Authors: Mary J. Williams
Dalton waited while Colleen picked up her purse and set the lock on the door. Holding out his arm, he nodded.
"We had a gig here about seven years ago."
"I—" Colleen stopped in her tracks.
"You…?" Dalton's face didn't betray any emotion.
"I spent that summer in Phoenix taking classes. By the time I got back, you were gone."
"Up the river." Dalton patted her hand. "In the big house?"
"I think you were standing trial."
"Ah, yes," he nodded. "Good times."
"Sarcasm or bitterness? Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference."
Dalton stopped beside the T-Bird. To Colleen's surprise, he burst out laughing.
"That was a joke?" When she nodded, Dalton threw his head back and laughed again—harder and longer.
"That was my first attempt at prison humor." Colleen figured she might as well push her luck. "Are all ex-cons so jovial about the subject?"
Wiping the moisture from his eyes, Dalton let out a sigh.
"Hell if I know. But I wouldn't test the theory. I met some mean bastards in the pen. They hit first. Gender doesn't matter."
"I knew a guy like that. Gender
did
matter. He gave a new meaning to women and children first."
That drove the smile off Dalton's face. Carefully, he cupped Colleen's face in his hand, his thumb lightly caressing her cheekbone.
"Has someone hit you?" Dalton's look was a breath-catching combination of tender and fierce.
"No," Colleen reassured him, her hand gripping his wrist. "I had a friend in high school. Her father knocked her mother. And her sister. And her. Then she picked a boyfriend with the same habit."
"What happened to her?"
"She married the bastard and moved to Albuquerque. Last I heard she had two daughters. In a perfect world, her boyfriend changed when he became a husband and father."
"The world isn't perfect."
"No."
Colleen felt a stinging at the back of her eyes. She wasn't going to cry, but it became a close thing when Dalton gathered her near.
"I don't hit women. I would never knowingly hurt a child. But, Colleen?" Dalton lifted his head, looking her directly in the eyes. "The crime I stood trial for? I was guilty."
Colleen waited for Dalton's revelation to change the way she felt, but it didn't happen. His arms comforted her. She felt protected—safe. She believed he had a dangerous streak. She didn't doubt his words. He had been guilty. Colleen wasn't foolish enough to trust her instincts completely. She didn't know this man and her hormones were on high alert—wanting him could be clouding her judgment. Dalton could turn out to be one of the bad guys. But for the moment, she didn't think so.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Smiling, Dalton shook his head. "You never say what I expect."
"That, my friend, is a compliment of the first order." Brushing her lips against his, Colleen moved away before either of them could take it further. Caution was never a bad thing. "Let's go to dinner. I lost my appetite. Now it's back."
Dalton helped her into the passenger seat. As he walked around the car, Colleen marveled that it didn't feel odd to sit here while he sat behind the wheel. Maybe today's heat had fried a bit of her brain. Or it might have been Dalton. Either way, she buckled her seatbelt and relaxed.
"Chicken fried steak?"
"And a frosty margarita."
It sounded like heaven. Or as close as she could get in Midas, Arizona.
THE SIDEWINDER
WASN'T exactly jumping, which was fine with Dalton. He wasn't worried about someone recognizing him. It happened all the time. But that was for his music. His arrest had been big news in Midas. It had been carried out in a very public manner. Dalton had no idea where all the police cars had come from. The flashing lights lit up the night sky. That was not something quickly forgotten.
"This used to be a dentist's office," Colleen informed him as their waitress showed them to their table. "Dr. Painless. He lasted less than a year."
"I wonder why?"
"I know. Dr. Feelgood is a cliché, but the curiosity factor alone would have pulled in a few patients."
They gave their drink orders. The waitress left, giving them time to decide on their meal.
"I don't know why I'm looking. I always have the special."
Dalton peered at Colleen over the top of his menu. "Wednesday chicken fried steak."
"Thursday spaghetti and meatballs. Friday varies. Usually some kind of fish." Colleen wrinkled her nose.
"Not a fan?"
"It's always deep fried. I want my sole grilled, not covered in crispy grease."
