Like a madwoman, I tear off after him, terrified he’ll leave me here to try and explain why I was in her house like some common thief.
Max is already on the bike, and I throw myself behind him, standing on the metal footholds and smacking his shoulder. “Go, go, go,” I hiss.
Quick as lightning, he shoots us along the street. When we’re a block away, I slap him upside the head. “What were you thinking, you jackass?”
“Ow. Stop that.”
“If we get caught for breaking and entering, I’m going to do more than slap your head, you thieving asshole.”
“It’s not stealing if it’s something I own.” He rounds a corner.
I lean into it with him, unable to quit glancing over my shoulder at the empty road.
“Why does Emory have your ring?”
“Because we used to date until she broke up with me.”
“Date?” I grip him tighter. “I never knew.”
“No one did. She was too embarrassed, I guess.” The park lies ahead, only a block away. “And for some reason, she wouldn’t give my ring back. So I took matters into my own hands.”
“Why was she embarrassed to tell people y’all were dating?”
“Why do you think, Lookout?” He slows his speed and coasts to the parking lot in front of the park. “Girls like her enjoy bad boys, but she’s too important to be seen with me.” Coming to a stop, he parks the bike.
I hop off and look around.
Two families grill, and several small kids run and scream on the playground in a game of tag. Overall, though, the park’s not bursting at the seams for a Saturday afternoon. Usually, there’d be at least a dozen people using the grills and picnic tables.
Guess the strange electricity issues wrecked everyone’s plans.
Max stands, props the bike, and stretches. With a shit-eating grin in place, he pulls out the ring, unclasps the chain, and shoves it onto his finger. “Much better.” He drops the necklace to the gravel at his feet and pivots toward the sidewalk.
Scooping up the gold chain, I tuck it into a pocket and grab his upper arm. “Hey, asshole. Don’t ever do that to me again. I don’t appreciate being in the dark, and I certainly don’t appreciate being part of a crime scene.”
“Oh, good grief. No one caught us, and we didn’t even steal anything, because you can’t be a thief if the item is yours to begin with.”
“You’re right, we didn’t steal a damn thing—you did.” I release his arm and march to the road. “I’m going home. You’re a dangerous nutjob.”
“Oh, come on, Tilly, don’t be like that.” From behind, his fingers grasp my elbow.
“Get away from me.” I jerk from his touch and keep walking, willing my irritation away before I reach back and punch his gut.
“You’re telling me it didn’t feel good to sneak into Emory’s house and steal something from underneath her nose.” His footsteps keep time with mine, and he strides beside me as I stalk down the road.
It did feel kind of good, but I hate to admit this to myself.
“After all the shit she’s given you throughout the years, I’m surprised you didn’t steal something yourself.”
I clench my fists, my body stiff. “Just because I hate her guts doesn’t give me the right to take her things, Max. That’s wrong.”
“Oh, but it feels so right.” His stormy ocean eyes twinkle. Digging in a pocket, he pulls out the small blue stress ball and bounces it off my forehead.
“Stop, you ass.” I try to snatch it out of the air, but he’s too quick.
“Come on, you don’t have to walk. I’ll give you a ride home.”
“No thanks.” Pivoting, I resume pounding the paved road. “I’d rather walk in one-hundred-degree heat than spend one more minute in your company.”
“Suit yourself.” His footsteps stop and my body relaxes.
The nerve of this guy.
Flipping him the bird over my shoulder, I head home, wondering what the hell I was thinking this morning when I let myself be talked into his law-breaking escapade.
Chapter Nine
Even though I’ve only been gone a couple of hours, something feels different about my neighborhood.
The smoky scent of barbecue wafts through the air, and smoke rises from several different backyards.
Daddy, Mr. Miller, Hank, and Davey congregate on our front porch, their hands flying wildly as they talk.
I unlatch the gate and walk up the sidewalk.
