Weeding Out Trouble (18 page)

Mario again cooed something in Spanish, this time with a touch of an evil tone that made me wonder if it was some sort of hex.

When they'd left, I remade the cot and changed the pillowcase just in case another victim showed up. My cell phone rang, and I answered before it finished the first ring. It was Tam.

She was whispering. "Kent Ingless graduated with a degree in chemistry. He worked at a biomedical firm for twenty years before dropping off the radar. Does that tell you anything?"

"Yeah, it does." I told her my theory about Kent being the creator of Corazón.

"A mad scientist," she said.

"Something like that."

"Should I tell Ian?"

"Let me," I said. "I don't want him mad at you."

We said our good-byes just as Bobby strode into Riley's room. He wore dark jeans, a long-sleeve thermal tee that matched his blue eyes, and a big smile.

"I won three hundred dollars," he said, kissing me.

"Don't get used to it."

"Spoilsport," he teased. "How's Ry?"

"Not good. He's dreaming about turkeys." I plopped down in the chair, set my feet on the bed.

Bobby perched on the edge of the desk. "A sixteen-yearold dreaming about turkeys? He must be really sick."

"I'm hoping it's a twenty-four-hour bug, for his sake." I looked up at him. "How'd this afternoon go, besides the big windfall?"

"I didn't get much out of the crowd at Mrs. Greeble's. I did gather there's been a game going on for about three months now."

"Does Mrs. Greeble play? Or deal?"

"No, she just sits in a rocker in the corner and watches some, but mostly nods off. And honestly, she doesn't look so well. I wonder if she has whatever Riley has."

It wouldn't have surprised me, seeing as how much time they spent together.

I crossed my feet at the ankles. Big fluffy socks covered my toes, keeping them warm. "I'm surprised Mrs. Greeble allowed you to play. She must know you'd tell me about it."

"She didn't seem to notice I was there."

That didn't sound like her at all. Usually she was as sharp as they came, often giving Mr. Cabrera what-for because of his snooping.

Great. Now I was worried about her as well.

That was me. Nina Colette Ceceri Worrywart Quinn.

Sometimes, just sometimes, my empathy for others bothered me. Now was one of those times.

Bobby's cell phone rang, and he frowned at the readout. "Robert MacKenna," he said, answering.

Once again I had a flash of déjà vu. I'd known him by that name when he was Riley's vice principal. It wasn't until we'd gotten closer that I started calling him Bobby.

Bobby fit much better, I thought, looking at him. It was looser, and better represented his easygoing personality. As he leaned over, listening to whoever was on the line, his body moved with an athletic grace. Toned muscles strained his long-sleeve tee, and the cut of his jeans hinted at the long, strong legs beneath.

He didn't belong behind a desk. His happiness and eagerness to do something new shone in his eyes. And I had to admit that I was glad he was venturing into a new career. I liked seeing him this way.

"I'll be right over," he said, hanging up.

"Not more poker?" I asked.

He laughed. "Mrs. Daasch. Her kitchen sink won't drain."

Riley shifted again. "Gobble, gobble."

Bobby grinned. "Must really be some dream."

"I was the one chased by those turkeys." I smiled. "I should be the one having nightmares."

Laughing, he leaned down next to my chair and softly kissed my lips. Looking into my eyes, he said, "You're staying with Riley tonight?"

I loved when he looked at me like that. All warm and understanding. My heart swelled. I nodded.

He kissed me again. "Try to stay out of trouble."

"Me? Trouble? Ha!"

He managed to laugh and look skeptical at the same time. "I'll see you tomorrow." He stopped in the doorway, looked back at me.

"All right," I said.

After a long moment, he left.

I sat there nibbling my lip. I should have said it.

"Why don't you just tell him you love him and get it over with? I didn't think he was ever going to leave. Poor guy," Riley said, his voice scratchy.

I stuck a straw in the bottle of water and held it to his lips. "Why poor guy?"

Riley shifted in bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. His lips were still bright red and chapped. The fever hadn't broken.