Dalton could relate. There was a place for fast food. Sometimes it was a necessity. But there was no substitute for beautifully prepared food made with the freshest ingredients. It was one of the many joys of having the money to travel where he wanted and do it first class all the way.
"There is a place on the coast of Italy that serves a Fillet of Sole Ponte Vecchio. It is one of the five best things I have ever eaten."
"You keep track?"
"I do when it's that good."
"I want to travel," Colleen said with a wistful sigh.
"To Italy?"
"Italy. France. Seattle. New York."
Smiling, Dalton thanked the waitress as she set their drinks on the table. He took a sip of his beer before he could do something stupid like give into a sudden desire to invite Colleen on the trip he planned before leaving Los Angeles. Two weeks in Greece. Not the touristy places. He had marveled at the Acropolis years ago. This time, Dalton had rented a boat. Not too big, but one that had a full crew so he could sit back and enjoy as they sailed around the different islands. Ashe planned on joining him for a few days.
The two men would undoubtedly find the time to romance some local beauties. But the idea of seeing Colleen in a tiny bikini, her red hair gleaming in the Mediterranean sunlight, held a great deal of appeal. It wasn't practical. It wasn't going to happen. But it was a nice image.
Dalton's favorite meals were ones that were drawn out by good conversation. To his delight, Colleen turned out to be a lively, opinionated companion.
"I don't want a handout." Colleen waved her fork for emphasis. "I want fair pay for work well done. Dole thought he could get away with agreeing to one salary and giving me another. He quickly learned otherwise."
There was something about a strong, confident woman that got Dalton's blood pumping. Sweet and docile was fine for a change of pace. But give him a woman like Colleen any day.
"I would have loved to witness that confrontation."
"It was short but not very sweet. Dole can do the basics. Change the oil. Fix a flat. But those things don't keep the lights on. Or provide his wife, Selma, with enough cash to buy fripperies in Phoenix."
"Fripperies?"
"Dole's word, not mine," Colleen said. "I have no idea what they are, but she seems to need a lot of them."
"Are they like thing-a-ma-jigs?"
"No. Probably more in the neighborhood of do-dads."
As though the difference was of deep importance, Dalton nodded, barely managing to keep a straight face. When his twinkling eyes met hers, they both burst out laughing.
"Dole must have come to his senses, or you wouldn't still be working there."
"I get a fair wage," Colleen shrugged, taking a bite of her chicken fried steak.
"Stop me if I'm overstepping your boundaries—"
"Boundaries?" she interrupted with a quiet snort. "Did we set those?"
"Not verbally. But everyone has a line that shouldn't be crossed." Dalton certainly did.
"You see before you an open book." Colleen took a drink of the margarita she had nursed through the meal, pushed her empty plate to the side, and then rested her elbows on the table. "Shoot. What do you want to know?"
"What are you doing in Midas, Arizona?"
"I like how you make it sound like the filthiest curse word ever."
"Well…" Dalton shrugged.
"Which begs the question, what are
you
doing here?" Colleen put up a hand before he could think of a suitable answer. "Never mind. Besides, you asked first. Do you want the long version, or should I
Reader's Digest
you?"
"I don't have any place to be. How about you?"
"This is Midas, Arizona," Colleen grinned, copying Dalton's tone. "You are the only game in town. No offense."
Dalton wasn't the least bit offended. He was intrigued, entertained, and not surprisingly, aroused.
"Then I vote for the long version," he said, settling back.
"I wasn't born here. The whys and wherefores are more my mother's story than mine. My father had left before I was old enough to care. After years of barely getting by working as a beautician, Mom remarried. Evan Crawford."
"How old were you?"
"Thirteen. Before I could blink, we were on our way from our home in Kansas to a shiny new life in Arizona." Colleen sighed. "Little did my mother know she was trading one dead-end town for another. But at least she had a husband."
"What happened?"
"Surprise, surprise, step-daddy wasn't the man he made himself out to be." Dalton heard the trace of bitterness in Colleen's voice. "He couldn't work—bad back. Mom got a job at the local beauty salon. And three months later, her husband, along with the little money she had saved, skipped town."
"Bastard."
