Hitz (Wild Irish Silence Book 3)

by Sherryl Hancock

  Jerith looked over at her as he got into her sapphire-blue Toyota Corolla GTS. “You look great.”

  Nicolette smiled, but he could tell she was embarrassed by the compliment. “Thank you,” she said. She saw that he was shaking his head. “What?”

  “I just… Well, you don’t understand,” he said, grinning widely.

  “So explain it and I will,” she said with a smile, looking straight at him.

  Jerith thought about it for a minute, then shook his head. “Can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I can’t think of a way to put it so that I don’t sound like a conceited pig.”

  “I see,” Nicolette said, nodding. “Never mind then.”

  “Let’s just say that you aren’t an average date for me.”

  “Date?” Nicolette narrowed her eyes at him just slightly.

  “When two people make an appointment to go to lunch it can be called a date,” Jerith said, his tone chiding but with a smile on his face.

  “I see. And what is your average ‘date’ like?”

  Jerith looked her over again. “A lot more of everything, except clothes.”

  Nicolette raised her eyebrows in surprise.

  “I mean,” Jerith said, looking embarrassed suddenly, “they usually wear a lot more makeup, have much bigger hair and skimpier outfits. They’re usually referred to as groupies.”

  “Ah.” Nicolette nodded. “You sound like you don’t like that type much.”

  Jerith shrugged. “It gets old really fast. Half the time I make plans with someone normal-looking, and then when I pick her up she looks like the groupie from hell.” He laughed at the face Nicolette made. “Really!”

  “Well, the difference here is that I picked you up,” she said, matter-of-fact.

  “Yeah, that’s gotta be it,” Jerith said, humor in his eyes.

  “So, where to?”

  “Good question. I don’t know this area—I was hoping you could suggest something.”

  “What do you want?” she asked. When Jerith started to grin, she said, “For lunch.”

  “I knew that.”

  “Do you want to eat by the river?”

  “That sounds good. What’s down there?”

  “Well, there’s Woody’s.”

  “What do they have?”

  “It’s a bar and grill.”

  “We have a winner here,” Jerith said; he preferred casual places to fancy ones.

  “Okay,” Nicolette said, pulling out of the hotel driveway.

  The car radio was on, a CD playing, and after a few minutes, Jerith said, “Who’s this?”

  “Savage Garden.”

  “I’ve heard of ’em. They’re pretty good,” Jerith said, nodding.

  “Oh, by the way, my son thought he might know who you are. He said something about a Kid Michaels?” Nicolette glanced over at him.

  “That’s me.”

  “Kid?”

  “It’s a nickname from way back. My granddad used to say, ‘Kid, go do this,’ or ‘Kid, get out of my face,’ or ‘Kid, clean up that mess.’ It just kinda stuck.” He shrugged.

  “And the name of your band is…” Nicolette said, trailing off as she tried to remember what Ryan had told her.

  “Billy and the Kid.”

  “Yeah, that’s what he said.” Nicolette nodded. “So, I take it you’re famous?”

  “Sort of,” Jerith said, not one to brag about that.

  “If my son knows who you are, then you have to be at least notable.”

  “How old’s your son?” Jerith was sure the boy couldn’t be very old, and thought it strange that a young child would know his band.

  “Fourteen and a half,” she said, stunning him into a momentary silence.

  “No way.” Jerith shook his head as he looked at her. She couldn’t be much older than twenty-five—how could she have a kid that old?

  “Oh yes. I can show you his birth certificate if you’d like.”

  “And you were what, ten when you had him?” Jerith was still shaking his head. “Or are you one of those fifty-year-old women that look really young?”

  Nicolette looked over at him as if trying to determine his sincerity. “I was sixteen when I had him, and no, I’m a thirty-one-year-old woman who looks it.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t go that far—you look younger than thirty-one. But wow, sixteen, huh?”

  “Yes.” It was obvious from Nicolette’s tone that she didn’t want to discuss it, so he dropped the subject.