“And I say someone should head to Abilene and see what they can find.” Mr. Miller takes a swig from a brown bottle of beer. “If nothing works and they don’t have electricity, which is almost certain since we couldn’t see their lights last night, they still might know something. After all, they have that Air Force base over there.” He swishes the bottle in his hand. “Maybe they got some kind of secret project going on and created this whole mess to begin with.”
Dave Hollinger, a few years younger than Mr. Miller, but still older than Daddy, holds up a hand. “I think we should worry about ourselves and our town, first. If we’ve lost power permanently, it’s only a matter of time before desperation sets in and people panic. And that’s never a good thing.”
Daddy gently rocks in one of our old wooden rocking chairs and drags on a cigarette, the orange glow bright under the covered porch. “I think you’re both right.”
I make my way to the group, stepping as lightly as possible. When Daddy sees me, I know he’ll smile and sweep this serious conversation under a rug, not wanting me to worry.
“Davey, I think you should canvas the surrounding neighborhoods and see who’d be interested in helping out the police with patrols.” He bends over and stubs the tip of his cigarette against the concrete at his feet, then glances to Mr. Miller. “And if you’re up for it, James, you and I can take a couple of bicycles to Abilene and get a feel for what’s going on.” Daddy casts a speculative look at the older man, maybe trying to determine if the man is fit enough to bike ten miles into the city and back without keeling over from a heart attack. “Or we could see if one of the ranchers would lend us a horse or two.”
“I want to go with you.” The words pop out of my mouth before I have a chance to think.
All four men whip around to face me.
“Half-pint, there you are.” His eyes glance around the yard. “Where’s your new boyfriend?”
I climb the steps. “Max is not my boyfriend, Daddy.” Nope, just a crazy psycho who has no qualms about breaking and entering people’s houses.
“What?” Mr. Miller cackles. “Little Tilly has a beau?”
“I dunno what the hell a beau is, but if you’re implying it’s a boyfriend, then that’s disgusting.” I prop a hand on my hip and give each man a glare. “Okay, you old geezers. I wanna help with whatever it is y’all are planning.”
Daddy’s eyes crinkle with a smile. “We’re shootin’ the breeze, that’s all.”
I hate being left out, feeling like I’m only a child and couldn’t possibly understand what they’re talking about.
“Whatever.” Turning my nose up, I open the screen door.
As I grab the doorknob, Daddy says, “Come here. Don’t get angry.” He pats an empty rocker. “Us old geezers are talking about the power—or lack thereof.”
For a moment, I think about ignoring his olive branch and storming inside, but that would be something a child would do, and I want to be included in their adult conversation. So, instead, I release the handle, square my shoulders, and take a seat next to my dad.
Mr. Miller winks, then tosses a piece of butterscotch candy my way. “I take it you heard our ideas?”
I can’t hide a grin as I pop it into my mouth. “Yep.” I nod. “And you wanna know my suggestion?”
“Sure.” Daddy pulls out a fresh pack of cigarettes, taps the end of the pack against his palm, then rips the cellophane and lights up.
“Jesus. Didn’t know you were offering lung cancer, too.”
; He exhales and blows the smoke away from me, his chest shaking with silent laughter.
“I think checking out Abilene and forming a group to monitor the town’s a good plan. But we should also get a tally of food about to go bad, and hold something like a block party, that way things don’t go to waste and you can casually present the patrol idea without alarming everyone.”
Davey rubs his grizzled jawline, and Mr. Miller taps a finger against his chair, as if in thought.
Daddy stares at me for a few seconds. “Hmm. It could work.”
Stirrings of pride swarm through my veins at feeling useful and included.
Ruffling my hair, Daddy grins. “My little girl is growing up.”
And now he ruined it. “Stop that.” Fire climbs my neck and cheeks.
A soft snicker comes from Mr. Miller’s direction and I throw him a scowl.
“Giving out extra food about to spoil will work right now, because people aren’t likely to be too alarmed. They’ll expect the power to come on soon—hell, we all do.” Davey runs a hand through his hair. “But what happens in a few weeks if we’re still without electricity and food gets low?”
