Bronx Page 10

  "What happened to the new girl, Teresa or Terry?"

  King scoffed. "I can see when I talk you're really listening. Thanks, buddy. Her name is Tracy, and she has to go out of town on business this weekend. Besides, I don't think we're really suited. She has these—these habits."

  I put down my burger and wiped my mouth. "Habits? Now you have my full attention. And I sure as hell hope this is as interesting as it sounds. Like, if you tell me she always pulls the pickle off her burger, I'm gonna be pissed."

  King chewed slowly, knowing I was waiting to hear about these habits. He had always been one of those guys who liked to be the center of attention, and he was milking this moment.

  "First of all, she gets really turned on by nibbling on my fingers."

  I shook my head. "Knew it was going to be something stupid like that."

  King put down his food long enough to show me his hand. His fingertips were red with bite marks, deep bite marks.

  "Holy shit. Did she draw blood?"

  "A few times." He picked up his burger. "She offered a blowjob the other night, but I told her I wasn't really into them." He looked pointedly at me over his food. "Which we all know is a lie of gigantic proportions."

  I waved at him. "Shut up, I'm eating. I don't want to hear about your blowjobs. So is that it?"

  He shook his head and again chewed slowly to build up the drama. "She screams during sex. 'Oh lord, I'm dying'," King screamed much to the concern of our fellow diners.

  I waved to a small family nearby. "He's joking, sorry about that." I twirled my finger by my temple to assure them he was not dying just nuts. Now that we were on everyone's radar at nearby tables, I leaned forward so I could talk in a lower voice. "During orgasm? I mean, I've had some women scare the shit out of me with their reactions."

  He blotted his mouth with his napkin as if he was dining in a fine restaurant. "Not during orgasm. In fact, I'm not even sure she reaches climax because she screams so much during the whole thing, I can barely finish myself."

  I straightened and had a good laugh. "You sure know how to find 'em. Now back to the weekend. I'm going to be out at the ranch. I promised Vick I'd take care of the animals while he and Mom go off for a nice weekend."

  King nodded as he removed the lid on his drink to use the shake as a condiment for his fries. He dipped one into the ice cream. "Actually, that's perfect. I wouldn't mind a weekend at the ranch." He shoved the fries into his mouth.

  He'd caught me off guard. I wasn't ready with an excuse because King couldn't know about my visitor. "Uh, nope. Hate to be a spoil sport, but you can't go with me to the ranch."

  His moment of disappointment was replaced by comprehension. King's brows did a dance on his forehead. "All right, who is she? Please tell me she doesn't chew on fingers or scream during sex." As he said it, two women were passing the table. They gave us both a look of utter disapproval.

  "Do you have to broadcast all your crap to everyone?" I picked up my drink.

  "You're avoiding the subject, and by subject, I mean the woman you're taking to the ranch for one of your famous bronco style weekends." He moved his hips back and forth, attracting the attention of the next table. I kicked his foot. "Stop it, you slob. You're ruining everyone's appetite."

  King pointed his big finger at me. "Ah ha, there you go again avoiding the topic. Who is she? I want details and measurements. Where'd you meet her? She has to be special if she got an invite out to the ranch. You didn't tell me you were seeing someone. How long has this been going on, and more importantly, why was I not told of this new woman?"

  I pushed a fry into my mouth. He stared at me in anticipation. "Well?" he asked.

  "Oh, I thought you were just planning to keep blathering on."

  "Spill, buddy," he said.

  "Not much to spill. Her name is uh—Ginger."

  He laughed and hit the table. We were really starting to annoy our fellow diners. "You can hardly remember her name, but you're taking her out for a weekend at the ranch." He picked up his shake. "That's not like you, Bronx."

  "I know her name. I was just reluctant to say it because I knew—"

  He pointed again. That woman had really done a number on his fingers. Like a fucking vampire. "You knew I was going to ask if she was actually a ginger. So is she? And is it real? Do the drapes match the carpet?"

