When Night Falls (10 page)

Dani
. This young girl, slender, had Shelly’s clean-cut Nordic features, and eyes the same light brown as his. He forced himself to breathe, his heart pounding. He wondered,
no, he knew, she was his
.

“You okay, guy?” she asked, frowning up at him. “You look like you forgot something.”

How could he forget that night? Why hadn’t he checked on Shelly after that? She’d been a virgin—a sweet, giving virgin
. “I’m fine, kid. I’ll feel better after I have breakfast. What’s the best place to eat around here? Show me and I’ll buy.”

“Ruby’s is good. Home-cooking and good pies and sweet tea made in the sun. I work there sometimes.” She grinned at him, and Roman’s heart stopped. There was Shelly, young and shy and tender—all pain and edges and uncertainty—beneath layers of paint and hair dye and leather.
This was his daughter
.

The rumble of a motorcycle preceded the young tough he’d met earlier. The boy paused in the yawning opening of the garage, and Roman knew exactly what he was, because that’s just how he’d been—girl crazy, taking what he could get, showing off just how tough he was.

He held back the impulse to rip the kid from the seat and threaten him. That wouldn’t help him with Dani.

The kid purred the bike inside and Roman didn’t like his dark look at Dani. “Hop on,” the kid said in a tone that warned.

Jace could have been Roman as a teenager, just there, framed in that square of sunlight, revving his motorcycle. And Roman knew exactly what kids that age wanted—and his daughter wasn’t going to be ordered around, or used. He had always been very careful to stay within the bounds of girls—okay, older women—who knew the score. He had preferred older; Shelly was different that night and he’d needed her in a way that was soft and warm. “She’s with me.”

“Oh, yeah?” The tough revved the bike and Roman knew what would happen next—he’d be fighting a boy for his own daughter!

Roman glanced at Dani and found her eyes bright and hopeful—and worshipful of a man she wanted for her own.

Well, hell. What would a real father do in his place?

First things first. “Dani said you wouldn’t have nailed my tires or pushed my bike over. Did you?”

The kid’s eyes widened, showing his youth, not that hard, tough look. “Not me. I wouldn’t do that to a Harley.” He spoke the name with reverence.

“If you pick up who did, I’d appreciate the lead. But Dani and I were just going down to Ruby’s. How about coming with us?”

The kid revved his bike. “I’ve got business,” he said and back-walked the motorcycle out.

When he roared away, Roman asked, “Are you going to have trouble over this?”

“I can handle myself,” she said and the inviting look she gave Roman shocked him.

“Old guys aren’t fun,” he said sternly and surprised himself at the paternal protective nudge. Dani needed someone to—oh, well, hell, what did he know about what a father could teach a girl, or how to protect her from users? “You shouldn’t try a come-on with me. Just how old are you, anyway?”

Dani shrugged and her tone was casual, as if she knew
everything there was to know about life and accepted it. “Jail bait. I’d lie, but you’d find out if you stay around town. But I know the rules. I’m the same as my mom, and she never told anyone who my father was.”

But Roman knew, and he wanted to know more.

U
ma leaned back in her desk chair. After hours of trying to understand what had happened to her computer, why all the files had been erased or corrupted, she still had no idea. At five o’clock in the morning, she had a deadline for her Charis Lopez column in two days, and a layout for a real estate company, and now she had to start all over. The backup CDs she was meticulous about making were not readable, either. She had to reinstall all the programs, write the column, and—

And it was the third week of July, hot and dry.
It had been two weeks since Mitchell had—since he had been so, so intense, and had kissed her
.

Mitchell was a concentrated male package—taut, edgy, brooding, concealing his thoughts. And emotional. She had merely caught his dark side, that bristling male shield that wanted to put her off guard, to defend his inner emotions.

She tapped the pencil she was holding. Naturally Mitchell would be emotional, coming back to Madrid, remembering—

But then, she should be worrying about her deadlines, the way her computer had crashed.