"The crazy part is, he made Mom happy. She was a different woman than the one I grew up with. She smiled and laughed. Working wasn't a problem—she liked her job. When her marriage collapsed, so did she." Colleen gave a philosophical shrug. "Nothing good lasts long in Midas."
''You have."
Obviously pleased by his comment, Colleen's lovely green eyes widened. "That may be the best line ever."
"It wasn't a line," Dalton assured her.
"That's what makes it so good."
Dalton slid his hand across the table until the tips of his fingers brushed Colleen's. A bit of comfort and encouragement.
"I wanted to leave, but Mom wouldn't hear of it. For better or worse—you have to love the irony of that—this was now our home. After a few weeks, she started to come out of her funk. She dragged herself to work. Eventually, she bought the salon. She got married last fall. So far, so good."
"That covers your mother. What about you?"
"I guess that was the point, wasn't it?"
"Not that I was bored." Dalton's index finger lightly tapped hers. "But yes, that was the point."
"There isn't much to tell. I like engines, and they like me. I've always had the knack. Back in Kansas, a repair man told Mom our refrigerator couldn't be fixed."
"You fixed it?"
"I am proud to say that refrigerator brought us fifty dollars. A neighbor bought it before we left town."
Beautiful, funny, and talented beyond Dalton's comprehension. He knew what a spark plug looked like, but that was where it ended. They could have used Colleen in the early days. Calling their first tour bus unreliable put it mildly. More often than not, the money they earned from a gig was put right back into their transportation. Colleen would have saved them a fortune in repairs.
Over the next hour, Colleen explained how close she had come to leaving Midas. Her mother's illness. And starting over again.
"I've seen my last Midas summer," she said with a firm nod. "If I lose it all tomorrow, nothing is keeping me here."
"Where will you go?"
When Colleen hesitated, Dalton wondered if she had reached the edge of her boundaries. Then she continued—cautiously.
"I've never told anyone."
"I won't be offended if you want to keep it to yourself." This time, when his hand moved, it was to take hold of hers.
"I'm afraid." A burst of air rushed from Colleen's lungs. "That's something I never admit—not even to myself."
"Change is scary."
"I want a change," Colleen said, her eyes burning with emotion. "I want different. But…"
Dalton's grip tightened. "Tell me."
"What if I'm not supposed to get out of here, Dalton? What if this is it for me? Day after day of working for Dole. My mother says I should get married. Have a few babies. That will make me happy."
"What did you say?"
"If I weren't afraid of hurting her feelings?
How did that work out for you, Mom?
Instead, I smiled, nodded, and mentally crossed off another day."
"You'll get out, Colleen."
Colleen stared at some invisible point over Dalton's shoulder. When her gaze returned to his, the emotion was there, but it had dimmed considerably.
"I should have left when I was eighteen. But Mom begged me to stay one more year while she got the salon on firmer ground. Then I decided to take some classes in Phoenix. I'm glad I did. I learned a lot. That was when I started refurbishing the Thunderbird. I found it dirt cheap. I promised myself as soon as I finished, I was out of here."
"Your mother became ill, Colleen."
"And now she isn't." Earnestly, Colleen sat forward, both hands gripping his. "It has to happen this time."
"Breathe," Dalton urged. "That's right. In and out. In and out."
Gradually, Colleen's shoulders relaxed and the death grip on his hand loosened.
"That wasn't the least bit embarrassing," Colleen cringed. She tried to pull away, but Dalton held on. "Was that a panic attack? Great. Mental instability. Just what I need."
"You aren't unbalanced," Dalton said with calm certainty. He knew what that looked like, and Colleen didn't come close to qualifying. "You needed to vent, which you did quite nicely."
"Thank you for listening." Taking another deep breath, she smiled—genuinely smiled.
"Better?"
"Much."
"Good." Lifting her hand, Dalton kissed the back. "Ready to finish?"
"First. Do that again." When he lightly brushed his lips across her fingers, Colleen sighed. "That's nice."
"Second?" Dalton let her take back her hand.
Colleen frowned, then her smile brightened her entire face. "Right. Second. Am I ready to finish what?"