Badlands (8 page)

“I’m supposed to protect you and Cruz.”

“And you have.”

His mouth twisted with self-derision, but he didn’t argue.

“Does your brother know about this place?”

“Yes.”

“Then he knows where the railroad is.”

“Of course.”

“Is it safe to rest?”

He shrugged. “We have to conserve our energy during the day. You don’t want to get heat sickness out here.”

“What if he catches up?”

“Just because he’s familiar with the area doesn’t mean he can guess my every move. He might assume we’re hiding. It would be a smart strategy. If you weren’t in such good shape, I’d suggest that.”

“You think I’m in good shape?”

The question invited him to take a closer look, which he did. Her dress was still damp, her skirt hanging in tatters. Once long and layered, it was now short and thin, riding high on her thighs. He tore his gaze away without answering, but the attention went beyond casual regard. There was a different sort of tension between them, as if this experience had stripped away the first layer of his defenses.

She examined his profile, replaying their exchange from last night. He’d kissed her on the cheek less than twenty-four hours ago. Would he do it again, if she asked nicely?

This wasn’t an appropriate time or place to tell him how she felt. The conversation was bound to make him uncomfortable. There was a reason he put distance between them, and she doubted he’d volunteer the information. Maybe he was aware of her father’s machinations, and accepted them because it was easier than moving forward. He wanted to stay in this limbo.

Close to her, but not quite touching.

She didn’t think she’d imagined his desire after the kiss. She wasn’t imagining it now. His eyes were gleaming, his shoulders taut.

“Cruz asked me if you were his father,” she said.

He turned to stare at her. “When?”

“A few weeks ago.”

“What did you say?”

“I said no.”

“You’ve talked to him about his real father before?”

“Yes.”

“How did that go?”

Her chest tightened at the memory. “He asked...why Tyler didn’t want him. I said it had nothing to do with him. Tyler just wasn’t ready to be a dad.”

“Did he understand?”

“I guess not,” she said wryly. “Maybe he understands, but he doesn’t want it to be true. He likes to play make-believe. And he adores you.”

Owen fell silent, soaking this in.

“Cruz also knows you were there when he was born. I think he decided you might have been there for the conception, as well.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Have you told him how babies are made?”

“Just the basics,” she said, smiling back at him. He’d never looked better to her, despite a dark bruise on his cheekbone and a scrape along his jaw. His wet shirt was semitransparent, blurring the lines of his tattoos. He had a lean, well-muscled physique. Even his feet were handsome, his calves dusted with hair.

He’d been twenty-one when they’d first met, boyish and awkward. Now, at twenty-six, he was all man.

His easy affection for Cruz made him more attractive to her. Owen avoided physical contact with just about everyone except Cruz. She wanted Owen to make an exception for her, too. She wanted him to want her.

He seemed interested in her sexually, but he wasn’t easy to read. They’d been friends for years, and he’d never tried anything. Their most romantic moment had been that slow dance at Sam’s wedding. She remembered the feel of his hard body, his heart hammering against hers. She’d imagined he would kiss her, right there on the dance floor. Or even better, take her out to the garden and press her back against the stone wall.

But when the dance had ended, they’d drifted apart. She’d had no idea what he’d been thinking. Her father had offered him a job a few months later.

Maybe he’d experienced nothing more than a mild panic attack when they’d danced. Maybe he’d have the same reaction to any woman pressing herself against him, showing off her legs...begging for a kiss.

She flushed at the thought, unsure of herself.

“Tell me about Salton City,” she said. “The truth, this time.”

His brows rose at this request. “Some of what I told you before was true.”

“Which part?”

“The sea is blue.”

“Like the sky?”

“Darker.”

“What else?”

“It’s beautiful from a distance.”

“Not up close?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Some of the beaches are pristine-looking, with what appears to be fine white sand. When you get closer, you see what it really is.”

“What?”

“Bones. Crushed bones. Thousands of fish die on the shore every summer.”

