by James, Sandy
She smiled at him. “Oh yeah, that’s gonna happen.”
Brian appeared and spoke over her shoulder. “Ready to warm up?”
Lucas nodded and released the cross-ties before leading the horse out of the stall. Sam and Lucas hooked the jog cart up to the harness. Brian took the reins and slid onto the driver’s seat as Lucas led the gelding to the track. After releasing his hold on the bridle, Lucas retreated to the white-washed fence to watch Brian steer the animal through a brisk two-mile jog to warm up the gelding’s muscles.
“How’s it hanging, Lucas?” called a familiar voice.
“Several inches longer than yours,” Lucas replied as he glanced up at his dark-haired friend who had come to stand at his side. “What’s up, Seth?”
Lucas had gotten to know Seth Remington through Brian, especially through the stories Brian and Samantha had shared with him in their regular emails and letters. Once they’d finally met, Lucas realized that he liked the man’s easy manner and quick wit. Now, together with trainer Chris Harris, the four men spent many hours together. They had helped Lucas assimilate back into civilian society, and he would always be grateful for their support through that difficult time.
It was always a bit surreal to realize that Seth was one of the richest men in the country. He had inherited the Remington Computer fortune, but Seth’s heart led him down a path that had nothing to do with technology. Together with his trainer wife Katie, he made harness racing his life.
“Not much,” Seth replied. “You want to pick up some extra cash and take care of a horse for me on Wednesday? Katie is going to Goshen to visit her grandpa.”
“She taking Reed with her?” Lucas asked as he thought about Seth and Katie’s six month old son.
“Yeah, the little devil is going with her. I swear that kid’s going to turn me gray before my time. Just yesterday, I turned my back for a second, and the kid was eating out of the trash.”
Lucas chuckled at his friend’s enviable predicament.
“I’m serious,” Seth insisted. “Have you seen him crawl? The kid moves at light speed.”
“Hence the nickname.”
“I know, I know. ‘Reed means Speed.’ What the hell was I thinking? Katie warned me. She started using his middle name just so people will quit teasing her,” Seth said with a shake of his head.
“What’s his middle name?”
“Sterling. After my father. He’s got the Old Man’s temperament, too. God help us all when he learns to walk.”
“I don’t suppose the red hair helps much?” Lucas asked with an amused smile. “You know what they say about chestnuts...”
“Yeah, yeah. Redheads are a problem if they’re a horse, a wife, or a son.” He shook his head again and slapped Lucas hard on the back. “Hell, I’ve got all three. Just wait until some woman comes along and tames you like Katie tamed me. You won’t know what hit you. So you want to take the job or does Brian have a horse in on Wednesday?”
“I’ll take it. I could use the cash.”
Seth leaned his elbows against the fence next to Lucas and watched the horses as they moved around the track. “Are you finally getting used to being back?”
“Gets any warmer and it’ll feel like I’m back in Iraq,” Lucas replied as he gave a small tug to the damp collar of his shirt then gave Seth’s outfit a quick head-to-toe appraisal. “Isn’t Indiana a thrill in July? You’ve got to be suffocating in your colors.”
Seth glanced down at his green and white jumpsuit as if seeing it for the first time. “Well, what are you going to do? Drive naked? Besides, this is coming from the man who wears nothing but long sleeves.”
Choosing to ignore the last statement, Lucas said, “Driving naked might improve the crowds.”
“You coming on Monday?” Seth asked.
Lucas nodded. “We still meeting at The Place?” he asked, referring to the local bar and restaurant the horsemen tended to overrun every Monday night. But in the years he’d been away, perhaps his friends had chosen a new haunt.
Seth nodded. “Still at The Place. We need to work out some plans for Chris’s bachelor party soon.” He pushed himself away from the fence when the race official’s voice boomed over the loud speaker calling for the first race. “Gotta run.” He turned and jogged away.
Lucas moved to the exit chute to catch Brian’s horse as he left the track. Brian hopped off the jog cart and turned the horse over to Lucas. “Gotta go. First race is up,” Brian called to his brother before dashing into the paddock.
