Skating Over the Line (14 page)

The corner of Lionel's mouth twitched. “This wouldn't have something to do with getting Reginald sprung last night?”

“Doesn't anyone in this town have better things to do than talk about me?” I mumbled.

Pop gave an exaggerated shrug, and Lionel's mouth twitch stretched into a Cheshire grin. “Becky,” Lionel drawled, “you're the most interesting thing to hit this town since indoor plumbing.”

“Great. Should I be flattered?” Being compared to a toilet wasn't exactly my idea of a compliment.

“Our family has always attracted attention. I'm happy that everyone at the center likes talking about me. Shows I'm not getting boring in my old age.”

It was hard to be boring in sequins.

Pop looked at his watch. “I should get going. Don't want the new manager running the rink into the ground.”

Hiking up his plaid shorts, Pop gave a jaunty wave and shuffled out of the barn into the sunlight.

Now that Pop was gone, the temperature in the barn went up twenty degrees. I gave Lionel a nervous smile. Part of me was embarrassed about the other night. My behavior wasn't what I'd call mature. The other part was annoyed. Lionel hadn't bothered to call since then. I'd have thought that some big guy threatening me outside the rink deserved at least a smidge of follow-up concern.

Lionel hooked his thumbs through his belt loop and leaned back on his heels. “You've been busy since yesterday morning. Hiring new managers and freeing innocent citizens. What's next? Leaping tall buildings in a single bound?”

Laughter and irritation colored Lionel's voice in equal measure. I did my best to fan the internal flames of female indignation for the lack of concern. Nope. No raging flames of anger. I guess I wasn't female enough. My college roommate, Jasmine, could have done it. Her emotional responses to relationships should have garnered Academy Award nominations. You would have thought some of her dramatics would have rubbed off.

I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and flipped it open. “I should call the rink and let George know my grandfather is taking charge for the day.”

Lionel nodded and watched me let my fingers do the walking. His posture looked lazy, but his eyes were bright, clear, and glittering with an emotion I couldn't identify. The gaze made my stomach flutter and my nerves jangle.

Turning around, I straightened my shoulders and did an impersonation of a businesswoman, all the while feeling Lionel's eyes caressing my back. It was kind of a turn-on. Suddenly, I was trying to remember my reasons for not sleeping in Lionel's bed.

Thank goodness Max answered the phone, putting an end to my moment of sexual crisis.

“Toe Stop Roller Rink. This is Max. What can I help you with?”

“Hey, Max. It's Rebecca.”

“Rebecca.” Max's voice rose an octave with what I decided was a combination of excitement over the new job and relief. “Where are you? You said you were going to be back in a few minutes. Hey!” Max's voice shouted.

Then George came on the line. “Rebecca, we need you here. Now. This boy is ruining your mother's rink.”

A strangled yelp came over the line. Then a loud clatter. Then all I could hear were voices that sounded as if they were underwater.

“Hello?”

No answer.

I raised my voice. “Hello. Would someone talk to me?”

Panting, George came back on the line. “Rebecca, I can't work like this. Max just assaulted me. I should report this to Deputy Holmes. I just saw him here a few minutes ago.”

“Don't do that,” I begged. “Look, something came up, so Pop is coming in. He'll get everything straightened out, and tomorrow I'll have a talk with Max about his behavior. All right?”

George didn't answer.

My heart skipped a beat. The rink couldn't lose George.

“George? Are you still there?” I asked.

“Yes.”

George sounded petulant, but that was okay. At least he was talking. When George was really angry, he gave everyone the silent treatment. “Look, if things don't get better with Max in the next couple of days, I promise to let him go. Does that help?”

George sighed. “I suppose. And I'll try to get along with him for your sake, but I can't promise anything.”

I closed my phone, shoved it deep in my purse, and said a small prayer to the roller-skating gods that peace would reign between Max and George. I didn't think it would help, but it couldn't hurt. Besides, Pop was going to need all the divine assistance he could get.

Warm hands settled on my shoulders. “Can I do something?” Lionel asked as his hands began to knead the tense muscles in my neck.

