Authors: Jan Hudson
“You know that gringo sitting by
Carlos?”
Sunny turned around. Kale sat on
a stool facing her, his elbows propped behind him on the bar. His features
drawn into a fierce scowl, he lifted his beer bottle in greeting. The greeting
wasn’t a congenial one. She wiggled her fingers and winked at him, but his
expression didn’t change. She could almost hear his teeth grinding, and his
glower pierced her like a skewer. Carlos sat facing away from her, his head
down and his shoulders hunched over his drink.
“I don’t like the way he’s
looking at you,” Rico said. “Want me to take care of him?” he asked with all
the bravado of youth.
Sunny bit back a smile. While
she had no doubt that Kale Hoaglin could handle a kid whose mustache was only
peach fuzz, she didn’t think he could deal with a dozen adolescent toughs. “He’s
just my boss. Ignore him.” She continued their interview.
“From the way he looks at you, I
think he’s more than your boss,” Rico said, smiling slyly. “And he seems very
angry.”
She felt herself flush. “He
probably doesn’t like my being here. He tends to be overprotective.”
“It’s good for a man to protect
his woman.”
“I’m not his woman.”
Rico grinned. “I don’t think he
knows that. Here he comes.”
“Kale.” She gave him a
perfunctory nod. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come for you.” He plucked
her pad and pencil from her hands and stuck them in his jacket pocket. “Let’s
go. This is no place for a lady.” He grabbed her elbow and hauled her to her
feet.
“But, but—” she sputtered. “I’m
in the middle of an interview. Rico—”
Kale kissed her. Hard.
Infuriated by his behavior she struggled to evade his mouth, but her efforts
were futile against his strength.
He ended the kiss, but still
held her tightly. Glancing at Rico, he said, “I’m taking my woman out of here. Any
objections?”
Sunny looked to Rico for
support, but he seemed to be enjoying the exchange. He laughed and held up his
hands. “Not from me, man. I wouldn’t let my lady come in this place either.”
She could have killed the pair
of them! She glanced to the bar, hoping for assistance from Carlos, but he only
shrugged and looked sheepish.
Kale snatched up her purse and,
despite her protests, marched her out of El Gallo Rojo. With her taking two
steps to his one, he strode down the street to her car. Her high heel caught in
a crack, and she shrieked at him to stop. But did he? No. He only yanked her
harder, and the heel of her best pair of white shoes snapped off, leaving her
to hobble quickly behind him with the uneven gait of a peg-leg pirate.
She sputtered and ranted and
steamed and fought the urge to kick him in his Neanderthal shins. But he was
made of stone, and she’d probably have broken her toe. He pinned her against
her car and dug through her handbag for her keys.
“Kale Hoaglin, I may murder you
in your sleep! What was that macho display about? What gives you the right to
cause a scene and drag me away from my job as if I were some pea-brain?”
“I’m your boss.”
Feeling as suddenly deflated as
a slashed tire, she clamped her lips together and blinked several times. “Yes,
of course you are, Mr. Hoaglin. Perhaps you weren’t aware that I conceived this
idea of an in-depth study of street gangs and had it okayed by Hulon Eubanks,
the KRIP news director.”
“I’m sure Hulon didn’t know that
you were planning to prance around by yourself in the seediest, most dangerous
part of town interviewing hoodlums.”
“But I wasn’t by myself. Carlos
was with me.”
“Carlos ought to have his butt
kicked. Maybe having to look for another job will teach him to have better
judgment.”
Sunny’s eyes widened. “But you
can’t fire Carlos.”
“I already did.”
A sour knot formed in her
stomach and inched its way up her esophagus. How had she ever thought there
might be a warm, lovable side to this . . . this Simon Legree? She fought back
the tears that stung her eyes and glared up at the man towering over her.
“If Carlos goes, I go.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, Mr. Hoaglin, I quit.”
“Like hell you do!” Kale
stormed. But when Sunny planted her fists on her hips, jutted her chin, and
glared up at him, he knew he was in deep stuff.
“Like hell I don’t!”
“You have a contract.”
“Check your files, buddy. My
contract lapsed two months ago. But even if it hadn’t, I’d rather go back to
frying hamburgers at a fast-food joint than work for a domineering, chauvinistic
blockhead like you. In any case, I don’t need your job, Mister Network Stud. If
all I wanted to do was the weather, I have a standing offer from the national
cable channel for twice the salary you’re paying me.” She poked her finger in
his chest. “Put that in your pipe and smoke it!”
Sunny snatched her purse from
his hand, jerked the car door open, got in, and slammed the door. She sat there
for a few moments, then rolled down the window.
“Forget something?” Kale asked.
Her lips were pinched as tight
as the drawstring on a bag of marbles. She held out her hand. “My keys.”
He dangled them out of reach. “Forget
about quitting, and I’ll give them to you.”
Fury blazed over her face like a
flash fire. “I won’t be bribed! Hell will freeze over before I set foot in KRIP
again!”
Sunny shoved open the Escort’s
door, whacking it against him with such force that he stumbled and almost fell
on his backside. She scrambled out of the car and started clomping down the
street on her broken shoe.
“Where in the hell are you
going?” Kale shouted.
She ignored him. He caught up
with her and grabbed her arm. “I asked where you’re going.”
Shaking off his hand, she stuck
her nose higher in the air and said, “I’m going to find a taxi, if it’s any of
your business.”
“You’re not going to find a taxi
around here.”
“Then I’ll walk home.”
“That’s telling him, honey,” a
woman said in a slurred voice. She was part of a small crowd that had gathered
in front of a bar to watch them.
“Oh, hell, Sunny.” He ran his
fingers through his hair and swiped his hand across his face. “It’s too far to
walk, and you’ll break your ankle with your shoe like that.”
