Tracked by Trouble (Bad Boys Need Love, Too #3) (2 page)

Jace’s face darkened. “Don’t know. I don’t ever see her. Ever since all that shit with her numerous overdoses and not wanting to be Marni’s mother any longer…” He shook his head, his face a bitter reflection of obvious disgust at his twin sister. “And then almost having to turn Marni over to the O’Reillys…”

“Yeah, but she’s stopped using, right?”

“I don’t know that either. You’d have to ask her. I told you—no contact. She turned out to be a bad influence on my life.” Jace stood, as if eager to move the conversation along. “Billy O’Reilly and his scumbag family, Kate, Jayna—they’re all old news as far as I’m concerned.”

“Didn’t mean to pick at any scabs. I saw Kate the other day outside the grocery store. She doesn’t look so good.”

“Don’t care. She brought it all on herself. I’m glad that’s over. She sucked as a girlfriend. Now are you going to keep bringing sunshine into the conversation or can we move along in the present?”

“It beats brooding on my situation.” Zed stood and sauntered to the sink, mug in hand.

“Your situation is nothing compared to mine,” Jace said.

I’m not so sure about that,
Zed thought grimly.
There are things I refuse to tell anyone. Like the night my brother tried to…
He shuddered and shook his head. “Want me to stow this in the dishwasher?”

“Nah. Zoé’s pretty particular about dishwasher loading. She’s always rearranging what I do. Leave it. I’ll put a T-shirt on the bed for you. I’ll be outside when you’re done. Gots to greet me a good woman,” Jace said, his eyes twinkling.

“Yeah,” Zed said. As he sauntered up the stairs, he mentally applauded Jace for his willingness to get straight in his life. He’d met and married a fine young woman. Zed wondered if he could ever do the same. “Or will I always be a Waldo, standing in the shadow of my big brother while he gets away with all his devious shit?”

Rebecca hadn’t met a guy like Zed, in, well, forever.
Too bad I can’t ever commit.
She stood in the parking lot of Tapt Chews and Booze, the bar/restaurant where she worked under the tutelage of Bruce Tapt, the owner, thinking about the handsome man in the bar last night. She patted the head of her black Labrador, Sidekick.

Bruce, a man who looked like he freely sampled the kitchen cooking, stood a few feet away, smoking—a horrible habit if you asked Rebecca, but Bruce never asked. He used his belly as a tabletop to drape one of his arms over, propping up the arm with the cigarette. “We got another foodie write up in
Seattle Weekly
so be prepared for a big crowd this weekend. They called this a ‘destination dining event.’ We’re a good hour from Seattle, not counting the ferry, so that works, I suppose.” He blew smoke from his mouth over his shoulder, not paying attention to the direction of the wind, which gusted the bluish stream toward her.

Rebecca wrinkled up her nose and moved to the other side of him, trying to appear nonchalant.

“I know you like the hustle and flow of a crowd. There’s also a beer festival this weekend so that should pull in the slackers.” He brought the cancer stick to his bearded face, his puffy pink lips barely visible. Far more hair protruded from his chin than the top of his head.

“Slackers?”

“You know, our town’s young people.”

“What does that make me?”

Bruce eyed her through curling wisps of smoke. “Another young person, why? You’re a hard-working young person, though.”

She chuckled. “What, young people who come to your bar can’t be hard working?”
That’s one thing I’ve got going for me—I’m a hard worker, like my dad.

“What? Did I say that? No. They have to earn their money some way,” he spluttered. He eyed her mirthful face. “There you go again, playing with an old man’s mind.” He inhaled another lungful. “How’s school?” he said through a stream of smoke. “You’re almost done and will fly from the nest here, right?” He waved the hand with the cigarette, sending bits of ash fluttering in the wind, which, of course, had changed direction.

No doubt I’ll fly somewhere. That’s me, flying from place to place like a butterfly.
She’d backpacked through Europe starting at age seventeen. Met a lot of boys. Dabbled with a few. A soccer player from France. He’d angrily scattered the contents of her backpack along the Champs-Élysées when she hadn’t wanted to stay. She’d had to scurry along the avenue to retrieve her few belongings, while onlookers pointed and stared.
Temper, temper,
she remembered thinking.

An Italian gymnast. That one lasted about a week, ending with him engaging in a shouting match with her on the Via dei Fori Imperiali in Rome. She hadn’t understood what he shouted since he’d reverted to Italian. He could have been confessing true love for all she knew.
Italians can be a passionate lot
. She chuckled.
Like me.

Then there was an Olympic rower from England. That one had lasted a summer, ending with the contents of her backpack—all except her passport, wallet, keys and cash in the safe at her hotel—sinking to the bottom of the River Thames. She sighed. Never stayed. Never settled. Things never ended well when it came to her and men. Maybe because she never wanted to stay.