I leaned into his touch and felt the strain of the day disappear. Lionel had magic hands. “I wish. George hates Max, my new rink manager.”

“I can't imagine George hating anyone.”

“Neither could I, but he took a serious dislike to Max on sight. It's weird.” Lionel's thumb dug into my shoulder. I closed my eyes and leaned into the pressure. “Imagine Hermie the misfit elf on too much caffeine and too little sleep. That's George. I just don't know what to do about it. The rink needs a manager, and at the moment Max is the only one interested in the job. I don't want to think about what I'm going to do if I have to fire him.”

“Then don't.” Lionel turned me around so I was facing him. His fingers gently brushed my cheek and my breath came faster. Then his lips touched mine and I forgot to breathe.

My hands clutched at his broad shoulders. His fingers found their way under my shirt. Yowzah. My purse slipped from my shoulder and fell with a thunk in the hay. Which is where I wanted to be right now. In the hay with Lionel. My blood churned. Electric shocks fluttered through my stomach as Lionel's hand brushed against my breast.

Without a doubt, I wanted this. I really wanted this.

My fingers itched to pull off Lionel's clothes and run over every inch of his body. Lionel's mouth trailed up and down my neck. The wet path of his kisses tingled in the air conditioning, making my breasts tighten. My knees trembled as his fingers dipped below my waistband. All the muscles in my legs turned molten as I lost myself in a haze of desire.

Then the haze disappeared.

“Do you hear that?” I asked as Lionel kissed my ear.

“Hear what?”

His voice had that sexy “I want you” quality, which almost made me feign deafness. But I couldn't. I had identified the sound, and it was coming from my purse.

“My phone,” I gasped as Lionel's fingers unbuttoned the top of my jeans. “Lionel, my phone is ringing.”

“Don't answer it.” A zipping sound accompanied the ringing phone as Lionel's hands moved lower. For a second, I considered taking Lionel's suggestion. I didn't want to answer the phone.

Then it rang again. Visions of Pop playing WrestleMania with my two semiadult employees danced through my head. Pop was so small. And he was old. He'd get squashed for sure.

Summoning willpower I didn't know I possessed, I struggled out of Lionel's grasp and dived for my purse. “Hello?” I said in a low, breathless voice. Yikes. I sounded like a porn star.

“Rebecca, you need to come back to town.” George's high-pitched voice reached over the phone line. “The guy who threatened you the other night came back to the rink. And this time, he wasn't alone.”

 

Twelve

Lionel's truck broke all speeding records
on the way back to the rink, while I clutched my seat in terror. And not because of Lionel's NASCAR driving. Pop hadn't been able to talk to me on the phone because he was being checked out by Dr. Truman. The man who threatened me had gone after Pop at the rink.

And I was the reason Pop was even there.

The terror slid up my spine and lodged in my throat. Pop was the only family I had left. My father didn't count. He'd never applauded after a high school play or bought me ice cream when my boyfriend broke up with me. Pop had. Now he was hurt, and I had no idea how badly. My phone had remained painfully silent since George had hung up.

I said a prayer that my grandfather would be okay. When that didn't make me feel better, I began making bargains with God. If Pop lived, I would attend church. I would donate my spleen to charity. I would enter a nunnery and become celibate for the rest of my life. It was the least I could do. After all, I had been preparing to fornicate while my grandfather's life was in danger. Perpetual sexual frustration was too good for me.

Sean Holmes's cop car and an ambulance were parked in front of the rink's entrance. A bunch of people were milling around near the front door. None of them was Pop. My fingers unclipped the seat belt. Before the truck came to a stop, I leaped down from my seat. My feet hit the pavement, and I started running.

Breathing hard, I skidded to a halt next to the emergency vehicles. When I spotted George hovering near the front door, I yelled, “Where's Pop?”

George pointed a long finger toward the ambulance, and I sucked in air. Trembling and trying not to hyperventilate, I walked around the side of the ambulance toward the open back doors. Sean Holmes, complete with open notepad and pen, nodded at me as I came around the vehicle's back. He wasn't yelling at me—not a good sign. I gave Sean a weak smile and held my breath as I peered into the back of the ambulance.

