Breaking The Rules Part 6

There was coffee in his cup. so he might as well drink it. He knew he wouldn't find Mattie and it depressed the h.e.l.l out of him. She couldn't have had more than two hundred dollars in that shoe of hers, and how could she get by with that? He'd gone back to the bar and collected the money he'd tossed at her, planning to slip it under her door. At the last minute, he'd decided to wait until he could give it to her face-to-face.

Wished he hadn't waited now. d.a.m.n. He'd worried about her all night long, tossing and turning as he tried to figure out how he knew her, and what she was afraid of. The pieces just didn't hang together. Even given the fact that somebody, somewhere had taught her to hustle pool, Zeke would bet she really was exactly what she seemed, a nice woman from the Midwest who'd done exactly what she was supposed to do all her life. And yet, now she was in enough trouble she had to change her name and hide out in a little town a long way from home.

What kind of trouble could a woman like Mattie possibly find?

There was an easy answer to that question. The only obvious answer: an abusive husband. He thought of

her burned hands and the sad story she'd told about them, but he'd told a lie or two about his own scars. No one wanted to admit to having been abused. There was always sick, secret guilt attached.

Restlessly, he stirred his coffee and tapped the spoon on the edge of the cup.

Maybe it wasn't a husband. Maybe it was something else and he just filled in the abusive angle from his own experience.

Whatever it was, it was bad. And whatever Mattie thought, she didn't have the tools to stay hidden long. It wasn't as hard as most people thought to find somebody you really wanted to find. Most folks, and he'd bet a dollar to a doughnut that Mattie was one of them, left clues in a bright red trail behind them.

d.a.m.n.

The old need filled him, near to choking. It had grown in childhood, when he was the only one his sisters

had. Grimly, he tapped the spoon, watching fat brown drops of coffee fall to the pool below, fighting memories of a cruel and brutal man. His instincts told him she was in deep trouble. But what had his instincts ever got him? The last time he'd stepped into someone's life like this, it had ended up costing him nearly everything. Leave it alone. That would be the smart thing. Unfortunately, smart never seemed to enter into many of his decisions.

Impulsively, he asked Roxanne, "What time does the bus come in?" "About ten or eleven, I think." He nodded. Probably wasn't any other way out of town for Mattie. Maybe he could still catch her. And maybe he ought to listen to sense just once in his life. Mattie herself had made it plain she wanted him to mind his own business. He didn't like trouble. There ought to be a limit, after all, to how much trouble one man had to manage in one lifetime.

As he argued with himself, two men came in and sat at the counter. One was tall, redheaded, with the freckled, wholesome good looks of a popsicle man. The other, though just as well groomed, carried a faintly greasy aura. His hooded eyes scanned the room. Both men wore city ideas of camping gear: chinos and flannel shirts with creases in the sleeve sharp enough to cut bread. Zeke looked at their boots. Clean soles.

They made small talk with the waitress, Cora, an older woman who filled in only on the main waitress's day off. Redhead ordered a cup of coffee and raved about the beauty of the area in a hearty tone. Zeke couldn't say why the man's praise rang false, but his nerves p.r.i.c.kled.

Warily, he shifted on the swivel stool and glanced through the plate-gla.s.s window at the front of the diner, looking for the car the pair had driven. A fancy El Camino, not a rental.

It had Kansas plates.

Affecting carelessness, Zeke turned back and waved for a refill on his coffee. Redhead kept talking. "You know," he told Cora, "we're not really on a pleasure trip. We've been looking for someone ... my sister. Maybe you've seen her."

Zeke lifted his cup, keeping his eyes on the pa.s.s-out bar as if what they said made no difference to him.

"You got a picture?" Cora asked.

"Sure do. Right here." He pulled out his wallet.

Zeke glanced over, feigning idle curiosity. Redhead wore a guileless expression, a smile so innocent it practically shone. The picture he tugged from a cellophane sleeve was too small for Zeke to see from three stools over.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Redhead said. "My sister, Mattie O'Neal. She left her boyfriend standing at the altar and we just want to find her and let her know everything is okay."

Cora patted her ap.r.o.n pocket for gla.s.ses. "Poor thing," she said.

"You can't tell it in the picture," Redhead said, "but she has the most gorgeous hair you've ever seen. Way past her hips, kind of wavy."

With a sudden flash, Zeke remembered why Mattie looked so familiar and understood why he couldn't place her. He also realized Redhead was lying. Moving as lazily as possible, he stood up, dropped a dollar on the counter, picked up the envelope full of money and waved to Roxanne.

As he headed for the door, he heard Redhead say, "Her hands are scarred, too. Burned them with paraffin making candles when she was sixteen."

Zeke walked faster. Just as he reached the front door, Roxanne said, "Burned hands? Mary's hands are burned like that."

The hairs on the back of his neck stiff as teeth, Zeke shoved open the door. Coming in were two guys from the road crew. Both had been in the bar last night.