“Why?” she asked, stricken.

“It’s too hot. The oxygen levels drop, and they can’t breathe.”

She frowned, unable to fathom such a thing.

“One year there was a really bad heat wave,” he said, glancing across the desolate landscape. “Shane and I rode our bikes down to the shore to check it out. There were piles of tilapia. Mountains of them. The sea was silver with floating bodies. They said eight million fish died that day.”

“How could there even be that many fish to begin with?”

“It’s a big sea.”

“Did every single fish die?”

“I don’t think so. The next year there were plenty.”

“That’s unnatural.”

He laughed softly, not disagreeing.

“Why is it so toxic?”

“Lots of reasons. It’s an ecological disaster.”

“What do you mean?”

“About a hundred years ago, there was a flood. The Colorado River busted one of its canals and filled up the salt basin.”

“What’s a salt basin?”

“A place where they used to mine salt. By the time they rerouted the river, the Salton Sea was forty miles wide. Some real estate developers came in with dollar signs in their eyes. They figured a huge lake in the middle of the desert would be a perfect vacation destination. And it was, for a while. But the water salinity kept increasing, and something went wrong with the fish. Then the birds got sick. The stench and decay attracts flies, not tourists. When the resort area washed out, they never bothered to rebuild it.”

“That’s sad.”

“Yes,” he said. “Now you see why I lied.”

“I can handle the truth.”

He didn’t respond. She’d been scared, eighteen, and in labor. He’d chosen to spin a tale of fiction rather than disturb her.

“What can be done to fix it?”

“I don’t know. They can’t control the heat. Decreasing the salt content would cost a lot of money. The sea level gets lower every year. If they let it dry up, the sediment will make huge dust clouds over L.A.”

She wondered if her father knew about this. He probably did. “So Salton City is hot and dry and it smells bad. Why does anyone live here?”

“It’s cheap,” he said flatly. “And the weather’s nice in the winter.”

“How is your mother doing?”

“She’s okay,” he said, setting the binoculars aside.

His father had died last year. Owen had gone to take care of things and pay his respects. When Penny had offered to accompany him, he’d refused. “Does she miss your dad?”

“I don’t know why she would.”

“Do you?”

He picked up a pebble and rolled it between his fingertips, considering.

“You told me he worked on cars.”

“He was a welder.”

“You said he rebuilt a Chevy for you.”

“That was a lie.”

“You lie a lot,” she said, smiling.

He tossed the pebble away, his jaw clenched. She hadn’t really meant it, but she could follow his train of thought. He’d also said he’d joined the Aryan Brotherhood by choice, not for self-preservation. They both knew it wasn’t true.

“I rebuilt the Chevy,” he said, glancing at her. “I worked on it by myself for months.”

“Why?”

“He brought it home for me. It was a rusted piece of shit, but it was the only thing I remember him giving me. He said we’d work on it together. Then he got arrested for stealing auto parts and went to jail.”

“So you did all the work?”

“Yes. I liked it. He taught me everything he knew about mechanics and welding, which was quite a bit. He let me borrow tools. We didn’t get along in the house very well, but he tolerated me in the garage.”

“Did your brother help?”

“No. Shane didn’t have the patience for fixing things. It was the one area where my dad and I saw eye to eye, instead of Shane and him.”

“What happened to that car?”

“He sold it for drugs.”

She bit her lip, hurting for the boy he’d been.

“At the time, I was crushed. I was seventeen and I’d just gotten my license. I hadn’t even driven it yet.”

“And now?”

“Now, what stands out to me is how impressed he was when he saw the work I’d done. He was proud of me.”

Owen hadn’t lied to her about everything. He’d been honest about his father’s physical and verbal abuse without going into detail. The story about the car disturbed her, but she was glad he’d shared it. She didn’t blame him for loving his father despite his flaws. It wasn’t the kind of relationship a child could opt out of—even though so many fathers did.

