The Red Canary

by Rachel Scott McDaniel

  “We’re takin’ Hewitt’s truck.”

  Oh no. The jalopy.

  “We’ll have to stop a lot.” He popped a shoulder against the wall, fatigue lining his eyes. “Got to make sure it doesn’t get overheated. I’ll fill some jugs with water for the radiator. Fill up some extra gasoline—”

  “Do you think it can make it?”

  “You doubt my mechanical abilities?” Mick raised an eyebrow with a tilt of a smile, his voice low, gruff, and way too dreamy.

  “I’m learnin’ not to doubt you.” Her mind lingered on his actions back on that muddy hill. He’d have died saving her. Every cell in her body seemed to tingle. Don’t cry. Do not cry.

  “So … you trust me?” A slice of the strain he’d been carrying scraped away from his voice.

  “Yeah.” She stepped closer to him, as if by an invisible pull. Could his eyes get any greener? Or clearer? “I trust you.”

  Mick leaned in close to her ear, smelling like sweat, dirt, and a hint of musk. “Good.” The way he whispered that word. Mercy. “Because we’re going to have to do something uncomfortable for us both.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Mick pressed the gas, allowing minimal space between the truck and Mrs. Chambers’ car. His gaze flickered between the road and the surrounding areas. How had Angelo Vinelli discovered them? If they weren’t safe hidden in the middle of nowhere, then no shelter would be out of harm’s way. Tension’s iron fist squeezed Mick’s heart. What if he couldn’t protect Vera? Hadn’t he promised her she’d be safe with him? He ground his teeth.

  One consolation was Hewitt’s hunting rifle resting snugly beside him. He dared them to try anything now. He could pick off those bozos one by one with shells to spare.

  Lord, help me. Only the power of God could calm his rage. It blazed strong when he thought of Vera’s scraped face and ruined birthday. Then there was his car. He sighed. It was just a possession. A thing. Vera was still breathing. He was still breathing. Life held value, not things.

  “It stinks down here.”

  “Lay low for a little while longer.” He patted her back and raised his voice over the rattling floorboards.

  Vera was being a good sport, curled up on the floor between the truck’s bench and dash.

  “The main road is about five miles away. So far, so good.” He pumped the brake, not wanting to smack into Mrs. Chambers’ bumper. Hopefully, he’d made the right decision in letting her lead the way. If she followed Mick and those henchmen crept up on her, it would be easy for them to take a shot at her. But then, what if they set up a blockade? Mick adjusted the side mirror, the steering wheel shaking with only one grip on it. “You’re doing great, Ver.”

  “Easy for you to say. You disguise yourself in Hewitt’s goofy straw hat while I’m stuck down here smelling stinky air.”

  “It’ll be over soon.”

  She harrumphed.

  He thudded his thumbs against the steering wheel, eyes alert for anything out of place. For all he knew, those men could be waiting by the main road, ready to fire at whatever came their way. Vinelli seemed trigger-happy. He downshifted over a rough spot in the road.

  “Can ya cool it on the bumps? I think my stomach rolled into my toes.”

  “Sorry. Not much I can do. Almost there, though.” Two miles to go. The golden sun blazed through the windshield, challenging his vision. He glanced over his shoulder. Good, no one following.

  The town’s main road crept into sight. His breaths deepened. “You can get up if you want.” Mick motioned with his head. “Might want to wave to Mrs. Chambers. We’re parting ways here.”

  “Would if I could, but I’m stuffed in here.” Her voice was muffled. “Like a human jack-in-the-box.”

  “I’ll pull over when I get a chance.” Mick held his hand out the window and waved to Mrs. Chambers. The lady wiggled her fingers in return, and he said a quick prayer for her safety.

  He pulled down a side road, spotted with only a few houses and a dingy barn. “Okay, Ver, one more bump. Brace yourself.”

  The tires tumbled over dirt clumps and grass patches, and she groaned. He stopped the truck and jumped out his door to open Vera’s. He was met … with her backside. His fingertips skimmed his jawline as he admired the view, wondering how she had squeezed in there to begin with. “You’re going to have to turn around somehow.”