  I shook my head. "No, she's not a ginger. Now eat the rest of your food. People are waiting for us to leave."

  "No, no, not so quick. Where did you meet her? Let's see a picture."

  As much fun as Layla and I had been having sneaking around, it was hitting me just how hard this was going to be. After all, it wasn't as if either of us lived in a bubble. And we had friends in the same circle. For now, I could just toss out a few lies to get King off the path, but the longer this went on, the harder it was going to be.

  "No pictures, no ginger, just a woman who I've gone out with a few times and who is really into horses."

  Kingston laughed dryly. "What is it with chicks and horses? Well, guess I'll be looking for something else to do this weekend."

  "Here's some advice, buddy. Stay clear of the finger chewer."

  "Probably sound advice." He lifted his shake cup. "Here's to a great weekend, even though you blew me off for some non-ginger horse lover."

  19

  "I don't have cowboy boots. I wish I did. Just seems like I should be wearing cowboy boots on a ranch," Layla's voice burst through the phone and my groggy head.

  "We could get you a pair on the way," I suggested. I glanced at the clock. It was only six. During the fire season, I could wake from a dead sleep to suit up and head to the plane. But in the off season, when we strolled into base camp at nine to do chores, fix equipment, and train, I got used to sleeping late. It was adorable how excited she was about going to a horse ranch, even after I warned her about flies, manure and a rooster that liked to chase unsuspecting visitors around the barnyard.

  "I would love to buy a pair, but they're expensive. I know because I spent the last few days during my lunch break checking out boots online. Anyhow, I'll just have to look dowdy and non-western in my sneakers. You sound tired. Did I wake you?"

  I stretched and sat up. "Nope, been up for hours."

  "Liar. Anyhow, I had a call from Gabe. Turns out it's Penelope's birthday this weekend. He acted insulted that I didn't know, but he hasn't been married to her very long. I hardly know anything about her. His first wife and I were friends, not close friends, but I knew her birthday was a week before mine. I told him I was going out of town with some friends from the hospital. He wanted to know who and where I was going. I got kind of perturbed and let him know I was a big girl and that I had my own dad back in Virginia."

  I sat up and scrubbed my hair back with my fingers. "You're from Virginia? Pictured you more as a California girl."

  "Nope, born and raised just ten miles west of Monticello. Guess there's a lot of things we don't know about each other."

  "Yeah I guess so." I rested back against the headboard, and my mind drifted to the two of us all alone on the ranch, not having to hide from anyone and having nonstop sex. "Don't know if I mentioned this, but the barn has a very nice hay loft, comfy and soft too."

  "Uh huh, and just how do you know about the comfy, soft part?"

  "Well, I've just heard about it from the—the barn cats."

  Her laugh sounded extra sweet through the phone. "I can just imagine the amount of shenanigans a sixteen-year-old Bronx Devlin got up to in that hayloft."

  I climbed out of bed. "Not sure what shenanigans are, but if they include unhooking bras and making out, then yeah, there might have been some shenanigans. Hey, I'm gonna hop in the shower. I'll swing by your apartment in an hour. Does that give you enough time? That way we can get an early start. There's a breakfast place, Moonpie's Diner, on the way that serves great food."

  "Sounds good. I'm still bummed about the cowboy boots though."

  "Don't worry. I won't be wear
ing mine much either because I plan to spend a lot of the weekend naked."

  "Ooh, just pictured you naked but still wearing your cowboy boots. OK, see you soon, Bronx. I'm going to call you that while we're on the ranch. Seems fitting."

  "Now I'm going to have to come up with a nickname for you. Hey, Layla, glad you're coming with me."

  "I'm glad too."

  20

  Layla's apartment complex was just five minutes from the hospital. She described her short commute as a dreamy stroll under a line of crepe myrtle trees. The complex was far enough away from any of our mutual friends' houses that we'd decided it was a safe place for us to meet. Little chance of running into anyone we knew. The secretiveness had been sort of intriguing and sexy at first, but something told me it was going to get old and irritating soon enough.