  They arrived at the restaurant a few minutes later. They went inside and one of the waiters recognized Jerith right away. He made sure they had the best spot on the river. Once they were seated, Nicolette looked at him again.

  “I guess you are famous,” she said, though she didn’t sound too awestruck.

  Jerith shrugged.

  “So what made you into a big star?”

  “A guitar,” he said simply. Then, when he realized she was looking for more of an explanation, “I started playing classical guitar when I was in junior high school—my parents were looking for a way to keep me out of trouble.”

  “Did it work?” Nicolette asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “No,” he said, shrugging and grinning. “But it made them feel better. Anyway, in high school I picked up an electric guitar, and that was the beginning of the end for me. I ended up moving to LA and going to MI. I met Billy in LA while I was playing with another band at the Whiskey, and we got together and formed Billy and the Kid. It’s all history from there.”

  Nicolette nodded. “I see. And when did your friend get into drugs?”

  Jerith’s face changed; he looked chagrined. “She’s been into it for a while now. I guess she thinks she can escape a crummy childhood and the jaded music scene that way.”

  “People like her usually end up dead, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m going to kick her ass tonight.”

  “Think that’ll help?” Nicolette asked doubtfully.

  “No, but I know that being arrested scared her to death, and I’m pretty sure she’ll listen to reason now.”

  “I hope so, for your sake.”

  “Yeah,” Jerith said. He looked morose.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring you down or anything. I just hate to see people going that way. I tend to get on my soapbox.”

  “Yeah. So what made you become a cop?” he asked, looking at her quizzically.

  “Just fell into it, I guess.” She shrugged. “After college I needed a job that would keep me busy but give me the pay and benefits I needed to raise Ryan. So here I am.”

  “Wait a minute,” Jerith said, looking at her in surprise. “You went to college?”

  “Lots of people do.”

  “Yes, but you said you had your son when you were sixteen…”

  “I did. They still let you into college in spite of that,” she said reproachfully.

  “I know that—I just meant, wasn’t that hard to do?”

  “I’ve had a lot of support from my family. My mom thought it was important for me to go to college. So between her and my brother, we managed to work it out.”

  “You don’t see many families like that nowadays,” Jerith said, shaking his head.

  “What about yours?” Nicolette asked. She wasn’t sure why she was interested, but she was.

  “Mine?” He shrugged. “Just your average all-American family. Parents have been married since high school. I have an older brother and a younger sister—they both went to college. My dad’s a retired steelworker; my mom never worked outside the home. Good old down-home, apple pie stuff.” His tone indicated that he liked his family that way.

  “Except for the long-haired rocker rebel, huh?”

  “Yeah, except for me.” He sounded a little chagrined; he hadn’t been quite the model son they’d expected.

  “But I’ll bet they’re proud that you’re doing something with your talent.”

 
Jerith narrowed his eyes at her comically. “How do you know I have any talent? You’ve never heard of my band, remember?”

  “You caught me,” Nicolette said. “Deep down I’m a major Billy and the Kid groupie. I just did that cop thing yesterday to draw you in. How’d you guess?”

  Jerith laughed. The waiter came over to ask if they were ready to order, and Jerith glanced at Nicolette; she nodded. “I’ll have the number three and a Corona,” she said. Jerith looked surprised when she added the beer.

  “That sounds good—me too,” he said.

  The waiter nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Michaels.”

  “Kid,” Jerith said, and the young man’s eyes lit up at the invitation. He walked away with an extra spring in his step. Jerith looked back at Nicolette to see that she was grinning at him.

  “What?” he said, perplexed.

  “You probably just made his whole year.”

  Jerith shrugged. “Nobody calls me Mr. Michaels except my accountant.”

  “And me.”

  “Yes,” Jerith said, sitting back and tilting his head to the side. “What will it take to get on a first-name basis with you?”

  Nicolette looked as if she was considering the idea. “But what do I call you? Kid or Jerith?”

