Full Contact (7 page)

I
T WAS HOT AS HELL OUTSIDE
by noon on Sunday. But Jay changed into a pair of jeans without complaint. The white T-shirt—the kind most men wore under dress shirts—and black leather vest followed. Not usual work attire, but then not much about Jay's life had ever been normal.

He spotted Ellen's Ford Escape the second she pulled into the parking lot five minutes before their appointed meeting time. He'd already been waiting fifteen minutes. He wasn't giving her the chance to claim she'd shown up and he hadn't been there. Nor did he want to take the chance that she'd get scared and take off if she had to wait on him. He didn't want her to talk herself out of the advisability of his brand of healing.

He would be fine having her talk herself out of this if she was able to get healing elsewhere. But Shawna had led him to believe that he could be Ellen's last hope.

Sitting on his bike, he waited for her to park and approach.

She wore jeans and a T-shirt, too.

“I was kind of hoping you weren't going to show.”

“I had a hunch. This is for you,” he said, staying seated while he handed her the helmet he'd pulled from his trunk.

“You don't have one.”

“I ride at my own risk. You don't.”

Taking the helmet, she studied it for a second and then put it on, working the strap latch. With anyone else, he'd have offered to help.

“Ready?” he asked as soon as she'd secured her head gear. He didn't want to risk saying something that spooked her—or give her any excuses to end the session.

Ellen nodded, but she was frowning.

“You're going to have to come closer if you intend to ride on the same bike I'm on,” he said. “I've got it steady. Put your foot here—” he pointed “—and hop on.”

It took almost a full minute, but she managed to mount without coming into contact with his body.

“Push the button on the side of your helmet,” he told her, turning his head so she could hear him. At the same time, he secured the wireless headset he'd also pulled out of his trunk.

“Can you hear me now?”

“Yes.”

He heard her clearly.

“Anytime you need anything—to stop, turn around, anything—you let me know. There's a mic in your chin piece. If you start to get upset, say so.”

“Okay.”

He gave her some brief instructions about moving with him, leaning and not leaning, general principals of keeping the bike balanced.

“Where do I put my hands?”

“On me,” he said, staring straight ahead. “That's the point of this exercise.”

“I know that. Where on you?” It sounded as though she was gritting her teeth.

“Your choice. You're the boss. For this exercise, my body represents your safety. It is fully at your disposal—like a tornado shelter in a storm or a fort during battle. Trust it.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Who keeps you safe? I could do something nuts. Like panic and grab at you and—”

“Ellen. It's a bike ride. And you're a normal, rational woman seeking treatment for an ailment. If you start to panic, you'll let me know and we'll pull over.”

“You didn't answer my question. Who keeps you safe?”

If it took ten tries on ten different days, he wasn't giving up. “You do.”

“You're that certain I'm going to be okay? You're willing to risk your life with me back here?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. Let's go before someone sees me and we end up with a caravan behind us.”

Her touch wasn't much, a light resting of her fingers on the top of his shoulders. As soon as he felt it, he started the bike and put it in gear.

They'd been riding about ten minutes at a slow enough speed that she could have maintained balance without holding on. He wasn't going to keep her out long this first run. And he wasn't going to challenge her much, either. This exercise had to be a success for her or there wouldn't be a second chance.

He hadn't heard a sound from her. “How are you doing?” he asked.

“Fine.”

“What do you think of motorcycles now?”

“That I might look into buying one.”

“Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah. Just too loud.”

“It's a Harley. It's supposed to be loud.”

“Can it go any faster?”

“Of course.”

“Now?”

“You sure you're ready?”

“I'm slightly nuts in my bad moments, Jay, but I'm not an old grandma who has to be coddled at every turn.”

Her voice came through with a strength, a clarity, that spoke as much as her words.

“I don't want to push and end up with you running off again.”

“I can hardly do that while we're moving and I thought the purpose of this exercise was to force me to associate touching your body with safety.”

She was right, of course.

“Hold on.” With a twist of his wrist he upped the throttle a notch. And received a slight increase of pressure on his shoulders.

“More,” she said, five minutes down the road.

He'd told her she was boss. Jay let the bike have its way with the road a little more, and more again another mile farther. Ellen's inner thighs gripped him he took a curve. Her hands moved down to his waist, holding him securely.

He increased the speed once more and she laughed out loud.

And that's when the whole damn thing went bad. The
laugh, the touch of her hands, or maybe it was her thighs holding his. Whatever…Jay felt a nudge of sensation between his legs that started to grow.

 

E
LLEN TURNED HER
SUV onto the dirt path leading up the mountain, honking her horn as she did so. She'd told Joe she would stop by early in the week, but he probably hadn't been expecting her on Monday.

She needed to talk to someone, and it sure as hell couldn't be anyone in Shelter Valley.

He flashed a piece of cloth in front of the window as she pulled up so Ellen got out and made her way to her window seat.

“What happened?” The gruff voice didn't even say hello.

“What do you mean?”

“The look on your face when you walked up.”

First him, then they could talk about her. “I wanted to make certain you're okay with the books and supplies. Do you need anything?” He couldn't give up on this.

“A pack of number two pencils.”

“What about the other pencils I got you?”

“I keep breaking the damn lead on the mechanical ones. Never did see the likability in them. And ink means I can't erase.”

He was taking notes?

“Of course,” she said, trying to keep the excitement from her voice. “Is tomorrow soon enough?” She didn't want to push too hard.

“Next week is fine.”

“Okay. Do you have anything for me to take to Dr. Sheffield?” Since the semester hadn't yet started, Phyllis wasn't in her office. But she'd asked about Joe so many
times, Ellen knew she was itching to see something from him. Eager to help him if she could.