"It's obvious that he loves you and is afraid to say it because he doesn't know if you'll say it back."

"When did you become Dr. Phil?"

"Get a clue, Nina."

Just how did Riley know that I hadn't told Bobby I loved him? That we didn't say it all the time to each other? I needed to stop underestimating how mature teenagers were. Immediately, I added it to my personal commandment list.

Bobby and I had danced around the words for over a month now. And Riley was right. I could tell Bobby was scared to lay it on the line. And for some reason, I was scared to put it out there. It was stupid. Really stupid. And immature. I mean, why not just say it? I felt it. I think he felt it. Yet . . .

"You two make me feel sicker. How about you keep your lovey-dovey stuff out of my room?"

Downstairs, I heard commotion. A second later I heard Brickhouse's loud voice carrying on about the wonders of split pea soup.

Ahh, sweet revenge for his smart mouth! "Sounds like your dinner has arrived, Ry."

"Don't make me eat it," he muttered piteously.

"You should have thought about that before the loveydovey comment."

"Dammit," he said.

"Language!"

He pulled the covers over his head as Mr. Cabrera poked his head in the door like a turtle out from its shell. "Soup's on!" He passed in a covered Tupperware dish with a spoon balanced on top. "There's more downstairs if you're hungry," he said to me.

"I'll pass," I said, taking the dish and lifting the lid off.

He frowned. "Don't go hurtin' Ursula's feelings."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Riley snorted.

"You doin' okay, kid?" Mr. Cabrera asked.

Riley's voice was muffled, coming through the comforter. "Just fine."

"That's a boy. Can't keep the good ones down long. We'll be downstairs if you change your mind, Miz Quinn."

"Thanks," I said, knowing perfectly well there was no way on earth I was eating split pea soup.

I set the bowl on Riley's nightstand. "Looks delish," I said.

He groaned.

I smiled.

My cell phone rang, the
Match Game
theme song filling the air.

Ana.

Oh no. Ana!

"Hello?" I answered cautiously.

"You forgot about me!" she cried.

"No, no, I didn't," I lied, grimacing.

"Then where might you be?" she asked.

"Well, you see, Riley's sick—"

"You forgot about me!"

Crap. I couldn't leave Riley. No one else would step foot into his room except for Bobby, and he was off fixing Mrs. Daasch's drain.

I looked at the lump that was Riley under the covers. He would probably be just fine by himself. He was, after all, sixteen, not six. But I didn't feel right leaving him.

"Someone will be there in half an hour." That was pushing it. The airport was easily forty-five minutes away.

"Someone?"

"I told you, Riley's sick."

"I'm not a baby," floated out from under the covers.

"I thought you were making that up! What's wrong?" Ana asked.

"Some sort of flu. Fever, cookie-tossing—"

"Don't remind me," Riley moaned. "The smell of the soup is making my stomach turn."

I grabbed the bowl, clicked on the lid, and set it in the hall. Like I said, I didn't do well with cookie-tossing.

"Fine," Ana said. "Just send someone."

She hung up, and I went in search of Mr. Cabrera. It didn't take much for him to agree to pick up Ana—they had become fast friends over the last few months. Besides, I had a hunch he didn't like the soup very much and wanted the excuse to abandon supper.

I grabbed a cup of coffee and headed back upstairs. Riley had fallen asleep again.

Sinking into the chair, I stared into my mug. The dark coffee jarred my memory.

In my room, I dug Randall Oh's phone number out of my purse. Hoping we could have coffee first thing in the morning, I dialed.

Two rings later a tinny voice came on the line telling me the number I dialed was not in service.

I redialed carefully, just to be sure.

No doubt about it. Randall Oh had given me a fake number.

It made me wonder why.

I woke to the sun streaming in my bedroom window and someone's hand under my camisole, rubbing my back in lazy, sensuous circles.

I knew that hand, that touch.

And didn't like it. Not one bit.

Jumping up, I grabbed my duvet, covering myself to my neck. "Get out!"

