I Run to You (19 page)

She flinched away from his touch. “They’re
not dead.”

“I know.”

Her eyes slid to his.

Max smiled a little impotent. “I’m
sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She turned and headed back
in.

He reluctantly followed.

She took the cup to the kitchen. Max set his
on the counter.

Reading her body language and remote
expression in the light, he cussed. Not knowing why he didn’t want
her to go. He did not want to think he was starting to see people
so objectively that he would discomfort them, for the sake of his
own fascination.

No. It wasn’t that.

In the doorway, he stepped in front of her,
looking down as she stopped abruptly, revealing more in the way she
stopped far enough back to avoid any physical contact.

“No.”

“No. what?’ He surveyed her face and watched
her tilt it, to look up at him.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking. It’s
no.”

His brow rose. “

“Can I leave?”

“Yes,” he murmured softly, but didn’t move
yet.

Her gaze bore into his, waiting
obviously.

Max blurt, “You’re like a puzzle. Even your
face— pieces, parts, your expressions. The odd thing is, I have
seen you often, for what— a couple of years? And I never saw
that.”

“Is this where you get all weird and shit?”
her tone was sarcastic.

Max grinned. “No. I was not, finished though.
Even though your looks draw attention, the hair, and all, it’s like
a mask. Camouflage. It takes looking—to pierce, to see, and get
past all the prickle thorns—those divergent expressions… it takes
provoking you, to see it.”

“Congratulations. You have worked your
puzzle. Now, can I go?” her tone was gruff this time. Not cold at
all. Which only added to his curiosity.

Max nodded slowly, searching her face a
second more, before he stepped back. He watched her glance over her
shoulder after she passed him. He laughed on a slight grunt. She
probably thought he was a freaking nut case.

He walked to the door, then out with her.

When she was on the Harley, having put on her
jacket and helmet, folding the kickstand, Max stepped up to her and
drawled; “We can do this two ways. I can keep talking to you. And I
will. You can keep insulting me, being annoyed, and throwing all
your defenses up. Or—, I can keep talking to you, every time we see
each other. And I will. You can say, hey, Max is going to talk to
me anyway. Maybe—despite his piles of money and over blown fame and
useless talents, his rich boy upbringing— he’s worth knowing, and
sincere about some things.”

Since she was quiescent, even though not
looking at him, Max offered, “I’ve a whole list of assets. Some of
which will not include looks and all that surface stuff. Would you
like to have references?”

“No.”

Ah. She was at least listening.

Max said next, “Great humor, loyal friend,
trustworthy.”

Was that a snort? He thought so, but went on,
“Okay, let’s do it this way. I say, I know people can be users.
Rich, poor, anyone. They can hurt you, use you, make life hell, and
kill you without knowing it. I say, I don’t blame people who
protect themselves. They usually do it for a good reason—and it’s
how they survive, when all they want to do is die.”

“Are you finished?”

“No. I want to add, but it is up to them, at
some point— what they have positive in life, too. Friendships,
laughter, living, loving.”

Max watched her turn and look at him.

From the street lamp, a bit away he could see
her eyes shimmering.

“Here’s another one for you,” she murmured,
“It won’t affect your life one bit if I never change my attitude
toward you, or speak to you, or open myself to all those things you
think are so readily offered to everyone. But it would affect mine.
If I do.”

The Harley rumbled to life. She was gone in a
roar of speed.

Max went inside, plopped down on the leather
sofa, and called Brook’s cell. “Are you at Madeline’s still?”

“Yes, what’s up? I saw you go by with Jordan.
She’s not usually—”

“….Yeah. So, tell me about her?”

“I can’t share her confidences with you, Max.
What kind of friend would I be?”

“Trust me. Brook.”

A sigh. “You’re putting me on the spot.”

“You know me. You can trust me.”

“I don’t get the sudden interest? You’ve seen
her around. Been home more often than I have—”

“Yeah. It’s—complicated.”

Her laugh was lame. “What ain’t?”

“So tell me what you know.”

“Oh, Max. It is not some game. She is not one
of yours and Jason’s competitions. She’s not even your type.”

“I’ve been reminded I have one—”

“You do. And Jordan is the extreme
opposite.”

