Secrets and Lies: He's a Bad Boy\He's Just a Cowboy (3 page)

Scott McDonald, one of his friends, sat in the passenger seat and Erik Patton leaned against the fender of his metallic blue pickup.

“Roy wants to take us for a ride,” Laura said as Rachelle approached. She tossed her a triumphant glance, as if she’d caught a prize all the girls in town were wanting.

“Where?” Rachelle asked, feeling suddenly awkward. Though Roy and his friends were only two years older than she, they seemed so much more mature.

“Remember I told you I knew someone with a cabin on the lake?” Laura reminded her.

The Fitzpatricks did have a home at Whitefire Lake, but, in Rachelle’s estimation, it was hardly a cabin. The house had to be four or five times the size of the small cottage in which she’d grown up. But then Laura had grown up with higher standards. Both her parents worked and she’d never had to go without anything she really wanted.

And now, from the looks of things, Laura wanted Roy Fitzpatrick. As if reading Rachelle’s hesitation, she said, “Come on, Rachelle, why not?” Her eyes were bright and eager as she sneaked a peek at Roy.

Roy tossed them all—Rachelle, Laura and Carlie—his well-practiced all-American smile. His wheat-blond hair was clipped short, his athletic physique visible beneath the thin layer of yellow cotton in his polo shirt. “Yeah, why not, Rachelle?” Roy said, his gaze moving slowly up Rachelle’s body with a bold familiarity that caused her stomach to turn over.

She swallowed hard. Until the past couple of weeks since she’d begun hanging out with Laura, not many boys had noticed her, and certainly not older college boys who practically owned the whole town.

“Yeah, why not?” Carlie chimed in. “We already planned to ditch the dance.”

Laura had told Rachelle that if the dance was boring they’d go out cruising around town, maybe drive over to Coleville as none of the girls were dating anyone special from Gold Creek, then return to her house for a sleepover. But she’d never once mentioned going to the lake with Roy and his friends.

Rachelle hesitated. Everyone was staring at her. “Still the prude?” Roy taunted, and Rachelle’s cheeks flamed. How would Roy know anything about her?

“I told my mom we’d be at the dance—”

“So?” Roy cut in a little irritably. “What your mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

Laura shot her a scathing glance. “We already worked out our story, Rachelle.”

Rachelle bit her lip. This was her chance. She’d always been considered a “brain,” a girl who’d rather study or work on the school paper or paint scenery for the drama club than show any interest in boys. But lately, with Laura’s help in the makeup and hair department, boys had been calling and asking her out. She liked the feeling. But she didn’t trust Roy.

“Well, what’s it gonna be?” Roy asked, his smoldering blue eyes touching hers. “A mama’s girl—or ya gonna have some fun? We can’t wait around here all night.”

“That’s right,” Erik agreed, glancing over his shoulder. His vintage truck didn’t compare to Roy’s sleek machine, but the Pattons didn’t have the kind of money that had been passed down from one generation of Fitzpatricks to the next. As long as there had been people in Gold Creek, there had been money in Fitzpatrick hands.

“Come on,” Carlie urged.

“Yeah, let’s go with the guys,” Laura agreed, smiling at the three college boys. She fanned herself with her fingers. “It’s so hot tonight. The lake would be great.”

Roy flashed his rich-boy grin—a slow-spreading smile that had been known to melt the most formidable ice maiden’s resistance.

Laura leaned against the fender of the Corvette, her hands braced against the gleaming hood of the car, her heavy breasts outlined against her sweater. “I know
I
would
love
a ride.”

“That’s more like it. I was beginnin’ to think that you girls were afraid,” Roy drawled, his blue eyes flickering devilment at Rachelle. He pushed the throttle with his toe and the Corvette’s engine rumbled eagerly.

“Yeah, come on, we’ll show you a good time,” Scott agreed. Whereas Roy was blond and blue-eyed, the all-American boy, Scott was shorter, more muscular and had thick brown hair and freckles.

Erik, unlike Scott and Roy, didn’t seem as interested in Laura or her friends. “Let’s get outta here,” he grumbled. “There’s no action. Everybody’s takin’ off.”

He was right. The line of cars that had been streaming from the stadium lot had dwindled to a trickle. Even some of the boys from the team, freshly showered, were climbing into vehicles and heading back to the school for the postgame dance, the dance Rachelle had promised her mother she’d attend before spending the night with Laura. But Laura, it seemed, was only interested in Roy Fitzpatrick.

“There’s action here,” Roy replied, sliding a cocksure glance Rachelle’s way. “All the little ladies have to do is say ‘yes.’ We’ll guarantee them the ride of their lives.”

