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It was Penta’s turn to sigh. “Never mind. I’ll take care of it.”
Which was why, on Monday afternoon at three-thirty, she was the one opening the still plywood-covered door at Cash’s shop and stepping inside.
The showroom looked much better than the first time she’d seen it. Many of the shelves were bare and the whole place had a rather naked appearance, but it was neat and tidy. In the far corner, where rows of mysterious tools hung from metal pegboards above scarred wooden worktops, a rusted, battered motorcycle was surrounded by discarded bits and pieces that gave evidence of work in progress.
No one was in sight, though she could hear movement through the door that led to the back of the building. She drifted toward the bike. It wasn’t just poorly cared for. It was ancient, even to her untutored eye. Nothing like the two gleaming monsters at the front of the shop with their ergonomically padded seats, mirror-like chrome, and complicated dashboards.
Motorcycles rarely crossed her mind, other than as machines whose riders were obviously courting certain death. But during the last planning session of the Silverberry Book Club, the group had decided one of their outings would be an introductory learn-to-ride course. It was scheduled for a week tomorrow. And here she was, surrounded by bikes, their maintenance supplies, and other related paraphernalia.
Coincidences made her edgy. The thought that uncontrollable fate might be directing her life was even more disturbing.
Cash Rylance appeared in the inner doorway carrying a cardboard box about the size of a large microwave. He scowled. “Where’s Cyril?”
Well, hello to you too. “He has track and field after school on Monday, so I’ve come in his place.”
The creases between Cash’s brows deepened. An oil-stained red and black bandanna kept his hair off his forehead, the skin there marked by a rust-coloured streak. “I told you. This is Cyril’s responsibility, not yours. Go home.” He strode to the worktop and lowered the box. He wore another short-sleeved T-shirt, this one black with a large skull screen-printed on the back, and jeans that were more holes than fabric.
She caught a glimpse of a hairy, taut, thick thigh, swallowed, and scrambled to form a reply. “He’s just a boy. I agree he deserves punishment. Which is why I’ve grounded him for a month except for school activities.”
“And coming here. More days he skips, longer it’ll take. No skin off my nose.” He faced her, leaned a hip against the counter, and crossed his arms. The tattoos between his elbows and wrists rippled as long muscles and tight tendons flexed. “He has to work off his debt himself. Won’t learn anything if you protect him by doing it for him.”
“I’m not protecting him. I just told you. He’s grounded.”
“How do you know he’s not going to sneak out of the house and meet his buddies anyway?”
Until this past weekend, she would have stoutly rejected the idea of Cyril doing any such thing. But since that was exactly what he had done...
She hadn’t yet come up with a response when the front door swung open, sweeping sunlight across the concrete floor. A shrill female voice slashed the air.
“Stay away from Elle, Cash. I’m warning you!”
GODDAMN IT. WHAT IS Linda doing here?
Cash had spent much of Sunday waiting for his ex to appear in this exact way...an avenging fury intent on mayhem. When she hadn’t, he’d begun to hope Elle had kept the truth from her mother.
So much for that.
Linda stormed past Penta like she wasn’t there, stopping only when she was toe to toe with him. “You swore you would never go near her, Cash. You swore.”
“I didn’t.” It was a weak protest, but he had to make it. “She approached me. She came to my shop.”
Linda waved that away. The blond hair she’d bequeathed to their daughter was piled in a messy bun on top of her head instead of hanging straight and smooth, and the same blue eyes snapped with mature displeasure instead of wavering with teenage uncertainty. Otherwise, the resemblance was uncanny. “You should have told me she came. I had to worm it out of her inch by inch. I knew she wasn’t with friends. I knew it.”
He resisted the urge to squirm. She was right. He should have told her. But he hadn’t wanted to rat Elle out. He’d wanted his daughter to know she could trust him, at least in this instance.
Linda didn’t wait for his response. She poked his shoulder. “You know what she did? She threatened to move out of the house if I didn’t tell her who her father was. I had to give in. I didn’t want to, but I had to.” The fury in her voice was laced with unshed tears. “Now she’s threatening to go if I don’t let her visit again.”
“I told her to get out. I told her she shouldn’t have come.” He wanted to rub his chest, where an unrelenting ache had throbbed all of Elle’s life, but didn’t move. Impossible to ignore even when she was unaware of his existence, it had intensified since his first sight of her.
She’d defied her mother to meet him. Was that a sign he’d paid his debt?
No. It was best for everyone if life stayed the way it was. Spending time with Elle would be dangerous, and not just to his peace of mind. To her safety. He knew too many bad people, people he didn’t want near her. When he’d left prison, he’d wanted to make a clean break, avoid anyone from his past, anyone that might drag him back into the life he had led before. But the only thing he was good at was fixing motorcycles and, when old buddies had appeared, eager to have him work on their bikes again, he couldn’t afford to refuse. It had been that or not eat.
Linda’s next words echoed his thoughts. “I don’t want Elle exposed to your kind of life, Cash. To gangs and drugs and bikers. She’s so smart. She writes poetry that makes you cry and wants to go to university. I won’t let you jeopardize that. If you had walked away from it all, had put your past behind you, maybe I’d think differently. But you got out of jail and went straight back to your old job, your old clients. My daughter deserves better.”
Our daughter, he protested. But only in his head. He nodded.
Linda drew in a deep breath, searched his face, and seemed reassured by whatever she read there. Her shoulders lowered a fraction. “Okay, then.” She took two steps backward. “Okay. Goodbye, Cash.”
