Nick All Night

by Cheryl St. John

  He turned and exited, finding Eddie on a stump in the overgrown weeds behind the house. “You coming peaceably, Eddie?”

  Eddie stood, teetered some and raised a hand. “No handcuffs.”

  “Okay. Get in the car.”

  “Pick me up a carton of smokes tonight!” Eddie called on his way past the kitchen window.

  The sound of running water accompanied his wife’s compliant, “All right, Eddie.”

  Nick shook his head, ushered his prisoner into the back of the cruiser and radioed Bryce about the situation.

  After the night deputy, Duane Quinn, arrived with supper and coffee for both himself and Eddie Vincent, Nick briefed him on the events of the day and headed home.

  “Dad!” Jamie met Nick as soon as he pulled into the drive.

  Nick got out and knelt for a hug. “Hey, little mister.”

  “Dad,” Jamie said, dragging him toward the house. “Me an’ Wade wanna set up the big tent and camp out. Can we do that tonight?”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yeah. Please, Dad?”

  Nick figured the boys wouldn’t make it the whole night, but he’d be awake to watch them, anyway, so it didn’t make much difference that it wasn’t a weekend. “I guess so. Is it okay with Wade’s mom and dad?”

  “You can talk to them.”

  In the kitchen, Mel stood, stirring something on the stove. “What’re you cooking, Pop?”

  “Just instant potatoes to go with these here pork chops.”

  The image of that pork chop lying under the Vincents’ counter immediately flashed through Nick’s mind and he shoved it aside. “Sounds good. I’ll change and set the table. We have salad greens from yesterday. I need to get out there and pull radishes.”

  Upstairs, he washed, changed into jeans and a T-shirt and glanced out the window. Ryanne was sitting on her shady front porch with a book, her bare feet propped on the banister. Why should he deny himself something with the possibility of being so good, just because it couldn’t be permanent? No one would have to know, she’d be gone soon and there’d be no strings, no messy relationship hassle. What would be the harm? People did it all the time. For the tenth time that day, he changed his mind.

  After supper, Nick told his dad to leave the dishes, and he and Jamie brought a tent from the garage and laid it out on the grass in the backyard.

  “It smells funny, Dad.”

  “Needs some air is all. You usually want to let ’em stand a day or so after they’ve been stored.”

  Mel had come out to watch from a lawn chair, and a few minutes later, Natalie Perry dropped off Wade. The excited boys proved to be more hindrance than help, as they asked questions and used the stakes in a sword fight. They ran toward the Whitaker house and returned with Ryanne in tow.

  “Want a hand?” she asked.

  Nick glanced at her curvy shape in navy jogging shorts and a sleeveless white top. Instantly, the remembered feel of her breasts in his hands had him looking away and taking a calming breath. “Sure.”

  With her help, the tent went up quickly. “There are cots in our basement,” she said. “I saw them the other day.”

  “Can we use ’em?” Jamie asked.

  “Of course,” she agreed. “Why don’t you boys come help me carry them?”

  Nick couldn’t help turning his head to watch her walk away, Jamie and Wade jogging along on either side.

  “She’s really something, isn’t she?” Mel remarked.

  Nick tied up a canvas window flap. “That she is.”

  “The air-conditioners working okay over there? The girl never uses ’em. Evelyn never did put in central air. Shame she didn’t.”

  “As far as I know, they work fine,” Nick replied. He had wondered the same thing about Ryanne not running the window units. Maybe the humidity just didn’t bother her, but he couldn’t imagine that being so.

  A sound sidetracked him, and he glanced over to see Ryanne using a handheld vacuum on two aluminum frame cots. She helped the boys carry them over, and Nick set them up inside.

  “Now we gotta get all our stuff,” Jamie said, and he and Wade galloped indoors.

  “Nick’s a dad like you,” Ryanne said to Mel, and from inside the tent, Nick overheard the comment. He glanced out the net window opening. She nestled down on the lawn in front of his father’s chair. “My dad never did fun things with us.”

