Ace's Wild (12 page)

CHAPTER SEVEN

I
T
DIDN
’
T
TAKE
Ace long to arrive. Petunia expected him to blow through the door like a thunderstorm unleashed. Instead, he strode into the house more like the calm before the storm rather than the storm itself. As if coming to the rescue of two women and three children was an everyday occurrence. And maybe it was. Violence was a part of his life, not hers.

With one glance he took in the broken door, the broken glass and her shaking hands as she stood at the top of the stairs after checking on Brenda. She got to the landing in time to see him absorb the spectacle of Brian cowering next to the fireplace, Terrance sitting at his side, tears dripping down his cheeks and Hester standing over both, a shotgun pointing at Brian’s privates.

He tipped his hat. “Evening, Hester.”

“Evening, Ace.”

He looked at Brian. “I told you what would happen if you interfered, Winter.”

Petunia entered the room just in time to hear the man mutter, “I just came by to get my boy.”

“At two o’clock in the morning?”

“Man’s got a right to see his son.”

“Not at two o’clock in the morning and not after I told you to steer clear.”

Terrance touched his father’s shoulder. “Pa, please.”

Brian shrugged him off. “Get away.”

Petunia had had enough. “Terrance, I need you to show Phillip how to make us all some coffee.”

Terrance reluctantly stood and looked at his father.

Ace backed her order with one of his own. “Go.”

Terrance bolted from the room. One look at Ace’s eyes and Petunia wanted to bolt, too. She’d been wrong about Ace’s calm. The man was furious.

And no one messes with what belongs to that man.

Ordinarily, she’d have protested that claim, but right now having him in the house was a comfort.

Ace rolled up his sleeves and squatted beside Brian. “You can put away the gun, Hester. I’ve got this.”

“I think I’ll hold on to it.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Easy for you to say,” Brian snarled. “You’re not the one facing a nervous woman at the trigger.”

“If Hester was the nervous type, you’d be downright holey.” Ace lifted the charred remnant of Brian’s sleeve.

“Fucking bitch set me afire.”

“You touched my son,” Hester retorted.

“He’s burned,” Petunia pointed out because she didn’t know what else to say.

“He’s damn lucky he’s not chewing on his balls,” Hester shot back.

“Hester! The children can hear.”

The shake in Ace’s shoulders could have been a laugh. She couldn’t see his face well enough to tell. She didn’t see anything to laugh about here. Scandal in the first week of the school’s operation could jeopardize everything.

“In case you’re too drunk to notice, you’ve had a lucky escape,” Ace said, standing. “Now, are you going to get your butt up off that floor or am I going to let Hester feed you your balls for breakfast?”

Winter rolled to his feet, cradling his arm. “I got a right to see my son.”

Ace grabbed the back of his shirt. “You don’t have any rights I don’t choose to give you.”

“You’re not the sheriff.”

“I’m better than the sheriff. I’m the law.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Petunia asked.

He looked at her under the brim of his hat. “Do you care?”

Oddly enough, she did. “Yes.”

“He’s a drunk and a wastrel.”

“He’s still a human being.”

Grabbing Brian by the back of the collar, Ace shoved him toward the door. “A piss-poor excuse for one.”

“Amen,” Hester agreed, lowering the shotgun.

Another shove had Brian bouncing off the opposite wall.

“Be careful!” Petunia snapped.

Ace paused, for once genuine surprise on his face. “You worried I’m going to break him?”

“No. We just plastered that wall.”

Ace gave him another shove. Brian started to snivel. “If he dents it, he’ll fix it.”

Petunia checked the wall before following them to the front door. “I don’t want him around here.”

“I’ll handle it.”

Petunia stopped him when he opened the door with a cold deadly resolve. There was something in that “I’ll handle it” that gave her pause.

“What are you going to do with him?”

“Something he’s not going to forget.”

“You’re not going to kill him?”

He looked at her. “You asked me to handle it. That’s what I’m doing.”

“But...”

With another look he cut her off. “You don’t get a but. You don’t get a say. You just get to have the scum out of your house.”