She looked past the window’s sheer lacy curtain onto the street. Earlier, distracted by her computer problems, she
hadn’t noticed the two holes in the window. She picked up the BBs on her desk. Her father wouldn’t be happy, and she’d have to make a point of telling the Ellison boy to not shoot at birds. His father had been irresponsible, showing little Nicky how to shoot at birds, and she’d complained at the cruelties. She would again—just as soon as she could talk to his father.

Her own father was still snoring, the sound cruising down the hallway like a revved chainsaw. Tracking the Warrens’ movements through a network of townspeople, what they bought, where they went, was exhausting work.

Other than the crashed computer, and the BB holes in the window, everything else appeared normal. Ellie Long was on her morning walk, pushing her baby’s stroller in front of her. Life in Madrid was as usual, Mrs. Simpson trying to fit her big Lincoln into Maggie Fenton’s driveway.

Uma still tasted Matthew and the sensual electricity surrounding them. She’d been off balance since then, nettled and sleepless and angry with him—and with herself for letting him get to her. She’d avoided looking at his house, though she badly wanted to help him restore it.

On the roof, shingling at dawn a week ago, Roman had called out to her. She’d waved, but hadn’t met Mitchell’s quiet look. She passed by two women who had suddenly started jogging up and down Lawrence Street, both single, very young, and man-hunting. Dressed only in jeans, the brothers were quite the sight, strong bodies gleaming, muscles surging, Mitchell’s back all broad and tanned and—

Sex. Mitchell wanted sex. He was obvious enough about that, stunning her. Saying those things men just did not say to her, and she was far past any excitement a bad-boy image could stir
.

Did he have to say those things? Holding and tasting her—

Uma shivered and broke the pencil she’d been holding, as she made notes of all the computer’s damage. The hardware seemed fine, but the files were lost—

And Mitchell could do with a good dose of Charis Lopez’s takes on relationships, on intimacy, on tact, and—

Uma quickly tied on her running shoes. If she couldn’t concentrate on her article or her work, then she would run out the tension that thinking about Mitchell had created.

On her front porch, she stretched and whipped her hair back into a ponytail, placing the terry sweat band around her head. Everett was back, and she had enough to do straightening out her computer and meeting her deadlines.

The Warren brothers were stirring up everyone in town. While people wondered where Mitchell got his money, they didn’t hesitate to take it at the plumbing and electrical stores, or at the small lumberyard. Served them right, the gossip said, that Lyle and the boys “fixed” their tires; they’d learn to leave Madrid’s good women alone.

Gossip told her that the two men were working nights: “Busy as bees, the two of them. Working as if all hell were after them. They’ll have that place fixed up in no time. Probably want to sell it, or bring their buddies in. Wonder what they plan to do with the garage—run a chop shop, and paint stolen cars? Or that old ranch?”

The speculations about the ranch had reached fever pitch. After all, what would the Warrens do with the dead bodies now? They were just lying low after the first one was discovered, but the town speculated that there were more.

Uma stretched her arms high. She couldn’t worry about Mitchell; Shelly needed her—she’d seen Roman standing out on the street, watching the house. Dani spoke of nothing but him, and Shelly was terrified that Roman would find out about her daughter and that she would lose Dani.

Uma started to jog slowly, warming up her stride as the dawn promised a hot, dry day. She passed her neighbor’s house and ran faster, determined not to notice Mitchell. She glanced at a runner coming out of the dawn and smiled,
“Hi, Everett, I didn’t know you were still running.”

Today he had already shaved and wore the sky blue T-shirt and matching shorts she had chosen for him—to match his eyes. She liked to shop for him. Was it because that was all she could give him, and not what he wanted?

He was solid and good and dependable. “We used to run like this. It was good. I’m out of shape. Thought I’d try to keep up. Thanks for the casserole you left for me the night I came back.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s see what you’ve got,” she teased, running faster.

