The Taming of Billy Jones

by Christine Rimmer

  "Watch me." He started to turn.

  She hastened to stop him by adding, "And besides, Oggie's not in L.A. now, anyway."

  Billy snapped his attention back to her. "Where is he?"

  "He's gone home, to North Magdalene. Which is where Jesse and I are going. Tomorrow, right after I attend the closing on the mansion."

  Billy froze, he stood absolutely stock-still. And now he was gaping more than glaring. "Tomorrow?"

  "Tomorrow." She could see it all on his face. He still hadn't decided what to do about being a father. But when he did decide, he didn't want the child in question at the other end of the state. He said, in pure disbelief, "You can't just take my kid and leave."

  "I beg to differ. I can. And I will."

  "I'm his father."

  "And I'm his legal guardian."

  "I still have rights."

  "I know. That's why I'm here tonight, to tell you that you're welcome to come and stay with us. Anytime."

  He turned, paced to the door and then paced back to stand above her. "What the hell are you talking about? I live here in the San Fernando Valley. You can't just take my kid and move four hundred miles away."

  "Mr. Jones. Up to now, you have not shown a lot of interest in your kid."

  He swore some more under his breath. Then he spoke more directly to her. "Look, I didn't even know about him until a couple of weeks ago."

  "I understand that."

  "You didn't bother to tell me about him."

  "I was remiss, I know."

  "Remiss. That's a wimpy little word for careless, isn't it? Well, you weren't careless. You damn well didn't tell me. Randi didn't tell me. Nobody told me. I had to find out on the damn six o'clock news."

  She did feel somewhat guilty about that. "I'm sorry."

  "Sorry doesn't cut it. The point is, that in spite of the fact I told your sister I didn't want kids, she went ahead and had my kid anyway – and never said a word to me about it. Then she died. And you were in charge. You knew I was Jesse's father, but you didn't tell me, either."

  "I planned to tell you. I would have told you."

  "But you didn't tell me. I found out by accident."

  "Well, yes. But—"

  He didn't wait for her excuses. "It wasn't that long ago, either, that I found out."

  "I understand."

  "And since I found out, I've been … working up to dealing with it."

  She looked at him coldly, then. "Working up to dealing with what, Mr. Jones?"

  "You know what. The kid. Working up to dealing with the kid."

  She thought about Billy's one visit to the mansion, during which he'd stormed out before anything important could be said. She thought about the time that had passed since then, all the calls she'd made to him that he had never returned. And she decided that if he'd been working up to dealing with Jesse, he hadn't been working very hard.

  She told him, "Well, regardless of all that, I am Jesse's legal guardian. And I will decide—"

  He threw up a hand. "Don't start that. I'm his father. I'll damn well take you to court. We'll see who ends up deciding about my kid."

  She granted him a look of utter condescension. "Please. As if a judge would ever award custody of an innocent child to someone like you. I've heard the stories about you. It wouldn't take much to dig them up and present them in court."

  That gave Billy pause. He thought about a few of his past exploits. Once he'd climbed a flagpole naked; that had been written up in Guitar Pickers magazine. And there had been that time several years ago when he'd let himself get hooked on downers. He'd gone in to rehab and stayed clean – well, except for the booze – ever since. But still, his past drug problem was common knowledge around the entertainment industry. And then there were all the stories concerning him and a large number of women. Some of them wouldn't sound so good in a custody hearing.

  The woman was looking at him, all smug and prissy. He muttered defensively, "A man can change."

  She stood. "Well, you'd better get started on it then, hadn't you? And in the meantime, if you want to visit, come on ahead." She took a small card from the breast pocket of that button-down shirt. "Here's the address of the house where we'll be living. The phone there is already hooked up and the number of my cell phone is on the card, too. And anyway, it's a very small town. If you want to find us, you'll have no problem." She shoved the card into his hand and turned for the door.

  Billy wasn't about to let her get out that easy. He moved fast, sliding past her and blocking her path. "Just a minute, here, Prue."