  “Either one’s fine with me, so long as you call me.” His smile was intense.

  “Oh, I see,” Nicolette said, laughing.

  “And what do your friends usually call you?”

  “Nicolette or Colette, but you can call me whatever you’d like, within reason.” She smiled.

  “I see,” Jerith said.

  Their meal arrived a little while later. Jerith was pleased to note that Nicolette drank her beer out of a glass; he’d seen too many women try to look tough by drinking it out of the bottle. It was like seeing a woman smoking—it turned him off real quick. He knew he got his prudish side from his mother, but he had always been attracted to women who acted like women. Not to the point of ridiculous, but just having a certain modicum of femininity about them.

  Nicolette Harris defined modern femininity. The way she talked, although sometimes with cutting wit, still held a level of intelligence and gentility. The way she moved when she dropped her fork and waited politely until the waiter came by to ask for another one. The way she listened politely to everything he said, nodding or smiling at some points. His eyes were drawn constantly to her legs; she had finished eating long before him, but they sat and talked and she had turned sideways in the chair, crossing her legs. They were very tanned and very shapely, and he’d always had a thing for women’s legs anyway; he considered hers spectacular. He was very attracted to her, and for once he wasn’t sure how far she would let this go.

  Having been in the music business for a long time, he was used to women throwing themselves at him. He had long since built up an immunity to their beauty, their enhanced bust lines, their perfect babydoll made-up faces, everything. Jerith did indulge in women from time to time, but it was always a one-night thing. The few real relationships he’d had had always gone nowhere. He was never in one place for long, and he wasn’t really into deep and meaningful long-distance relationships. The last he’d been in had ended after six months with the woman screaming obscenities at him as he packed up the few things he’d had at her apartment. He just couldn’t find the right woman for him, and he wondered if there was such a thing. Jerith figured that eventually, when the great rollercoaster ride—his term for his music career—was over, he’d go home to New Jersey and find himself a nice girl and settle down.

  They talked for almost an hour after their dishes were cleared away. Finally Nicolette stood, and Jerith followed suit. He had long since paid the bill, and he reached into his pocket, pulled out a twenty, and tossed it on the table as they walked away. Nicolette glanced back, and then at him. “Twenty dollars? The bill was less than that.”

  “Hey, I had to wait tables for a while in LA to make ends meet. I know how it is.”

  “I guess,” she said, shaking her head.

  They walked back to her car, and she opened the door for him. He stood back, grinning.

  “What?” she said, looking up at him.

  “This just seems so wrong somehow.”

  “Don’t you believe in women’s lib?”

  “Sometimes,” he said noncommitally as he got into the car.

  She got in as well and looked over at him. “Sometimes, huh?”

  “Hey, I was brought up in a household where my father still holds the door open for my mother, and everyone keeps their elbows off the table when they eat.”

  “Okay, okay,” she said, smiling. She started the car, and as she went to shift into reverse, Jerith’s hand on hers stopped her. She looked up. He was grinning.

  “I don’t want to go back just yet,” he said. He sounded almost shy, biting his lower lip. “Couldn’t we go walk around somewhere?”

  “Like where?”

  “I’ve heard Old Sacramento is interesting,” he said hopefully.

  She looked at him for a long moment. “Okay, you win,” she said as she put the car into reverse. They drove the short distance to the original part of Sacramento and spent the next two hours walking through shops.

  Nicolette found out that he was a car fanatic, that he had just recently bought the black BMW she’d seen him in the day before. She also found out that he was a self-professed couch potato whose favorite shows included Smallville, Lost, and House, and that he loved movies of all types.

  Jerith found out that Nicolette basically split her time between work and her son. She was supportive of his football playing and tried to attend every game she could. She said that she too watched TV, but with Ryan. She told him she did like Smallville and House, and that Lost seemed to ask more questions than it answered, every episode. She also watched comedy acts and liked acoustic music.

