Romance on Mountain View Road (26 page)

“Separated,” Rand corrected.

“Yeah, sure. I heard you say this morning that you two were getting back together.”

“I might have said that. But she's not here, so what the hell.”

That shit! Jonathan burst out of his stall just as Rand was zipping up. “You bastard,” he growled, and went right for his neck.

“What?” Rand whirled around.

Jonathan almost succeeded in getting his hands on his rival's neck, but Rand had had a lot more experience being a bully than Jonathan had being a hero. It was a short scuffle. Jonathan took a punch to the jaw and went down. He was still trying to cope with the spinning room and the stars twinkling in front of his eyes when Rand said, “Help me get his pants off.”

Next thing he knew he was missing his britches and was receiving a friendly kick in the gut for good measure.

“You just stay here, Twinkle Toes, and mind your own business,” Rand growled. And on that bit of advice, he and Cam and Jonathan's pants left the men's room.

Chapter Twenty-One

J
onathan lay on the floor of the men's
room, trying to cope with the agony in both his body and his heart. The
throbbing in his jaw and the pain in his stomach were fighting for attention and
making it hard to concentrate on even sitting up. He managed to get to a
kneeling position but was sure he'd pass out right there on the floor.

The heroes in the novels he'd read all seemed to survive the
most brutal of attacks, stagger up and race off to save the heroine. Or at least
help her save herself. And right now Lissa needed help. She needed to know that
Rand was about to use her.

There would be no racing off here, though. He could barely
breathe. Why didn't any of those novels tell you how to cope when you'd been
beaten up? He sat there, hunched over the pain, trying to take in air.
Get up. Go find Lissa. You can do this.
His body
didn't seem to agree.

After what felt like hours, he made it to his feet and got to
the sink, where he splashed cold water on his face. After that he couldn't do
much more than lean there, concentrating on the all-important task of
breathing.

The bathroom door opened and Jonathan became aware of a new
pain, the pain of embarrassment. He was now officially in his nightmare, at his
fifteen-year high school reunion in his boxers. What had he ever done to deserve
this kind of humiliation?

“What the— Jonathan?”

He turned his aching head to see Darrell Hornsby staring at
him.

“I was mugged.” Pain shot across his jaw and he put a hand to
his face. He looked in the mirror. The bruise was already showing.

“You're kidding. Here?”

Mugged in Icicle Falls. Boy, there was a good story for the
police blotter.
Local man beaten at high school reunion.
Assailants take victim's pants.
He didn't want to be a victim and he
wanted his pants back!

“They took your pants,” Darrell said, just in case Jonathan
hadn't noticed.

Which had his cell phone and his wallet. God knew what they'd
done with them. He had to get to Lissa. How was he going to do it without his
pants? He needed pants.

He needed his posse. “Get Kyle.”

Darrell nodded and rushed off.

A few minutes later, he was back with Kyle. “My God, I can't
believe it!” Kyle rushed up to him.

“Who did this? Rand?”

Jonathan nodded. “And Cam.”

“Are you okay?”

It was hard to talk around his throbbing jaw. “I
need...pants.”

“You need a doctor!”

Jonathan shook his head. “No time for that. Find my pants.
They've got to be in a garbage can somewhere.”

“Too obvious,” Darrell said. “You could look all night and
never find them.”

“Hang on. Didn't Adam say he was taking Chelsea to dinner at
Schwangau?” Kyle pulled his cell phone from his pocket. “He can grab some pants
from your place and be here in ten minutes. And I'll get some ice for that jaw.
We'll have you fixed in no time,” he promised.

“I don't have ten minutes! Ow, that hurts.” Jonathan put a hand
to his throbbing jaw.

“Okay, I'll look around here and see if I can find where they
ditched your pants, but meanwhile I'm calling for backup. And then those guys'll
pay.”

Kyle came up to their shoulders. The last thing Jonathan needed
was his friend getting the crap beaten out of him. “Not your fight,” he said.
“Just find me some pants.”

Kyle nodded and strode from the room, punching numbers on his
phone as he went. “Go outside and keep watch,” he instructed Darrell. “We don't
want anybody seeing our boy like this.”

Darrell scooted out after Kyle, valiantly ignoring the need
that had brought him to the men's room in the first place.