  She sucked in a hard breath. "Don't call me that. And step out of the way, please."

  "Do not." He bit off each word. "Repeat, do not leave town with my kid."

  She didn't give an inch. "I am leaving town with your kid. Tomorrow, as I said."

  "If you do—"

  She let out a mean little laugh and tossed her head so the red waves he'd set free from that bun of hers bounced audaciously. "You won't even know whether I go or not. Because as soon as I leave this building, you'll go out to the bar and get good and drunk. And you'll play in the band. And go to bed late. And tomorrow, you'll get up and start all over again. You don't have time for a son, Mr. Jones. You're too busy partying." The bug eyes were shooting sparks. "My sister was right not to tell you about Jesse."

  "No," he said flatly. "No, she was not right. She used me, to get a baby. And then she dumped me. I hit the ground like a safe."

  This time her laugh sounded a lot like a snarl. "Oh, come on. I lived in her house. And we were very close. She cared for you. A lot. You were the one who would never let it go anywhere. You set the parameters. You said you wouldn't get married again and you wouldn't have kids. She became pregnant accidentally."

  "Yeah, right."

  "She was careful. But sometimes, even when a woman's careful, things happen."

  "Sure they do."

  "Wipe that smirk off your face. You can't lie to me, Mr. Jones. I know the truth. I know how it was. When she told you she didn't want to see you anymore, you fell all over yourself agreeing with her. You walked away, and you never once looked back."

  "I did look back. I missed her. I—"

  "Save it. I don't need to hear it. The point I'm making is, you don't deserve a son, especially not one as wonderful as Jesse, and I find that I honestly regret you ever found out you're his father."

  Billy had that urge again, that urge to reach out and wring the woman's neck.

  She must have seen it in his eyes, because she stuck her nose right up to him. "Go on. Try it. You just try it."

  Billy had behaved badly with a lot of women, but he'd never actually hit a woman in his life – let alone tried to strangle one. He wasn't about to start now. So he just glared at her. And she glared back. Heat seemed to vibrate in the air between them. Billy chose to believe it was the heat of anger. She had him pegged, and he knew it. He resented the hell out of her for it.

  And for some insane reason, he felt a growing determination to prove her wrong.

  At last he spoke. "One way or another, I'll make you regret it, if you leave town."

  "Is that a threat, Mr. Jones?"

  "That's a fact, Prue."

  They both glared and fumed some more. Then, with a mocking bow, Billy stepped out of her way.

  Prudence reached for the door, pulled it open and swept out, not pausing and not looking back – and feeling wonderfully self-righteous.

  After all, she had done her duty. Billy Jones knew where to find his son if he wanted to visit.

  Which he wouldn't. The days would turn to weeks, then to months and eventually, to years. Somehow, he would just never find the time.

  She had tried, she told herself. But it had simply done no good. Bad Billy Jones had neither the aptitude nor the inclination for fatherhood. He would never show up in North Magdalene. And that was just fine with her.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  « ^ »

  At four
in the morning, one week later, Billy packed up his Jeep Cherokee. He tossed his garment bag and suitcase in the back. Then he set his Martin, safe in its case, between the two pieces of luggage, where it wouldn't get knocked around.

  He drove straight through to Fresno, where he filled up the Jeep and ate truck-stop waffles smothered in butter and maple syrup. He hit the road again around eight and made it to Sacramento before noon. There, he stopped again, for more gas and a burger. Then he headed for the foothills.

  In Grass Valley and Nevada City, the sycamores and black oaks were aflame with the colors of fall. And the air had a bite to it. This wasn't L.A. Here, there would be snow on the ground when the winter closed in.

  At a sign that said Downieville, Billy turned off the stretch of four-lane highway and drove on, deeper into the mountains. The two-lane road twisted and turned, leading him down into the South Yuba River canyon and then back up the other side. All around him, steep hills rose up, blanketed in tall firs and pine.