Then Mitchell was running at her other side, his chest bare and his shorts and shoes with a very expensive trademark. “Thought I’d try getting in shape, too—unless you mind?”

You’ve got sweat between your breasts and they bounce when you run….

Uma tightened her muscles and decided to buy a sports bra. No one had ever commented on her running gear before. Or her sweat.
What kind of a man would mention a woman’s sweat?
“No, of course not. We don’t mind, do we, Everett?”

Everett ran grimly, silently. Mitchell’s scruffy jaw and shaggy haircut emphasized the difference in the two men, though they were the same height. In comparison, Mitchell looked rawly masculine and unsafe, especially when he glanced down at Uma’s chest.

Uma tried to ignore him, but couldn’t resist glancing up at his face, which had a grim look she didn’t like. They cruised two blocks to Main Street, where the smell of the bakery mixed with Ruby’s morning coffee, and Lorraine Jarvis’s big black Labrador fell in behind them.

Uma tried to ignore the people who had come out onto the street to watch the two men and her, the window shades being drawn aside in the two-story apartments.

Unable to stand being the town’s spectacle, running beside the two men, Uma took the first opportunity to escape. “I
forgot something,” she said and turned around suddenly, heading for her house and safety.

Everett and Mitchell grunted at the same time. When she ran a block back, she looked over her shoulder to see the two men running full speed in the other direction, the Labrador replacing her position.

As she ran past Lauren’s house, Roman was just setting out the sun-tea jug. It was comforting to see Lauren’s customary summer tea on the repainted porch. Uma badly needed comfort; she didn’t care if people were peering at her from behind their blinds.

She ripped off her sweatband and stopped to talk with Roman; if Madrid wanted to gossip about her after all this time, that was just fine.

“So how’s it going?” Roman asked, grinning at her.

“You know how it is. There I was, running between two men. My ex-husband, who is nice, and your brother, who isn’t”.

“A lot of women like that competition kind of thing. It suits their egos.”

“Not me.”

“My brother isn’t here now. He said you wouldn’t come in if he were here, and I know how you felt about Lauren—nice girl. Would you like to see the house? We’ve done quite a bit of restoring. It was a shame her husband trashed it. The house has got a certain—soft feel to it, I guess.”

She was grateful for Roman’s consideration. “Yes, I would. Thank you.”

That “soft feel” would be Lauren—waiting. The house had been repainted, carpeted, and cleaned. Barren of furniture, it was achingly lovely in butter-cream walls against the dark wood trim. The stained glass window Lauren loved created softly colored patterns on the cream carpeting. The damaged entryway flooring had been replaced. The kitchen was stark and clean, two bar stools the only furniture. Beyond that was the utility room where laundry was humming
and then the door to Lauren’s garden. In the room where Lauren’s things rested, a vase of fresh roses scented the air, a contrast to the masculine scents of soap and shaving lotion.

“I don’t know what to do with them,” Uma said as Roman came to stand beside her. “It’s all so wrong. I should get her things out of your way.”

“Take your time. Mitchell put the flowers in there. I did go through the albums and the class yearbooks. Seems like a long time ago, forever, in fact, when we were all young. Hope that was okay.”

Uma knew that he was battling the past, the same as Mitchell, and probably remembering Shelly. Dani’s fascination for him was no secret. “Be careful, Roman,” Uma advised softly.

He inhaled and slowly released his breath, watching her. “What do you know about Shelly’s daughter Dani?”

Uma knew about Dani, and about Grace Warren’s struggle to save her marriage. The Warren men weren’t an easy breed. “I think you need to be very careful with Dani. She’s got your eyes.”

Roman studied her. “You know, then.”

“Everything. But tell me anyway.”

He sighed roughly and ran his hand through his hair. “I haven’t done much with my life, but I’m trying. I sold a car I wasn’t using. Not much money to start working the old garage again, but Mitchell is helping. I’m good with cars and motors, same as the old man when he was on top of it. And with this bum knee, I’m not good for much else.”