A sense of foreboding hangs over my head with the mental picture his words conjure.
The men’s eyes meet and then slide away.
“Let’s just pray it doesn’t last that long,” Mr. Miller says.
“It’s a valid point, and something we need to be prepared for.” Daddy flicks his ashes into an old coffee can sitting on the floor next to his chair. “Sarah’s always grown a garden and cans most of what we don’t use. If this situation goes on for very long, it might not be a bad idea for everyone to do the same.” He glances toward the grassy yard. “It’s the first of May. There’s still a little bit of time to plant certain vegetables, but not long.”
“Well, let’s not jump the gun.” Mr. Miller stands. “I say we head into Abilene tomorrow and get a feel for what’s going on.” A few tufts of stray white hairs float above his ears. “But today, we should knock on a few doors and see who wants to hold a neighborhood cookout and help with keeping the town safe.”
We nod our heads in agreement and head out to spread the word.
Chapter Ten
Most neighbors seemed delighted at the idea of having a block party. I don’t know if it’s because it gives them something to do, or the camaraderie, or what, but it was easier than I expected. A few scowled and said no thanks, but for the most part, nearly every family agreed to participate.
Daddy did most of the talking and asked a few of the men and women—those he knew were military veterans—if they’d be interested in a forming a civil patrol. Everyone said yes.
With no way to tell the time, we informed people to meet in the evening on Hunt Street, which is the road in front of my house.
Daddy, Mr. Miller, and Davey place extra lawn chairs and tables on the street. Several grills sit in a line, their smoky scent and meaty treasures lacing the air.
My stomach growls.
Mamma steps out of the front door, holding a dish in her hand. “My, what a transformation.” Her eyes sweep the street. “Too bad we can’t string some lights up for when it gets dark.” Walking toward the picnic table Daddy and I lugged out earlier, she places a covered casserole onto the surface.
Daddy looks up from his grill, sets down a spatula, and walks to her. Grabbing her around the waist, he pulls her into his chest and kisses her forehead. “Yum. Is that Frito salad I smell?”
“Yep.” She winds her arms around his neck. “I didn’t want the cheese and lettuce to go bad, so thought I’d whip it up. This is going to be one strange potluck.” A nervous laugh escapes her mouth. “Surely the power will come back by Monday. People have to work and go to school. Plus, we need water for baths and such.”
Daddy’s stare cuts to me and his lips tighten.
I raise my eyebrows, unsure what to say.
He focuses on Mamma again and plasters a smile on his mouth. “I’m sure it’ll come on soon.” He pushes her back a bit and takes her hand. “But if it doesn’t, we’ll figure things out. Everything’s going to be fine, honey.”
I turn away, not wanting to intrude on their intimate moment. Walking a few feet down the street, I think about his words. Everything’s going to be fine. Why does this feel like a comforting lie?
Whack. Something smacks against the back of my head.
“Ow.” I reach up out of reflex.
A male voice snickers.
Whipping around, my eyes land on Max, who’s straddling his bike and grinning like the Cheshire cat. “Ugh. What the hell are you doing here, asshole?”
“Aw. Now is that any way to treat your partner in crime?” His boot tips the kickstand, and he pushes off the seat. With a quick throw, the ball bounces off my shoulder.
“We’re not partners in anything, you psycho.” I grasp at the squishy sphere and almost catch it before it bounces to the asphalt.
He dives, scoops it into a palm, and smacks my forehead with it, amusement flitting across his face.
“Hit me one more time—” I raise a fist. “—and I’m going to shove that thing so far up your—”
Smack. The soft ball thumps my nose.
A curtain of red fury falls across my vision. Reaching out to punch him in the mouth, my fist hits empty air.
“Whew.” His hand pushes on the top of my head, keeping me out of reach of his body. “You should watch that temper. Somebody might get hurt.”
From the corner of my eye, Daddy disentangles himself from Mamma and heads my way, his eyes hard and mouth set in a firm line.