She couldn’t be a party to murder.

Another shove and Brian was out the door. “You run and I’ll put a bullet in your ass,” Ace growled.

Petunia went to close the door. Ace stopped her, catching her chin in his hand, tipping her gaze to his. “When I get back, we’re going to talk.”

“About what?”

“Where the hell was the gun?”

“Um...”

“I told you to keep it with you at all costs.”

A fission of fear went through her. Or excitement. The man had her so addled she couldn’t tell the difference anymore.

“I won’t forget again.”

His eyes were very dark as he nodded. “I know.”

On that ominous note, he left. She closed the door slowly, leaning her head against it as she turned the key. How on earth had life gotten so complicated?

“Locking the door isn’t going to change anything,” Hester said.

“It might buy me some time.”

“Did you see his face? That is one pissed-off man.”

Petunia turned around. Hester stood in the doorway to the parlor, the shotgun cradled in her arms.

“He has no right to threaten me.”

Hester laughed and leaned the gun against the wall. “You’ve got a lot to learn about men, honey, if you think that makes any difference.”

“Well, if he comes back—”

Hester shook her head. “Oh, he’ll be back.”

“If he comes back,” Petunia repeated, “then we will sit down and talk about it.”

Hester folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t know Ace Parker very well, do you?”

“And you do?”

“Better than you, apparently.”

“And what does that mean?” It suddenly occurred to Petunia that working at the saloon, Hester had plenty of opportunities to know Ace intimately. The thought disturbed her more than it should.

“Don’t get your bloomers in a twist,” Hester said. “I don’t know him biblically. I’m not to his taste.”

“And what exactly would Mr. Parker’s taste be?”

Hester looked her over from head to toe. “You’re not his usual type but I’d say—”

“Is my pa going to be all right?” Terrance interrupted.

Of all the lousy timing! Petunia bit her tongue and forced a smile. “He’s fine. Mr. Parker’s taking care of him.”

“Is he going to go to jail?”

“That wouldn’t be the worst place for him,” Hester said gently. “Might be he could dry out, get a few good meals under his belt, find some common sense even.”

“They feed them there?”

Petunia nodded. “They feed them there.”

“I can visit him?”

Hester looked at Petunia. Petunia shook her head. It didn’t make sense, but some of the worst people had the best ones caring about them.

“I’ll take you myself.”

“How long will he be in jail?”

She wanted to hug him so badly. Kneeling before him, Petunia settled for brushing his hair off his forehead. “Not long at all, I’m sure. Just long enough for him to rest up and see some sense.”

Terrance nodded. “He doesn’t think right when he drinks.”

No child should know that about a parent. Petunia wanted to smack Brian all over again.

“You were very brave tonight.”

“I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

“I appreciate that, and I appreciate you don’t want him hurt, either.” Biting her lip, Petunia struggled with the right thing to say. “Sometimes our parents put us in difficult positions without meaning to.”

“It didn’t used to always be this way.”

“I know he must have been a good man at some time.”

He said, “You do?”

She smiled as Hester stepped past, going up to comfort her own children. Petunia did hug Terrance then. “He has you for a son. That much good doesn’t come from bad.”

He suffered the embrace. “Dad said my ma loved him.”

“I’m sure she did.” At some point.

“He was real sad when she died.”

Which might explain Brian’s drinking.

Taking him by the hand, she led him to the kitchen. “Well, I’m sure if Mr. Parker talks to him, it will have some effect.”

“Do you really think so?” he asked, taking his seat.

She poured him a glass of water. Her hands were still shaking, she realized, as the glass rattled when she set it on the wood. It was so hard to remember that Brian was this boy’s father, and no matter what the man did the boy loved him and was going to defend him.

She took a seat adjacent to Terrance. “Mr. Parker has the look of a man who routinely works miracles.”

He didn’t touch the water. “Do you think he can fix my pa?”

“I hope so, but right now we both need some sleep. I’ve got to teach school in the morning, and you’ve got division to master.”

“Can I take some cookies with me?”

After everything else that had happened, what could it hurt? “Just two, though. Any more and you won’t be able to sleep.”