“I think you’ll be marvelous,” she said quietly, aching for him, for all he had gone through. “Did you ever find out who put nails in your tires?”

“Someone who didn’t like us,” Roman stated. “And I don’t think it was Lyle and his friends. But that knife rip through the back screen door wasn’t sweet. The town would like to see us leave. We aren’t. Come on in the kitchen. I’m great with toast.”

“I should be going.” The hallway table was a paper-cluttered improvised desk with a copy of
The Smooth Moves List
.

“Okay, but I want your opinion on something. Do you think that book is any good? Or is it just something women like to dream about—” Roman reached for the book on top of colorful garden books, and a stack of papers slid to the floor.

Uma bent to pick them up and noted the Rogers Building and Supply letterhead with Mitchell’s big, bold signature.

At a slight noise behind her, she turned to see Mitchell leaning against the doorframe, lifting a water bottle to drink heavily. He was sweaty and thunderous. “Snooping again?” he asked overpolitely.

She handed the paper to him. “What made you choose now, after all these years, to come back to Madrid?”

He glanced at the paper, then crushed it into a ball, hurling it at Roman, who grinned and ducked. The wadded paper hit the wall and rolled back onto the floor between Mitchell and Uma. He stared at it as if it were condemning evidence. “I delivered a baby in the back of a cab for my secretary and it changed my life. That’s the whole damn truth of it, as near as I can figure. So you’ll come in the house when I’m not here, huh? And why would that be, I wonder? Could I have possibly said something to upset you, Mrs. Thornton?”

Before she could think of an answer, Mitchell turned and walked toward the shower, slamming the door behind him.

Roman was looking up at the ceiling, which was good, because Uma didn’t want him to see the anger bubbling inside her. “So what about this relationship book?” he asked. “Is it worth reading?”

“It’s very, very good. Your brother could take a few pointers from it. I’ve got to get home. My computer crashed and I’ve got a deadline—ah, a brochure that needs to be finished. I’ve underbid the project as is, but I intend to deliver on time.”

In the shower, Mitchell braced his hands against the smooth tile. The ties between Uma and Everett ran deep. Everett was a husband-guy; they deserved each other. And here Mitchell was, trying to fit into a neat little threesome. He had ended up flopped in the small city park, too out of breath to move while Everett ran on.

Lonny had come to sit on the park bench beside him. He handed Mitchell bottled water. Mitchell poured it onto his face, then opened his mouth and let it stream into him.

The policeman’s laughter roared. When he caught his breath, he wiped away the tears. “Out of shape? That was quite the sight back there, Uma running between her ex-husband who still wants her and you.”

Mitchell strained to lift an eyelid. “He’s in shape. I’m not. I’ll work on it.”

“He’s been working on it for years. She’s not buying. She may be one of those women who doesn’t seem to need men. Seems just happy living a quiet life with her father. So what are your intentions? With Uma, I mean.”

“I’m not talking about Uma,” Mitchell had said tightly and heaved himself to his feet.

“Well, okay then. You boys are busy as bees over at that house. Makes a person wonder what you’re trying to get out of your system. People are keeping tabs on the delivery trucks parked in your driveway. Now, if there were a Rogers Building and Supply in Madrid, you wouldn’t have to go ordering in supplies. You could do a lot for the town, if you wanted.”

“I don’t. I’m just trying to live, that’s all.”

“Sometimes that’s all we can do.” Lonny looked up at Mitchell, his mood changed to serious. “Still haven’t found any news on that shooter. Dufus Boy just figured out that someone pushed the car back into the garage after the shooting. I knew it when I saw the marks on the front bumper and the window open. The bullet went clear through and we can’t
find it. That shot was fired outside the garage, or it would have been stuck in the wall—probably by the same person who shot up the windmill with the .45. If anything turns up out there, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”