  Layla came to the door in jeans and a flannel shirt. "Do I look ranch-y, cuz I feel ranch-y."

  "Adorable ranch-y," I said and couldn't stop myself from kissing her.

  She waved me in to pick up her duffle bag. "Grab that. I've got one more touch for my ranch-y outfit." She disappeared into her room and returned with a white straw cowboy hat pushed down over her head. "Now the look is complete. Just don't look at my feet."

  Naturally, I looked at her feet, clad in light blue sneakers.

  "I told you not to look and, yet, you looked," she teased.

  "Next time leave the 'don't look at them' part out." I picked up the duffle. It was packed tightly.

  "I packed too much as is usually the case, but I wasn't entirely sure what I would need."

  I opened the door for her. "Told you, nakedness will be a priority, so you won't have to make too many wardrobe decisions."

  "Well, that's good because I brought that too," she quipped as she locked up her apartment.

  We headed out to the car. Both of us had a habit of glancing around when we were out in public as if we were just about to run off with the crown jewels. I laughed as we both simultaneously finished our survey of the area.

  "Glad we won't have to be so paranoid out at the ranch. It'll be nice to let our guards down for a change." I opened the jeep door and put her duffle in the back seat next to mine.

  I climbed inside and started up the jeep, not noticing until well after I'd pulled out of the parking lot, how quiet and sullen my passenger had become.

  "Layla?" Had she changed her mind about the ranch weekend? Had she changed her mind about the whole damn thing?

  She looked over at me with a sort of sorrow in her brown eyes. "Is that how you feel when we're together? Paranoid? On guard? Oh my gosh, Jack, is this relationship a mistake? I feel like Romeo and Juliet, without the complicated verbiage or feuding parents or balcony." She smiled at her last comment. I was relieved to see it. "But seriously, our friends shouldn't make us feel as if us seeing each other is some kind of crime."

  "I agree but I was hoping we could slip under their radar for awhile, you know, just to see how things go."

  She turned slightly, as far as her seatbelt allowed. "By 'how things go' do you mean you're not sure if this is going to work out anyhow so why upset Gabe and the guys? I know this is harder on you because you work with all of them, but I was really hoping that what we had—"

  I reached over and took her hand. "I'm not questioning us. I've never felt more solid about my feelings for you. I've felt this way for a long time, but I wasn't sure if you were—" How had I painted myself into a damn corner? How did the conversation turn so serious just before our weekend together. I decided to just say what was on my mind. Layla, I'd learned, was an extraordinary listener, and she wasn't one to jump to dramatic conclusions. Although, my earlier comments about paranoia and being on guard had certainly darkened her mood. I had just assumed she felt the same, especially when I caught her looking around as we walked out to the car. "Bulldozer's only been gone for a little more than a year, and you two were married for six years. I wouldn't blame you for just stretching your wings on this dating thing."

  "No." She shook her head. "This isn't some rebound from grief or sowing the oats I never sowed in my early years, Jack. I genuinely enjoy being with you. There are moments when I cry, I just sob thinking about Adam, when the good memories pop around. But there were bad memories too. He was not the most reliable, loyal husband, as you may have noticed. There were hardships. I loved him. He made my head spin, both good and bad. But that's not what this is. I want to be with you. I'm hoping to hell this works out because I haven't felt like this for a long time."

  "I've never felt this way, Layla. Ever. I've felt this way about you for a long time, even before—anyhow, that might be why I still feel on guard. It's hard to shake the feeling that I'm betraying Bulldozer because I've been thinking about you since I met you. I was never a believer of love at first sight until that moment on the island."

  "That's because you were feeling down, depressed. Your dad was just diagnosed with cancer, and from all indications, the prognosis was bad. I just happened to have the right skill set to deal with someone experiencing that kind of grief. I don't think it was love, Jack. It was just a set of circumstances that made you feel some comfort after meeting me."