After leading the gelding back to the stall, Lucas covered the horse’s hindquarters with a large towel to keep the joints warm. Then he replaced the bridle with a more comfortable halter and let the horse rest until his race.
Taking a seat on one of the wooden picnic tables at the front of the paddock, Lucas watched the first race on the large television mounted high on the wall. Because it was hard to choose which man to cheer for, he remained stoic as he watched Seth win as his brother finished a close second.
“You’ll get him next time, Bro.” With a contented smile, Lucas went back to work.
* * * *
Joy breezed in through Gypsy’s kitchen door, dropped her art bag next to the private entrance to her upstairs apartment, and pretended she wasn’t late.
Tamas was waiting to scold her. She caught the nasty glare the raven-haired man sent her way. Storms raged in his brown eyes. “Where have you been?” he demanded, his arms sternly crossed over his chest and his voice harsh. For a second, she almost thought she was staring at a younger version of her father. The notion made her shudder.
“Out sketching,” she finally replied, wondering why she needed to explain herself to him. Scolding her in front of the kitchen staff didn’t do much to endear Tamas to her, either.
“Out sketching? Again? You need to focus more on the restaurant, Jozsa. Your father is right. It’s time to put that childish stuff away,” he said as he hefted a box of vegetables from the worktable and carried it to the walk-in refrigerator. After disappearing inside for a few moments, he came back out and shut the thick door with a kick. “The dinner rush is starting, and I don’t have a hostess.”
“Isn’t Krisi up front?”
“Like I said, I don’t have a hostess. A real hostess.”
“I’ve got to change then I’ll get up there and find out what’s going on.” He continued to frown at her as she picked up her bag and climbed the steps leading to her small home.
Throwing her supplies on the table, Joy glanced at her answering machine. The flashing light told her she had one message. She punched the button to start the playback as she yanked her shirt over her head.
“Miss Kovacs, this is Jenny Hammonds from Indiana Academy of the Arts. We’re still waiting on the arrangements for your fees if you’re planning to register for the fall semester. If you’re having problems making tuition, we’ll help you fill out the paperwork for student loans. I’d appreciate a call at 317-555-8243. Miss Kovacs, we can’t continue to hold this place for you if we don’t hear from you soon.” A cold mechanical voice announced the end of her messages.
“Damn it,” Joy muttered as she grabbed a new shirt from the pile of clean laundry sitting in the basket by the table. She pulled the ivory peasant blouse over her head and jammed her arms into the sleeves. Got to look the part of a gypsy for the clientele.
She tripped over one of the four cats that called her apartment home. The white, black, and orange calico weaved a figure eight between her legs, obviously hoping for some attention. Joy obediently scratched the feline behind its furry ears and tried to finish dressing.
“I can’t go this fall. Sweet Jesus, what was I thinking?” she asked the cats and the empty room. “I’ll call tomorrow and push it off until spring.”
Kicking off her flip-flops, she picked up some leather sandals and slipped them on her feet. She grabbed a red sash and tied it around her waist. A fat yellow tabby jumped from the sofa, planted itself in front of Joy, an
d rose on two legs to bat the sash’s tasseled trim with his front paws. With a giggle, she pulled the sash out of his reach. The disappointed cat sauntered back to his comfortable place on the sofa.
Rapidly plaiting her thick, unruly hair into a braid, Joy hurried back down the stairs. Tamas was still in the kitchen when she got there. After throwing a couple of verbal directives at one of the cooks, he strode over to her.
“Can you go help Krisi now? Can you believe it? She actually started a waiting list when we have empty tables.”
“I’m going. I’m going. Geesh.”
He furrowed his dark brows in irritation. “You know, this is supposed to be our restaurant, and I can’t even get you to put in more than twenty hours a week.”
Joy stopped in her tracks. “Our restaurant? Tamas, you’ve been spending too much time talking to my father. Janos is supposed to run this place.”