“Hey, Rebecca,” Pop called with a delighted smile. “You missed all the excitement. You should have seen me with those guys. I gave them the old one-two.”

I sagged against one of the open doors. Pop was okay. In fact, he looked like he was having the time of his life as Doc Truman looked in his ears and asked him to take deep breaths.

“Pop, what happened?” I asked weakly.

“That's what I've been trying to find out.” Deputy Sean moseyed up to stand next to me, a scowl plastered on his face, a half-eaten doughnut in his hand. For a minute, our eyes locked. Then he gave a slight nod. I nodded back. We understood each other. Sean wasn't happy with me, but neither was he going to arrest me. At least not right now.

“Sean, I've already told you what happened,” Pop said from his seat on the edge of the ambulance, his scrawny, steel-wool hair-covered legs swinging back and forth. “I came to the rink to help train the new manager. While I was walking up to the rink, two big guys in yellow-and-black bowling shirts approached me.”

My heart lurched.

I touched Pop's arm to reassure myself he was really okay. “Did they hurt you?”

“Not exactly. They kept yelling at me, but I had no idea what they were talking about. My Spanish isn't that good yet. But I think one guy said something about a tan, which made sense, because he was. They both had really nice tans.” Pop looked down at his pale, wrinkled skin and sighed.

“Then what, Pop?”

Pop's legs stopped swinging. “Then they yelled about a car, or maybe it was tar. I couldn't tell. So I shook my head to let them know I couldn't help. That's when the really big guy pulled a metal ratchet thingy out of his pocket and started swinging at me.” Pop's eyes flashed with excitement. “Well, I wasn't about to take that. Just because I'm old doesn't mean people can push me around. I'm stronger than I look, you know.”

Pop flexed a minuscule bicep muscle. “The guy thought he was going to get the drop on me, but I dodged him.”

“And tripped on the rink's front step,” Sean said matter-of-factly while glancing at his notebook. “One of the kids saw you go down and yelled, and the two men ran around the side of the building and disappeared. That's when George called the Sheriff's Department.” The notebook snapped authoritatively shut. “Did I miss any details?”

Pop scratched his chin. “Not that I can think of. It's a shame those guys got away. If I hadn't tripped on that step, I would have taken them into custody for sure. I've been waiting to use some moves I saw on that bounty-hunter cable show. He always gets his man.”

The guy Pop was referring to weighed 250 pounds and could bench-press an elephant. Pop couldn't bench-press a Chihuahua.

“Well, I think I'm done taking your statement. You can go about your business when Doc Truman here gives you the okay,” Sean said to Pop with a tight smile. Over Pop's head, Sean gave me a small shake of his head, walked to his squad car, and, without a backward glance, drove away. I think Pop's bounty hunter dreams were too much, even for ex-football tough guy Deputy Holmes.

Doc Truman looked in Pop's eyes one last time, gave me a smile, and said, “He's going to have a couple bruises, but otherwise he's just fine. Arthur, you call me if you have any soreness or dizzy spells. I'm going fishing, but I'll keep my cell on vibrate just in case you need me.”

I let out a sigh of happiness and gave Doc Truman a big hug. Doc Truman had known me since I was little. He patched up my scraps and cured my sore throats. Even though years had passed, his wavy hair had turned gray, and the size of his pants was larger, I still trusted him. If he said Pop was okay, then Pop really was okay.

Doc packed up his stuff, gave a wave, and went off to catch fish.

“So now what?” Pop hopped off the back of the ambulance and propped one hand on a bony hip.

“What do you mean, ‘now what'?”

“Well, we're going to look for the bad guys, right?” Pop danced from foot to foot. “I mean, they're probably the ones who took Jimmy's and Stan's cars. I say we start canvassing the town. Maybe we'll find a witness.”

And maybe Elwood would grow another hump. There was no way I was going canvassing for thugs with Pop riding shotgun.

“We can't, Pop. We don't have a picture of the guys. You need one to show witnesses.” I crossed two fingers behind my back in an attempt to ease my guilt. Lying to my recently injured grandfather made me feel really icky.

“Huh,” Pop said, a bead of sweat running down his dejected face. “I didn't think of that.”