Rock Chick 03 Redemption (47 page)

I turned to him. “Yeah?”

His chin went up, pointing over my shoulder, and I realized we were parked in front of Hank’s house. I looked toward the house, my hand going to the door handle, and I stopped dead.

“Good God,” I whispered.

The air in the Explorer changed as Luke went into alert mode.

“What?” he asked.

“Look at the house,” I breathed.

“What?” he repeated.

“Look at the house!” This time, I yel ed.

I got out of the car, slammed my door and stood on the sidewalk staring at the house.

“Roxie,” Luke, suddenly beside me, said, his fingers curling into the waistband of my cords. “Talk to me. What?”

“Pumpkins,” I said.

He looked at the house.

On the front stoop were two carved pumpkins. Also, resting against one side of the door was a bunch of dried corn stalks bound together with more (these not carved) pumpkins and some gourds nestled at the bottom. On the other side was a decoration, attached to the house, made up of three painted wooden slats dangling from wire. The top slat was a witch flying in front of a quarter moon, the middle one said “Happy Hal oween” and the bottom one was a black cat with its back arched.

I looked to Luke. “Hank’s house has been Mom Bombed,” I told him.

Luke looked at me for a second then his eyes went to his boots.

He wasn’t fast enough; I saw the half-grin.

“This is not funny. Hank’s going to
freak
.” The door opened and Mom stood there. “Hey there, sweetie. Why are you standing on the sidewalk?” her eyes went to Luke. “Luke, is it? Come in, I’l make you some cocoa.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered, horrified that my Mom offered hot cocoa to Badass, Super Cool Luke. I turned to Luke.

“I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want you to shoot me, I want you to shoot her.”

His fingers came out of my waistband and pressed against my lower back, pushing me forward. The half-grin had gone ful -fledged.

“I don’t know why everyone thinks this is funny. This isn’t funny,” I grumbled on the way up the walk.

“It isn’t funny because they’re your parents,” Luke explained. “To everyone else, it’s just fuckin’ funny.” We walked into the house and Shamus rushed me, took in Luke, went into a skid and slammed into me, knocking me backwards into Luke’s (very solid) body. Luke’s hands came to my hips and normal y I would have stepped away immediately, considering I was plastered against him, but I was too horrified by what I saw.

There were huge, empty, plastic shopping bags everywhere. Three new blankets and four fluffy pil ows were stacked on the couch. The lamp Bil y and I had broken had been replaced by another one, which now threw a soft glow on the room. In one corner, there was a four foot tal wrought iron candle holder with six, thick, green candles in the top, al lit and giving out the scent of bay. There were more candles in black holders on the coffee table, also lit. There were candles on the dining room table, ensconced in decorative corn husks and miniature gourds. On the corner of the bar, separating the dining area from the kitchen, sat an enormous Hal oween bowl fil ed to almost overflowing with Hal oween candy. I saw a new canister set for flour, sugar and coffee (I had no doubt al of them fil ed) against the back kitchen counter. Last, I could smel something cooking.

“What have you done to Hank’s house?” I asked Mom.

“Just made it cozy. Kind of a thank you gift for letting us stay and for taking care of you,” Mom answered and she looked to Luke. “You want cocoa?” she asked.

“No,” he replied.

“Coffee?” Mom went on.

“No,” he said.

“Tea?” she continued in dogged pursuit of being both a Mom and a good hostess, even though it wasn’t her house.

She was now sounding slightly surprised at the idea that Luke drank something as un-macho as tea (like he’d drink cocoa).

“No,” Luke repeated.

“Oh, I know. A beer?”

He shook his head.

I cut in. “Jeez, Mom. He doesn’t want anything. Leave him alone.”

“Roxie, don’t be rude,” Mom told me. Then a buzzer went off. “I know what he’l want!” she shouted and she whirled, threw on a (new) oven mitt, opened the oven and took out a cookie tray. “Right here, hot and good. Fresh roasted pumpkin seeds. Come and get ‘em.”

I looked at Mom as she shook the seeds on the tray to Luke and me.

I ignored the seeds.

So did Luke.

“Where’s Dad?” I asked.

