Whisper Falls Page 10

  She didn’t know the answer, but given that she was starting to think he was a more complex guy than she’d realized, she didn’t anticipate figuring it out. Besides, who knew what drove guys to do the things they did—or didn’t do? All she knew was that her hope for hot sex with Lucky seemed as if it were over almost as soon as it had begun.

  As a result, she felt all the more at loose ends, still eager to do something that would make her feel alive. And despite herself, she found her thoughts returning to things like skydiving. And—again—sex. And, oddly, even Lucky’s tattoos. They’d grown on her, and now she liked the way they sort of . . . defined him. It was as if he literally wore his heart on his sleeve—or his arm in this case. What, she wondered, defined her?

  After leaving the bookstore when Amy took over at noon, Tessa found herself driving across the old stone bridge that led to the Farris Family Apple Orchard. She was attending a bunko party at Caroline Meeks’s house with the girls tonight and wanted to try an apple crumb cake recipe her mother had given her.

  As she pulled up to the house that served as both home to Rachel’s grandmother and office to the orchard, Rachel came out to greet her, and together they walked to the root cellar where apples were stored after each fall harvest. “Coming to bunko tonight?” Tessa asked.

  Rachel sneered slightly. “Mike thinks I should. So I guess I will.” Half a year after leaving Chicago, Rachel was still having a hard time appreciating what most Destiny ladies considered a fun night out. And at the moment, it hardly matched sex or skydiving in Tessa’s mind, either, but at least it provided time with her friends.

  “Don’t bring one of Edna’s apple pies, though,” Tessa warned as they descended into the cellar. “It’ll put my crumb cake to shame.”

  “All right,” Rachel said as she loaded a few apples from the cellar shelves into a basket looped over her arm. “I’ll pick up some cookies or something at the bakery.” Then she glanced over at Tessa in the dimly lit space. “So, dare I ask how the job for your new neighbor is going?” She still looked skeptical about the whole situation, but that was to be expected.

  What Tessa hadn’t expected was to feel a little quivery inside at the mere mention of Lucky. “It’s going . . . well. Lucky likes my designs and the work is really satisfying.”

  “Good,” Rachel said. “About the work. I know you really miss it.”

  A moment later, they climbed the rock steps that led back out into daylight. Pretty spring weather had returned and, all around them, white apple blossoms fluttered like lace in the breeze. As they walked back toward the house beneath a soft blue sky, Tessa said, “So what’s going on with Mike? About Lucky, I mean? Any change?”

  Rachel shook her head. “He hasn’t mentioned Lucky again. But he’s been extra snippy lately—so I know it’s still on his mind.” They stopped at the little red barn behind the house so Rachel could weigh the apples and transfer them into a bag. “Any new insights about Lucky on your end?” she asked. “I mean—what’s he like? Does he talk much? Are you still convinced he’s not so bad? Because, frankly, I’m still not crazy about you living next door to him.”

  Oh, if Rachel only knew. And that’s when Tessa realized she was going to spill her guts. Not about what Lucky had asked her to keep to herself, but the rest of it. “Actually,” she said as they took a seat at one of the picnic tables outside the barn, “he does talk. Sometimes, anyway. And I really am convinced he’s not so bad at all.”

  “Hmm,” Rachel said, still sounding doubtful—but also maybe as if she was willing to be swayed now that Tessa had actually spent some time with him.

  “And . . . there’s more,” Tessa began slowly. On one hand, maybe it was stupid to share this, but she wanted to talk to someone about it, and better skeptical Rachel than worrywart Amy.

  “More what?” Rachel asked.

  “About Lucky.”

  Sitting next to her on the redwood picnic bench, Rachel blinked, looking worried all over again. “What about him, Tessa?”

  Tessa swallowed back her trepidation and admitted, “I’m wildly attracted to him and I want to have sex with him.”

  “Holy Mother of God,” Rachel said, her jaw dropping. “You’re not serious? Tell me you’re not serious.”