She brushed the white ash from her red and black polka dotted sweatshirt, a constant in her wardrobe when not at work—that and her red high-topped tennis shoes. “I don’t have a job to fly to. Sorry, you’re stuck with me.”

“Didn’t you apply somewhere?”

“Yes, but I haven’t even graduated yet. I have to graduate in a couple weeks and complete my exams. Who would want me before that happens?”
Who wants me, period?
She saw herself as someone who flitted.
A flitterer? Is that even a word? She who skitters? Unable to land, to stick, anywhere?

“Me, that’s who.” Bruce smiled at her, his bloated face puckering like a pale, hairy dumpling floating in a pool of broth.

“Aw, you’re sweet.”

“I’m not kidding.”

Rebecca looked askance at him. “Yeah, well someone’s got to watch over your health, boss.”

“What, this?” He held the cigarette aloft, taking one last drag. “I’ll quit soon enough,” he said, flicking the butt to the ground. He let out a long rumbling, phlegmy cough. “Or were you referring to this?” He patted his stomach. “I’ve got to insure quality coming out of the kitchen.”

She smiled at him. “Whatever you say, boss.”
The guy’s one step away from lung cancer or a heart attack,
she thought sadly. She liked her boss.

He gave her a dismissive wave of his hand and entered the back of the restaurant, calling over his shoulder, “See you in a few.”

“Not the worst place to work,” she stated to her dog. “And I’ve managed to work here for over two years. That’s a record for me. And we’re staying put. Until I get my degree, that is,” she amended. “Then I’ll be a bartender with a degree as a Physical Therapist, and a minor in kinesiology wondering where I’ll go next. That’s going to suck, having a degree and no job in my field of interest. Wow, huh, dog?”

Sidekick’s tail swept from side to side in affirmation.

“That’s the most support anyone has ever granted me,” she said with affection. “And you didn’t throw anything at my head,” she added with a chuckle. “Like the guy two boyfriends ago tried to do. We showed him, huh? We’ve got good reflexes.” She scratched the Lab’s head and strode toward her red vintage Mustang, paycheck in hand. She paused when she saw a huge Ford F-150 pulling into the lot. “Isn’t that Jace Savage’s truck?” she asked her dog.

He let out a low, menacing bark.

“He’s not the enemy. My
last
boyfriend has that role sewn up.” She stood, thoughtful, hands on hips, watching the approach of the big blue pickup. “And the one before him. And the one before
him.
I seem to leave a trail of pissed off men.”

“Hey, Rebecca,” Jace said to her as he emerged from the driver’s side.

“Hey,” she said, eyes trained on the passenger. Zed Farrell was one easy on the eyes kind of guy. He reminded her of an actor she’d seen once in a movie, tossing hay bales into the back of a truck like they were tennis balls. She pictured him leaning over a fence, Levi’s cupping his ass like a pair of soft hands, a blade of grass stuck in his mouth, his eyes competing with the sky for the brightest blue. “And it’s Beck. You can call me Beck as in at your beck and call, if I’m in the mood, that is. When you came to get your buddy, you passed into the nice guy friend zone.”

“I don’t know about nice guy, but I’ll take the friend part. Thanks.”

When the passenger didn’t get out, she turned her head in Jace’s direction. “Is he shy? He wasn’t last night.”

“Nah, I think he’s feeling a little sheepish over his excessive drinking last night. Isn’t that right, Zed?”

“What? Oh, no, sorry,” Zed called through the window. The door snicked open and he lowered himself from the cab. “Hey, Rebecca,” he said stiffly. “How you doing?”

Beck turned her gaze toward him. “It’s Beck. All my friends call me Beck.”

“Uh, okay. I didn’t know we were…” He shook his head, clearly embarrassed.

“Friends? I’d like to be.” She gave him a long stare that made his face grow even redder. “The real question is how are
you
doing? I’m surprised you could get out of bed this morning.” She smiled at him. His thick, straight, dark hair reminded her of the quarter horse’s mane she’d had as a child—something luxurious to wrap your hand around when you went for a ride. It had been combed back off his face—with the exception of one wide strand hanging over the bruise on his forehead.
Cute,
she thought.
He’s trying to cover it up.

“I’m doing all right,” he said. “I came to pick up my, um, my truck. It’s that one, there.” He pointed at the black Dodge Ram parked near the front.

“I figured. It was here when I left and it’s still here. And here you are.” She flashed him another smile.

“Nice wheels,” he said, pointing to the Mustang.

“Thanks. My dad likes to restore cars. He owns the car repair shop outside of town. I’m sure you’ve seen it. It’s a gift from him.”

Zed nodded.

No one spoke.