Owen’s ability to find a scrap of good in everyone was a reflection of his kind nature. The tears he blinked away were a testament to his strength, not a sign of weakness.

Instead of pretending not to see them, she lifted her hands to his face. The hours she’d thought he was dead had been excruciating. She wanted to be with him, and she didn’t care what anyone else thought about it.

Turning his head toward her, she brushed her lips over his scraped cheek. Tasting salt, she kissed the corner of his tense mouth. Her fingertips trailed down the side of his neck, grazing his tattoo scar and the tender bruise. She longed to twine her arms around him and press her breasts against his chest.

Instead of giving in to her, he grasped her wrists and held them tight, as if her touch pained him. She met his gaze and saw the want. The
need
. It was in his taut muscles and ragged breaths. But his hands said
don’t.

She retreated a few inches, stricken. He released her wrists.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her throat tight. “I thought...”

“You thought what?”

“I thought you wanted me.”

His gaze moved from the trail to the place where Cruz was taking a nap. Then he returned to her, considering. “I can’t touch you, Penny.”

“Why not?”

“My contract, for one. I’m not allowed to have a relationship with you outside of work.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No.”

“I doubt that stipulation is in anyone else’s contract.”

He didn’t argue.

No wonder he’d been so reserved. Even casual friendship was off the table. “You should have told me.”

He fell silent for a long moment, studying her. “Did you sleep last night?”

“Not much.”

After a short silence, he put his arm around her shoulders. It was a conciliatory gesture, not the passionate embrace she’d hoped for. But she appreciated the attempt to step out of his comfort zone and console her.

The emotions she’d been holding back caught up with her. Now that Cruz was asleep, she didn’t have to pretend she wasn’t scared anymore. Leaning on Owen, she buried her face in his damp shirt and cried.

CHAPTER EIGHT

J
ANELLE
STARED
AT
the unlisted number on her phone, wanting to scream.

She’d tried to call the stranger back, to no avail. His curt orders rang in her ears.
Take Jamie and go to your mother’s.

It was Shane. It had to be Shane. Every problem in her life could be traced back to Shane. The fact that he was also responsible for giving her Jamie, the best thing that had ever happened to her, didn’t excuse the rest. Shane was a worthless excuse for a father and an all-around jerk. He didn’t even have the decency to speak to her himself. She’d told him not to call, but she’d have made an exception in this case.

She should contact the police and report his sorry ass.

Her thumb traced the emergency numbers, not pressing them. What could she say, except that she suspected her recently paroled ex-boyfriend was up to no good? The cops wouldn’t care about this “anonymous” message. Her car had been broken into a week ago, and they hadn’t even bothered to make a report.

She rubbed her weary eyes, glancing at the clock. It was already ten, and she’d agreed to do a double shift. Her mother’s house was an hour away, in the opposite direction of the club. If she was going to drop Jamie off before work, she’d have to leave now. “Shit,” she groaned, reaching for the cigarette pack on her nightstand.

It was empty.

Tossing the trash on the floor, she rose from the bed and padded down the hall, barefoot. She could hear her son playing video games in the living room. The sound of rapid-fire assault weapons amplified her hangover.

She shouldn’t have gone out for drinks with Tiffany after work last night. But she’d had a hard week, and making wise decisions had never been her strong suit. She was better than she used to be, miles away from perfect.

The video game paused like a record skipping. “Mom!”

She startled, almost slamming her hand in the kitchen drawer where she stashed her extra cigarettes. “What?”

Jamie and his friend, Pablo, were sitting on the couch. Pablo’s eyes widened at the sight of her bare legs. She was wearing her typical pajamas, a T-shirt and panties. Her son looked mortified.

How was she supposed to know he had company?

“Get ready to go to your grandma’s,” she said, grabbing a soda from the fridge. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Too bad.”

“I have soccer practice!”