  Tessa gave her friend a look. “Listen, you know how long it’s been. And once you get past all the tattoos, the man is hot. Really hot. And the more I get to know him, the more I think he would be the perfect guy for me to have a fling with—just something fun and casual.”

  “Um, since when do you do fun and casual? That’s my department. Or, I mean, it was until Mike.”

  “Yeah, well, that was then, this is now. Sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures. And I need to have sex, Rach—you know this.” Tessa had confided in Rachel on the topic on many occasions.

  “But with Lucky Romo? Of every guy in the world?”

  “No, with Lucky Romo of every guy I have access to right now,” she replied. “Which is not exactly the whole world.” She refrained from saying, however, that at the moment, she couldn’t think of a single man she would be more attracted to.

  That’s when Rachel’s face suddenly changed, brightened. “What about Logan? Or Adam Becker?”

  And Tessa simply rolled her eyes. People had been trying to fix her up with Mike’s handsome friends for ages, but she just wasn’t into it. “We’ve been down this road before. They’re great guys, but they’re not for me.”

  “And Lucky Romo is?”

  Tessa just nodded. That simple. Lucky Romo was the guy for her. Right now anyway. “And whatever you do,” Tessa said, “you can’t tell Mike I feel this way.”

  Rachel gritted her teeth lightly. “But I’m marrying him, Tessa. And we have this honesty thing going.”

  “But this is about me—not about him or you.” Then Tessa leaned her head back and let out a sigh. “And besides, I doubt anything will really happen between us anyway. There was a moment when I thought something might happen, but he didn’t make a move. So . . . I just wanted to tell you about it, to get it off my chest.”

  “Well, if you’re so sure you want him,” Rachel said, looking as if she couldn’t quite believe she was actually suggesting this, “why aren’t you making a move?”

  “Because he didn’t,” Tessa explained. “That’s kind of like getting turned down—without having to get turned down. Saves the embarrassment.”

  After leaving the orchard, Tessa drove over to Crestview. She stopped at The Home Depot for more paint and supplies, and then she stopped at a deli to grab a quick lunch before heading home to bake her crumb cake.

  Glancing across the highway as she exited the sandwich shop, lunch in hand, Tessa caught sight of Gravediggers, the bar Lucky had mentioned. She’d seen it before, but had never looked at it closely. Now, she thought it rather stood out in the rows of strip malls that lined the road in this particular area. A flat cinderblock building painted a dull black, it featured neon beer logos in the windows—although not currently lit at midday—and a large sign with the bar’s name in jagged red lettering, accented with a shovel at the end. So did Lucky hang out here? Seemed likely. And it reminded her that for all she was beginning to know and appreciate about him, they were still very different people.

  Then her gaze dropped to the small building next door to the bar. Its neon lights glowed, despite the early afternoon hour. Mother’s Tattoo Parlor was open for business.

  Her car was parked facing both places, and as she sat inside, eating her sandwich, she watched a typical-looking middle-aged woman exit the tattoo shop with a broom to begin sweeping the front stoop. Hmm, tidy. And she looked like a nice enough lady. And Tessa thought again, for some reason, of Lucky’s tattoos.

  After finishing her quick meal, she started the car and pulled out—only instead of turning toward Destiny, she . . . found herself crossing the highway and parking in front of the tattoo place. She wasn’t sure why—curiosity, she supposed. And she then even found herse
lf getting out and walking up to the front window, where myriad designs were displayed. Some were unappealing to her: dragons, swords, cartoon characters. But then she noticed some clearly meant for girls: butterflies, hearts, a palm tree. And . . . she thought about daisies. Yeah, if I were gonna get a tattoo, I might get a daisy. Or . . . even more than one.

  Not that she was going to get a tattoo. She was about as much of a tattoo girl as she was a motorcycle girl.

  But then she was forced to remember how much she’d actually enjoyed riding Lucky’s motorcycle with him, how exciting and exhilarating it had been. And that’s when the door opened again, and the lady from before came out, this time with a lightbulb in her hand. She said hello, proceeding to unscrew the bulb from a light next to the door, then twist in the new one. She smiled at Tessa as she began to go back inside, then paused to say, “Can I help you with anything? Answer any questions?”