  A half an hour after he left Nevada City, at one thirty-five in the afternoon, he was braking to enter North Magdalene.

  The highway ran right through the center of town, so he found himself on Main Street

  . Billy drove slowly, looking the place over. If he'd had a woman with him, she would have been sighing and gushing, calling the place precious and quaint and charming. Women went nuts for covered wooden sidewalks and gift shops with country-looking stuff in the windows. A row of maples, their leaves turned bright red and gold, lined the street on one side.

  In addition to the cute little gift and variety stores, Billy drove by a motel, a grocery store, a post office, a bar and restaurant and a coffee shop. He'd just passed some store called Fletcher Gold Sales when he realized he was headed out of town – and must have gone right by the street where Prue and Jesse lived. He swung into the parking lot of a new-looking town hall, turned around and went back the way he'd come.

  This time he was paying more attention when he reached Prospect Street

  . He turned on his left blinker, since left was the only way to go. Then he had to wait for two old ladies carrying grocery bags to finish crossing the street in front of him.

  They were a pair: one tall and scrawny, the other square and as solid as a bank vault. They caught sight of him through his windshield and both of them looked surprised for a moment. Then they frowned in unison, as if they already knew him and knew just the kind of trouble he was likely to bring to their peaceful little town. For a moment, he thought maybe his fame as a songwriter had preceded him. But that wasn't real likely. He was pretty well-known in some show business circles, but not by the public at large. And he doubted that many of his tunes would have much appeal for a pair of old biddies in North Magdalene, California.

  Just for fun, he honked and waved. The thin one waved back, but disapprovingly, as if she only did it because she was too well-bred to do otherwise. Right then, he found himself thinking of Sweethaven, his hometown. Sweethaven had been a damn sight flatter than this place, windy as hell and not nearly so picturesque. But from California to Kansas, old ladies in small towns were pretty much the same. They moved around in pairs. And they recognized an undomesticated male on sight.

  At last, the two ladies reached the other side of the street. Billy eased his foot off the brake and made his turn.

  Not two minutes later, he pulled up in front of the address Prue had given him. He turned off the Jeep, silencing a great Randy Travis tune in midnote. Then, for a moment, he sat studying the two-story building where Prue had brought his son to live.

  He estimated the place to be anywhere from forty to a hundred years old. It had been freshly painted white, with the trim and shutters a dark green. It had a nice, deep porch and a white picket fence around the yard. A big old rough-barked locust tree hung over the fence, looking a little scraggly now that it was losing its leaves for the winter. But the lawn was thick and green and the slate walk that led up to the porch steps seemed to just invite a man to come inside.

  He had to admit it. The place seemed to be just what Prue had been looking for: the perfect setting for Jesse to get a good start on his "ordinary" life. It was also across and down from the white wood-frame community church. Leave it to Prue, he thought with some amusement, to find a house on the same street as the church.

  Billy got out of the Jeep and went around back for his garment bag, suitcase and guitar. He slung the bag over his shoulder and took the suitcase and the Martin in either hand. Then he went through the front gate and up that pretty slate walk.

  The look of stunned disbelief on Prue's face when she opened the door made the trip more than worthwhile. Now all he had to do was find that meddling uncle of his and knock his tonsils down his throat. Then Billy Jones would be a totally contented man.

  "Billy." She said his name the way some might say, "measles," or "poison oak." Her glasses had a smudge on them. She wore jeans and an old shirt and her hair had a red bandanna over it.

  "Getting a little cleaning done?"

  "Billy," she said again, dazed. Disbelieving.

  He savored her obvious stupefaction at the sight of him, here, where she had been so sure he would never come. "Your mouth's hanging open, Prue."

  She snapped it shut.

  "Can I come in?"

  She fell back, still wearing an expression of pure bumfuzzlement. Feeling really good, really happy, really pleased with himself, Billy entered her house. It had no entry hall, so he stepped into her living room. It was just what he expected: hardwood floors and comfortable furniture, roses floating in a cut crystal bowl on the coffee table. The television was new, with a decent-size screen, but there was no stereo in sight. He'd have to do something about that.