“Janos, you, and me,” he corrected, thumping his chest with his thumb. “We need to sit and talk, Jozsa. It’s time we stopped acting like teenagers and started making some plans for our future. Janos doesn’t want to run Gypsy. He never has.”
“So you just assumed that I—”
“That you’d grow up and finally come to your senses,” Tamas scolded. “Go on and help Krisi. We can talk after close.”
Not wanting to continue the annoying and unproductive conversation, and entirely afraid she wouldn’t be able to fight off the overwhelming desire to smack some sense into Tamas, she hurried to the hostess station at the front of the restaurant. The teenage hostess fussed over the floor plan as she tried to assign tables to the small line of people waiting for their names to be called so they could be seated.
With an air of confidence, Joy moved behind the rostrum and began to chat with the customers as she looked over the layout of tables. Picking up the wax pencil, she began to mark off tables on the plexiglas floor plan. Calling the people on the short waiting list, she handed menus to Krisi and told her where to lead each group. The line was gone in less than five minutes.
The brunette teenager nodded her appreciation to Joy and took back control of the greeting area. “Sorry, Joy. They kinda ganged up on me there. Thanks for the help.”
“Just send someone for me if you get hectic again,” Joy replied. “By the way, love the new piercing.”
Krisi’s hand went to her nose and rubbed the small stud that penetrated one nostril. “Hurts like hell, but it pissed my mom off, so...” She shrugged.
“So you succeeded,” Joy said with a broad smile.
“I’m going to do my tongue next week.”
Joy left the foyer, shaking her head and laughing. Stepping into the main dining room, she moved around the tables, chatting with the regular clients and seeing to the needs of all of the guests.
Joy loved working at Gypsy. Her ethnic soul felt free, nourished as she read an occasional palm or two or drew a sketch to make a child laugh. She’d even sing a Hungarian birthday song to happy guests. Because she had literally grown up in a restaurant, the work was as effortless as breathing.
But as the evening passed, Joy’s troubling thoughts gnawed at her contentment. Gypsy was wonderful, but working in a restaurant wasn’t what she wanted for the rest of her life. She still couldn’t believe she had found the courage to apply to the Academy. Her father would have a stroke if she told him. Even more amazing was that she continued to follow through on the plans as if she might actually attend the prestigious institution. But having grown up with five older brothers, and after watching them go through many different stages of rebellion, Joy had learned it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission.
Go to an art school? Oh, yes, her father would most definitely have a stroke.
Relieved that she managed to make it through the rest of the evening without being cornered by Tamas, she fled to her apartment before he had a chance to force her into that chat he’d threatened.
Glancing at the collage of her drawings of Lucas, Joy sighed. “So now, what?” Art school or the restaurant? And more importantly, what about Lucas?
What am I supposed to do now?
Chapter 5
The metallic smell of blood filled Lucas’s nostrils, and his ears still heard the muffled roar lingering after the boom of the explosion. His heart pounded a furious rhythm, and a thick layer of perspiration painted his skin. Despite the oppressive heat, shivers wracked his body. Several agonizing minutes passed before the nightmare gave way to reality.
“I’m not in Iraq. I’m in Indiana.” He wasn’t in danger anymore. “I’m not in Iraq, damn it.”
Unfortunately, Lucas’s mind was having problems getting used to his new circumstances. He’d spent too long on his guard, constantly aware of his surroundings and assessing their probable risk. Every person had been a potential enemy. But not here, not back home.
The doctor at the V.A. hospital had called his problem “post-traumatic stress disorder.” It’s a pain in the ass, is what it is. He was out of the Army now. He shouldn’t still be having the horrible nightmares.
Lucas felt like an old man.
Sitting up, he tossed the sheet aside and threw his legs over the side of the bed. Resting his elbows on his knees, he laced his fingers through his damp hair and took slow, deep breaths. A passing thought scolded that his hair was getting too long. It almost brushed his shoulders now. He knew he should probably get it cut, but he just couldn’t bring himself to face another pair of clippers. Scissors, maybe. But not clippers.