* * *

Adam and Chelsea were snuggled together in a quiet
corner booth at Schwangau when his cell phone started vibrating in his pocket.
He'd promised Chelsea he'd turn it off, but had decided that switching to
vibrate was a good compromise. Now, with her cuddled next to him, he realized
that some things a man shouldn't compromise on and ignored the vibrating
phone.

He'd learned his lesson. He smiled at her and raised his
wineglass in toast. “Here's to the prettiest mom in Icicle Falls.”

“I'm not a mom yet,” she said, but she smiled and clinked his
wineglass with her water glass.

“Okay, the prettiest mom-to-be.” He laid a hand on her leg. It
was so good to be able to do that, to be here with her, back where he
belonged.

The phone in his pocket vibrated again. Damn. Who was it and
why the hell were they bugging him on a Saturday night?

The waiter came and they placed their orders.

“I love this restaurant,” she said happily after he'd left.

“And I love you,” Adam said. He leaned over and kissed her.

“You really have changed,” she said.

His pocket vibrated again.

She made a tiny frown. “What's that I hear?”

“Gas,” Adam improvised. “I've got gas.”

“For a minute I thought your phone was vibrating.”

“I said I'd turn it off.”

Fortunately, she didn't ask, “And did you?”

The thing vibrated again. Okay, whoever it was, Adam was going
to kill him. “I'm gonna hit the john. I'll be right back,” he said, and gave her
another kiss.

Once in the bathroom, he pulled out his phone and saw that all
the calls had been from Kyle. He was at his high school reunion with Mindy. Why
the hell was he calling Adam, to give him a blow-by-blow report?

Adam called him back. “I'm right in the middle of a romantic
dinner. What do you want?”

“Pants,” Kyle said. “Somebody beat the crap out of Jonathan and
took his pants and he needs another pair.”

“What?”

“Pick up a pair of his and bring 'em over to Festival Hall.
He's in the men's room.”

Kyle hung up before Adam could ask why the hell Kyle couldn't
go fetch pants for Jonathan himself.

Great. Here was his wife waiting for him at their table and his
pal waiting at Festival Hall for pants. Chels was right; he should have turned
off his cell.

But he owed Jonathan big-time and he couldn't leave the man
stuck shivering in the bathroom in his tighty whities. He'd given Jon back the
key to his place. How did Kyle think he was going to get in, climb through a
window? Go through Chica's dog door? His own house was closer. He and Jon were
about the same height. He could bring a pair of his.

Could he be back before Chels figured out that he'd taken off?
If he drove fast... Yes, he could do it. He'd race to his place, then over to
Festival Hall, throw some pants at Jonathan and be back in time for...if not the
salad, at least the entree.

He slipped out of the bathroom, then down the fashionably dark
hall and out the door. He was in his Corvette in less than a minute and
rocketing down the street. He could do this.

He was halfway to his house when the siren and flashing red
light stopped him.

* * *

“This should help,” Kyle said, handing over a bar towel
full of ice.

Jonathan winced as the contact caused fresh pain.

Kyle gave him a bottle of water and a couple of aspirin. “Take
these.”

“Where'd you get them?” Who knew about this?

“Mindy.”

He'd told her?

As if reading his mind, Kyle said, “Don't worry. She doesn't
know what's going on. Nobody does. I couldn't find your pants, but Adam's gone
to get you a pair. And Darrell's outside watching the door. If anybody comes in,
we'll hustle you into a stall.”

“Where's Lissa?”

Kyle made a face. “This is not the time to worry about
Lissa.”

“Yes. It is. Rand's still married. He's looking for a one-night
stand and he's going to seduce her. I heard him telling Cam.”

“That asshole.”

“She needs to be warned.” But the clock was ticking. For all he
knew, Rand could already be spiriting her away. He didn't have time to wait for
a new pair of pants. “You've got to find her.”

Kyle nodded and left.

Jonathan slumped against the sink. He'd imagined so many
scenarios for tonight, all of them with Lissa ending up in his arms. Now she was
going to end up in the arms of a creep who only wanted to use her to feed his
ego. And here he was, stuck in the men's room in his underwear. Some hero.

* * *

“Do you know how fast you were going?” Tilda, the cop,
asked Adam.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I had an emergency.”

“License and registration, please. A fire?”