  “Oh—no,” Tessa replied quickly. And then she heard herself say, “But . . . would it be possible to get a daisy chain? Like, around my ankle?”

  “Sure,” the nice woman said. “Come on inside and I’ll show you some pictures.”

  “Okay,” Tessa said, her heart in her throat. And then she followed the woman through the door at the same time as she asked herself, Oh God, what am I doing?

  And then she answered herself. You’re living. You’re being devil-may-care.

  You’re getting a tattoo!

  . . . yet I dare not show you where I am vulnerable . . .

  Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

  Six

  Tessa drove home in a state of shock. A chain of ink daisies now circled her ankle. It was a little swollen at the moment, and getting the tattoo had felt like having shards of glass scraped over her skin, but somehow she’d clenched her teeth, stayed very still, and not shed even one tear. Her head swam with the reality that she’d actually just gotten a tattoo!

  She’d never before even considered such a thing—it had truly been an impulsive decision. And she’d already decided to keep it hidden for a little while, under jeans or her usual long skirts—because she had to contemplate how to share this with her friends and family. Her mother would probably have a heart attack. Heck, Amy would probably have a heart attack.

  As she pulled into her driveway, she glanced up toward Lucky’s house, but didn’t see any movement. Then she grimaced in his general direction. This is all your fault.

  Yet as she exited the car and walked around to open the trunk, she pulled up the hem of the gauzy skirt she wore and glanced down. Five white-petaled daisies with yellow centers were joined by thin green stems and leaves. And then . . . she smiled. She wasn’t at all used to the idea of having it, or even wanting it, but . . . she liked it. And it did make her feel the way she’d yearned to: alive, and filled with daring.

  Only, just as quickly, another revelation hit her as well.

  That she might like it and be glad she’d done it, but already she knew—it wasn’t enough. She still wanted more. Of something. Maybe she’d thought such a devil-may-care act would take the edge off her desire for Lucky. But it hadn’t.

  So she dropped the edge of her skirt and sighed.

  Mike sat in his living room, flipping through an old photo album. His parents had taken most of the family albums when they’d moved to Florida, but he’d found one in a bookcase after they’d gone and never bothered to give it back to them. Maybe on purpose. Not that he looked at it a lot. But occasionally.

  It was filled with snapshots of him and Lucky. Anna was in a few of the pictures, too, as were his mom and dad, but mostly it was him and his little brother, when Mike was around ten or eleven, which would have made Lucky eight or nine at the time. They were in Boy Scout uniforms, and in swim trunks chasing each other around the yard with a hose. They were riding bikes, or playing baseball at Grandma Romo’s house. Damn, it seemed so long ago. A lifetime. Those had been good days—only he’d had no clue at the time just how good; he’d had nothing to weigh them against yet.

  He’d never held himself responsible for any of Lucky’s decisions or the ways he’d gone wrong over time. Nope, he blamed himself for losing Anna, but losing Lucky—that one wasn’t on him. Except now, as he studied his little brother’s face in these pictures, it forced him to remember just how much Lucky had looked up to him back then. They’d done everything together as kids, and even when Mike had wanted to get away from his brother, he couldn’t, because Lucky had always followed him around.

  Mike had done better in school than Lucky—but when Lucky had struggled, Mike had helped him, every night, with math and spelling. Later, probably around the seventh or eighth grade, Lucky had quit trying, yet at the time this album had been put together, Lucky had tried hard, at everything. Thinking back, Mike could almost still see the frustration in his brother’s eyes as they sat at the kitchen table, toiling over short division. Lucky had been smart but impatient, easily defeated. He’d wanted everything to come to him as easily as it had to Mike.

  And maybe . . . maybe Mike hadn’t been very nice to Lucky about that sometimes. Despite knowing Lucky looked up to him and wished to be like him, he’d never made things easy for his brother. He’d helped him in math, but he’d never given him the answers, not even once. In baseball, when Lucky had struggled with batting, Mike never threw him an easy pitch. Mike was naturally competitive—to a fault, Rachel had recently informed him—and he’d always had to be the fastest, the smartest, the best. And when Lucky had beat him at something—like the board games that had given him his nickname—Mike had been pissed, stomping away mad.