  “Genius,” Vera huffed. “And just how’s that gonna happen?” She wiggled, getting nowhere. “Maybe … if I … no, that hurts.”

  “Push yourself up with your hands and then turn.”

  “Are you laughing?”

  “Yes.” Any man would.

  She twisted halfway, head angled down in an unnatural way, chin tucked into her chest.

  “You almost have it. Now.” Man alive. He reached in and tugged down the hem of her skirt.

  Vera popped her head up, smacking it off the bottom of the dash. “Ow!” She worked her hand free to rub her crown. “Hey, what’s the idea?”

  “Your skirt was hiked.” His skin warmed, the sight of her full leg playing like a nickelodeon in his head. He missed the trousers from earlier. The dress and stockings she’d left hanging on Mrs. Chambers’ line yesterday was now Vera’s only set of clothes. But at least they were fresh and clean, unlike Mick’s. He hadn’t borrowed anything from Hewitt’s closet because while the man had been tall, he’d been more on the lanky side.

  “Here.” Vera wagged her hand in the air. “Grab and pull.”

  Mick crawled in the door and wrapped his hands around her, hauling her out like a sack of potatoes. Her feet touched the ground, but Mick hung on to her a second more.

  “Sheesh. I hope I don’t have to do that again.” Vera evened her stance and smoothed out her clothes. “Are we clear of those goons?”

  “Hopefully.” And hopefully he could expel from his head the picture of her upper thigh and the way the seam of her stockings roamed up the curve of her toned, long leg. First the nightgown and now this.

  I’m trying, Lord.

  It was going to be a long drive. Which reminded him. “Got to check the radiator.” He walked around the front, thankful for the turn in his thoughts. His job was to protect this woman, not gawk at her as though she was a calendar girl. He unscrewed the radiator cap and read the thermometer, checking the temperature of the water vapor. He nodded at the results. Perfect. Hewitt’s truck was holding up beautifully. “Looking good so far. Going to stop at the closest filling station and fill the gas containers.”

  “No prob.” She climbed into her seat. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll be snoozin’ the whole way.” Then she looked at him, head tilted and face thoughtful. “I just realized, I have no idea where we’re heading. Back to Pittsburgh?”

  “No, East Liverpool.” He shut her door and leaned in the open window. “And you can’t sleep the whole way. You have to come with me inside the filling station.”

  “No can do.” She folded her arms and tipped her nose heavenward. “My makeup is in my bag … which is at the Boone cabin. You dressed me up like a man, and now I look like one.”

  Hardly.

  “Look at me, Mick. Just look.”

  With pleasure.

  She pulled up a chunk of hair, exposing her scar. “If this wasn’t hideous enough, I have a bloodied-up chin.” Her gaze shifted to the warped mirrors of the Model A. “Which is now turning purple.” She pressed a finger on it and winced.

  “Lift your head a little.” When she did, he ran his thumb over the wound. “Does this hurt?” He applied minimal pressure, watching her reaction.

  “Just burns.”

  “How about here?” He pushed on the flesh under her jaw, her skin warm and supple.

  “No.” She pulled her head back, staring into his eyes. “What’s with the examination?”

  “I wanted to be sure nothing was fractured.” He tipped his straw hat, and Vera released a soft laugh. He knew he looked somewhat ridiculous in Hewitt’s hat, but he’d wear a sombrero if
it made Vera smile that way. “I’m sorry about your bag, Ver. We’ll get you makeup at the first store we get to.”

  “Will you shake on it?” Vera slid her hand out the window, her slender fingers straight and stiff.

  As their hands connected, so did their eyes, and her stare held more to it than just a silly deal. Was she falling for him? The thought made him break eye contact and release her hand. “I’ll keep my promise. Though we probably won’t be able to get it until tomorrow. Haven’t yet seen a filling station with a cosmetic shelf.”

  Her lower lip protruded.

  “Until then, how about this? I’ll let you know if you have food in your teeth or something hanging from your nose. Deal?”

  “No deal.” She swatted his arm. “For goodness’ sake.”