“Negotiating with the log man. They say they don’t do deliveries. Your father intends on getting those logs delivered. He brought me home and went back. He’l be here in time to get ready.”

Dad thought he could negotiate anything with just a hint of good ole boy charm and a few off-color jokes. Most of the time, he wasn’t wrong. I suspected the logs would be delivered tomorrow.

I threw off thoughts of logs.

Instead, I focused on getting ready. Getting ready sounded like a good idea, it meant escape and escape was good.

“I’m going to take a shower,” I announced and made to move away.

Luke’s hand curled into my waistband again. He pul ed me deeper into him and his mouth came to my ear.

“Leave me with her, I wil shoot you,” he whispered in my ear.

I looked over my shoulder at him and realized how close we were as his face was less than an inch from mine. I stepped forward and his hand dropped away.

Mom, undeterred by us ignoring her offering, tilted the seeds into a waiting bowl and walked them to the coffee table. Once she set down the bowl, she started to gather up bags.

“Luke, be a sweetheart and get rid of these,” she said, shoving them into his arms and starting away before she realized he hadn’t actual y taken them.

I caught them before they fel to the floor and turned to Mom.

“Mom, I don’t mean to alarm you but Luke’s here to protect me, so you have to leave him alone so he can do…

whatever it is he does. What he doesn’t do is clean up, drink cocoa or chitchat. Okay?”

Mom slowly turned and looked at Luke with rounded eyes, then she nodded.

I twisted and said to Luke, “Come with me.” I shoved the bags in Mom’s arms, gave her a peck on the cheek then walked by her, through the kitchen and into Hank’s room.

Luke fol owed.

So did Shamus.

I closed the door and turned to him.

“I’m going to take a shower. You’re going to be good, try not to be sexy or freak me out or anything like that. I’ve got to concentrate, preparing for a formal party is serious business. I don’t need distractions.”

His eyes went half-mast and his half-grin appeared.

“You’re doing it!” I accused.

His eyebrows went up.

I shook my head. “Never mind.”

Then I stomped to the shower.

* * * * *

Over an hour later, there was a knock on the bathroom door.

I’d had my shower, done my formal party makeup and was putting the finishing touches on my hair (loads of soft twists and up in a messy knot). I was wearing Hank’s bathrobe. My dress, undies, jewelry, purse and shoes had been gathered and were al lying on the bed next to Luke (wel , my undies were hidden under the dress, Luke didn’t need to get any ideas).

Luke seemed to have no problem slipping into a Luke Zen Zone, lying stretched on Hank’s bed, Shamus at his side, eyes closed, saying nothing but seeming total y alert.

I opened the door, expecting it to be Luke.

It wasn’t Luke. It was Hank.

Shit.

Before he could open his mouth, I said, “I’m sorry about your house.”

“Roxie –”

“I should have cal ed to warn you but I’m running late getting ready.”

“Roxie –”

“She’s doing it to be nice, to say thank you for al you’ve done.”

“Roxanne, let me –”

“She can be a little overpowering, I know, but I swear it isn’t normal y this bad. I think she’s worried about me but doesn’t want to say.”

“Roxanne –”

“We can move the stuff she bought to my new apartment when I find one and I’l get rid of the stuff at the front stoop the minute they leave.”

His hands shot out and grabbed me at the waist. He yanked me to him and his mouth came down on mine.

Then he kissed me deep.

When he lifted his head I was dizzy and had forgotten my place in my jabbering apologetic explanation of Mom’s craziness.

“What was that for?” I asked.

“To shut you up. You wouldn’t stop talking.”

“Oh.”

I probably should have been angry but I wasn’t. He was a good kisser and if I had to be shut up, that was a damn fine way to do it.

“I don’t mind about the house, it looks nice,” he told me.

“Okay.”

“And I don’t mind your parents. They’re interesting and they care about you.”

“Okay.”

“And we’l talk about your apartment later.” I blinked. “What?”

He shifted me to the side and moved into the bathroom.

“Are you done in the bathroom? I need to shower.” He bent over and pul ed off a boot, then twisted to throw it in the bedroom.

I watched it go, moving my body as the boot sailed by me. When I turned back, he did the same with the other boot.

“What about my apartment?” I asked.

“We’l talk about it later,” he replied.

