flipped that old Chevy he used to drive."
"Was he hurt?"
Jim frowned. "Yeah. Kid broke an arm and a couple of ribs. For a while they thought it was worse. Joann was working that night, and she
made the call to his mother. Woman didn't show up until late the next morning."
"Her son was in the hospital injured, and she didn't even come?" Amelia couldn't say she was surprised, not after what she'd learned, but it still seemed awful.
Jim nodded. "Joann said she wasn't surprised. She had just started at the hospital back when the kid was born, and it was the talk of the place then that the old lady, the grandmother, was one of those judgmental fanatics, ashamed of having an unwed mother as a daughter. That she ordered her to keep the baby, even though she didn't want it."
"As punishment?" Amelia asked, remembering Luke's words.
"Yeah. Crazy, isn't it? Always felt kind of sorry for the kid, in a way. I mean, it's got to be tough to have a mother who doesn't even care enough to give you a name."
Amelia winced. "Then who did name him? The grandmother? I'm surprised he didn't end up as Cain or something equally pejorative."
"I think that's what the nurses were afraid of. So they named him. That's why he's Luke."
"Why he's—" Amelia broke off as it came to her. Of course. The hospital was St. Luke's. "What a lovely start in life," she said, sounding more bitter than Luke ever had.
"Yeah. Guess it's not a surprise he ended up like he did, We kind of hoped things would change when she married Ed, but by then maybe it was too late. Ed tried, though. He was a nice guy. Too nice to have been married for his money." He looked at her thoughtfully. "What's all this interest in Luke McGuire?"
"I..." She scrambled for an explanation that wouldn't make her sound like a total fool. "His brother. He comes in here a lot. So I was just... curious."
"Well, you take my advice, don't get tangled up with that boy. He's pure trouble."
"But it's been eight years... maybe he's changed."
"It would have to be a heck of a change, and I'm not sure he had that kind of character."
She wanted to defend him, to tell Jim that at least he had cared enough to come back to the place he hated—with reason, she was beginning to see—to see if his brother needed help. But she was fairly sure that would just net her an even stronger warning, and she didn't want to hear it.
Why she didn't want to hear it was something she didn't dare think about.
But at least something had been explained, she thought after Jim had taken his books and gone; if Jackie had married Ed Hiller only for financial security, then it would explain the woman's lack of empathy for her son's raging grief.
Or it could simply be that she didn't give a damn about either of her kids. Some people just weren't cut out to be parents, Amelia thought. She just wished more of them knew it and eschewed the task.
What Jim had told her, and Luke's casual, even laughing references to his mother's coldness and his grandmother's viciousness, ate at her all morning. Thinking of the differences between how they were raised caused her a pain that was almost physical. She tried to ease it with work, straightening shelves, checking the inventory and placing reorders. And when, just before noon, she looked up from the back of the store at the sound of the door and this time he was really there, she felt her eyes begin to brim just looking at him.
Quickly she blinked away the moisture, knowing she would never be able to explain. But apparently she wasn't quite successful, because his first words when he reached her, accompanied by a frown, were, "You didn't have another visit from those charmers, did you?"
"No," she hastened to assure him.
"Then what's wrong?"
"I... nothing." When his expression turned doubtful, she added, "Just a sad story I heard, that's all."
For a moment he just looked at her. "Do you cry at sappy commercials, too?" It could have been a nasty dig, had it not been said in the gentlest of tones.
"Yes," she admitted, her chin coming up, determined not to be ashamed of it, even if her pulse was racing with trepidation.
"Soft heart," he said.
But again, he said it so gently it was impossible to take offense. And then he reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers over the chin she'd raised to meet an expected threat. It was the merest feather of a touch, but it seared like flame, and Amelia felt her breath catch in her throat, as if her body had forgotten how to go about the process of breathing.
He pulled his hand back and looked at his fingers. He curled them into a fist, then ran his thumb over them, as if testing to see what had happened.
That his actions meant he'd felt it too didn't register with Amelia for a moment. When it did, her breath came back in a rush that would have been a gasp if she had not been able to muffle it.
Say something, she chided herself. Don't just stand here like some drooling fool of a woman who can't say two words to someone just because he happens to be an attractive man. A dangerously attractive man. In more ways than one.
But the only thing she could manage was the well-worn query that made her wince even as she said it. "Can I help you?"
He looked at her oddly for a moment, then gave a half shrug and said, "I need a book."