“School hasn't started yet.”

“You aren't attending class, either. You're enrolled, but until you come down to class, she's creating a separate syllabus for you.”

“I didn't realize I was causing trouble. I thought…”

“You aren't causing trouble, Joe.” Ellen stared out at the dirt and trees between her and the path that led down the mountain to civilization. “Phyllis, Dr. Sheffield, has been after me for a couple of years to talk you into studying with her.”

“Why?”

Ellen didn't usually talk to Joe about people in the valley. And certainly didn't want to leave him with the uncomfortable belief they were all talking about him. But maybe it was time for the old man to face some things, too. Maybe it was time to push a little.

Pushing a little was supposed to help her, so…

“The sheriff talked to her about you. After you helped him catch his dad's killer, he wanted to do what he could for you.”

“She's a teacher. And I don't need help. Not much, anyway.”

She knew Joe appreciated the groceries. Before the sheriff and Ellen had been making their treks up the hill, the man had hiked the many miles to town once a month to buy what would fit in the rudimentary cart he'd made.

Ellen had no idea how the man handled his banking. Joe paid her in cash for everything she brought.

“Phyllis is also a certified psychologist.”

“I'm being poked at by a shrink.”

“No! You're taking a psychology class. I'd like you to think about an English class, too. A friend of Phyllis's teaches several literature classes that I think you'd like.”

“One thing at a time, young lady. Take this down to Dr. Sheffield. She might change her mind about this whole remote teaching thing.”

Hearing the rustle of something sliding against the sill, Ellen reached behind herself to grab it. Joe had given her one of the spiral bound notebooks. Every single page was filled, both sides, from top to bottom with precise, neat handwriting.

Her plan was working. Joe needed more than his mountain could give him. More than anything, Ellen wanted to help the man find a way out of his prison. It was as though by helping Joe heal, she was also healing herself. If she could guide him to freedom, she was also setting herself free.

The past could only hold them hostage if they let it.

“Can I talk to you?” She'd thought about this a hundred times during the night.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“I belong here.”

“Okay.”

“Don't be thinking you're going to change that.”

“That's not what I want to talk to you about.”

“Then talk.”

“I went on a motorcycle ride yesterday. And another one today.”

“Didn't know you had one.”

“I don't. I'd never been on one before.”

“You were with someone else.”

“Yeah.”

“A man.”

“Yeah.”

“A date?”

“No! It was nothing like that.”

“Too bad.”

“He's a therapist. My therapist. The rides are part of my treatment.”

“Don't fall for that, Ellen. You call someone. This morning. Before you get to town. Let them know about this guy. No therapist takes a beautiful young woman on a motorcycle ride.”

“He works with Shawna. She referred him to me.”

“She check his credentials?”

“Of course. He works with some of my people at Big Spirits, too. Remember Hugh? I told you about him.”

“The cantankerous one. Won't leave his room until his kids visit and they won't because he was a controlling bastard their entire lives.”

“That's their story.” Ellen couldn't quite connect the hurting old man with tears in his eyes to the character Hugh's son had tried to depict. She suspected that the son was describing himself and wasn't going to be dictated to by his father who no longer had anything to contribute to his life—his son's words.

“Anyway,” Ellen said slowly, “Hugh was so stiff from lack of exercise that he couldn't get himself to the bathroom last week. Jay had him walking within a couple of days. Hugh does whatever Jay tells him to do.”

And she knew that Jay had stopped in to say hello to Hugh every single day. Including Sunday.

Jay hadn't mentioned the visits to her.

“Don't you be doing whatever he says. Motorcycle rides? How did he justify that one?”

“The idea is to put me in a situation where I have to touch someone to stay safe. But the experience has to be a good one so that I will associate the touch not only with safety, but also with pleasure.”

Ellen relaxed when Joe remained silent. If he'd found no potential validity in the exercise, he would have blurted his concern without taking time for a breath.

That was Joe. Her watchdog. And hopefully she was the chain that could pull him out of seclusion and into the life he'd let go. He was alive. And deserved to live.

“How'd they go?”

“I loved the rides. They reminded me of a time when I was a kid and Dad was still home, in love with Mom. Shelley and Rebecca had been born, but we didn't have Tim yet. We all went to an amusement park and my father took me on this swing ride. My sisters stayed with Mom—they weren't tall enough. It was just me and my dad and it was the greatest thing I'd ever done. I felt wild and free and special and like I could do anything in the world. Like the world was perfect. I've never forgotten.”

She was talking to the trees. Watching a mental movie. And smiling.

“Did you touch him?”

“Yeah, to hold on.”

“And?”

“It was a little awkward. I mean, he's like a doctor to me and I hardly know him. But otherwise, no problem. I was in control. So that doesn't really mean anything, does it?”

“Therapy usually works in stages. I read about that.”

In a Psychology 101 textbook? Or was Joe reading the other books Phyllis had sent? Ellen hadn't looked through the packet she'd delivered.

“He wants me to ride with him again. Until I don't feel any awkwardness at all.”

“How does he look at you?”

“I don't really know.”

But she thought she had noticed something when Jay got off the bike yesterday. Then he'd turned, occupied by storing their gear. She hadn't looked in that direction again, either.

“Did he come on to you? Ask you to his place?”

“I told you, it's not like that.”

“You're sure?”

“About that? Yes.”

“I don't like it.”

“I'm not sure I do, either.” Which was why she was talking to Joe. She certainly couldn't talk to her mother or anyone else in Shelter Valley. They would keep her under lock and key until they booted Jay out of town.

“I worry about you living alone every single day.”