  And now, for the first time ever, Mike asked himself: Was that my fault, too? Did I do something to make my little brother turn out the way he did?

  He let out a heavy breath. Part of him couldn’t believe he knew Lucky was right on the other side of town and he still hadn’t gone to see him. But a bigger part of him still couldn’t believe Lucky had run away in the first place and let them suffer all these years when they’d already had enough to suffer over. He couldn’t get past that. He couldn’t make himself let Lucky off the hook.

  When the front door opened, he glanced up to see Rachel walk in. As always, she looked gorgeous, even after a day at the orchard, especially when she flashed a sexy smile. “My, my, officer—still in uniform, I see.”

  He glanced down at himself. Shit, how long had he been sitting here? As much as he liked being a cop, he wasn’t crazy about his confining uniform, so he usually changed as soon as he got home—which had been over an hour ago. Damn, he’d been sitting here thinking about Lucky that long?

  Apparently, Rachel read the look on his face and realized the uniform didn’t mean he was planning any naughty cop games—which they had indulged in on occasion. Their gazes met as she crossed the room toward him. And as she sat down on the couch beside him, peering down at the open book, she said, “You should go see your brother, Mike.”

  His voice came out low, resolute. “Maybe my brother should come see me.”

  She let out a sigh, and he understood why even before she spoke. “Could you be any more childish? I know you’re a stubborn guy, Officer Romo, but maybe, this once, you should be the bigger man and make the first move.”

  He stayed quiet, realizing his muscles were tensed. Maybe they’d been that way for a while now. Maybe ever since he’d found out Lucky was in Destiny. He was starting to get a headache behind his eyes. “Maybe I should. But that doesn’t mean I can.”

  Lucky sat at the bar at Gravediggers, nursing a beer. It was Saturday night and the place was packed, but his mind was somewhere else.

  He still couldn’t believe how open he’d been with Tessa when she’d found out his secret a couple of days ago. He wasn’t in the habit of spilling his guts to anyone, and he’d especially thought he wasn’t ready to talk about suddenly having a kid—but looked like he had been ready, more than he’d realized.

  Despite himself, it really had felt good to share the news with someo
ne besides Duke. Maybe it was just good to have someone in his life here besides Duke. He’d been through hell and back with Duke Dawson, and the dude was like a brother to him. And Lucky was glad to be living near his best friend again for the first time since they’d made their escape from California, but . . . maybe the time had come when he needed something more. Maybe being a loner was finally getting old.

  “Somethin’ wrong with that beer, compadre?” Duke stepped up behind the bar to ask.

  It jerked Lucky from his thoughts, forced his eyes from the bottle in front of him up to his friend’s face. He gave his head a short shake, and took a light stab at a smile that didn’t work. “Beer’s fine. Just not thirsty, I guess.”

  “Maybe I oughta kick your ass outta here then.” Despite that he was joking, Duke didn’t smile—that was just his way; Lucky always thought Duke must reserve smiles for special occasions.

  Scanning the bar, Lucky found it filled with denim and black leather—the guys mostly big and bearded, the women scantily clad. Metallica blared from speakers overhead, vying with the clack of pool balls from the two tables in the corner. “Don’t you have enough to keep you busy here without hounding me?”

  Duke just planted his hands on the low counter behind the bar, narrowing steely gray eyes on Lucky. A shadow of stubble surrounded his dark brown goatee. “What’s the problem, brother? The kid or the chick?”

  Duke knew how uneasy Lucky was about stepping into the dad role. And he knew about Tessa, too, but not as much. Only that she was his cute neighbor, that he’d gladly make a move on her if he could—and that he’d now hired her to work on his house. The part Duke didn’t know was, “I’m really starting to be . . . into her.”

  “Damn,” Duke said offhandedly. “I’d have laid money on it being the kid.”