  I shook my head. "Nope, I know my heart. I don't give out pieces of it easily. I left that island thinking I'd never meet anyone like you again. I was jealous as hell of Bulldozer. There was no other way to spin it. Yes, you gave me comfort at a particularly dark time, but Layla, don't sell yourself short. It wasn't just the right skill set that day, it was the whole thing, the whole package. Everything about you just felt right and amazing. I didn't want those few minutes to end. The fact that you looked smoking hot in a white bikini helped. I've still got that shallow horn-dog side to me."

  Layla chuckled. "Well, you are male after all. And if we're confessing our deepest thoughts right now, I left that island feeling sort of bereft too. I'd just met an incredible man, a man who was not afraid to show emotion about his terminally ill father. And he had amazing pecs and tight abs." She leaned her head my way. "Because I am a female, after all. I knew I'd just met someone who I could always be friends with and who I could only fantasize about in daydreams."

  My face snapped her direction. "You fantasized about me? I want to hear all about that, but wait until we get to the ranch. Then we can compare notes."

  Layla ran her fingers up my arm. "Oh, did Bronx fantasize about me too?"

  "Oh fuck yeah. Lots of fantasies. Major fantasies and I say we act them all out this weekend."

  She rubbed her hands together. "Then we're going to need a Tarzan style jungle and vines to swing on."

  21

  Vick was just a shadow of his former self, but his smile made up for the lack of vigor. He was in a good place about his health right now, cautiously optimistic but he wasn't kidding himself either. After two surgeries and treatment that he swore seemed worse than the disease, he had taken to using a cane. He could still sit in a saddle like a pro, but when walking he relied on his cane. 'Three legs are better than two,' he joked when he bought the thing.

  Vick's smile brightened more when Layla emerged from the car. My mom stepped out onto the front porch with the three dogs close at her heels. Their farmhouse was a big Victorian two story, complete with a wraparound porch. It was the kind of house my mom had always dreamed of, and when Vick took us home to his ranch, she broke down in tears when she saw the house.

  Layla wasted no time hurrying up to the house to greet them. They hugged and laughed as if they'd known each other forever. Vick introduced the dogs, Harold, Josie and Cruze. They took to her right away. Even ignored their usual favorite visitor, me.

  I pulled the bags out and carried them up to the porch. The dogs had now joined me, mostly to sniff bags in case I brought treats. Layla and my parents were chatting, and Layla was going on about the beautiful ranch and gorgeous farmhouse. My parents were instantly smitten, but I expected no less. Layla had gone out of her way, providing information and links, to help them navigate th
e world of oncology. She'd never met them and hardly knew me at the time, yet she provided us with invaluable resources. My mom had called her a godsend and an angel. I had to agree with her on all accounts.

  I stood with my arms out. "You'd think my mom would have time to hug her son," I chided.

  "Oh, Jackie," Mom said as she pulled herself away from the conversation . . . reluctantly. We hugged. Before she released me she whispered in my ear. "Even prettier than I imagined." She added in a wink. "Now I've filled the fridge and the freezer. There's a lasagna that just needs to be heated."

  "Thanks, Mom, we'll take good care of the place."

  "There's wood in the hearth if you want to light a fire later," Vick said. "It's going to get cold tonight, so throw blankets on the horses, and make sure the chickens are locked in. I left a list for feeding and who needs to be ridden or turned out. Just call if you have questions."

  We headed inside. Coming home to the ranch was always a pleasure. So many good memories, so many things that made it the perfect place to live. The first half of my childhood had been anything but pleasant, a constant struggle, a lot of hunger, shoes with holes in the toes, but once Vick had come into our lives, everything changed for the better. Kingston never had that reprieve. His dad had not left, but in many ways, it might have been better if he had. Although King's mom was never on solid ground, always depressed, never really thinking about Kingston. My friend must have been thinking about me too, only he wasn't dwelling on childhood. I glanced fleetingly at his text.

  "Have you already invited her up to the notorious hayloft?"

  I didn't answer. We'd both gotten lucky up in that hayloft, but that was when were teens and were forbidden to make out with girls in the house, or anywhere, for that matter.