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I think there’s a hint of reluctant appreciation in his eyes as Nelson looks at me.
“There’s oil in the back of the truck, and washer fluid, the below zero stuff.” He pulls the blanket around his shoulders, slowly cocooning himself. “Make sure the jack is easy to get to, would you?”
Although I can’t stand his eerie insistence on leaving, I empathize with his condition.
He’s a sick, desperate, broken man.
And sick, desperate, broken people who still have a fighting spirit don’t listen to their bodies or good sense.
“Sure. You rest easy now.”
“Thanks, Ridge.” He rubs one eye and settles back in the sofa cushions. “We’ll sort this out later, when I’m feeling better, I’m sure…”
I’d pat his shoulder if I was close enough, but I’m not, so instead I pat the arm of the sofa.
“Certainly.” Glancing at Grace, I lift a brow. “You coming?”
“I’ll be along shortly,” she says, a barely detectable edge in her voice. “I just want to get another dose of cough medicine in him before he’s out.”
“Okay.” I zip up my coat and exit the cabin, waiting on the porch, where she can see me through the window.
I watch my breath curling out in small smoky puffs in the cool air, wondering if spring will ever come.
Also wonder if I just pissed her off by trying to play Mr. Tough Guy and lay down the law.
If so, I’m not sorry.
She needed to hear it, and that goes double for Nelson.
You can’t be Mr. Nice Guy when you’re trying to save someone’s life. Especially a couple of folks with their backbone and relentless appetite for rotten luck.
Grace finally steps outside a few minutes later, blonde curls bobbing on her shoulders. She’s all sugar, good enough to eat, except for those eyes that tell me I might get chewed up if I tried.
“Really? You had to do that?” she asks, scowling me into a hole in the ground.
I’m about to protest when I see it’s not all venom in her eyes. There’s a teasing glimmer, too.
Grinning, I wave for her to step down next to me.
“We’re on the same page, trying to get your dad to see the light. Like it or not, he has to realize he’s in a fight he can’t win. Not alone and sick, anyway.”
“So, what, you’re Batman? And you don’t trust me to handle it?” She’s dead serious again, keeping even with my face.
“I played a couple superheroes in my time. It goes with the territory,” I tell her, remembering what a mess that last film Hannibal the Incredible was. Elephants get awfully pissed when they have to spend five hours under a makeup artist trying to make them look like woolly mammoths. “And I trust you just fine. Didn’t mean to step on any toes, figured you could use the help.”
“Next time, wait for me to ask,” she says as we walk side by side. “But I guess I hadn’t thought about mentioning a flat tire or a bill of sale. That was good thinking.”
Her coat smells freshly washed, same for her hair. It’s soft, clean, subtly flowery, a scent that rubs my nose in all the less-than-pure things I’d love to do to her.
Fuck, she smells good.
“You tried everything else, right?”
“Unfortunately.” Sighing, she shakes her head. “He’s so stubborn.”
“Must run in the family,” I bite off, holding back a smile.
“Thanks, pot. I’m kettle. Looks like we’re both black. What else is new?”
I chuckle, enjoying how the banter lightens the mood.
“I look good in black. Did you ever see Vampires of New York? I was seventeen and my producer had to get a restraining order against six crazy chicks trying to break in and kidnap me. They never would’ve taken me alive, but still…I think I did the whole creature of the night vibe well, thank you very much.”
She laughs, a light, carefree giggle that floats on the air.
“Whatever, batboy. Do you even know how to check the air pressure in tires?”
“I’ve had grease on these hands a few times, believe it or not.”
The way she looks up at me is half humor, half doubt.
I shrug, resisting the urge to show her what else these hands can do.
“We left in a rush so the back of the truck’s kind of a mess. But I’ll show you where the jack is. I loaded it myself.”
I don’t doubt that for a moment. Trouble is, when she mentions ‘rush,’ all I can think about is the gaping hole in their story. Everything I still don’t know about what we’re truly up against.
Goddamn.
I need her to throw me the bone her father won’t.
“On second thought, it’d be dumb to get our hands messy before we handle that paperwork. C’mon.” I veer back toward the house, watching for her to follow. “We’ll go to my office first, type up some sort of fake bill of sale.”