The morning sunlight streamed through the glass of the enormous bedroom window. Taking a long look around his room, Lucas heaved a weary sigh over how much work was ahead of him if he truly planned to renovate the house. For the life of him, he still couldn’t understand why he’d chosen to buy the rundown old mansion. It was even more confusing to realize fixing the place up meant so very much to him.
When Joy had talked about the draw of the house, Lucas had instinctively understood. The surprising part had been that someone else felt the tug as strongly as he did. How odd to know that she was being pulled into the eddy as well.
Lucas glanced over to the picture he’d purchased the night of the arts and crafts fair. The painting leaned against the wall where he could see the image of his house as he lay on his bed. Simply having the picture close comforted him in some peculiar way.
He sure didn’t like the idea that the place was haunted. Did Joy really mean ghosts lived here? As in Wes Craven ghosts? As in torturing and killing the new inhabitant ghosts?
Screw it. They can’t be any worse than suicide bombers.
Lucas let his gaze wander through his bedroom. The walls were covered with the most hideous wallpaper he could possibly imagine, so ugly it actually made him smile. Large pink and orange flowers gave testament to the ever-changing taste in home decoration. Most of the faded paper was already peeling away, but Lucas knew he faced many hours of steaming the revolting pattern from his walls. His mind’s eye saw the room differently. Much differently.
He’d use a pleasant blue to lighten up the gloom. Sky blue. The ceiling needed a good coat of white paint, and the light fixture hanging above the bed had to date back to the Great Depression. He’d find something more...cheerful. Making those changes would be simple enough, but they would have a huge impact.
As he rose and walked to the bathroom, Lucas carefully avoided the parts of the floor that seemed less than stable. The inspectors had assured him it was nothing more than dry rot. No termites were stowing away and destroying the wood. The man had marked most of the places to watch with piss-green spray paint. The appalling color only added to the already psychedelic appearance of the bedroom.
Lucas had left most of what little furniture he’d acquired downstairs to keep from putting too much stress on the floorboards. It would take some time to pull up each bad board and replace it with fresh wood. Then he’d have to refinish the whole thing. But he could see how wonderful the place would be, could even visualize the spo
t where he would put the enormous Persian rug he’d brought back with him from the Middle East.
To this day, he wondered how that crafty corporal had managed to get the rug on a transport plane. The man had even made sure the massive carpet was delivered to Brian’s house while Lucas was still in the German hospital. That guy had been a miracle worker.
The notion of putting one over on the Army made Lucas smile. But as quickly as they always did, the memories turned sour. Lucas valiantly pushed the haunting images aside and made himself face the new day.
As he washed his hands, he caught his reflection in the distorted glass of the ancient bathroom mirror, cursing aloud at what he saw. Lucas wasn’t the young man who had happily gone into the military to serve his country. The Army had seemed like a heroic way out, an escape from the boring life of horses and farms. How ironic. He’d been trying to flee the life he now craved. While he wasn’t ever naïve enough to believe he was fighting for baseball, mom, or apple pie, he had a very different take on the world back then.
Back when he had been whole.
Hell, all he ever managed to do with his life was screw it up. Always doing all the wrong damn things for all the right reasons.
Lucas returned to the bedroom, jerked a long-sleeved t-shirt over his head, yanked on some blue jeans, and made his way down to the kitchen.
Coffee was waiting for him compliments of Mr. Coffee’s brew timer. The kitchen seemed to be one of the few parts of the house that could conduct electricity without starting a fire. Seth had offered several times to hire an electrician to come rewire the place, but Lucas had always turned him down, feeling the need to bring this house back to its former glory on his own. Of course, if the coffee maker ever stopped working, he would take Seth up on his offer in a heartbeat.
Pouring himself a cup of the strong, pungent brew, he walked to the door to stare out on the hayfield that bordered his back yard. As Lucas sipped his coffee, he smiled remembering Joy dancing around. He still didn’t know what had surprised her, but he imagined it was some of the local wildlife. Critters loved this place. Red foxes appeared from time to time, and white-tailed deer often found their way to his yard at sunrise and sunset. Possums. Raccoons. Which had frightened her?