  They stopped along the way and had lemonade; it was warm out, and they sat at a table to drink it. Again Jerith found himself watching her legs as she crossed them. His eyes took in every detail of the way she moved, and he knew he was in trouble this time. She seemed absolutely perfect. And as they made their way back to her car, he found himself wanting to spend more time with her.

  Leaning on his arms on the roof of the car, he looked over at her. “How about dessert?”

  “Dessert, Jerith?”

  “Please,” he said, smiling like a little boy at Christmas.

  “What do you have in mind?” she asked with mock weariness.

  “Apple pie.”

  “How all-American,” she replied, grinning. “Where?”

  “I heard about this place called Apple Hill.”

  She looked at him for a long moment, then laughed and shook her head. “Jerith, that’s like, up the hill.”

  “So?” Jerith said, not understanding what she meant.

  “For you non-Sacramentans, that means about an hour’s drive from here, at least—maybe even an hour and a half.”

  “Oh.” Jerith looked crestfallen. With his head down, he glanced up at her, almost pouting.

  Nicolette rolled her eyes. “Jesus!” She put her elbow on the window of the car and wagged her finger at him. “I’ll just bet that not too many people say no to you, do they?”

  Jerith brightened, shaking his head. “But somehow I know that if anyone is ever going to say no to me, it’ll most likely be you.”

  Nicolette nodded as she got into the car. Her cell phone buzzed, and as she started the engine, she picked up the phone and dialed the number of the missed call, then hit hands-free.

  A woman picked up. “Capital Kristiani High School.”

  “Yes,” Nicolette said. “This is Nicolette Harris. I believe my son Ryan Harris may have called me.”

  “Yes, Miss Harris. He’s right here.”

  “Mom?” Ryan sounded surprised that she was calling from her car phone. “I thought you were off work today?”

  “I am off.”

  “Then why’re you in your c
ar with your phone on?”

  “Ryan, I always have my phone on, and I am allowed to leave the house on my day off, am I not?”

  “Yeah, Mom, yeah. I’m sorry, I just tried the house and I figured you went to work.”

  “You’re forgiven. Now, what’s up?”

  “I forgot my uniform for practice.”

  “Ryan…” Nicolette sighed, shaking her head.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I got so rushed this morning, and if I don’t make practice coach’ll kill me.”

  “Okay, okay. Relax, I’m close to the house now. I’ll swing by and get it, and bring it down.”

  “You’re a lifesaver! Thanks, Mom!”

  “You owe me,” she said.

  “Okay, okay. But hey, what kind of miracle dragged you out of the house on your day off? I thought you were going to lay around all day and eat bonbons or something.”

  “Oh yeah, and do your laundry, clean the kitchen floor, etcetera, etcetera.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. So what was it?”

  “Oh, I got invited to lunch.” She glanced over at Jerith.

  “By who—Uncle Jonsee?”

  “No, by Jerith Michaels,” she said simply.

  “By—” Ryan started to say, and then made a choking sound. “You mean Kid Michaels?”

  “Yes, I guess that’s right.”

  “No way, Mom. I don’t believe it,” Ryan said cynically

  “Meet me out front of the school in about half an hour,” she said, sounding smug. Then she hung up. When she looked over at Jerith, he was grinning at her.

  “Showing me off, huh?” he said, not sounding the least bit perturbed.

  “Sorry,” she said. She looked a little chagrined. “Do you mind?”

  “Not in the least. Besides, this way I get to see where you live—or are you planning to blindfold me?” He grinned sardonically.

  “Maybe I should,” she said chidingly. She drove onto the freeway, and pulled off a few minutes later. She headed down a tree-lined street and into the driveway of a modest-looking home.

  Nicolette climbed out of the car and glanced back at Jerith. “Are you coming in?”

  “Can I?” he said, grinning.

  “Oh, stop it!” Nicolette walked to the front door, leaving it open as she went in and headed toward Ryan’s bedroom. She picked up his jersey, pants, and cleats. Walking back out, she almost ran into Jerith.