As reasonable as that sounded in a bookstore, Amelia was still startled. "You do?"
"Looks like I'll be here longer than I thought, and I don't have anything to read."
He said it as if that were a considerable problem, as if reading was an integral part of his life. Apparently his teaching David to love reading had come from a genuine love of his own, and that hadn't changed. She should have realized, she thought belatedly.
"What were you looking for?" she asked in her best professional manner.
He grinned. "Something violent. Got any nice, bloody mysteries?"
She didn't know if he was serious or just teasing her about his reputation. With an effort she nodded toward the mystery rack and asked neutrally, "How bloody? Just a dead body to start, or do you prefer a string of them, complete with gore?"
His grin widened as she spoke. "You don't get rattled, do you?"
So he had been teasing, she thought. But that didn't change the answer to his question. "Not here," she said simply. Books were her world, her passion, and she was at home among them as she was nowhere else.
He walked over to the mystery bay, picked up a volume and turned back to her. "Is this the latest one? I've lost track of what letter she's on."
"Yes, that's the latest." Curious, she asked, "You like those?"
"Yep. She's one of my favorite detectives." He grinned again. "Besides, I like the glimpses into the workings of the female mind."
Right now, this female mind was barely working at all, Amelia thought ruefully. Because only now did she really focus on what else he'd said. He was going to be here longer than he'd thought.
"You're not getting anywhere with David?"
His mouth twisted. "I'm not getting much chance to try. All of a sudden his mother's keeping him very busy. And I stole him out from under her nose this afternoon. I don't think she liked that."
Amelia's eyes widened. "No, I can imagine she wouldn't."
"We didn't get too far before she caught up with us. Told David if he didn't come with her right then she was calling the cops on me."
"Oh, Luke..."
"I tried to tell him they couldn't do much to me, but he's pretty intimidated by her," he said, sounding the tiniest bit weary.
She sat down on one of the chairs she kept for browsers and gestured to him to take the other. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then sat. After a moment of choosing words, she spoke.
"Have you asked her about seeing him? I mean, whatever the feelings between you, you are sort of on the same side in this. Neither of you wants David to get hurt."
"I haven't spoken to her in eight years, and I have no plans to start now."
Amelia drew back slightly. "But you said you stole David from under her nose...."
"Out of one of her speeches. She was making him wait there for her so she could keep an eye on him and then drive him home."
Amelia stared. "You marched into one of your moth
er's lectures and carted off your brother?"
He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time. Now I'm not so sure. She'll be watching him even closer."
"Then what will you do?"
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Amelia watched, fascinated, wondering what the thick, shiny strands felt like. "Give up, maybe. I'm not sure I could get through to him anyway."
"The way he idolizes you, if you can't get through to him, no one can," she said, trying for an encouraging tone.
"I think I'm half the problem." The weariness was even more evident, and she noticed then his eyes were slightly shadowed, as if he hadn't been sleeping. "He's got this set idea of who I am, and that he wants to be like me. So he's doing his best to walk that same road, and he's going to really screw up his life."
"Can't you just tell him that? He might listen to you."
"I doubt it." He leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, letting his hands dangle. Strong hands, she thought. Scarred here and there, and calloused on the palms. Hands that were used. Whatever he might be, he was no stranger to some kind of regular work, it seemed.
She realized he was looking at her look at his hands and fought not to blush. She didn't think she was successful, but he didn't seem to notice.
"You were right about that," he said. "He isn't going take my word for it, that he shouldn't do what I did."
"Ironic, isn't it?" she said. "He's idolizing you for all the wrong reasons, but those wrong reasons are the only thing that would make him listen to you."
His mouth twisted down at one comer. "And I don't know how to get through to him."
"Could anyone have gotten through to you?"
His expression changed then, and a small smile curved his mouth. "I—"
Lt. Worf cut him off as the door opened, and Amelia silently wished whoever it was could have waited just another minute. She got to her feet, and when she saw it was Mrs. Clancy, she redoubled her wish.
"Hello, Amelia," the woman called. "I was hoping that new book on roses had come in. There's a procedure I want to—"
She broke off the instant she saw Luke. Her smile vanished, to be replaced by a glower that would have alarmed someone even less timid than Amelia. But somehow, knowing that the woman's antagonism was aimed at Luke made her more determined to deflect it.
The Reture of Luke McGuire Page 6
