Whisper Falls

by Toni Blake

  Lucky shrugged, trying not to feel too overwhelmed by all the changes in his life. “Oh, I’m still worried about that, too. But she’s . . . on my mind lately. She knows about Johnny,” he added.

  And Duke raised his eyebrows. “Shit, you turning into one of those sensitive types who’s gotta bare his soul?”

  Lucky cast Duke a look that said, Watch it, informing him, “She found his room. And maybe it’s for the best. I think it made her a little less scared of me.”

  Duke’s brow knit, just slightly, and everything they’d shared, everything they knew about each other, hung in the air around him. “You tell her she should be scared of you?”

  Hell. Maybe he should be telling her even more than he already had—enough to let her know why things couldn’t go any further between them, enough that she wouldn’t want them to. Seeing Duke tonight . . . there was something about being face-to-face with the man who’d come through hell with him that reminded him of the cold, hard truth in a way nothing else could. Time and distance helped, but there were some things you couldn’t outrun. What was done was done and he couldn’t change the outcome, or the fact that he feared any woman in his life might always have to watch her back. And maybe when he was by himself in that quiet house on Whisper Falls Road, that truth began to elude him, and normal life and all that came with it began to seem possible—but Duke had just stated it plain and simple: It wasn’t. Not for Lucky.

  Now, Lucky sucked in his breath, remembering—and trying to ward off—the blatant desire he’d suffered when Tessa had fallen into his arms. The lust had almost paralyzed him. And if it had been only that, simple lust, it would have been okay. If she was some chick like the ones decorating Gravediggers tonight—someone looking to get horizontal for a few hours—it wouldn’t have mattered. It was the fact that he felt more than just lust for her that created a problem. For both of him.

  When he finally replied to Duke, he got straight to the heart of the matter. “I get hard just thinking about her.”

  “So party with her a little. Get it out of your system. It’s not like you’re celibate, brother,” he said on a laugh.

  Yet Lucky just shook his head. Duke didn’t understand. “Trouble is—it’s not like that. I wouldn’t want to do her and just be done with her. I wouldn’t want to treat her that way.”

  At this, Duke lowered his chin, looking surprised and a little skeptical. It wasn’t that either of them went around trying to use women for sex—it was that most of the women who crossed their paths weren’t into more than that, either. And if they were into more . . . well, Lucky usually made it real clear up front that he liked things fast and easy. “This must be some chick,” Duke said.

  “She’s just . . . different. Than any woman I’ve been with.”

  Duke looked matter-of-fact. “Then maybe you’d be wise to get back to some women who aren’t so different.” He glanced down the bar to a girl Lucky had noticed—the kind you couldn’t not notice. She wore a tiny purple dress that hugged her from chest to thigh, with tall black boots the same color as the wild mane that hung to her ass. “There. That chick’s been flirting with me all night. She’s definitely ready for a good time.”

  Lucky arched one brow. “Then why aren’t you having it with her?”

  Duke only shrugged. “Was thinking about it for later, if she’s still here at closing time. But she’s all yours if it’ll get the little neighbor babe outta your head.”

  That’s how it was with the women they’d known—they were . . . almost interchangeable. And Lucky had no doubt the woman down the bar could rock his world—but he just shook his head. “Naw, dude, wouldn’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’d still be thinking about Tessa afterward.”

  Lucky waited for Duke to lecture him—or push him harder toward the dark-haired chick—and when he didn’t, Lucky glanced up to find his buddy staring past him, toward the door across the room. “Holy shit,” Duke whispered.

  When Lucky turned to look, he swore softly, too. Even ten years later, it was easy to recognize Red Thornton. He was a little older—probably in his forties now, and sporting a little less hair, but it was definitely him. He looked more grizzled than before, like maybe life hadn’t been too kind since they’d last seen him. And his shocking red hair had started to lighten—so much that the spotty beard he now wore was pale gray and so unkempt that Lucky decided the guy was just too lazy to shave. If there was anything comforting in his appearance at all, it was that his eyes looked a little less crazy. Still, every nerve in Lucky’s body went on alert.

  “How the hell is this even possible?” Duke muttered, his gaze going dark.