Max rubbed his head and let his hand drop to
his thigh, looking around the room. “I know that.”

“It’s very serious. Personal. Honestly. You
are asking me to do this and she and I are still making baby steps
toward us being good friends. This is not like you.”

“Brook—” He sat up on the edge of the sofa
cushion. “I know.”

“Then why?”

“I’m pretty sure—I just fell in love with
her.”

There was a long silence, before Brook said,
“Open that beer—no better yet, put on coffee. I’m on my way.”

Max clicked off. He put on more coffee,
turned the lights down, and paced. Barefoot now, he padded back and
forth across the great room, hands linked behind his head,
surprised that his stomach was more tense about discovering what
Brook would tell him—than it was with— what came out of his
mouth.

He was not stunned. He wasn’t shocked. He was
not resistant. He was not even in doubt— as crazy as that
sounded.

Halting by the sofa, he went over and got his
camera, rushed to the darkroom, to develop the picture he had taken
of her.

He was in there when Brook came in.

“Help yourself to coffee. I’ll be right
out.”

He clipped the prints up to dry, and went to
join her.

She had her coffee, and was sitting on the
sofa. He refilled his and sat opposite, facing her, with one knee
up on the cushion. “Okay?”

She looked over him as if she could not quite
compute what he’d said, and Max understood that.

He shrugged and offered, “Nothing I say will
make any sense, because it doesn’t. Just trust me.”

Brook breathed in deep and let it out.
Sliding back, drawing her legs up, she shared with him what Jordan
had told her.

Max listened, sipped the coffee, and hid the
emotions rolling over him. Everything Brook told him only shored up
his declaration.

When she paused for a breath, Brook asked,
“Have you ever been in love?”

“No.” He shook his head.

She smiled. “Well, it sucks.”

They laughed, a long time, more when she
added, “Don’t believe those damn cards, the commercials, and shit.
It sucks.”

“All right.” He chuckled and then got up,
walking over to look at the photo that so enraptured Jordan.

Sobering, Max supplied after studying it more
objectively, “Fate is an awesome thing. Isn’t it?” He was talking
more to himself and Brook knew that. “It seems random. You take a
picture; one in hundreds of thousands that you think only means one
thing to you, the artist. You meet someone you’ve been looking
right at, and never seen at all—and all the questions you ask
yourself when life is obscure, just becomes— answered.”

Moments ticked by. He finally went to sit on
the low table in front of Brook. “This is the most significant
episode of my life; I’m going to handle it like that. Trust me.
“

“I do.”

He took her hands. “She will too, in time. I
have plenty of time. And don’t—tell anyone— in the family.”

“Lord. No.” She chuckled. “Can you imagine
the excitement if they found out “Max” was in love! They’d
overwhelm her before you have a chance to brainwash her into loving
you back.”

Snorting, Max arose and when she did, walked
her to her car.

“Thanks.”

She grinned while letting the engine idle.
“Are you nuts? No thanks are needed. I want to see you in love. I
want you to be happy. I’m glad you are not bringing one of those
“types” you dated into the family—not that we wouldn’t love whom
you loved. But the Coburns would have them running for hills. The
first thing you have to do with Jordan, is engage her—If she’s
around everyone enough, she’ll soon realize even the ones who bust
heads and act like wild men, love each other.”

Max nodded and braced a hand on the top of
the car. “Are you and Rafe together?”

“What makes you ask?”

“You look…. not so… content.”

“Yeah. Well. I don’t know. I screwed up.”
Brook sighed and then shook her head. “It’s been a long day.”

“All right, I won’t push. Goodnight. Thank
you. Drive careful.”

She waved and backed out.

Max went inside. Time crawled until he was at
last holding that photograph. It was nearly dawn, by the time he
had it the size he wanted. He blew it up and framed it, and hung it
across from the sofa.

Scruff faced and bleary eyed, he sat looking
at it for another hour.

That was it. There, was the whole story Brook
had told him. It was not just her child, but also her own
childhood— her own grief and envy of that child. It was—fear, pain,
hunger. A very complex woman/human set of emotions.

Before he slept, Max called Sunny.