Crap. I’m about to get in trouble. I cast a quick glance to where Mamma stands, turning to chat with another neighbor, her back to me, thank God.
“Let me go.” With great effort, I lower my fists and tuck them under my arms.
Max’s perfect teeth flash in a wide smile.
The crunch of gravel behind me announces my dad’s presence.
Max lets go of my head as if he’s touching a hot burner. He takes a step backward, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets.
Turning, I raise my palms up. “Sorry, Daddy. I didn’t hit him, though—”
“You touch my daughter again,” Daddy’s low voice growls, his hard eyes on Max’s face, “and I’ll string your balls on a fucking rope and bounce them against your forehead. Got it?” His index finger jabs over my shoulder at Max.
I stand between them, mouth hanging open like I’m trying to catch flies. Twisting to the side, I throw a hand on Daddy’s chest. Even though Max is becoming a pain in my ass, he hasn’t done anything to hurt me.
“I’m okay.” My throat clears. “We were just messing around.”
Daddy finally peels his gaze from Max and studies my face. “You were angry, I can tell.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan. I shouldn’t have teased Tilly.”
One furtive glance his way reveals his hands outward, a look of contriteness on his face. At least, to anyone who didn’t know him. Under that mask, though, I see something else. Mirth? A challenge? It’s hard to tell because I don’t know Max very well, either.
“He’s being an annoying jerk. I’m fine, really.”
Taking a step back, Daddy’s shoulders relax. “Okay, Half-pint, I trust you.” His stare flickers to Max again, raking him from head to toe. “But if I ever see you throw anything at her again, or hold her against her will, I promise you it’ll be the last thing you do.”
“Duly noted, sir.”
Daddy stills for a few seconds, then reaches for the pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket. With a grunt, he stalks toward the smoking grill.
“Jesus, your dad’s intense,” Max breathes out.
“Yeah, you’re lucky he didn’t show you his gun again, jerk wad.” I head toward the backyard, ignoring his presence completely.
“I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He laughs. “Actually, I was trying to protect myself from your furious little fists.”
&
nbsp; Instead of responding, I open the gate, walk through, and shut it behind me.
He stops at the chain-link, resting his forearms on the top. “Whatcha doin’?”
“None of your damn business. Go away.” Throwing open the shed door, I rummage inside, looking for the tiki torches from last year. Spotting them propped against the wall, I furrow my brow and inspect the rest of the shed.
Where did I put the oil last year?
Tools line the walls, hanging from their individual pegs. A heavy-duty table sits in the corner, covered with several of Daddy’s woodworking tools and a few unfinished projects, such as a step stool and a new soap mold he’d promised Mamma.
I shift a couple of sealed plastic bins until I find one labeled “camping gear.” Tearing off the top, I dig inside until I spot the canister of oil, grab it, and reseal the storage container.
“Nice little place in here.”
Yelping, I jump, whirl, and stumble into his chest. “What are you doing? Stalk much?” Embarrassment colors my cheeks when I realize I’m still touching his chest.
With a steadying grip on my upper arm, he lets go and grins. “Thought ya might need some help.”
“No thank you.” I grab the five long torches, stuff the can of oil under an arm, and march out, ignoring him.
“Oh, come on. Why are you mad at me?”
“Are you serious?” Pivoting, I look up at his face. “You broke into someone’s house today. And that’s not even the worst part—you made me your accomplice.”
“Gimme that.” His fingers jerk the sticks from my hand and we play a silent tug of war for a few seconds. “Besides, you can’t tell me it didn’t feel good doing something illegal—especially to Emory. I saw it in your eyes. You might’ve been scared, but you were also excited.”
“You don’t know me.” Maybe if I ignore him completely, he’ll get bored and go away. “So don’t tell me what I felt.”
“I’d like to remedy getting to know you.”
“Why?” I throw open the gate, walk through, then fling it backward without looking, hoping it makes contact with the annoying thorn in my side named Maximillian Jacobsen.
The Intrusion: Baltin Prequel Page 5