  Lucky’s chest tightened as he observed the worse-for-wear biker. He was striking up a conversation with someone at a pool table, maybe looking to get into the game. “I always hoped,” Lucky said to Duke, “that we’d gone far enough away. But looks like we didn’t.”

  The two men exchanged wary looks until Duke said, “On the other hand, maybe we shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

  True enough. Red had gone from being a hang-around to a prospect during Lucky and Duke’s last year with the Devil’s Assassins, but he wasn’t even a full member when they’d left—and now that Lucky thought about it, it was hard to imagine Red ever achieving high-ranking status in the club. He’d worshipped the Assassins’ bad-ass president at the time, Wild Bill Murphy, but Bill had treated Red like dirt. “Red always just seemed like one of those guys who was wandering around looking to fit somewhere,” Lucky mused.

  “Like us?” Duke asked frankly.

  Lucky met his friend’s stare and answered just as honestly. “Maybe, but for all our faults, we were both smarter than him—and, God knows, not as needy. The dude was like a puppy dog yapping around Wild Bill’s feet.”

  Duke agreed with a short nod. “Guy never knew when to shut up. Think he drove Bill nuts.”

  “So the question is,” Lucky said, “what’s he doing in Ohio?”

  “Looks like we’re about to find out,” Duke said under his breath, and Lucky shifted his gaze in time to see Red Thornton ambling up to the bar, right next to Lucky’s stool.

  Lucky watched Red closely as he made eye contact with Duke—who never blinked. Duke had a way of looking right through you when he wanted to, and Lucky had seen more than one person caught in the invisible web of his stern gaze. At first, Red just appeared a little guarded, maybe a little worried—but then his eyes began to change, to widen, until he said, “Duke? Duke Dawson? ’S that you?”

  As usual, Duke refrained from smiling—just kept Red pinned in place with his unwavering glare. “What the hell you doin’ in my place, Red?”

  At the threat in Duke’s voice, Red physically leaned back from the bar. “This is your place, Duke? Shit, man . . . I was just passin’ through. Had no idea I’d see my old buddy from the Dev—”

  “Don’t say those words in this bar, Red, or I’ll cut your tongue out.”

  The warning stopped Red cold. The older man froze in place for a second, until he recovered the ability to speak again. “Sorry, Duke—I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.”

  Duke relaxed his stance a little—so little, though, that probably only Lucky could tell. “Those days are long behind me. And I don’t like to be reminded of my past. Understand?”

  Red nodded vigorously. “Sorry about that, Duke, really. And listen, man”—he was shaking his head now—“I’m not into that life anymore, either. Haven’t been for a long time. Turns out it wasn’t for me—no sir.”

  “That so?” Duke said, crossing his arms. Lucky knew Duke was aware it made him look taller, and his shoulders even broader than they already were.

  Again Red nodded, assuring him in a lower, conspiratorial tone, “That Wild Bill—he was psycho, man.”

  Duke replied dryly. “Yeah, I picked up on that back in the day.” Then he flicked a brief glance in Lucky’s direction—which made Red look over at him, as well.

  Lucky
met the man’s eyes. Thankfully, they really were a little more normal now.

  “Why, I’ll be damned—is that you, Lucky?”

  Lucky just gave a short nod, and Red let out a too-big laugh. “Well, what do you know? It’s like old home week or somethin’.”

  And Lucky just stared. This was surely the first time anyone had described a chance meeting between old members of the Devil’s Assassins Motorcycle Club that way. Red was smiling now—blind to the less than warm welcome, and it reminded Lucky that Red never had caught on that Wild Bill didn’t really like him. The only reason Red had ever advanced from hang-around to prospect was because he was gullible enough to do anything Bill told him without blinking, and it was always to a club’s advantage to have a few guys like that around, whether it was because they were fearless or because they were stupid.

  “Man, it’s good to see you guys,” Red said, climbing up on a stool now. “Sure didn’t expect to find any of my old buddies this far east. Whadda y’all been up to since you left the—” He caught himself in response to the warning looks they both cast. “Since you left Cali,” he corrected himself.

  “Why don’t you tell us what you been up to first, Red?” Lucky suggested, still in tough-guy mode, same as Duke. Red was starting to seem innocent enough, even if annoying, but neither Lucky nor Duke trusted easily, especially when it came to something like this.