Kevin propped himself up on his elbow. My yanking of the covers revealed him to be shirtless with nothing on but jammie bottoms and gauze covering the wound near his collarbone. "Why? I was just getting started."

My temper flared.

Then . . .

I smiled.

"That's better." Kevin reached for me.

I slapped his hand.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Don't touch me."

He sat up. "Why the smile then? Talk about mixed mes sages."

"I just realized something."

"Do share," he mocked.

"Your touch didn't affect me. In fact, I didn't like it. Don't you see? I'm over you. Really over you. I love Bobby. It was his touch I was hoping for when I opened my eyes."

Looking wounded, he said, "Let me get this knife out of my heart, and I'll get out of your way."

My anger slowly returned. "Wait. Where do you get off?" I asked. "What were your intentions coming in here?"

He laughed. "I thought that was obvious."

My hands shook I was so mad. "I don't get you. I really don't. I can't believe I'm about to say this, Lord help me because I must have caught Riley's illness and be nearly delusional, but I feel bad for Ginger. Did you think about her at all when you climbed into my bed this morning?"

His eyes darkened.

"You're supposed to be committed to her, and here you are sneaking into my bed like a sneaky, no-good, lowdown, dirty—"

"We broke up," he interrupted.

"—snake," I finished. "What?"

"We broke up. Yesterday."

"Why?"

He shrugged, and pain flitted across his face. My gaze shot to the scars on his chest, but there was no way I was offering him sympathy now, not a single chance, no way in— "You okay?"

"Fine."

"Fine."

A prime example of our primo communication skills.

"I just thought," he said.

I stood up, wrapping my duvet around me. "I know what you thought. You figured that since Ginger was out of the picture you could slide right back into mine because you knew I still had feelings for you, deep down. You figured I'd sleep with you, realize what I'd been missing, and come running back with open arms. You know what?"

"I don't think I want to know."

"You figured wrong. I don't have feelings, deep down. They're gone. I deserve better than you, Kevin. I deserve a man who loves
me
for all the right reasons. And though I hate her, Ginger deserves a man to love her the same way. You know what?"

"I still think I don't want to know."

"I think you still love Leah."

His eyes flashed, burning green.

"Yeah, I said it. You still love Leah. And I don't think it was fair to me, or to Ginger, that you had relationships with us without fully being able to commit." My voice softened, my heart suddenly breaking for him. "And you won't ever be able to have a relationship with a woman until you're able to fully put Leah to rest. In your mind. In your heart. You haven't allowed yourself to do that, Kevin. You need to. For your sake. For your happiness."

He pulled both hands down his face. "Yeah," was all he said as he walked out of my room.

Taking a deep breath, I sat down on the edge of my bed, wrapping my duvet around me like a cocoon. Tears hovered at the corners of my eyes and I wasn't sure why. I couldn't nail down a single one of the many emotions coursing through me.

Riley appeared in the doorway, like the ghost of Christmas past. Pale, wide, watery eyes, red lips, wild hair. Just give the boy some chains to rattle and he'd be a dead ringer.

"Are you all right?" I asked him. "Do you need something?" I'd spent most of the night in his room, dozing in his chair, holding his bedpan for him while he was sick. I personally thought it was enough for my Stepmother of the Year nomination to be reinstated, especially after being in such close proximity to Xena all night. Though, I confess, I'd thrown a sheet over her cage to help ward off the heebies. I hadn't crept into my bed with my mother and BeBe—who was so happy to see me she nearly knocked my mother out of bed with her tail—until nearly four in the morning. It was close to nine now. No sign of Mom or BeBe.

"I'm okay. You?" he asked me.

It dawned on me that he'd overheard.

Crap.

"Yeah. Sorry you heard all that."

Slowly, he came into the room, sat on the bed next to me. He was such a mirror of his father. Yet, he was so different than Kevin. Softer, despite the attitude. Wiser, despite his age. In his eyes I could see the man he would become. The good man. It did my heart proud.

He gazed at me, saying nothing.

I let out a deep breath, not sure what to say either.