  He set the guitar and the suitcase down, though he kept the garment bag on his shoulder. "Where's Jesse?"

  "Taking a nap."

  He grinned. "In a bed, I hope."

  She frowned. "He's too young for a bed."

  He put on a reproachful expression. "He's still in a crib?"

  "Uh, yes. Yes, he is."

  "Well, I'll have to fix that." He grinned again. Ever since she'd left him in his office that night a week ago, he'd been making plans. For the things that he would fix.

  Behind the smudged glasses, her eyes had lost that dazed look. They were starting to glitter dangerously. "Wait a minute. How dare you assume you can just march in here and—"

  He cut in, sounding very reasonable, he thought. "He sure does sleep a lot. That worries me a little."

  "He's hardly more than a baby. Babies do sleep a lot."

  "Still, it could be a warning."

  "A warning of what?"

  He had no idea, but he wasn't going to tell her that. "Hell, lots of things."

  She folded her arms under her breasts and tapped an impatient foot on the floor. "Oh, right. You're an expert on children now. After all, your experience with them is so vast."

  She was starting to irritate him. "When it comes to my son, my experience is going to get vaster, Prue. Just watch." He hoisted the Martin and the suitcase again. "Now, where's my room?"

  She blinked at him through those grotesque glasses that he knew damn well she wore as much to hide behind as to see through. "Your room?"

  He hefted the suitcase, just in case she hadn't noticed it. "I'm staying a while. Contrary to your expectations, I'm taking you up on that offer of yours."

  "What offer?" Boy, did she look bleak. With relish, he reminded her, "You know, to visit? To get to know my son. To learn how to be a father."

  "But, you can't—"

  "Oh, yes, I can." He stepped a little closer to her. "Unless…"

  She moved back. "What?"

  "…you were lying to me."

  She gulped. "Lying?"

  "About how I was so welcome to come and stay. Anytime. Were you lying about that, Prue?"

  Her eyes darted back and forth in their sockets, as she desperately tried to find herself some avenue of escape. B
ut there was no escape, and Billy knew it. He'd done a lot of thinking about Prue. And he'd come to a few conclusions.

  The woman was hopelessly honorable. And she possessed an ingrained determination to do the right thing. Honor and integrity. Such commendable qualities. They put her right where he wanted her.

  "Prue," he prompted softly, "were you lying?"

  "No." She looked slightly pale. "I wasn't lying. I meant what I said. You're Jesse's father. He should know you."

  "And he will know me. Now, where's my room?"

  He watched the resignation come into her eyes. If he'd been a better man, he probably wouldn't have enjoyed seeing it there so much.

  "All right," she said. "This way."

  She led him out of the living room, to a bedroom that branched right off the dining room. He tossed his suitcase onto the bed and hung up the garment bag in the closet. She stood in the doorway, watching him, looking all sad and haunted, as if she were some bespectacled Southern belle forced to bed down a damn Yankee in her plantation home.

  She sighed. "The downstairs bath is off the kitchen."

  "Fine." Carefully he stood the Martin in the corner, in a space between the bureau and the wall, where it wasn't likely to be disturbed. Then he felt in his pocket for his keys.

  "You're going somewhere?" she asked faintly, as he strode past her.

  "Yeah. Out."

  "Out where?"

  He was almost to the front door before he turned and gave her a grin. "To find my uncle."

  That snapped some starch into her. "Why?"

  "To knock his teeth down his throat."

  She started moving then. Fast. Toward him. "Billy, you can't—"

  "Watch me." In four steps he'd reached the door. He pulled it open and then paused to tell her, "I'll be back in time for dinner."

  "Billy, you're not serious. You wouldn't really—" He shut the door before she could finish. He was whistling as he strode down that charming slate walk.

  * * *

  In the house, Prudence stared at the door he'd closed in her face and debated whether to follow him.