  At the request, Red seemed a little downcast, like maybe he didn’t have much going for him. Big surprise. “I got outta there ’bout five years ago.” Then he shook his head and offered a conspiring look. “Man, I hate those guys—they’re bad dudes.”

  “Since then,” Duke said firmly, cutting in on Red. “What have you been up to since then?” He hated talking about the Devil’s Assassins as much as Lucky did—nothing got him in a bad mood faster.

  It took a second for Red to catch his breath—it was clear Duke had made him nervous, but that he was trying to bounce back. “Aw, you know, just ridin’ here and there, pickin’ up a little work where I can.” Then his spirits lifted as he pointed in a generally northern direction. “Headin’ up to Chillicothe right now,” he said cheerfully. “Heard my sister’s shacked up with some guy there—thought I’d look her up. How ’bout that? Us both from Texas but crossin’ paths here.”

  Probably he was looking up his sister in hopes of a handout, Lucky decided.

  “Real nice place ya got here, Duke,” Red said then, smiling. “Looks like ya done well for yourself.”

  “I do all right,” Duke replied.

  “Need any help? I could . . . sweep up, wash dishes—’bout anything you want.”

  There was actually a part of Lucky starting to feel sorry for Red. Lucky and Duke had both been young when they’d gotten themselves into so much trouble out west—and then they’d cleaned up their acts and gone on to do more productive things. Red, on the other hand, was clearly just floating through life, aimlessly, and at the moment he looked sort of pitiful—like a lost, hungry dog.

  “ ’Fraid I’m full up on help, Red.”

  Red began nodding. “All right then, Duke. Well, thanks anyway.”

  “Chillicothe’s less than another hour,” Lucky supplied.

  Red acted like he didn’t know, his eyebrows shooting up as if happily surprised. “ ’S that right? Well, uh, I best get headed that way then, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Duke said, relaxing more now even as his voice stayed firm. He actually went so far as to take his eyes off Red, reaching for a rag to wipe down the bar. “You’d best do that.”

  Red climbed down from the bar stool. “Sure was good seein’ you two.”

  “You take care of yourself now, Red,” Lucky said, still sounding none too kind.

  And as he walked away, Duke added under his breath, “On your way outta town.”

  Once Gravediggers’ door closed behind Red, Lucky looked back at his friend. “What do you think?”

  Duke made a sizing-up face, then said, “Harmless. But . . .” He tilted his head, peered at Lucky. “You want that gun back?”

  Lucky had owned a pistol when he’d come to town—he’d owned one for most of his adult life; it was part of who he was, and it was protection. But when he’d been staying with Duke before buying his house, he’d handed his Glock 19 nine millimeter over to his friend. “Dude, I’m about to bring a kid into my life, into my house. No.”

  “Still back there in the safe,” Duke said, motioning vaguely over his shoulder toward his office. “Whenever you want it. You know the combination.” And it was easy to remember: 36–24–36, the mythical perfect measurements on a woman.

  Lucky understood that Duke didn’t like the idea of either one of them being defenseless—it was a habit that went back a long way. And he’d felt the same himself up to now—but given why he’d come back to Destiny, this had seemed like a smart time to change that mode of thinking and get comfortable being without it. And so far, he’d felt fine. Even now, with Red Thornton suddenly showing up.

  So Lucky just gave his head a short shake, then looked over his shoulder, back toward the door. “Weird, though—about him. Just when I almost thought it was safe . . .”

  “To go getting yourself a girl?” Duke asked. Then he shrugged. “Hell, man, who knows—maybe it is safe. If numbnuts there is the worst thing to cross our paths in ten years, maybe it’s okay to consider the past the past. Maybe it’s time. Maybe you can do whatever you want with your little neighbor chick—ride off into the sunset with her if you want.”

  The fact was, though, even if Red was kind of pathetic, his appearance had still sent a chill down Lucky’s spine. It was a reminder that pretty much anybody could walk through that door on any given night. Anybody could ride their hog into Crestview or Destiny. It made Wild Bill and the Devil’s Assassins feel . . . not nearly as far away as they had an hour ago. “I don’t know, man,” Lucky said, taking the first pull on his beer since Red had darkened their door. “Red just reminded me that, when all’s said and done, we’re still pretty damn easy to find if anybody’s looking. And when I think of Vicki . . .” He stopped then, sighed, and tried to banish old images from his head.

