Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (39 page)

“Essa is my cousin, guys.” She pointed at them in turn. “You already know this is Slate, and these men are Digger and Roach. These are my friends, hun. We have pizza and soda; Digger, can you grab a plate? And Roach, see what kind of pop we have.” Slate noted with amusement that her accent was surfacing again, which was funny, because while she sounded like an entirely different person sometimes, no matter which one she was, she was always bossy.

Slate followed a couple steps behind as she pulled Essa into the living room by the hand. “Okay, Essa, I have three questions before you sit your butt down. Do Aunt Janet and Uncle Rob know where you are?”

Essa shrugged at Mica, saying, “Not really.” He watched Mica’s mouth thin; uh-oh—she was getting pissed.

“Two—how long has that horse been trailered?”

At this, Essa ducked her head in chagrin, admitting, “About four hours too long.” She was biting on her lip, waiting for the third question, and Mica was now really glaring at her.

“Three—why are you here?”

At that question, the girl burst into tears, going from zero to sixty too fast for anyone to predict, and any intelligible words were lost under the crying and sobbing she was doing. Her tears tore at Slate, unsettling him. He frowned at the two women and ran both hands through his hair. Mica looked at Slate as she wrapped her arms around Essa. “Can you make sure the truck and trailer are parked safely in a way that allows me to tie the horse to the side of it away from the road?” She paused, then asked him, “Did that even make sense, Slate?”

He nodded, turning to walk outside and saying over his shoulder, “I’ll move the rig and unload the horse, and I’ll make sure he has water, a little feed, and see if there’s a blanket for him.” Fuck, he was not thinking when he was anxious like this. Feeling her eyes boring into his back as he grabbed his leather jacket off the rack by the door, he shook his head. It didn’t matter if she could figure out he had grown up around horses, not one fucking bit, because that had been his old life, not this one.

By the time Slate got back into the house, Mica and Essa were holed up in the guest bedroom, and he guessed they were going to be in there a while. Grabbing another beer, he joined the guys in the living room, and he laughed when he saw they were still watching the dancing reality show. Roach looked over. “Cousin from Texas?”

Slate nodded. “Seems that way.”

Digger looked up. “That little girl nearly popped you one, Slate.” Grinning now, he added, “That woulda been something to see.” Roach chortled, and they all turned to watch the next couple dance across the screen.

Mica came out by herself a couple hours later; closing the door carefully in a way that Slate knew meant the girl was sleeping now. He stood and pointed towards the kitchen, because both Roach and Digger had gone to sleep too. With the TV off, if he and Mica talked in here, they’d wake the men up.

“She okay?” he asked, and Mica shrugged in response, shaking her head. He nodded, thinking hard. “She has a nice gelding; come outside and see.” Handing Mica her jacket, he opened the door, bringing a flashlight with them. He thought she was surprised and somewhat impressed when she saw the job he’d done with the rig and the horse.

The dappled gray horse was dozing, tied securely to the side of the trailer that was away from the road and any traffic. He’d used a couple of snap clips to secure a rubber bucket of water to the side of the trailer. A little while ago, he had come back out and put up the bucket he’d used for the oats—no reason to give a horse anything they could use to hurt themselves with. The blanket was keeping the chill off, and the horse was so relaxed he had one back foot cocked up, resting.

Mica said, “Give me some light,” pointing towards the horse’s head and Slate shone the light indirectly on him. She read aloud from the nameplate bradded into the nylon halter, “Summer Breeze.”

“What’s she doing here?” he asked. Mica rolled her shoulders, as if that one question was painful. “Princess, does this have anything to do with Nelms?” he asked warily. His chest clutched as she looked at him, nodding.

He swept towards her, muscling her into the house as fast as possible, his eyes looking everywhere for danger. “The fuck was I thinking, taking you outside with only me out here?” he snarled at himself for the lapse. Mica didn’t argue; she moved with him into the house. She still didn’t argue when he moved her quickly away from the door and windows. “Talk, Mica,” he growled at her, “I need to know. Everything.”