  “He was a busy man,” Mel replied.

  “So were you. But even later, when your wife was ill, you had time for your boys.”

  Mel said nothing, but laid his hand on Ryanne’s shoulder. She turned her head to smile at him, and Nick’s chest hurt at the sight. He bent at the waist to exit the tent opening, and busied himself with picking up the bags and his hammer.

  “Do you remember when Justin set off that bottle rocket and it caught my mom’s clean sheets on fire on the clothesline?” Ryanne asked.

  Mel groaned, but she laughed.

  She continued. “How about when he poured gas down that hole in the yard and threw in a match to get rid of the snakes?”

  Mel shook his head. “That boy didn’t have eyebrows or eyelashes for months.”

  Listening to them reminisce, a person would think Justin’s antics had all been harmless and amusing, but they hadn’t been. He’d been in trouble time and again, and it had always been Nick getting him out of scrapes. The older Justin had gotten, the more serious the incidents, until he and Nick had been at odds all the time. Nick grabbed his tools and headed for the garage to put them away.

  Ryanne rearranged herself on the grass to watch Nick stomp away. “It bothers him to hear us talk about Justin?” she asked.

  Mel shrugged. “He never talks about his brother.” He stood and glanced at his watch. “I’ll be heading in. Time for my TV show.”

  Ryanne got up and followed the path Nick had taken, finding him replacing tools on an orderly pegboard inside the gigantic garage. Two draped cars were unrecognizable, except for the shape of the tail fins she knew belonged to the ’57 Chevy. Machinery and storage units of all kinds lined the walls.

  “This looks a lot different from the garage I remember,” she said, coming up beside him.

  Nick wiped a clean workbench with a cloth. “It is.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you by talking about Justin.”

  He turned around, leaned back against the wood and crossed his arms over his chest. “Let’s drop it then.”

  “Are you angry with me?”

  He shook his head. She hadn’t been able to think about much besides what had happened between them last night, and she didn’t want to spoil the tenuous friendship they’d resumed. She hadn’t had a friend for a long time, and she was realizing what she’d missed out on. “Are you upset about last night?”

  “Define upset.”

  “Mad?”

  “No.”

  “Disappointed?”

  His disturbing gaze locked on her mouth. “No.”

  Ryanne almost turned away, but at the last second, stood fast. She really didn’t have anyone except her mom, who was far away, and the Sinclairs had always been part of her family. After years of independence, it was obviously a weakness to need someone like she was starting to need Nick. Maybe she could fix it—cut herself off and regroup. Or maybe she didn’t want to go back to being herself—at least not just yet.

  Nick lowered his arms to his sides. He pursed his lips before saying, “I had a really bad day. That’s all.”

  “Renegade cows?”

  “Something like that.”

  “How long do you say the boys will last in the tent?” she asked.

  “Ten-thirty,” he replied.

  “I’ll say eleven-thirty.”

  He raised a brow in curiosity. “What’re you betting?”

  She thought a minute. “I’ll do your chores for a week.”

  He grinned. “Dishes, too?”

  “Okay. And if I win?” she asked.

  “You won’t. I know J
amie, and he gets tired early.”

  “But if I do…”

  “What do you want?”

  She considered. Dishes wouldn’t do. She needed something to alleviate the boredom. “A midnight drive every night for a week.”

  “Together?”

  She nodded.

  “Driving what?”

  She gestured to the cars beneath the covers. “Yours. Mine. It doesn’t matter.”

  “I could drive your car?” he asked.

  Seemed harmless enough. “Okay.”

  Nick extended his hand, and Ryanne shook it, the brief contact all the warning she needed to know that whatever this thing was between them, it wasn’t over yet—and she definitely hadn’t forgotten the night before.

  At ten-fifteen, Ryanne heard a commotion, dropped her stack of papers on the table and moved to the dining room window. Reaching back to flip off the light, she peered into the darkness toward the Sinclair house.