They trapped him with the open door in his hand. "Zeke Shephard , you dog! Did you manage to beat Mary's game last night?"

Zeke glanced over his shoulder just as Redhead and his sinister pal came to their feet. They stared at him. Redhead's expression was considerably less guileless now.

Zeke pushed through the two men and hopped on his bike, hauling it upright as he turned the key. The engine lit just as the two men came out of the restaurant. By the time Zeke cleared the parking lot, they were in the El Camino.

Mattie rolled her change and stuck it in a sock at the bottom of her huge leather purse, the only thing she had left from her old life. In bills, she counted nine twenties, six fives and twenty-three ones the spoils of her pool games last night. $233. Not a fortune, but enough to get her out of Kismet.

In a small tote bag were her meager clothes and a bag of toiletries. She added oranges, cheese crackers in little packets, two b.u.t.terfingers and a family size pack of gum. Last was a battered paperback copy of Collected English Poets that she had found in the thrift store when she'd bought her shorts. She touched it lovingly as she settled it in the tote.

A small part of her mourned her personal library back home, the well-tended, lovingly preserved books she'd been collecting since high school. A friend had built special shelves for her in the living room of the small apartment. Mattie wondered what would happen to that library now. It wasn't, with its sonnets and poetry and literary criticism, the sort of collection many people would care about.

With a small sigh, she brushed the thought away. The lost library fell into the realm of things she could do nothing about. No point in moaning and groaning about it.

After double-checking to make sure she'd forgotten nothing, she stood by the window of the cheery cabin, visually embracing the view of ferns and pines and majestic red rocks one more time. Before she'd come here, she'd had no idea the world could be so still and quiet a thing; had never dreamed nature offered such a bounty of sensual pleasures. She'd spent her entire life within the confines of Kansas City.

d.a.m.n ZekeShephard , anyway. If it weren't for him, she might have made some kind of life for herself here, far away from anyone she'd ever known. If not for him- No, it wasn't his fault. She had to be honest enough to admit she had wanted to spill her secrets to him, take him into her confidence.

A pang shot through her chest. In leaving Kismet, she'd be leaving Zeke, too. A part of her knew she would always wonder what it might have been like to let herself go, just once, and experience the promise of dangerous pleasure he exuded like musk.

A wisp of poetry floated through her mind: How arrives it joy lies slain, and why unblooms the best hope ever sown?

The extreme melancholy of the quote surprised her. She hadn't realized she felt so strongly about leaving, and even now, she didn't know if it was Zeke or Kismet she would miss. Both.

She wasn't meant to be on the run, transient and alone. All she had ever wanted ever was a quiet, safe, simple life with people she loved around her. A family of her own.

Suddenly, into the still golden morning came a sound, a deep growling purr. Coming fast. Mattie moved to the screen door, half annoyed, half distraught. She didn't want to say goodbye to him in person. He'd see straight through her coolness to the silly crush she had on him.

Intolerable thought.

Deciding to take the offense, Mattie opened the door and stepped onto the porch just as Zeke pulled up. His hair, unrestrained by the usual ponytail he wore when riding, was wild and tangled. He kicked off the bike, glanced over his shoulder and leaped up to the porch.

"Zeke-"

"There's a redheaded man down at the cafe looking for a woman with very long hair and scarred hands. Anybody you know?"

An abrupt and overwhelming fear stole the breath from Mattie's lungs. She stared at Zeke in horror. "At the cafe?"

"And coming this way fast." He grabbed her arms, spun her around. "Grab your purse and let's get you out of here."

Mattie didn't question the order. She grabbed the tote and her purse from the bed and dashed out, leaving the door open in her haste to be away. Zeke had already started the bike. Mattie got on behind him and he handed her a helmet. "We'll sort everything out later. Just put this on and hang on tight."

"Go," she urged, tugging on the helmet.

He was already moving.

Mattie had never been on a motorcycle in her life. Instinctively, she pressed close to Zeke and followed the light lean of his body as they banked into a turn. His hair whipped her face.

The motel parking lot was gravel, on a downslope . Speed was impossible. As he turned into the driveway that led to the highway, Mattie heard him swear.

"What?"

"Hold on tight and keep your head down. This is about to get ugly."

Over his shoulder, Mattie caught a glimpse of a sky blue El Camino before the bike surged forward. Her heart thundered as they roared past the vehicle. Brian, plain as day, sat behind the wheel, his face murderous as they pa.s.sed him.

Then the bike was rocketing down the highway. To keep from flying off, Mattie grabbed hard to Zeke's waist. Waves of cold sweat flashed over her at the feeling of speed whipping against them. The trees and hillsides were a blur of color. The wind made a high noise. Tiny stings struck her bare arms maybe rocks or little bugs.

And she held on with all her might.

A strange volley of noise p.r.i.c.ked her attention. A ping and a deeper thud- "Keep your head down," Zeke yelled.

At the side of the road a chunk of pavement went flying.

Bullets.