Damn. She juggled the soda and cigarettes, nearly dropping both. Jamie had begged to join a competitive soccer team all summer. Eventually she’d conceded. He was a good boy, smart and athletic, with that elusive responsibility gene she lacked. She didn’t like him staying by himself when she was at work, but so far he’d been fine. He rode his bike to soccer practice with Pablo, their neighbor. The games didn’t start until fall.

“You can miss one practice,” she said.

He jumped up off the couch, incensed. “This is the most important practice. The first game is next weekend.”

Already? Jesus, time flew.

“You said I didn’t have to go to Grandma’s anymore.”

“I changed my mind.”

“I can stay with Pablo.”

She glanced at Jamie’s friend, who didn’t protest this suggestion even though it wasn’t very reasonable. His family lived next door in a trailer smaller than hers. Jamie was always welcome there, which was nice, but Pablo had more brothers and sisters than she could count. There was no room for Pablo, let alone Jamie. If she said yes, Pablo and Jamie would just hang out here, like they always did.

“No,” she said.

“This sucks,” he yelled. “What about the game next week?”

“If you don’t watch your mouth, you’ll miss that, too.”

Scowling, he threw down the video-game controller. It bounced off the coffee table and knocked over a bag of chips. Nuclear-orange particles spilled across the carpet. Pablo tried to pick them up. He was a sweet kid. He probably never talked back to his mother. The behavior was unusual for Jamie, too.

Janelle didn’t want to argue in her underwear, so she walked away, aware that her T-shirt didn’t quite cover her butt. At least she wasn’t wearing a thong. Inside her room, she cracked open the soda and took a fortifying sip.

What if her son turned out like Shane?

Maybe Jamie’s outburst was a harbinger of things to come. Once he hit puberty, his hormones could take over. He’d change from a sweet kid into a surly teenager. He’d have poor impulse control and violent episodes.

“No,” she said, denying the possibility. “No, no, no.”

After a quick shower, she got dressed in a pair of shorts and a tank top. Lighting a cigarette, finally, she shoved her feet into cowboy boots and grabbed her bag. She looked awful, but it didn’t matter. She did her hair and makeup at work, piling on the products like a sexy mask. By the time she was ready to go on stage, she almost couldn’t recognize herself. And that was exactly the way she wanted it.

She fished around for her big sunglasses and put them on, along with her straw hat. “Ready?” she asked from the hallway, hoping Jamie had calmed down.

He came out of his room with his backpack. It was stuffed with superhero comics and video games, maybe a real book or two. By some miracle, he liked to read and write. She wished she could say the same. Every page of her college course work had been a struggle for her. It had taken her four years to earn an AA degree.

They completed the drive to Niland in silence.

“I won’t do it again,” he muttered.

“Damn right,” she said, glancing at his sullen face. He had Shane’s blue eyes, paired with her freckled nose and brown hair. He was growing like a weed, taking after his father. In a year he’d be taller than her. “Do what?”

“We only looked at it once.”

She gave him a blank stare.

“The magazine.”

After a long pause, her sluggish brain supplied the answer. She’d found a
Playboy
stashed in the recycling bin the other day. She’d thrown it away without much thought. A short chain-link fence separated their tiny front yard from the sidewalk. Anyone could have tossed the magazine into their bin.

Apparently it was Jamie’s. He took care of the trash and the recycling. If she hadn’t been digging around in the bin, searching for an empty water bottle to wash and refill, she wouldn’t have seen it.

She studied her son with a mixture of chagrin and concern. He was only eleven. She’d had boobs when she was eleven, but he was a boy. They matured at a slower rate. He wasn’t ready for this.
She
wasn’t ready for this.

Oh, God. Jamie and Pablo had been ogling pictures of naked women. This morning’s underwear accident seemed so much more inappropriate now. Her cheeks heated with shame. She hadn’t even known they were curious about sex. They didn’t talk about girls. They played sports, geeked out on comics and ate junk food.

