Nothing But Trouble (31 page)

Courtney had always said the same thing to
him. Funny how the words did little to ease his conscience.

"Did your mother know what was going on at
the time?" Rebecca asked.

A humorless laugh popped out of him. "My
father never made an attempt to hide his affairs. I don't think he
cared about us enough to be discreet." The familiar dark cloud that
always hovered when R.J. thought about his father, grew bigger. "I
remember one time, right before Trent died, my father showed up at
the hospital with one of his girlfriends. She asked my dad if Trent
was his nephew or a family friend."

"You're kidding?" Rebecca gasped. "That must
have devastated your poor mother."

One side of his mouth kicked up, remembering
the brave front Carol Devlin had put up in front of her kids. "At
that point, nothing surprised her. She just smiled at told my
father that if he ever showed his face there again, she'd take her
hunting rifle to his midsection."

Rebecca shook her head. "I had no idea your
family had such a hard time. How horrible for your mother to go
through all that, then lose a child."

"My mother is the bravest woman I know. After
Trent died she finally stopped putting up with his shit and slapped
him with divorce papers. He gladly signed them."

"I don't understand how any parent could do
that to their own family. Was the divorce the reason you came to
Trouble?"

"For the most part, yeah. My mother always
hated Billings and wanted to live in a small town. The only reason
we stayed there was because my father refused to move. After Trent
died she finally asked herself why she was living her life for a
man who didn't give a shit."

Rebecca placed a hand on his shoulder. Her
touch was gentle, reminding him of everything she was: good,
beautiful, and sweet.

"You're not like him, R.J.," she said softly.
"I know you think you are. But you're nothing like him."

"Aren't I, though?" he counted as he placed
his attention on her. Wisps of red curls had escaped her sloppy bun
and gingerly graced her cheeks.

"You would never deliberately hurt someone
like that."

"But I have. I hurt you over and over
again."

Her gaze dropped down to her lap, only
confirming what they both knew, but never wanted to talk about. For
years, he'd not only lived in the denial of his love for her, but
the denial that he'd been the only man to break her heart. While
attempting to not repeat his father's mistakes, he'd only succeeded
in doing what he'd tried so hard not to.

And he hated himself for it.

Rebecca had every reason to hate him. She had
every right to tell him what a bastard he was and stay far away
from him. And yet, they always ended up together. Despite their
tumultuous past and differences, Rebecca always gave herself to
him. As though forgiveness came so easily for her, even though he
didn't deserve it.

"We were kids, R.J.," she finally said. Was
she trying to convince herself or him?

"That's no excuse," he said roughly. "There's
never an excuse for that. I've tried so hard not to repeat my
father's mistakes, and I ended up no better than him."

"Stop saying that," she argued with a touch
of desperation. "Do you think if you had no redeeming qualities,
that if you really were the heartless bastard you seem to think you
are, I'd still be here with you? Or I would have told you how much
I wanted to be with you?

Unable to keep his hands to himself, he
reached out and cupped her cheek with his palm. No one moved him
like Rebecca. No one felt like Heaven and sin all wrapped up in one
graceful package.

"That's because you see the good in everyone,
whether they have it or not. It's one of your best qualities." Only
one of many.

She grinned and held up an index finger.
"That's not always true. There were times when I cursed the day I
met you."

"Oh, I don't doubt that." He bolted off the
bed and rolled her beneath him, capturing her startled gasp in his
mouth.

She didn't protest when he swept his tongue
inside the hot cavern of her mouth. Of course, he didn't expect any
objection from her. As soon as his tongue touched hers, her lips
immediately opened wider and allowed him exploration. Their hips
fit perfectly together, his own thighs cradled by her much smaller
ones.

How could he ever think that pushing her away
had been a good idea? Far too many years had been spent in the arms
of other women, when the one he'd really wanted was right beneath
him.

He broke the kiss to trail his lips over the
column of her throat.