"Oh, G.o.d!" She buried her face against Zeke's back, closing her eyes. A shudder rushed down her

exposed spine and she thought of Zeke's bare head. The bike seemed to suddenly leap from the road, and for one terrified moment, Mattie had no idea what was happening. She thought wildly that Zeke had been shot and they were flying off the road, out of control. Then she realized he'd veered off the highway to a slim path in the woods. The jolt of the rough road yanked her head up and she was promptly slapped by a pine branch. The stinging blow caught her across the nose and right cheek and brought tears to her eyes. "Keep your head down!" Mattie ducked into his back. The bike jumped and skidded and gave off deep, annoyed growlings . Against her arms and chest, Mattie felt Zeke's powerful body fighting to control the machine. He flung out, a leg on one side, then the other; she felt him duck and heard the sc.r.a.pe of a thick branch on her helmet. The muscles of his torso flexed and contracted. Between her legs, she felt the tension of his hips.

Slowly, she grew aware that there were no noises behind them, that the only sound anywhere was the bike as it leaped and jumped. Cautiously, she looked behind them. They were on a narrow path overhung with long-armed pines, riding along the edge of a small, clear stream. Zeke edged along, no longer fighting to out-pace a car.

"This'll take us to another road a little ways up," he said over his shoulder. "You all right?"

"Yes."

And she had been until that moment. Suddenly, it all sunk in with a strangely twisted, surrealistic quality.

She Mattie O'Neal, until lately a simple secretary in the English department of a small Midwestern university was now riding through primeval forest-land with some wild stranger, running away from two desperate men who had shot at her. Impossible.

But she was. The lurking memories of the night that had sent her running in the first place now flooded back, triggered by the sound of gunfire and the terror she'd felt both times. A thick trembling rocked her body, uncontrollable.

Zeke stopped the bike and got off, gathering her into a st.u.r.dy embrace. "You'll be all right, honey." He rubbed her arms, her back, firmly. "Take a few deep breaths and get a drink from the stream. I don't want to hang around long."

She nodded and he let her go, taking a canteen from a hook under the seat. He knelt at the edge of the stream to fill it and Mattie stared at him, still uncomprehending. "How-"

"Come on, Miss Mary," he said. "Don't fall apart on me now."

She gave herself a mental shake, shoving away the gruesome memories and the terror. Kneeling by the stream, she splashed her face and took a long, calming drink. "I'm ready."

He gave her a nod and fired up the bike.

It never occurred to Mattie to ask where they were going. Away. That was what mattered. They were going away from Brian.

Shock coc.o.o.ned Mattie. The stark, harshly beautiful landscape of the northern Arizona plateau and the constant sound of the bike's engine numbed her. She gave herself up to the hypnotic sound of the wind, the gritty feel of it on her skin. Vaguely, she was aware of the heat of the sun on her arms, of Zeke in front of her, piloting her escape, of the curious faces of children as they pa.s.sed.

In the early afternoon, they stopped at a roadside cafe in the mountains of New Mexico. Mattie stared at the menu without comprehension. Apparently sensing her confusion, he ordered burritos and coffee for both of them. Mattie ate hers dutifully. She couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't lead back to the horrifying image of bullets flying around them, so she didn't talk. Zeke didn't seem to mind. They got back on the road quickly.

At sunset, they pulled into a small mountain town in Colorado. Pagosa Springs, the sign said.

The air cooled sharply, and the sudden drop in temperature roused Mattie from her stupor. Zeke drove slowly through the small town, and roused, Mattie looked around curiously. Children played hide-and-seek in some bushes. Through screen doors, supper light fell to porches, welcoming and soft. A dog ran behind a boy on a bike.

Zeke pulled into a hamburger stand, not a chain, but a mom-and-pop joint with broad windows all around. Old-fashioned. On the door, a fading sign in the colors of the old drive-in movie snack announcements advertised double-chocolate malts and curly fries. Two teenagers occupied a booth by the window, and a young mother with three little children had another. As Mattie watched, a burly man in a sheriff's uniform paused beside the woman's table to chat.

Zeke swore mildly. "I was going to suggest we go in and eat, but maybe it would be better if you stay out of sight."

"Why?"

He gracefully slid from the bike and yanked the helmet from his head. Hair fell down around his shoulders, mussed and yet gloriously s.e.xy. A fist hit her belly at the pure animal beauty of him. "It's a long story, but if I recognized you, someone else who's a little bit faster on the uptake might recognize you, too. Just sit tight. I'll get us something to eat."

In his voice was the same careful tone he'd used with her all day. This time, Mattie found it annoying. "I'm not going to break, Zeke."

His grin was swift and dazzling. Mattie blinked.

"I knew you'd snap out of it," he said. Setting the helmet on the seat in front of her, he asked, "They make great hamburgers here. You want one?"

"Sure. With cheese." She pursed her lips and pointed toward the faded sign on the door. "And one of

those super-duper chocolate malts, too."

He continued grinning at her as if she'd done something extraordinary. "No problem. I'll be right back.

Keep your helmet on."