“I can sleep.”

She smiled and repeated, “Just two.”

He took his cookies and left the room. Only when she heard that fourth stair creak did she fold her hands and drop her head to her forearms and cry.

* * *

A
N
HOUR
LATER
there was a knock at the front door. Hester looked up from where she sat across the table.

“I guess we know who that is.”

Petunia was afraid she did, too.

“I assume that it’s time for me to go to bed.”

A shiver snaked down Petunia’s spine. “There’s no need.”

Hester shook her head and pushed to her feet. “I’ll be up in my room if you need me.”

If all she’d done was go to bed, it would have been fine. But along the way to her room, she just had to stop at the front door and open it. Darn it.

“Evening again, Ace.”

“Evening, Hester.”

Petunia wished she could see his face.

“I want you to know I appreciate what you did for us,” Hester said.

“It was my pleasure.”

That sounded entirely too genuine.

With a wave of her hand, Hester indicated the hall behind her. “Petunia’s in the kitchen.”

Ace took off his hat. The small part of Petunia that’d hoped he’d leave this until tomorrow died. A man didn’t take off his hat unless he was serious.

With a look over her shoulder that could have meant anything, Hester said, “I’m off to bed.”

In the next heartbeat there was nothing between Petunia and Ace except an empty hallway. He looked as fresh as he had that afternoon. While she knew she had dark circles under her eyes, her hair was coming out of its braid and her clothes were rumpled. And her hands were still shaking. It really wasn’t fair. She had the urge to kick him again.

He collected the gun from where it was propped against the wall of the landing. “Why is the gun on the landing,” he asked, entering the kitchen and leaning the rifle against the wall beside the door, “and not here?”

“Hester put it there.”

“That’s not what I told you to do.”

“I don’t like guns.”

He eyed her for a moment. It was hard to stand still under that stare.

“Hester’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s gold through and through, and she can handle the job. You should hire her.”

“I already have.”

He set his hat on the counter. “Townsfolk aren’t going to like it.”

“The townsfolk can go to hell.”

He cocked his eyebrow at her. “You’ve taken to swearing.”

“Tonight I feel the need.”

She expected a smile, not...concern?

“Invite me in for a cup of coffee.”

“You’re already in.”

“Humor me.”

He didn’t really give her much choice. Not just because he’d ordered it, but because he was already moving down the small hallway toward the front door. Was he coming or going? She followed behind, licking her suddenly dry lips as she noticed the breadth of his shoulders, the thickness of his thighs, the tightness of his butt. She was halfway down the hall before she remembered the gun.

She didn’t need to say more than “Oh, shoot” for him to know what she was thinking.

“Leave it. I’m here.”

A woman could do a lot of things to feel awkward. Show up at the right party in the wrong dress, say the wrong thing at the wrong moment, fall in love with the wrong man, but none of those things could make Petunia feel as silly as that heart-clutching moment when Ace stepped out the door. It closed behind him with a soft click. Sillier still while she waited on this side and him on the other, anticipating a knock that might not come. But when it came, so did her smile. When she opened it, he was standing there, hat in hand, looking for all the world like a suitor.

“Evening.”

Maybe it was the stress of the evening. Maybe it was her own sense of the absurd, but her smile softened, felt more natural. Seeped inside. Stepping back, she waved him in. “Good evening.”

He stepped inside. The foyer suddenly seemed too small. Her mouth too dry.

“Would you care for coffee?”

His lips quirked. “That I would.”

She closed the door behind him and followed him—again—down the hall. There was something so wrong about that, but at the same time right.

He set his hat on the spindle of one of the kitchen chairs as if he’d done it a hundred times before. As if he had a right to do it here. As if he was staking a claim. Running his hand through his straight brown hair, he pulled out a chair kitty-corner to the other and sat down. Leaning back in his chair, he put his feet up and stretched his legs out. He looked entirely too comfortable like that. Too...male.

She grabbed a towel and picked up the cooling coffeepot. “You know,” she pointed out drily, “it wouldn’t hurt you to get it yourself.”