Wanted: Devil Dogs MC (19 page)

A week rolls by, then one week becomes two and two becomes three, until it has been a month since Wesley walked out of the boarding house. There’s still no sign of him coming back. Isabel has started to make her peace with that, or at least that’s what she tells herself.

Apart from the gut-wrenching loss she still feels whenever she thinks about him, which she knows is still far too often, things have started to look up for the boarding house. The Devil Dogs haven’t made a return, so it seems that, although they’re criminals, they’re criminals who keep their promises. Aside from that, there are more tenants coming through the doors and a few of them are even long-term. Although it is a little early to say her financial problems have disappeared, at least she is now able to make the mortgage repayments, just.

Isabel has settled into a kind of monotony that involves helping Rosa with the day to day chores of the boarding house, working on the books, the accounts and the marketing of the place, fielding inquiries, buying provisions, figuring out what the most urgent repairs are and trying to find a way to pay for them. The house is still falling apart, but at least she is starting to come up with a plan of how she will get around to fixing it, even if, by her calculations, it is going to take around five years.

She has become a little reclusive, though she wouldn’t have used that word. Aside from her daily calls from Jamie, her contact with the world outside of the boarding house is fairly minimal. And that’s just the way she likes it, or at least that’s what she tells herself. Even Rosa seems to have noticed.

“Why you no go out like other girls your age?” The stout Italian lady has never been very good at small talk.

Isabel sighs heavily, not wanting to repeat the same conversation they’ve been having on virtually a daily basis for the past few weeks. “Because I have responsibilities, Rosa. Besides, I don’t feel like it.” She shrugs, ignoring the older woman’s narrow-eyed gaze as they fold another load of what seems to be never-ending laundry.

“You have not been the same, not since your young man left.” Rosa shakes her head, telling Isabel something she already knows.

“I’ve already told you, Rosa. He wasn’t my young man.” Isabel doesn’t know what he was, but whatever it was, it doesn’t matter anymore; he isn’t coming back.

“No? Then why you walking around like someone punch you in the stomach?” Rosa plants her hands on her hips, the laundry forgotten.

“It’s ‘kicked in the gut,’ Rosa. And I’m not. I’m fine, see!” Isabel puts on a cheesy grin, as wide as she can possibly make it.

Rosa makes a disgusted sound at the back of her throat, telling Isabel exactly how much she buys that particular untruth. “I worry about you, Isabel.” The older woman lays a comforting hand on her shoulder and, for a brief moment, Isabel allows herself to be comforted.

In the past few weeks she and Rosa have gotten closer. Isabel has begun to understand why her mother kept the woman around even though she is more expensive than the going rate. Rosa is fiercely loyal; she just hasn’t been loyal to Isabel.

Rosa had loved her mother like a sister and when she died and Isabel took over the business, Isabel expected that allegiance to be inherited. But that’s not how Rosa works. It is something Isabel has only recently begun to understand. Rosa’s fidelity has to be earned and, now, after months of hard work, she seems to think Isabel is worthy of it. It makes her loyalty more valuable, knowing you had to work for it, that it isn’t something that is just freely given.

“Don’t worry, please. You have seven children and fifteen grandchildren to worry about! You don’t need me clogging up your brain, as well.” Isabel waves away the other woman’s concern.

“You love him, yes?” Rosa clearly has no inclination to let this conversation go.

“Who?” Isabel looks at the older woman, wide-eyed.

“You no funny, Isabel. I’m serious. I ask you a question. Do you love him?” Rosa waits, arms folded, making it obvious that she has no intention of doing anything else until Isabel answers.

“Why do you care? You said he was dangerous, that he had a dark cloud around his head.” Isabel looks pointedly at the other woman. “I thought you’d be happy he was gone. No more dark cloud.” Isabel makes a gesture as if she is a magician.

“I say he dangerous. Was I wrong?” Rosa’s hands are on her sizable hips, assessing Isabel with her ‘don’t fuck with me’ stare.

Isabel sighs deeply, abandoning her pile of laundry. “No, Rosa. You weren’t wrong.”

Rosa makes a satisfied sound. “But you still don’t answer my question.” She waggles her finger at Isabel, as if she is a naughty schoolgirl. “It don’t matter. I can tell from your face and your sad little green eyes that you do. So, I have a story I want to tell you.”

Much as Isabel enjoys Rosa’s stories about her time back home in Italy, she has a feeling this particular anecdote is going to have a special message for her and she isn’t quite ready to fend off another attack of kindness from the older woman. At that precise moment, the doorbell rings and Isabel smiles in spite of herself. Never has a sound been so welcome to her ears.

“Saved by the bell.” She says the words under her breath but Rosa still hears her; the woman has hears like a bat. She swats her playfully on the behind with a dishtowel as Isabel runs up the stairs to answer the door. She tries to tell herself it’s foolish for her to still get her hopes up whenever someone comes to the door. It’s not going to be him; she knows that. But her heart hasn’t quite caught up with her mind on that front yet. So she hurries up the stairs, her heart beating like a drum.

By the time she gets to the door, she’s breathing heavily but doesn’t even pause for breath before she swings it open, her eyes shiny and full of hope. It’s not Wesley. She’d known that; it really shouldn’t have been a surprise. What she’s not prepared for is the sight of the man standing in front of her, the last man she expects to see on her doorstep.

“Mike!” She blinks as if he were some kind of apparition. “What are you doing here?”