“Now what kind of ride are you talking about?” Laura asked in a sexy voice, and Rachelle nearly choked.

Scott chuckled deep in his throat, and Erik looked embarrassed.

Rachelle was flabbergasted by Laura’s behavior. The girl was asking for trouble, more trouble than Rachelle thought she could handle.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Rachelle said, feeling Roy’s hot gaze on her. She didn’t want to be a wet blanket, but she could smell trouble.
A walk on the wild side.

“Loosen up,” Carlie said in a soft whisper. “When do you ever get a chance to go joyriding with Roy Fitzpatrick?”

“Three of us, three of you—we could have a party,” Roy said.

“A private party?” Laura replied, flirting outrageously. Rachelle wanted to drop through the pavement, but she didn’t move. There was no place to go. By now the parking lot was nearly empty. Except for a lone motorcycle rider astride his thrumming machine.

Rachelle’s heart nearly stopped as she recognized Jackson Moore. He parked his bike about twenty yards away and didn’t move. Just sat there…waiting, the Harley’s engine idling loudly, the growl of a metallic beast.

Roy blanched at the sight of him. “Get lost, Moore,” he yelled, but Jackson didn’t flinch.

Rachelle couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“We didn’t finish our discussion the other day,” Jackson said, and his lips curled into a sardonic smile as he rubbed the bruise beneath his eye.

“We’ve got nothing to talk about,” Roy replied testily. “Get out,” he muttered to Scott McDonald, reaching over his friend and flinging the passenger door open. An old Doors song blared into the night.

Jackson didn’t let up. Over the rumble of engines and Jim Morrison’s deep-throated lyrics he yelled, “You and that old man of yours keep insulting my family.”

Roy pretended not to hear. As Scott climbed out of his car, Roy crooked a long finger at Laura. “Let’s go,” he said. He took up the conversation where it had been dropped. “You said you’re lookin’ for a private party, well you found one. Hop in.” His gaze moved quickly up and down Laura’s curves as she climbed into the convertible. Roy’s mouth twitched. “Now that’s what I like—a girl who knows her own mind.”

“We’re not through, Fitzpatrick,” Jackson reminded him.

“That does it. I’m sick of you, Moore. Just butt the hell out of my life!”

“As soon as you stay away from my family.”

“Your family? God, that’s rich. You’re a stinkin’ bastard, Moore. Or didn’t you know? Everyone in Gold Creek but you knows that your mother’s the town slut and that she probably can’t even name the man who’s supposed to be your father!”

Jackson’s expression turned to fury. “You lying—”

Roy tromped on the accelerator. The Corvette lurched forward with a spray of gravel. Tires squealed and Roy wrenched hard on the steering wheel, heading the car straight at Jackson and his bike.

Rachelle screamed.

Laura, in the seat beside Roy, turned to stone.

Jackson gunned the engine of his Harley, but not before the fender of the Corvette caught the back wheel of the bike. The motorcycle shimmied, tires sliding on the loose gravel. Jackson flew off. With a loud thud he landed on the ground and his bike skidded, riderless, across the lot.

Roy laughed, shifted into a higher gear and tore out of the lot. Rachelle started running to Jackson’s inert form.
He can’t be hurt, he can’t be,
she thought as panic gripped her heart. He lay flat and still on the gravel while the sound of a disappearing engine and the lyrics of “Light My Fire” faded on the wind.

Erik tried to grab her. “Leave him alone,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction and his face was sheet-white. “He’s okay. Only scared a little. That’s all.”

“I hope to God you’re right.” Heart in her throat, Rachelle jerked her arm away and ran to Jackson’s inert form.

With a groan, he rolled over. His jacket was ripped down one arm and his pants, too, were torn. “Bastard!” Jackson groaned. “Damn bloody bastard.” He slowly pulled himself to his feet and though he limped slightly, he headed straight for his bike.

Relief flooded through Rachelle’s veins and she managed a thin smile. “Then you’re okay?”

“Compared to what?” he muttered, righting his bike and frowning as he noticed broken spokes. Lips flattening angrily against his teeth, he winced painfully as he swung one leg over the motorcycle and switched on the ignition.

“But at least you’re all right,” Rachelle said, nearly sagging with relief.

“No thanks to your friend.”

“He’s not my—”

“Sure.” Jackson sucked in his breath, as if pain had drawn the air from his lungs, then shoved hard on the kick start with his boot heel. With a roar and a plume of blue exhaust, the Harley revved.

“You…you might want to see a doctor—”

“A doctor?” he mocked. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go check into Memorial. Have them patch me up.”