"Get the idea that you're not good enough out
of your head," she whispered in his ear. The bottoms of her feet
traveled up his calves. Her feet were wonderfully soft compared to
the coarse hair on his legs. "If I ever hear you say anything like
that again, I'll kill you myself. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered against her
collarbone.

R.J. had never been
so reluctant to leave a naked woman in bed. Even with the promise
of more sex, he always walked away knowing he'd never be back for
more.

While his heart had told him not to be a
dumbass and climb back under the covers with Rebecca, his head
debated otherwise. Unfortunately for him, his head made a much more
realistic argument. Things to do and people to see, and all that
unnecessary shit he didn't really want to do. Despite his
playing hooky
attitude this morning, there were cars to be
built and other business to be taken care of.

The
other business
part consisted of
paying one final visit to Danielle. What he hoped to accomplish, he
had no idea. This visit was likely to end much the same way as all
the others. With him coming off as the big jackass for firing the
single mother. The well-being of his shop had forced him to get
over his own self blame for making Danielle unemployed. His
business came first, no matter what.

Even so, R.J. still felt as though he had
some unfinished business with the woman. She had a serious problem,
and despite what had transpired between them, he still cared about
her. She needed help and for some reason he felt solely responsible
for making sure she conquered whatever demon was plaguing her. If
he had to tie the woman up and drag her kicking and screaming to
rehab, then so help him God, he'd do it.

Danielle's daughter at least deserved to have
a sober mother.

R.J. pulled up to her house with a plan
action ready to be enacted. But by the time he'd rang the doorbell
three times and knocked twice, a feeling of dread had settled over
him. Lindsey should have answered the door. Then he remembered that
the girl was probably with her father, who lived somewhere outside
of Trouble.

Something didn't set right and R.J. wasn't
going to slink away without finding out what it was.

Thankfully, Danielle had told him where she
kept the spare key. He figured she'd always wanted him to use it
and surprise her with roses and a candlelight dinner or some
romantic shit. Needless to say, he'd never done so, which Danielle
had never failed to remind him of, as though they were some kind of
couple.

The spare key came in handy now, and he let
himself through the front door. The interior stank to high Heaven
of rotten food and garbage. Thick draperies and dusty blinds
blocked out any sunlight that would have otherwise made the home
more appealing. Danielle was nowhere to be found, and even as he
called out her name there was no answer.

A trail of ants led the way from a beneath a
baseboard to a plate of a half-eaten sandwich, which had been left
forgotten on the coffee table. R.J. discovered the source of the
rotten smell with an open bag of garbage. The thing looked as
though it had been ravished by wild animal, then left abandoned
after it had picked out all the scraps of food.

He held his breath as he stepped over the
mess and walked toward Danielle's bedroom. The room down the hall
wasn't in much better shape than the rest of the house. The
mattress in the middle of the room was bare, save for one pillow
which lay at the foot of the bed. Light flickered from the muted
television on top of the dresser. R.J. paid no attention to the
1980s movie as he dodged a pile of discarded clothes and called out
Danielle's name again.

No answer.

He was about to give up his search when a
bare foot caught his attention. The baby pink toe nail polish had
him booking it to the bathroom, where he stopped short and let out
a string of colorful expletives.

Even though it looked like she'd been
attacked, with the bruises on her body and the plastic shower
curtain, which had been ripped off the rod, R.J. knew exactly what
he was looking at.

Half a dozen pill bottles were all over the
bathroom floor, as though they'd been tossed there after being
emptied. In the middle of the whole mess was Danielle, wearing
nothing more than a thong and a solid gray t-shirt.

"Danielle," he barked, hoping his voice alone
would be enough to rouse her.

But in the shape she was in, it was unlikely
that anything would get through to her. Except maybe a stomach
pump. Or something much more serious.

Holy hell, every single pill bottle was
empty. How many had she swallowed? Enough to kill her.