“Good to see you, too, Issy.” A warm smile breaks out on his face, highlighting his All-American looks that never failed to make the women around him swoon.

Isabel opens and closes her mouth, doing a pretty good impression of a goldfish, but she can’t find the words to say.

After a few moments of just standing there and staring at each other, Mike shifts the duffel bag he’s holding over one shoulder. “So, can I come in?”

Isabel backs away from the door, opening it wide and gesturing for him to come in.

It takes another few moments for her to find her voice. “Can I get you something to drink? Are you hungry? I bet you’re hungry.” She leads him into the kitchen where she starts opening and closing cupboards at a rate of knots. Now that she’s found her voice she only seems to be capable of babbling.

“I’m fine.” When she doesn’t stop spinning around in the kitchen like a whirlwind he steps into her path, forcing her to stop. “Issy, I’m fine.” He looks down at her and she sees all the emotion in his eyes; it’s enough to choke her.

Without even thinking about it, she throws her arms around his shoulders and hugs him hard, feeling indescribably better. Whatever happened between them, Mike is still her friend. They have shared so much together; they have been buddies for longer than they’d been anything else and she feels so grateful to have him here.

“It’s so good to see you.” She speaks the words against his shoulder and she feels his hold on her tighten as he rubs her back. Eventually she pulls away, smiling up at him through the tears that are threatening behind her eyes.

“I was worried you might not be all that happy to see me.” Mike shoves his hands in the pockets of his designer jeans, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Mike, I’m
always
happy to see you.” She gives him a serious look, ignoring the elephant in the room and hoping that he will, too. But she knows better. Mike has never been the beating around the bush type.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding my calls like the plague?” He levels her with a look that tells her she’s not getting out of this confrontation without giving him a real answer.

“I haven’t been avoiding them!” Isabel shakes her head, not looking directly at him. She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t lie to him anymore, but she isn’t exactly getting off to a great start on that front.

“Issy, come on. This is me.” His voice is gentle, but there’s no doubt in her mind he’s not going to push her for more.

“I know, Mike. It’s just…” She scrambles around for something that will appease him, for something that isn’t a lie. “It’s been kind of a difficult time.” She shrugs, aware that her explanation could be strong contender for understatement of the year.

She waits for Mike to push her more, but he doesn’t. Instead he nods in understanding, rubbing his eyes like he’s just woken up. “I get that, and I don’t want to make things any more complicated for you.”

Isabel can hear a ‘but’ coming. She isn’t quite ready to hear it yet. “So how’re things at school? How’d finals go?” She starts filling up the kettle, taking cups down, going through the motions of making tea, the ritual of the action soothing her, or at least that’s what she hopes will happen.

Mike sighs, like he knows she’s stalling, but he’s gracious enough not to point it out. “Oh, you know, same old, same old.” He shrugs but can’t help a smile spreading across his face.

Isabel remembers that smile. They’d first bonded over the fact that they’d both known since they were kids that they wanted to be doctors. They loved it, which is probably also why they were always at the top of all their classes. They had a friendly rivalry at school, each pushing the other on to achieve bigger, better.

“I kind of miss my study buddy, though.” He sighs deeply. “Is she ever coming back?”

Isabel keeps her attention focused on steeping the tea, going through the motions, not looking at him. “Honestly, Mike, I don’t know.”

“Don’t you miss it?” The tone of his voice tells her he knows she does. “I don’t get it, Issy. Being a surgeon, it’s all you’ve ever wanted and you’re so damn good at it. It’s really freakin’ annoying.” He laughs lightly. “How can you be okay with just throwing that all away?”

Isabel shakes her head, finally turning around to face him. “Because I’m not okay with it, Mike.” It’s the first time she’s ever admitted the words, at least out loud, and there’s something freeing about it. “I miss it. I miss college. I miss my friends. I miss the classes. I miss learning new things every day. I miss it all.” She takes a deep breath. “I miss it so much sometimes that it actually hurts.”
Don’t cry, Bishop, don’t cry.

“So what are you waiting for, Issy?” Mike shakes his head, not understanding her reticence in the slightest. “All you have to do is speak to the Dean. They’d have you back in a heartbeat. You’re the best student they have!”

Isabel laughs off the compliment. “And what are you, a slacker?” She crosses her arms over her chest, tilting her head and giving him a look.

“I just try to keep up with you, Issy.” He shrugs, smiling sincerely. “So why don’t you come back? I’ve never known you not to go after what you wanted. The Isabel I knew was fearless. What’s changed? What are you afraid of?”

Isabel tries to conjure up a memory of the person Mike is describing, but it’s as if it is someone else. He is right; she had been fearless. There was nothing she couldn’t do, nothing she would have thought she didn’t deserve or couldn’t achieve. Isabel gives the only answer that she can. “My mother died.”

Mike cringes, as if he’s aware that he’s just committed a giant faux pas. “Ah, Issy. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come down on you so hard.” He rests his hand on her shoulder and Isabel leans into it automatically before she remembers it’s probably the last thing she should be doing.

She straightens up, proud of herself that the tears that used to flow so freely when she thought of her mother finally seemed to be drying up. “You didn’t.” She busies herself with pouring out the tea into two cups, but she doesn’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes when, gently, she extricates herself from his hold. The silence stretches out between them and Isabel tries to think of something to fill it. She hands him a cup. He doesn’t even look at it, just taking it and placing it on the kitchen counter next to him.