“I need a big favor?”

“Anything.”

Max murmured, “I want you to represent
someone, without them knowing it right now—if possible. I want to
hire you. I don’t know the laws when it comes to this, or where to
start.

“Okay. Back up just a minute. Give me a few
details.

“Underage mother, gets pregnant via assault,
religious parents blame her, kicked her out, adopted the baby but
wouldn’t let her see it. 10 or so years ago. Appears they have some
standing in the community, good Christian folk, and all that— what
chances does she have of challenging that now?”

“Name.”

“Jordan O’Quinn.”

“I can get her personal info from Rafe.
Enough to start digging.” Sunny promised, “I’ll get on it
Monday.”

“It goes without saying, the fewer who know
about this, the better. Thanks.”

“I’m curious, but you sound like hell,
so—”

Laughing on a sigh, Max said goodnight,
instead of good morning, which said it all.

Chapter 9

Coy called Levi to dinner three times. The
boy never showed up, which was unusual, because he never seemed
full. He turned and slid the Mac and cheese to the center of the
stove, turned the chicken breasts on warm, and went in search of
him.

After looking in his room, he went out on the
back deck, finding Levi, sitting with his legs dangling off the
deck, his arm around the Beagle pup.

“Dinner’s ready.”

Levi, legs swinging, face pensive, didn’t
look up. “I’ll be there, in little bit.”

Worried maybe someone had already started
teasing him at school, Coy sat down beside him, his wrists hooked
up on the rail by his forehead. “Something wrong?”

“Nope.”

“You need to ask more questions, about what
we talked of the other day?”

Those shoulders moved in a shrug.

Inwardly Coy sighed, but outwardly kept his
voice neutral. “It’s okay. You can say or ask whatever you
want.”

After a moment, Levi mumbled, “I got nothing
bothering me about that. Bout her. I guess we done all right
without her and I didn’t cry or nothing about it.”

Suppressing a grin, Coy fished, “But
something is on your mind?”

Levi turned his head finally, looking at Coy
with those aqua eyes a long time. He said finally, “I was just
wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“Wondering if maybe you was looking for me a
mother? One like Aunt Madeline maybe. Grandma, Ruby. You know? Not
that I need one. I am almost grown. But they do things— different
than us…”

“You mean like fuss if you don’t brush your
teeth, and your socks don’t match? Like they go to your school
functions and sports stuff?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Mine didn’t.” Coy said honestly, “I haven’t
seen her since I was just a little older than you.”

“Yeah. I asked Grandpa Jude about that. Cause
Ruby’s not your mother.”

“No. What did Grandpa say?”

“He said that sometimes people make kids
together but don’t get along. Sometimes Dads and Moms raise kids by
themselves. That everyone has different kinds of families.”

“That’s true.”

Levi stroked the pup and looked down at his
feet. Coy noticed his shoes weren’t tied, but they never seemed to
be, so he waited. Not knowing what his son wanted him to say
yet.

“But since Grandpa married Ruby, even if you
don’t need a Mom, but he needed a wife and they got Jett and Remy.
I figured sooner or later, you’d get married. So I was wondering—if
you was looking or something.”

Trying to weed through that, Coy took his
time answering. He could assume all sorts of things from this
conversation, but he’d learned with Levi that kids like to keep it
simple and to the point.

He supplied thoughtfully, “Anyone I might
marry, although I’m not looking every day like that, I like girls,
just to hang out with them, but anyone I married—would have to be
someone you loved, who loved you.”

Levi mulled that apparently. After a time he
nodded and drew his legs up, letting the pup go so he could stand.
“All right. What’s for dinner?”

Getting to his feet, Coy put his hand on that
curly head, “Chicken, Mac, and Cheese.”

Levi skipped out of his reach and toward the
kitchen.

Before going in, Coy walked to the rail. He
could hear plates clanking. Next, the TV went on evening cartoons.
He was thinking about this morning. After he had dropped Levi at
school, he had gone to Doc Taylor’s for a last consultation and a
referral to the Brownsville rehab center. Doc had been his
orthopedic surgeon and primary physician since he’d played little
league sports; he’d set sprains and put pins in his ankle in high
school.