R.J. quickly dismissed that idea when his
fingers found a faint pulse at the base of her throat. Weak, but
existent. A few light taps to her cheeks didn't prompt any sort of
reaction either.

"Danielle," he said louder this time.

Nothing.

"Shit." He hurried out of the bathroom,
snagged blanket from the closet and draped it over her half-naked
body. Then, he withdrew his cell phone from his back pocket and
dialed nine-one-one.

After reciting the address, R.J. filled the
dispatcher in. "I need an ambulance. I have a woman here who's
overdosed on some pills."

He listened to the instructions, answering
questions when asked, and tried to fight off the guilt that was
damn near making him sick to his stomach.

****

Whoever coined the phrase "When it rains, it
pours," must have owned an auto shop and had a close, personal
relationship with Charlie. The man had been waiting for R.J. bright
and early that morning with a beat-up 1928 Rolls-Royce. The car had
been an impulse buy to show with the other two cars in Reno next
month. Apparently Charlie thought R.J. could wield magic. And while
he appreciated the vote of confidence, and didn't like to turn down
business, another car on a rack was the last thing he needed.

He was already up to his eyebrows with more
business than he could handle. Fortunately, he'd finally found a
replacement for Danielle in the form of a fifty-two year old man
named Ryland Forbes. Ryland was a widower with two grown kids and
thirty-two years' experience of working in an auto shop. The past
ten of those had been spent with him running a sizeable repair shop
in Rock Creek. His appearance in Trouble had been impeccable timing
and saved R.J.'s ass right when it needed saving. With four more
cars to rebuild, he needed his guys focused on the job at hand and
not pushing papers and paying bills.

Another blessing had come yesterday when he'd
hired another mechanic who specialized in electrical. Poor Mitch,
R.J.'s only electrician, had been pulling overtime, mostly on
Charlie's cars. The twenty-two year old kid who'd decided to skip
college to be an auto mechanic had already proved his worth.

Not that R.J. condoned throwing away a
college education, but man, was he grateful. With the extra two
employees, there was a good chance he could finish all three of
Charlie's cars. Of course, it had helped that Charlie had offered
to pay triple whatever the normal cost of rebuilding the Rolls. And
it would be pricey, considering he'd have to have all the parts
overnighted, not to mention putting several of his other cars on
hold.

But despite the overload in business, R.J.
couldn't concentrate. He'd been having that problem a lot lately.
Since kissing Rebecca good-bye two days ago, he hadn't seen or
spoken to her since. He couldn't climb into bed or pick up one of
his shirts without smelling her or feeling her presence. Or lack of
it, since she hadn't attempted to get in touch with him. Not even a
text message.

As he picked up a nearby towel and wiped his
greasy hands, R.J. told himself it was for the better. Even though
their relationship had shifted into another category, and even
though he was crazy in love with her, R.J. didn't know the first
thing about dating. He only did raw, primal sex. A night or two of
headboard banging love-making was all he was capable of. Rebecca
knew that as well as he did, yet she still believed he was better
than that.

But was he? Or had he been selling himself
short for most of his adult life?

You've just been too scared to
try
.

Yeah, he knew he was a coward. Beneath his
I-Don't-Give-A-Shit exterior was the same scared little boy who'd
been too chicken shit to stand up to his old man. Too much of a
pussy to defend his own mother. Oh, he was all about defending her
now. After she'd been too broken and defeated from the infidelities
of her husband.

Nothing had changed, even though he told
himself he wasn't the same kid he used to be, or that he was
nothing like his father. He was still a puss. Too scared to tell
one woman how he really felt about her. Which was exactly why she
deserved better than him. No matter how much he thought
otherwise.

R.J. went back to work on a 1970 Charger when
Sam appeared by his side.

"I'm taking the Monte Carlo over to paint,"
the kid said. "And Tim just finished with Donald Underwood's car.
The orange turned out really great."