Oh, boy. Now, he'd stepped in it. If he said he was on a
mission to get pants for his friend, she'd want to know why. If he told her that
Jonathan had been mugged, she'd want to go to the scene of the crime. Everyone
would see Tilda going into the men's room. Everyone would find out that Jonathan
had gotten beaten up and had his pants stolen. That was no way to help a friend.
But what to say now?

Nothing, that was what. “You know, I guess it wasn't that big
an emergency,” he said. “I'll take the ticket.”

“Good choice,” she said, and took her own sweet time walking
back to her patrol car to write it up.

So much for getting Jonathan's pants to him in a hurry. And so
much for getting back to his wife quickly. Adam ground his teeth.

* * *

Kyle returned to the bathroom. “She's gone.”

Rand had already gotten her away. Under different circumstances
Jonathan would have admitted defeat and let Rand make off with the woman of his
dreams. If that was what she wanted, that was what she wanted. This wasn't some
historical novel where he needed to save a woman's virtue. These days women
didn't want their virtue saved.

But they also didn't want to be used. Jonathan felt even sicker
than he'd felt after Rand had kicked him. Rand was a modern-day villain who
didn't care about anyone but himself. He was going to seduce Lissa and she'd
wind up getting hurt. She didn't deserve that. And Rand didn't deserve her.
Where was Adam with his pants?

* * *

“Drive carefully,” Tilda admonished, giving Adam his
present from the Icicle Falls police department.

His phone vibrated in his pants. He pulled it out. This time
the call wasn't from Kyle. It was from Chelsea. She was either looking for him
or testing to see that he'd turned it off. He put the phone back in his pocket
and drove away. Slowly...

Tilda followed him for three blocks to make sure he remained a
model citizen. He should never have bought a red car. Cops hated red.

Finally she took off. He drove like an old geezer for another
block, just to be certain the coast was clear, then floored it. Even with the
pedal to the metal he felt like he was swimming through syrup. He screeched to a
halt in front of his house, left the motor running and dashed up the front
walk.

“Everything okay?” Dennis the Menace called.

They'd mended fences, so to speak, but Dennis was still a
pest.

“Fine,” Adam called back. He unlocked his front door, took the
stairs to the bedroom two at a time and raced down the hall. He careened into
the bedroom, yanked open the closet door and hauled out a pair of slacks. And a
belt. Jon had buffed up, but Adam still had a few inches on him. Then it was
back down the hall, the pants flapping behind him like a flag. Out the door,
down the walk, ignoring his gaping neighbor, and into the car. Now off down the
road.

He slowed down when he hit the town limits. Another ticket
would only delay him further.

After what felt like forever, he was at Festival Hall. He
wadded up the pants and strode inside, going straight to the men's room.

A skinny guy with a scrawny neck was standing outside the door.
Now he leaned his head in and said something.

“'Scuse me,” Adam said, and pushed past him. He got in just as
a stall door closed. There was Kyle, standing nonchalantly at the sink, washing
his hands.

He turned and, at the sight of Adam, frowned. “What took you so
long?”

“Tilda got me for speeding. Where's Jon?”

The stall door opened and out stepped Jonathan, wearing a pair
of black silk boxers. “Nice shorts,” Adam observed, giving him the slacks and
belt.

Jonathan snatched them and climbed into them. They hung only a
little loosely on him but he cinched them up with the belt. “Sorry about the
ticket. I'll pay it. Can I borrow your car?”

“What? How am I supposed to get back to the restaurant? And
what am I supposed to tell Chelsea when it's time to leave and we don't have a
car?”

“I'll return it as soon as I get my spare set of keys,”
Jonathan promised.

“But—”

“Give me your keys,” Jonathan snarled.

This new, angry Jonathan startled Adam into reflexively handing
over his keys.

“Thanks,” Jonathan said, and bolted out of the bathroom.

“Bring the car to Schwangau,” Adam called after him, and hoped
he heard. He turned to Kyle and demanded, “What the hell is going on?”

“Jon has to go save Lissa,” Kyle said.

“With my car.”

“Don't worry. He'll get it back to you.”

“Well, I hope he gets it back to me before we're done with
dinner. Otherwise, I'm gonna have a hard time explaining to Chelsea. I wasn't
even supposed to have my cell phone on.”

Kyle slugged him in the shoulder. “You're a good man to have
around in a crisis. Come on, I'll drive you to the restaurant.”

Adam frowned. “Chels thinks I'm in the bathroom.”