  Someone was growling loudly…a man. Nick. He was out there trying to scare the boys! She shot across the room, through the kitchen and out the back door. “You’re cheating!” she called.

  Peals of childish laughter assured her the boys weren’t frightened.

  “You can’t scare them inside!” Ryanne called “That won’t count!”

  From the lilac bush at the corner of his house, Nick emerged in the darkness. “That wasn’t in the rules. We never said we couldn’t influence them.”

  “I just assumed you’d play fair.”

  He turned a palm up.

  “Okay, fine,” she said, turning toward the tent. “Hey, fellas! Got anything good to eat in there?”

  “Wade’s mom sent some fruit gels.”

  “How about some popcorn? Shall I make you some popcorn?”

  “Sure!”

  “That’d be cool!”

  “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

  Nick followed her for a few feet. “Wait, you’re keeping them awake to eat.”

  “You said there were no rules,” she called over her shoulder.

  At eleven forty-five, Ryanne waited for Nick to come downstairs after tucking in the boys.

  “You cheated,” Nick said from the doorway.

  She made the same upraised palm gesture he had made. “So, do you start paying up tonight?”

  He nodded. “Why not? Let me tell Dad I’m leaving.”

  He returned a minute later. “Your car or mine?”

  “Yours,” she replied. “Mine tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” He grabbed a key ring from a hook by the door and ushered her outside. They entered the garage by a side door, and he pressed a button to raise the overhead door. “Give me a hand with this.”

  She helped loosen the cover from the edges of the bumpers and watched as another classic Chevy convertible was revealed. “Where did you get this?”

  “I’ve had her.”

  “You’re full of surprises, Nick.”

  He started the perfectly tuned engine, lowered the top and drove out of the garage. Reaching the black-top highway a few minutes later, Nick increased speed. The wind whipped through Ryanne’s hair, and looking over at her, Nick laughed.

  She pointed to the CD player. “It’s not eighties music, is it?” she called over the roar of the wind.

  Grinning, he leaned over and pressed a few buttons. “This is a ’63. What do you think?”

  Martha Reeves resonated through the speakers, singing how love was like a heat wave. Of course Nick would have the appropriate music for the car. Ryanne laughed and leaned back, enjoying the ride. He drove for miles, the songs changing, the sky a panorama of stars in all directions, and Ryanne relaxed and felt better about life than she had for a long time.

  Everything here was so simple, so elemental, with time to reflect and enjoy and just be.

  Nick finally pulled over to an area on the side of the road that looked out over the river, and cut the engine. The music died, too, leaving only the sound of the water. Eventually, frogs and crickets could be heard singing their night melodies. The moon reflected off the water, a peaceful quiet scene. Ryanne leaned her head back and studied the stars.

  She’d looked at the stars plenty since her return to Iowa. Before that, she couldn’t remember observing the night sky since her childhood.

  “Do you ever lie awake at night wondering what you’re doing with your life?” she asked. “Whether or not the choices you’ve made have been the right ones? How different your life might have been if you’d chosen a different direction?”

  Nick studied the riverbank opposite through the windshield. He’d lain awake plenty of nights—she had no idea!—but not wondering what he was doing with his life. The choice he’d made that had made all the difference had been the one to not accompany Justin the night he’d died. Every choice since then had been based on doing the right thing, taking others into consideration before himself. “You’ve done what you wanted to do,” he said. “Gone after your dreams.”

  The chirping of the frogs was the only sound for a long minute, before she spoke. “You resent me for that, don’t you?”

  Chapter Seven

  He couldn’t answer for a minute. The perceptive question made him take a good look at what he really did feel—besides the anger and helplessness and rigid sense of obligation. “I guess I do.”

  She turned in the seat and faced him. “But you didn’t want to leave Elmwood, Nick. Why did you care that I left?”

  “You don’t know what I wanted, Rye, so don’t act like you do.”

  She blinked. “What did you want?”

  He said nothing. He couldn’t. Voicing regrets would be a betrayal of his love for his father and his son.