  “Don’t think of Vicki, brother,” Duke advised him. “Just don’t.”

  But when the two men’s eyes met again, Lucky knew they were both thinking about her, about what had happened to her. And Lucky knew with clarity what he had to do. Keep his hands off Tessa. Just like he’d told himself in the beginning with her: You can look, but you can’t touch.

  And once Tessa finished working in his house, things would get easier. He wouldn’t see her so much. And maybe he’d get her off his mind. And maybe hooking up with the chick in purple would actually sound like fun to him. Under normal circumstances, she’d be just his type. For now, though, Duke had it wrong—for now, looked like he was celibate.

  And it wasn’t like he owed Tessa anything. Hell, he barely knew her. He could be with every girl in this bar if he wanted to without having done anything wrong.

  He just . . . liked her, damn it.

  And she’d been pretty cool to him, too. Considering what people in Destiny had thought of him by the time he’d left town, she’d given him . . . more than a fair shake, and besides being attracted to her, he almost actually considered her . . . a friend. And that was a rare commodity in his life.

  And somehow the idea of getting down and dirty with some other chick right now just . . . bothered him.

  Besides, he had enough to worry about already without bringing sex into the picture, didn’t he? Like focusing on getting his house ready for his son’s arrival. And showing Sharon he was dependable. And getting past the desire to get into his pretty interior decorator neighbor’s pants. Plus he still had to deal with his family at some point.

  Once all that was accomplished, then he’d worry about having a sex life. For now, he’d just have to take care of it himself, just like he used to . . . hell, the last time he’d lived in Destiny. Shit—the more things changed, th
e more they stayed the same.

  “So,” Tessa ventured cautiously as she joined Rachel and Amy in the bookstore chairs, “would you guys ever consider getting a tattoo?”

  In response, Amy gasped. “Why?”

  And Rachel said, “I considered it once in my twenties, but then decided it was impractical. Styles change, after all. I can change my jewelry or clothes on a whim, but you can’t change a tattoo.”

  “And when you’re seventy, it’ll sag,” Amy said, as if she were a tattoo expert.

  “Let’s be realistic,” Rachel added. “When you’re fifty, it’ll sag. Maybe when you’re forty.”

  Okay, so clearly Tessa shouldn’t show them her tattoo just yet. “You guys are not making me feel any less like life is passing me by,” she informed them.

  “You think a tattoo will slow down the passage of time?” Amy asked, shaking her head. “First skydiving and now this? What’s gotten into you?”

  “Skydiving?” Rachel snapped, her blue eyes bolting open wide. “Who’s going skydiving?”

  “Tessa,” Amy said. “Maybe. If we don’t talk her out of it.”

  As her friends yammered on, not even noticing how little she was adding to a conversation about her, Tessa caught a glimpse of little Brontë slowly, quietly padding up beside her chair. She thought the cat had begun to seem a little less frightened lately, but to walk out among them, especially when anyone was here besides her and Amy, was monumental. Tessa watched from the corner of her eye as Brontë stood frozen in place, clearly ready to dart away at the first sign of trouble, and felt the need to put the kitty at ease.

  With one swift but gentle move, she scooped the cat up in her hand and lifted it onto her lap. Brontë struggled, ready to run, but Tessa held her firmly, using her free hand to stroke the cat’s head and back. “You’re okay,” she said soothingly. “Nothing bad’s happening. You’re just going to sit here and let me pet you.”

  “Where did she come from?” Amy asked, looking over.

  “She’s getting a little more trusting,” Tessa replied, still holding the cat in place against her will, “and I’m helping her along, whether she likes it or not.” She continued running her fingertips over Brontë’s smooth fur, murmuring down to her, “Calm down, kitty. Learn to relax.” After a moment, the cat finally went still, and another minute later, Tessa felt some of the tension leave her lanky little body. “There, that’s better,” she cooed, still petting. And soon, Brontë even began to purr a little.