  Mick laughed, pulling himself away from her window and straightening tall. He was relaxed, and it bothered him. He had to stay at high alert. “Let’s go.” A lightning bug flew past, reminding him of the wasting daylight. The closest filling station was a good twenty miles away. He jogged around the car and settled in the driver’s seat next to her. “But so you know, from now on, everywhere I go, you go. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  “This should make for some interesting powder room trips.” Her lip curled up in a way he found adorable.

  “I’ll wait for you by the door for those excursions.” Why did she fascinate him so much? Her laugh. Her touch. The way she brushed her hair away from her forehead.

  Let it go, Ace.

  She trusted him. Words from her own pretty mouth had clutched his heart so fierce, it was a struggle not to clutch her. Doggone. Why was he so attached to this woman? It couldn’t be love. He’d only known her two weeks. Two weeks. When he’d fallen in love with Phyllis, he’d known her for years. He turned on the truck, and the noise of the engine wasn’t loud enough to his overpower his thoughts.

  No. He had a plan. A plan he intended to stick to. She’d given him her trust. He couldn’t be foolish with it.

  CHAPTER 25

  “I am going to introduce you as my wife.”

  Vera jerked her head, instantly regretting the quick motion. She pushed her palm on the burning cramp pulsing in her neck. Rotten truck. Getting comfortable in this jalopy was just as challenging as holding her bladder over the bumpy roads. With the door making a lousy headrest, she’d fallen asleep on Mick’s shoulder. “Your wife?” Her heart rate quickened. “Why?” She looked out her window at the black sky, yawning. “Where are we? East Liverpool?”

  “Uh-huh. You said you trusted me, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I told you I’m not letting you out of my sight. We’re at the motel, and we’re sharing a room.”

  “What?” Was that what he’d meant earlier when he’d said they’d have to do something uncomfortable? He could have expounded a bit more. That would’ve given her time to process. But in the darkness, with her half-asleep brain, the translation got muddled. “All right, let me make sense of this. You’re concerned about my safety. Okay, understood. We’re sharin’ a motel room. Sounds strange comin’ outta my mouth, but I get that too. The wife thing. Not gettin’?” She couldn’t see the details of Mick’s face, just his outline.

  “We can’t use our real names. Captain’s orders.” His large hand covered hers. “I got cash. And when I sign in, I’m going to use fake names. And I think it sounds better and respectable to have you as my wife.”

  Twenty-two years old and playing house. “Can I pick my own name?”

  He chuckled low. “If you want to.”

  “Would ya let me pick yours too?” Oh, now this was getting fun.

  “Sure.” He pulled his hand away just as she was getting used to it. “It’s late. I should go ring the bell. What did you have in mind?”

  “Okay, then, how about you be Raymond?”

  “Raymond? That sounds fine.”

  “I’ll be Tessa. I always loved that name.” She smiled, resisting the urge to nuzzle into his shoulder. “You can pick our last name, Ray. But don’t use Smith. Dead giveaway.”

  “Let’s see. How about we be Mr. and Mrs. Girard?” He slipped his arm around her and gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. “My high school football coach’s last name, my dear Tessa.”

  She tilted her head back on his arm and looked into his face. “Sounds swell.” And if he didn’t move soon, she’d melt into his arm. It was terrifyingly comfortable, and the way his thumb stroked her sleeve gave her an appetite for more of his touch.

  He gave her a reprieve by withdrawing his contact and rummaging his pockets. “Here, slip this on.” He dropped something small and circular into her palm.

  “A ring? Where’d you get this?”

  “Mrs. Chambers. I asked to borrow it, but she said you can have it. It’s not real.”

  “Oh.”

  “I thought that would make things more believable.”

  “Sure.” She shoved the metal on her left ring finger. “A fake ring for a fake marriage.” It only made sense. She leaned back, and her neck met something lumpy. Mick’s arm again. This could get dangerous. Especially this time, when his torso was closer, touching her side ever so slightly. “Mick?”

  “Yeah.” His masculine drawl engaged every one of her senses. The dark clouds joined in the intrigue, pulling away from the moon, allowing a milky glow to pour into his window which highlighted the angles of his face. She wasn’t sure if it was his presence, the emotion of the day, or the ambiance of the summer night that caused her hand to stretch over, but she didn’t have the strength to restrain it. Just one touch. Her fingertips swept over his face, starting at his temple and slowly wandering to his jaw, the curve of his perfect lip just above her index finger.