Janelle suppressed the urge to crack the window and light up another cigarette. She tried not to smoke in the car with Jamie. It was a million degrees out, anyway, and her air conditioner couldn’t keep up. Her side window was still broken. She’d covered it with clear plastic and duct tape, praying the highway patrol wouldn’t pull her over for the violation.

A ticket was all she needed.

“I don’t care about the magazine,” she said, glancing in her rearview mirror. “I wouldn’t punish you for that.”

“Then what did I do?”

“Nothing, baby. I just didn’t feel like leaving you alone.” When she reached across the cab to ruffle his hair, he shied away from her. Sighing, she returned her attention to the road. Although she didn’t want him to think he’d done something wrong, she couldn’t tell him about the scary phone call. He had no idea his father was out of prison. Shane wasn’t supposed to be paroled for another year.

At first she’d felt a twinge of guilt for refusing Shane’s requests to visit. Now she knew her instincts had been spot-on. He was already in trouble again. And she would never let him bring that trouble to her son.

Never.

“You weren’t worried last night,” he said.

That wasn’t true. She’d checked on him before sneaking out with Tiffany. Maybe she shouldn’t have gone at all, but she had so many responsibilities, and so few opportunities to cut loose.

“I’m always worried. My car got broken into at work, and I heard there was a home invasion on the other side of town.”

“Who would rob us? We don’t have anything.”

“You have an Xbox.”

His eyes narrowed. “We should buy a gun.”

She laughed, even though she felt like crying. “Maybe I can work something out with Pablo’s mother.” The only other option she could think of was Shane’s mother. Sally Jackson lived in Salton City. They’d never had much of a relationship, maybe because Janelle hadn’t felt comfortable around Shane’s father. That wasn’t an issue anymore. According to Owen, Sally worked long hours as a nurse’s aide. She also had a drug problem. She wasn’t an ideal babysitter, but Jamie didn’t need close supervision.

They arrived at her mother’s house a few minutes later. Renata Parker had rheumatoid arthritis, which limited her mobility. Her second husband had left five years ago, after the diagnosis. She lived on disability checks.

Renata wasn’t affectionate or attentive, but she was steady. With Janelle’s father and stepfather out of the picture, her mother’s home was safe. Janelle appreciated that. It was what she’d longed for most at Jamie’s age.

She stared at the pristine white gravel in the front yard, remembering.

“I’m already bored,” Jamie said.

“There are worse things in life than being bored.”

He glanced at her, contemplative. “Take me to work with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I can scrub floors or do dishes for money.”

“You’re underage.”

“I’ll hide in the back.”

He thought she was a waitress in a sports bar. She wondered what he’d say if he ever found out the truth. Imagining that moment made her die inside, just a little bit. “Is there another reason you don’t want to stay here?”

“Like what?”

“Someone hurting you?”

“Grandma, you mean? She can’t hurt a fly.”

“You could tell me if she did.”

He gave her a puzzled look. She was glad he didn’t know what she was talking about. Glad he didn’t have to go through what she had.

“You can talk to me about anything,” she said, feeling awkward. “Is there a question you want to ask me...about girls?”

Now he understood where this was going. He flushed red, shaking his head.

Janelle’s face got warm, too. Despite her lack of modesty and her sleazy job, she wasn’t comfortable with this topic. It was a conversation a boy should have with his father. Shane had let them both down in so many ways.

“What about your uncle Owen?” she asked, struck by inspiration. “Would you talk to him?”

“Oh my God, Mom,” he said, getting out of the car. “Just stop.”

“Should I call him?”

“No!”

“Okay,” she said quickly. “I love you.”

He mumbled the words back to her and slammed the door, hitching his backpack on one shoulder. She watched him walk to the front door, his unruly cowlick sticking up. He needed a haircut and new clothes, badly. His backpack was worn and frayed. Her mother answered, waving at her before they went inside.

It took Janelle several moments to pull herself together. When she felt as though she was in control again, not spiraling toward an emotional breakdown, she placed her hands on the steering wheel and drove to the club.