Rolling her neck, he heard her muscles creaking and realized she was holding herself together with sheer willpower. Slate shook his head and said, “Sit,” pointing at the floor between the sink and the kitchen island. Then he said, “Wait,” and went to grab pillows and blankets from the living room. Mica always had plenty now, since she never knew how many houseguests she’d have from night to night.

Making a pallet with the bedding, he pointed at it and said again, “Sit.” Plopping down beside Mica, he leaned back against the sink cabinet, tilting his head back. “Start with Essa; who is she to you?”

He heard the smile in her voice as Mica said, “Essa, or Esmeralda, is my cousin. She’s the daughter of my mother’s sister, and two years younger than my baby sister, Molly. They’ve grown up together, more like sisters than cousins.” That was said with a little sadness; it sounded like she was jealous or rueful about the younger girls’ relationship. Then Slate remembered why Molly had been placed with the aunt, and thought he understood.

“Aunt Janet and Uncle Rob don’t know she’s here. They know she’s on the circuit, and she was supposed to be headed to a rodeo in Urbana. She kinda detoured to here.”

Slate interrupted, “How did she know where ‘here’ was?”

Mica rolled her neck again. “According to Essa, she got a letter a few weeks ago. All it had in it was a picture of this house, a picture of me, and an address. Molly got one too, but her age division had more events out west, so the girls decided Essa should investigate while up this way.”

Mica slumped her body over, putting her head on a pillow. “The pictures are some of the ones Ray had, so I think he must have sent them to the girls. I don’t know why yet, can’t figure it…but I am sure there’s something going on. It’s like something is just outside the range of hearing, you know?” She put her hand out, making a clutching movement. “I can almost grasp it, but it slithers away. She’s also got something else going on I need to figure out. She wouldn’t talk about it, but it’s there.”

She yawned hugely, lying flat on her side and tucking her hands under the pillow. “I’ll go down to Urbana with her in the morning, make sure she’s solid, and then watch her compete. That will be fun, to be behind the scenes again. I miss it sometimes.” Pulling one hand out, she chewed on the side of her thumb. “Ray’s taken so much from me,” her voice hitched, “and I hate him, Slate. I really hate him.”

Reaching out a hand, he smoothed her hair down her back, saying, “Andrew Jones.”

She tilted her face to look up at him. “Huh? Who is Andrew Jones?”

“Me,” Slate smiled at her, pausing a beat. “Sleep, princess, and tomorrow,” he waited for a nod from her to continue, “you go, I go. Remember?”

After she fell asleep, Slate carried Mica to her bed. Returning to the kitchen to pick up the blankets and pillows, he put them up as if they hadn’t been camping out in the kitchen. Settling into the chair in the living room, he stayed up watching and listening for the rest of the night.

In the morning, he was up taking care of the gelding when Mason rolled in, watching as he took in the strange vehicle set-up and the sight of Slate comfortably handling the horse. Greeting each other with a wrist-grasping handshake, Slate explained, “Rig belongs to Mica’s cousin, Essa; she’s eighteen. She and Mica’s sister, Molly, got letters with pictures and this address, so she came to see. We’re taking Essa to Urbana this morning, where she’s competing in a rodeo. Mica and I both think the letter and pics probably came from Nelms.”

Mason nodded. “Okay, got it. Sounds under control.” Narrowing his eyes, he ordered, “Now tell me about trouble in the club.”

Slate blew out a long breath, telling Mason the gist of what Mica had related last night about Tucker. He saw Mason’s grey eyes turn steely and hard, watching as the muscles in his jaw tightened and started working as he clenched his teeth together. “Tucker put hands on her? Before or after we patched the fucker in?”

Slate frowned. “Both, I believe, Prez.”

“Think anyone saw?” Mason asked. “Because if they did, and didn’t tell, we’ll rip more than one rocker off a fucking patch’s cut.”

“Naw, Prez, this will be a he-said-she-said if I’ve ever seen one.” Slate worried a little about that part of it. “I believe Mica though; I pushed her until I got a real reaction, and I know what I saw was truth.”