“Okay, well.” Zed shuffled his feet. “This is me, standing here, ready to get in my truck and drive it away.”

She let out a laugh.

“Who’s your friend?” Zed nodded at the dog.

“This is Sidekick. Sidekick, meet Jace Savage, occasional bar rat, and Zed Farrell, new guy who kept me entertained last night.”

“Reformed bar rat,” Jace said.

The dog wagged his tail.

Zed’s cheeks turned an even brighter red. “Hey, mutt.”

Jace stood to the side staring at the two of them, an amused look on his face.

She turned her attention to Jace. “Haven’t seen you in a while until last night, Jace. Where you been?”

He wiggled his ring finger at her.

She glanced at it, then turned back to Zed. “Got hitched, did you? That’s a surprise. Not to Kate Bethlehem, I hope.”

“Hell, no. She’s old news. I’ve got a fine woman now.”

“Yeah, his wife’s a great gal,” Zed said, his eyes trained on hers.

She and Zed seemed frozen in some sort of deep freeze black hole sucking them into another dimension. He didn’t quite fit her dating profile.
Sure, he’s fit, but there’s something complex about him…something mysterious…this one’s a thinker.

“You need help getting your keys out of your pocket, dipshit?” Jace muttered to Zed.

“No,” Zed said, his face scowling, the spell broken.

Jace leaned closer, grabbing Zed’s shoulder.

She thought she heard him say something like, “You need help asking her out?”

Zed shoved the other male away from him. “Get lost, Savage.”

Jace laughed. “Getting lost,” he said, dangling his keys in front of him. “You’ve got this, right?”

Zed frowned and said, “Yeah. Thanks for the ride. And the sleeping it off part.”

“You’re welcome,” Jace said, still chuckling. “I’ll catch you later. Training starts next weekend. Beck,” he said with a nod.

“Jace,” she said, smiling at him. After he’d brought the engine to life and began backing up the Ford, she turned to Zed, feeling like a beginning dater, instead of the twenty-six-year-old experienced woman she knew herself to be. “Anyone ever tell you, you look like Apolo Ohno, the Olympic speed skater?”

“A few, yeah.” Again his eyes were locked and loaded, trained on her.

“But you’re cuter. And taller.”

“Don’t tell Ohno.” He blushed again. “Thanks.”

“And your eyes are bluer.”

“He has brown eyes, I thought. Not that I ever looked into them or anything. It’s just that I…well, I…” He seemed unsure of himself, stuttering and skittering his way through the conversation, like he stumbled across ice without skates.

She found it endearing.

“I saw pictures, that’s all. Photos. And he…he’s part Asian, isn’t he? I’m Irish. Mostly Irish. My mom, she’s, um…she’s from the south.” He shook his head. “Thank you for the compliment,” he said simply, recovering.

“You’re welcome.”

“So,” he said, still unmoving.

“So,” she said. “Maybe you’ll be as good an athlete as Ohno.”

He scoffed and looked at his feet. “Don’t think so. I’m not training for the Olympics.”

“He did an Ironman competition recently.”

“Did he? Did he win?”

“No, he placed 144th or 150th or something like that. I forget.”

Zed nodded. “I see. Good. There’s hope for me, then, to place last. I merely want to make Rickie proud of his uncle.”

“I’m sure he already
is
proud.”

Zed’s head quickly lifted and his lips parted, as if he was going to retort. He shut his mouth and smiled.

He had a nice smile. Full lips. Lips always appealed to her. She loved a good kisser.
I wonder if he’s a good kisser. He looks like he knows what to do with his mouth.
She angled her head to the side as she pondered, sucking her lower lip between her teeth.

“What? What are you thinking?” He frowned at her.

“What? Oh, nothing.”

“It looked like something.”

She felt heat flood her face. “No, it was nothing. Sorry.”

“Okay.” He clutched something in his right hand like it would give him strength.

“Don’t hurt your hand.”

His eyebrows shot up and he glanced at his curled fist. “Oh, right.” He loosened his grip on his keys and held them in front of his face. “My keys. To the truck.”

“I figured.” This was getting awkward. The guy either didn’t date much or she made him uncomfortable.
He’s so good looking, though. How could a guy like that not date?

He swallowed. “You want to get a drink or something? Not today,” he quickly amended. “I’ve reached my quota for months.” He chuckled. “Not for months, really. I didn’t mean I don’t want to see you for months. I stopped drinking like that a while back. I…” He chewed on his lower lip. “Unless you wanted to grab a bite or something. Of food…do you want to grab a bite to eat later? I have a few errands but I’ll be free later.” He let out a long, hearty laugh. “Girl, you’ve got me in a twist. I’m not usually so tongue-tied. I’m blathering like a school boy.”