He started to pul off his sweater but I grabbed his arms and stopped him.

He looked at me.

I felt something strange and unpleasant crawl along my skin.

“Don’t you want me to move to Denver?” I asked quietly.

“Yeah, I want you to move to Denver.”

I blinked at him again, confused. “Then, what about my apartment?” I repeated my question.

“Roxanne, we’l talk about it later.”

Then, it hit me. “As in, we’l have a ‘conversation’?” I asked, thinking about what Jet said earlier about Eddie’s chats and the fact that she’d moved in with him, making them the fastest relationship in history.

Hank stared at me as if he was considering checking my forehead to see if I had a fever.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Two people talking is the same as two people having a conversation.”

“Do you mean, a Hank Conversation? The kind with a capital ‘H’ and a capital ‘C’?”

His brows drew together. “Have you been drinking?” he asked.

“No, I haven’t been drinking!”

He sighed and straightened, giving me his ful attention.

“Maybe you should tel me what’s on your mind.” I didn’t actual y have anything on my mind other than what was on his.

“Nothing’s on my mind,” I admitted. “Except, when we have this conversation, we aren’t having it in bed.” After I made my declaration, he watched me for a beat then shook his head. “Jesus, you’re a nut,” he muttered, pul ing off his sweater.

“I’m not a nut!”

He tossed his sweater in the direction of his boots, then his arm came around my waist and he pul ed me to him again.

He bent his head to mine and, with his lips twitching he said, “I mean that in good way.”

“How is cal ing someone a nut good?” I flashed.

“Sweetheart, are you done in the bathroom?” he asked patiently.

“Yes,” I grumbled.

He kissed my forehead, let me go, walked in the bathroom and shut the door.

I turned, straightened his boots and folded his sweater and put it on the bed.

“Your Dad is a nut if anyone’s a nut, he thinks my parents are interesting. Interesting! That’s just plain crazy,” I told Shamus who sat by the bed, staring at me and wagging his tail. “He hasn’t cal ed
them
nuts and they
are
nuts.” I put on my underwear and then spritzed with Boucheron and carried on talking to Shamus. “As soon as Bil y’s caught, I’m taking you out to play Frisbee. If you don’t know how, I’l teach you. I’m good with Frisbees. Gil and I used to play in the front yard al the time. We’l go and buy like, ten of them just in case they get lost in trees or something. You and me wil be Frisbee freaks. We’l enter competitions.

They’l do documentaries about how good you are with Frisbees. You’l be the Frisbee Dog King.” I figured Shamus was in to the Frisbee gig as he got up on al fours and his body started shaking with his tail, his excitement was so great.

I leaned over him and gave him a ful body doggie rub.

“I’d take you tomorrow, but Bil y’s stil out there and I don’t think Luke would like the whole Frisbee idea. He doesn’t seem the Frisbee type,” I told Shamus.

I heard a noise and turned my head to see Hank standing in the bathroom doorway, shoulder leaned against the jamb, belt undone, jeans mostly undone, socks gone, watching me.

“Frisbee Dog King?” Hank asked.

Oh shit.

Okay, so maybe I was a nut.

I straightened, looked to Hank and Shamus sat on my feet.

“Come here,” Hank said softly.

“No,” I told him. “I have a feeling you’re going to ruin my hair.”

“Come here,” Hank repeated.

“No, Hank. It took me forever to do my hair.”

“Sunshine…”

“Oh, al right.”

I had to go to the other bathroom to fix my hair.

* * * * *

Once I finished fixing my hair, I helped Dad tie his new bow tie to his new tux. This took me six tries. These six tries were interrupted by Mom slapping my hands away and trying to tie it six times herself. Then, I slapped her hands away and tied it on the second go of my second attempt.

“Don’t know why I need to own a tux,” Dad grumbled, pul ing at his col ar.

“Herb, we talked about this,” Mom said.

“We didn’t talk about it,” Dad returned. “You just upped and bought it. I’ve worn a tux twice. To my senior prom, and you were my fuckin’ date, and to our wedding, and you were my fuckin’ date to that too. I’m fifty-eight years old and, counting today, I’ve worn a tux three times in my life. I don’t need to own one.”