  He dipped his head closer to hers, not breaking the touch. “Ver.” Said on a sigh, but it thundered with hunger. Everything she felt. His arm collapsed around her, pulling her closer to him.

  She slid her eyes shut and waited for his lips to claim hers. A few hot breaths and she was still waiting.

  Mick kissed her forehead, the pressure of his lips lingering for only a second. “We should probably go in.” He withdrew his arm, his touch, his interest.

  Vera released the air her lungs held hostage.

  “They’re probably waiting for us.” Mick picked up that dumb straw hat he’d shed hours ago and plopped it on his head.

  Mick Dinelo, the man of steel emotions, possessing the superpower of phenomenal resistance.

  They wandered the uneven walk until he found seventeen. “Here we are.” He jingled the key the motel manager had given him.

  “Yuck.” Vera swatted her hand in a frenzy. “There are bugs everywhere.”

  He pointed to the dim light above the door. “When the light’s on, the bugs come.”

  “Now you’re sounding like Grimby.” She slid behind him, using him as a bug-shield. “Wonder how he’s doing.”

  “Who’s that?” He put the key in the lock. It stuck, so he jostled the door knob when he turned it.

  “Ah, just an old hobo I’d see around town. Poor guy. He’d say the same things over and over again. What you said reminded me of something he’d say all the time. ‘When the light’s on, the boats come.’”

  “What does that mean?” He pushed the door and motioned for her to enter first.

  “Don’t know. Could be anything.”

  Stale cigarette smoke assailed them on the threshold.

  “Whew. It smells like Sunday morning at the club.” Vera pinched her nose and wagged her hand.

  He turned on the lamp.

  “There’s only one bed, buster.” She made a grand gesture with her arm toward the room’s centerpiece—a queen bed. “What are we going to do, Micky? Arm wrestle for it?” Grinning, she made a muscle pose. “Loser gets the bathtub.” She threw a thumb in the direction of the bathroom.

  Ah, Vera. How far she had come. He relived the night he almost had his teeth knocked out by her handbag after pulling into the
Pigeon Loft Motel. Her words, even now, jolted his thoughts. I’ve been around dogs long enough to know what kind of meat they like. Her statement screamed the truth. Those men weren’t men, only animals. “There’s no bathtub. Just a shower.”

  “Stakes are higher, then.”

  “No arm wrestling. That’s yours.” He motioned with his head to the steel-framed bed. “Floor’s mine.”

  She looked down and grimaced. “Ew. You can’t sleep there. It’s disgusting.”

  “I’ve slept in worse conditions.” Littered cement pads on a stakeout, dusty wood floors when helping his parents move, and out in the open air during one of his stays at the cabin. “Besides, Ray wouldn’t treat Tessa any other way.”

  Her mouth spread into a warm and inviting smile, as if her lips were entreating his.

  What if that ring was real? What if instead of being Mrs. Girard, she was Mrs. Dinelo? Only last week, he’d pictured her growing horns and breathing fire, and now she was wearing white and saying I do. Imagination was a fickle comrade. “I might borrow a pillow. If you have an extra.”

  “You can have them both. Don’t use pillows.” She reached over and plucked them from the head of the bed. “Ready? I’m gonna launch ’em.”

  Mick held out his arms. “Hit me.” One white blob flew through the air. Then another.

  “Guess this is what ya get for a dollar-fifty a night.” Vera stuffed her hands on her hips and surveyed the room, clucking her tongue with every turn of her head. “Compared to this, Mick, your cabin is the Waldorf Astoria.”

  “Been there once.”

  Vera whipped around and looked at him as if he’d just told her he vacationed on Mars. “You’ve been to New York?”

  “Mm-hhm. My cousin lives there. I visited him once. It’s a fancy place.”

  “I’d like to go there.” Her starry-eyed expression pulled him in. “Anyways, I’m beat. Who’d have thought turning twenty-two would be so difficult?”

  “You held your own today.” Not to mention his heart at times.

  She pulled the ribbon from her hair, and crimson locks cascaded just above her shoulders.