  “You wanted to work on your cars,” she stated. “I remember. And you’ve done that.”

  “Yes. My little hobby,” he replied dryly.

  She sat back in the seat and looked away.

  “What are you regretting?” he asked. “Your marriage didn’t work out. That happens to a lot of people.”

  “Am I supposed to feel better because I’m in the majority statistically?”

  “I didn’t mean that.” He thought back to what she’d said about doubting her choices. He knew what a blow it was to strike out in marriage and feel like a failure. “Are you doubting your choice in a marriage partner or in your career?”

  She shrugged.

  “You’re young and smart. You can always make changes to your career if you’re not happy.”

  “I loved—love my job. That’s not it.”

  “You’re beautiful and sexy. You’ll find the right guy.”

  She turned to look at him finally. “I am?” She didn’t sound convinced.

  “You have a mirror, Rye, and it’s gotta be telling you that’s one dynamite body.”

  “You think I’m beautiful?” she asked.

  This was steering them into waters he didn’t want to navigate. She’d always turned him inside out and he’d always been her brotherly confidant. Nothing had seemed to change, except for her sudden physical responses to him, and that had him confused. Was she needy for someone to make her feel desirable again—was that it? And was he the safest person available? “I think you’re a knockout,” he answered truthfully.

  “And you liked kissing me?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  She sighed. “Everything’s so upside down, Nick.”

  He agreed with a nod.

  “Do you think it’s dangerous?” she asked. “You know, the kissing?”

  It was definitely dangerous. A major risk for his poor heart. A fatality for his sanity. He nodded again.

  “Uh-huh,” she said, but she’d started staring at him, her gaze moving over his shoulders and returning to his mouth. His body reacted immediately.

  He closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath. This couldn’t be happening. This shouldn’t be happening, but it was.

  “When you kiss me, Nick, I feel all those things. Beautiful, sexy, smart.”

&n
bsp; He didn’t know who had leaned closer, him or her, but her breath as she spoke touched his chin. He could smell her hair, her skin, feel the warmth from her body. “You want to be friends,” he reminded her, and opened his eyes.

  She was looking at him like he was a gooey dessert, and he discovered it wasn’t a bad feeling to be looked at like that.

  “Yes, I do,” she replied. “I don’t want anything to ruin that. I don’t want this…other thing…to ruin our friendship. What we have together is important to me.”

  “I guess that’s a risk.”

  “Just tell me you won’t stop being my friend.”

  “I won’t, Rye.”

  “Promise.”

  “I promise.”

  She reached up and threaded her fingers into the hair behind his ear. He leaned forward, the electrical current between them pulling like a magnetic field. He kissed her mouth and she made a little sound of surprise. Drawing back to look at her, he saw no resistance or hesitation, only desire in her eyes, and the yearning look sucked his breath from his lungs as though he’d been gut punched.

  He kissed her again, this time a melding of lips and tongues that spread delicious warmth through his blood and tilted his world on its axis. He knew better. He knew better! He knew squat.

  He took control of the kiss, pulling her into his arms and enjoying her delicate softness against his chest. He delved his fingers into her wild sexy hair, ignoring the tangles, relishing the thick silken texture.

  She touched a hand to his chest, where she must surely feel the savage beat of his heart and recognize how he felt about her. If she realized, she would pull away and laugh at him, tease him for being so serious—but she didn’t.

  Her reactions amazed him. Turned him on so badly he thought grimly that he’d embarrass himself at the slightest provocation.

  Beneath her fingertips, Nick’s accelerated heartbeat assured Ryanne that he wanted this as much as she did. She was crazy to touch him, crazy to enjoy the taste and heat and male strength of her friend. She raised the hem of his cotton shirt and let her palms glide over warm skin, satin flesh encasing hard muscles and enticing planes. When she found his chest and grazed his nipples with her fingertips, a shudder wracked his body. Newfound sexual power lent her increasing boldness.