Folding his arms across his broad chest, Mason shrugged. “Then there’s only one question: Do we stop with the rocker?” and he turned and walked towards Mica’s house.

48 -
            
On the road

Essa sat in her cousin’s kitchen, looking at the men who filled the space—the three from last night, and then a new one, who seemed to ooze control issues all over the place. She mentally fanned herself. She couldn’t understand how Mica could manage to stay sane with all these nummy-looking men walking around bare-chested.

Not that she was complaining…or looking…no-siree-bob, she hadn’t noticed the expanse of taut stomach muscles, and bulging biceps, and wide chests, and hot bodies standing or sitting around. Nope. Wooo, it was hot in here.

Still dressed in the clothes from yesterday, she was sitting on a stool at the breakfast bar. Nursing a mug of coffee, she was going back over her conversation with her cousin last night. Staring into her half-full mug, Essa wondered how much shit was about to fall on her head if she decided to tell Mica why she was really here. Her mug was plucked from her hand, and fresh coffee was added before it was slammed back down on the countertop in front of her.

Looking up from underneath her eyebrows at the man in front of her, she felt a shiver of fear at the strained, angry look on his face. This was the new guy; she was pretty sure he hadn’t been here last night. She wasn’t sure what she had done wrong other than show up, but it had clearly pissed him off, and he did not look like someone to mess around with.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted and hung her head. God, she could have sewn her own mouth shut. She hated when she fell back into supplicating patterns like that.

“What the fuck for?” came the calm question as he leaned his arms on the countertop, folding his hands around his own mug of coffee.

She shook her head, verging on a tearful disaster. “I don’t know, but you look really mad. At me. So, it seemed a good idea to apologize now before I do anything else wrong.”

Roach, the man with the beard, was standing in the archway leading to the living room. He hooted with laughter at that, and she looked up with tears in her eyes to see the angry man look even more angry—if that was at all possible.
Really
angry.

Mica walked in, took one look at her, and picked her way with ease between the men and over towards Essa. Speaking to Really Angry Man, she asked, “Mason, what did you do?”

“I poured her some fucking coffee, babe, swear to God,” he said, pushing away from the counter and turning back to the stove, muttering, “What the fuck?” Mica reached out and tapped his shoulder with her closed fist, and he rocked himself sideways like she was a heavyweight champ, making everyone laugh.

Essa looked at her cousin, drinking in the sight of her after so long. For years, she and Molly had met up with Mica at rodeos and fairgrounds across the south. It was only for a couple days each time, and they never knew when she’d show up. Never long enough for the girls.

Essa had always looked up to her cousin, and that’s why when the envelope came with the address, it seemed like a godsend. She had to come here as fast as she could. Then she chickened out last night and didn’t tell her the whole truth. She wasn’t sure how Mica would respond to the troubles she came to talk about.

Looking around the room, Mica asked, “Did everyone eat yet? Essa and I have to get going soon if we’re going to make the signup cutoff time in Urbana.” The brown-haired wrestling guy walked out the door, saying, “I’ll go load the gelding, get the rig ready to go.”

Essa yelled after him, “Breezy, his name is Breezy,” and heard him laugh.

“Which one is that guy again?” Essa asked.

Mica smiled and answered quietly, “Andrew, but he likes to be called Slate.”

Really Angry Man dropped a pan on top of the stove and turned around to wrap his hand around Mica’s arm. “Babe,” he said softly, “what the fuck?”

Essa decided she’d had enough of the tension and anxiety in the room and dropped her mug into the sink. “Grabbing my stuff from the bedroom and I’m ready to roll, cuz.”

“Okay, I’ll be out in a minute.” Mica looked at Really Angry Man with an annoyed expression of her own, and Essa scooted from the room. These people were nuts. Shaking her head at her own confusion, she threw the few things she’d left out back into her bag and grabbed her hat.

Walking back through the kitchen, the hat was snagged from her hand by Slate, who was already back inside the house. He asked her, “Where are you going with that?”