She took off her ruined heels
and shoved them against his chest. Automatically, his hands captured them. “Satisfied
now?” she asked.
“I’ll give you a ride, little
mama,” said a man dressed in a flowered satin shirt.
Kale glared at the glassy-eyed
pimp, who leaned indolently on a low-riding black Caddy with curb feelers and
extra chrome.
“No thank you, sir,” Sunny said,
starting off at a brisk pace toward the bay and downtown.
“Dammit, Sunny, you can have
your keys.”
She turned and gave him a
withering look. “Shall I detail what you can do with the keys?”
“That’s telling him, honey,” the
woman said again.
Kale was torn between wanting to
throw her over his shoulder and carry her, kicking and screaming, to the car,
and trotting along behind her to see that she wasn’t molested. He’d almost
decided on using force when a taxi stopped half a block away to deliver
passengers. Sunny stuck two fingers in her mouth, let out an ear-piercing
whistle, and ran for the cab.
When Kale saw that she was
safely inside, he turned and started back to El Gallo Rojo, cursing the whole
way.
A few moments later, he slid
onto the stool next to Carlos and ordered a triple shot of tequila. “Women!” he
muttered.
Carlos glanced at him from his
hangdog pose over his beer. “Sunny give you a hard time?”
“Yeah. Sorry about what I said
to you earlier. I can’t control her either.”
“Does this mean I have my job
back?”
“Yeah.” Kale bit into a lime,
licked salt from the back of his hand, downed the tequila, and ordered another.
“Have you ever done the weather report?”
* * *
Sunny paid the taxi and walked
gingerly to the front door. Bugs from around the porch light dive-bombed her as
she searched in her purse for her keys. Then she remembered. Her house key was
on the ring with her car keys.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot . .
. shoot!”
She rang the doorbell, hoping
that Estella hadn’t left for the station yet. She could hear the bongs resonating
through the house, which seemed as empty as King Seti’s tomb. Since it was
already nine-thirty she really hadn’t held out much hope, but to be sure, she
went around to the back to check the garage. It was empty.
“Rats!”
Trudging to the patio, she
tossed her bag on a table and plopped down in a chair to wait. She felt a
little guilty about leaving the news team in the lurch—Hulon would probably
have a coronary or crawl out on the ledge when she didn’t show up—but that was
Mr. Big Shot Kale Hoaglin’s problem.
Hoisting her feet onto another
patio chair, she crossed her arms and stared at the lights reflected off the
swimming pool. She didn’t need his stupid job. What she’d told Kale was true:
She did have a standing offer from the weather channel on cable TV. And she’d
had a few feelers from some of the smaller stations in
Houston
and a
major station in
Dallas
. But most of them wanted her to do the weather. The
street-gang story she’d envisioned would have made a great tape to send out to
prospective employers, showing that she could do something besides talk about
temperatures and storm fronts. Now that idea was shot to smithereens.
She hadn’t signed a new contract
with KRIP, hoping to take a spot that presented the greatest opportunity for
advancement toward her ultimate goal of being a network correspondent—or
something bigger. Ravinia had known that and had given her blessing. She’d
planned to stay in Corpus until Estella’s baby was born and Ed came home, then
move on. What was she going to do now?
Certainly she couldn’t stay in
the same house with the pompous sourpuss who was now her ex-boss. She’d rather
have her toes roasted over a burning pit than endure another night under the
same roof with him. Still, she had Estella to consider. They could go to a
hotel for the night, but Estella would be tired when she got home and needed
her rest. She couldn’t go dragging a pregnant woman around at all hours.
She slapped a mosquito that was
feasting on her neck.
Tomorrow morning, bright and
early, she planned to find them an apartment.
She slapped another mosquito on
her arm and checked her watch. Darn Kale Hoaglin! She still had a while to wait
until Estella got home, and not only was she hot and tired and sticky, but the
blasted mosquitoes thought she was the Friday night buffet.
The shimmering coolness of the
pool looked extremely inviting. Pity her bathing suit was upstairs.
She slapped another mosquito.
What the heck? she thought, and
shot up from her chair. She stripped down to her yellow lace panties and bra,
walked to the deep end of the pool, and dived in.
The water felt heavenly.
She swam several lazy laps, then
flipped onto her back to float and watch the stars. She’d miss the pool and the
privacy she and Estella had enjoyed in Ravinia’s house.
“Ravinia,” she whispered
skyward, “I know you must have loved him, but your nephew is a dweeb.”
Something plopped in the water
next to her, startling her. Then something landed across her midsection.
Alarmed by the thought of frogs or snakes, she squealed and quickly brushed off
the foreign object, then frantically splashed herself upright, treading water
and trying to locate what had frightened her.
Two long-stemmed red roses
floated on the water next to her. Relieved to see flowers instead of
creepy-crawlies, she laughed. Another rose hit the water beside her. And
another. And another.
She turned to find Kale standing
on the apron of the pool, tossing roses from the huge bundle he held.
“What are you
doing
?” she
asked.
“Showering you with flowers.
Hoping you’ll accept my apology.” He kept throwing blossoms until the surface
of the water was littered with roses. “Is it working?”
“No. Go away.”
He only stood there and grinned
like a possum. She wanted to throttle him. “That water looks inviting,” he
said. “I think I’ll join you.” He kicked off his loafers and unbuckled his
belt.
“No!” she shrieked, suddenly
remembering her attire. “I’m in my underwear.” She herded roses around her,
trying to preserve her modesty and stay upright at the same time.
“I noticed. But don’t worry, I’ve
seen you in less.” He gave her another one of those silly grins and took off
his shirt. “A lot less.”