“It was only…a…suggestion.”

“Well, I
don’t
remember asking for your advice.”

Stung, she stepped back a pace. “I was just concerned,” Rachelle said lamely, flustered at his anger. “Look, I’m on your side.”

Dark, impenetrable eyes swung in her direction. His lips curled sardonically, as if he and she shared a private joke. “Let’s get something straight.
No one
in Gold Creek is on my side. And that includes you.”

“But—”

“You know Fitzpatrick, right?”

“Not really. He’s
not
my friend and—”

“In case I don’t catch up to him tonight, you can give him a message for me. Tell Roy-boy that if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll leave my family alone. And that goes for his old man. Tell the old coot to quit sniffin’ around Sandra Moore. Got it?”

“But I don’t know—”

“Just do it,” Jackson ordered, his square chin thrust in harsh rebellion as he flicked his wrist and took off in a spray of anger and gravel. She watched him streak out of the lot and onto the street and listened as the bike wound through several gears. Her heart was racing as fast as the motorcycle’s engine, but she attributed the acceleration to the near collision of sports car and cycle and the fact that she’d been talking to the bad boy of Gold Creek. His reputation was as black as the night and anyone in town would tell you that Sandra Moore’s son was just plain bad news.

“Rachelle, come on!” Carlie called. She seemed to have shaken off her own fears that Jackson was injured and was deep in conversation with Scott and Erik.

With realistic fatalism, Rachelle glanced around the deserted parking lot. Aside from Laura’s car, the acre of asphalt was empty. Rachelle sighed and shoved her hair out of her face. She knew she was stuck with Roy’s two best friends. Not a pleasant thought. The wild side suddenly seemed like something she should avoid—unless she was with Jackson. Oh, but that was crazy. Jackson was no better than Roy and he carried a chip on his shoulder the size of Mount Whitney. Uncouth, rebellious and just plain nasty—that’s what he was.

Still, she listened to the sound of the cycle, the engine whining in the distance. There was something about that boy that was just plain fascinating. Probably because he was so bad.

Despite the mugginess of the night, she stuffed her hands deep into the pockets of her jean jacket and retraced her steps.

“Was he okay?” Carlie asked, looking worriedly past Rachelle’s shoulder to the spot where Jackson had been thrown.

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“He’ll get even with Roy somehow,” Erik predicted, and Rachelle thought about Jackson’s cryptic warning. Erik looked nervous. He searched his pockets for his keys.

“Let’s get out of here.” Scott was already opening the door of the pickup and glancing anxiously around the empty lot, as if he expected Jackson Moore to come back and wreak his vengeance on Roy’s friends. “We’d better find Roy.”

“Roy? You want to find Roy after what he did? He nearly killed Jackson! On purpose.” Rachelle wrapped her arms around her torso and felt herself shaking from the inside out.

“He didn’t, did he?”

“No, thank God!”

“You don’t understand,” Scott said a little impatiently. “Moore’s been asking for trouble—begging for it—for weeks. There’s always been bad blood between Jackson and Roy. It goes way back. But it’s over tonight.”

Rachelle wasn’t sure. “Maybe not. Jackson could press charges.”

“His story against Roy’s.”

“But we all saw it. Roy tried to run him down!” Rachelle pointed out.

“If he would’ve tried to run him down, he would’ve,” Scott said. “Moore would be in the hospital now. Instead he and his bike are a little scratched up. No big deal.”

“But it was a big deal!”

Erik, sullen, frowned darkly. “Come on,” he ordered the girls. “Get in.” He must’ve seen Rachelle’s stubborn refusal building in her eyes because he added, “Unless you’d rather ride on the back of Moore’s cycle, but you don’t much look like a biker babe to me. Besides, he already took off.”

Carlie didn’t look convinced, but the night was drawing close around them. “We have to get hold of Laura.”

“We could call—” Rachelle ventured.

“No phones at the summer house,” Scott said.

“I don’t think this is a great idea.”

Scott lifted his hands, palms up to Rachelle. “Look, I’ll admit it. Roy’s a hothead. And when it comes to Moore, well, he just sees red. But that goes two ways. And Roy shouldn’t have scared the hell out of Jackson, but then Jackson shouldn’t have come nosing around, telling Roy what to do.” He offered Rachelle a smile that seemed sincere. “Look, it was a bad scene, but it’s over and everyone’s okay. Now let’s go and try to find Laura. If you want to come back later, I’m sure that Roy or Erik—” he glanced up at his friend for confirmation, and Erik gave a reluctant nod “—will bring you home.”