Mr. Write (Sweetwater) (18 page)

He
filled the glass with water at the sink and passed both it and a bottle of ibuprofen across the table.  “Here.  You look like you could use it.”

The paramedics had bandaged her foot
, but the alcohol and the stress had taken their toll.  The dull pain of a headache dimmed the flash of temper in her eyes.  “I still can’t believe you called an ambulance,” she said as she snatched the bottle.

“Pettigrew said you were bleeding.”

“Pettigrew should…”

“Mind his own business?” Will raised his brows.

“I’m sorry.  I’m
sorry,
okay?”  She popped two pills, swallowed some water.  “It was very decent of him to help out.”  As if just realizing the man was no longer hovering nearby, she said “I guess he went home.”

“Tolliver’s
talking to him.”

“What?”

“He – Pettigrew – was awfully Johnny on the spot. Men have been known to create a situation, ride to the rescue so that they come across as a hero.”

“You think Tucker left a dead rat on my porch to… impress me.”

“Not really, no.  Just covering the bases.  Especially since I’ve noticed that you two… spark.”

“That’s just pique and general irritation.”

“There’s also the fact that he claims to have been outside for the past couple of hours.  Maybe he saw something.”

 
“Like Jonas Linville strolling by, swinging a dead rat?”

“Given the subtle ex
ecution of this particular offense, that’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

“
Damn it, Will.”  He steeled himself as Sarah’s eyes filled with tears.  “This is the kind of thing I wanted to avoid.  The cops – no offense – at the door.  The hoopla, the attention. God.”  She pressed the heels of her hands to her closed lids.  “It just had to be a broken wine bottle I cut my heel on, didn’t it? It’ll be all over town by tomorrow. Like father, like daughter, you know.”

“Sarah.”  Because he understood, a little too well, where she was coming from, he took her hand and held it gently.
  “This isn’t your doing.  No one is going to think less of you because you’ve had some trouble.”

“That’s bullshit, Will.  And you know it.”

“Okay, let me amend.  No one who matters will think less of you.”

She managed a watery smile.  “
It’s just that I had so little control over things as a kid.  And things got plenty messy.  Even though my dad was – is – a good man.”

“I know.”  Just as he knew
she was thinking about the time the cops had been called to her front door, because the woman her father had moved himself and his children in with had started a drunken brawl with her dad.  He was pretty sure there’d been a number of broken bottles that day. “Even good people can lose their way sometimes.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m so tired and het up I didn’t think.  My dad found his way again, Will.  Harlan can, too.”

God, he hoped so.  “Sarah, are you involved with Jonas?”

“I… what?”  Pure shock ran over her face.
  “No. 
No
.”

“I had to ask.”  He ran his hand up her arm, pushed the fluttery edge of her sleeve with it.  “You
didn’t mention this.”  He looked at the bruise that was fading to yellow. 

“Tucker told you.”

“He might have, if I hadn’t noticed it myself.  And then when I talked to Rufus Pinckney, he mentioned that Jonas had yanked you around some.”

“You already talked to Mr. Pinckney.  You already knew Jonas and I had a confrontation.”

“I do my job, Sarah.  And it’s my job to note that you just sat here and recounted the entire episode, but you didn’t tell me that Jonas put this mark on you.”

“And you thought I was, what, protecting him?
”

“Women have.  People do
.”

“Jesus, Will.  I’m not a battered girlfriend.”

“Okay.”

When he simply waited, she heaved out a mighty sigh.  “I was embarrassed.  Okay? 
Just plain humiliated by the entire thing.  I was… Austin
gave me some trouble growing up.  A lot of trouble.  Pushing me in the hall at school.  Knocking me down.  Groping.  He…”

When she stalled out, Will got a sick feeling in his stomach.  He sat back, thinking this might be easier if he didn’t touch her.
  “Sarah.  Did he assault you, sexually?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, and Will wished he’d been a hell of a lot
rougher with the cuffs when he’d hauled Linville into jail.

“He…
tried.  He got me down, ripped my clothes.  He…”

“I can get a female officer, if you’d like.”

“No. I… do I have to go into the details?  I’m pretty sure the statute of limitations is up.”

“There’s no statute of limitations for sexual assault in South Carolina.”

She absorbed that, then let out a shuddering breath.  “I have no proof, Will.  I’ve been around enough to know that these kinds of things often boil down to one word against the other, and I just can’t see the point of going through something like that when Austin is already locked up.  And anyway, I got away.  Before he could… rape me.  I kicked him in the balls.”

A smile ghosted.  “Good girl.”  He wanted to push, to ask why she hadn’t reported it at the time, but he knew the
various whys, knew the statistics.  It was simply more difficult to bear when the statistic was your friend.

“Jonas knew about it,” she admitted after a moment.  “The language he used when he was talking about the bullet… penetrating.  I could tell he knew.  He
just wanted to taunt me.  They’re bullies, Will.  Plain and simple.”

“Nothing simple about a man trying to rape a woman.  Nothing simple about a man issuing threats.  And if you think that’s not what this was about, you’re not nearly as bright as I’ve always thought.”

“That’s not…”

When she trailed off, paled, Will turned to see Tucker standing in the doorway.

“I’m sorry.”  He directed his words toward Will, but his eyes were all for Sarah.  And at his sides, his hands were clenched into fists.  “Officer Tolliver is finished taking my statement.  I wanted to make sure you didn’t need me for anything else.”

“That’ll be fine.  If we run into any more questions
, we’ll call you.”

He hesitated, then simply slipped back through the door.

Sarah let out another sigh.  “This night just keeps getting better and better.”  

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“HOLD
it right there.”

Tucker waited until Mason had the tape measure by the tab,
and then ran the other end along the length of heart pine board.  He marked it, stuck the pencil into the tangled mess of hair behind his ear.

Damn, he really needed a haircut.

He’d also underestimated the amount of wood he’d need, as he’d ripped out a bigger chunk of the old floor than he’d originally intended.

“I’m going to need to make a run to the lumberyard.”  Which would put this project behind, as he’d have to let the new floorboards sit in the room for a good five days before he laid them.

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“Run to the lumberyard tomorrow.”

“They’re open ‘til nine.  It’s only…” He glanced toward his desk, which was crammed in the corner, and remembered he’d moved all his electronics to his bedroom to keep them away f
rom the dust and debris.  “Maybe eight,” he guessed, squinting at the fading light coming through the window.

“On a Friday night.”

“So?”

“So, you’ve been holed up like a troglodyte for the past three days, pounding away at your keyboard –”

“Weren’t you the one who was complaining that I wasn’t making any progress in that area?”

“While
I applaud your productivity – and I’m assuming, since you barely grunted at me when I left offerings of food at the door of your cave, that you were indeed productive –”

“Is there any more of that shrimp and sausage stuff left?” Talk of food made Tucker realize he was hungry.  “And where did you get that, by the way?  Restaurants don’t package their takeout in Tupperware.” 

“While I applaud your productivity,” Mason continued as if Tucker hadn’t spoken at all.  “I can’t help but note that you’ve barely slept in three days.  And instead of crashing, you chose to shovel out your cave here and begin demolishing the floor.”

“I repeat: so?”
 

“So.”  Mason climbed to his feet, brushed the sawdust from the knees of his jeans.  “You and I are going out tonight.  You need to blow off some steam.”

“I’ve blown off plenty of steam.”  He pointed to the pile of rotting floorboards he’d yanked out with a hammer and a crowbar.  Because even after losing himself in his work for three days, he hadn’t been able to settle. 

Hadn’t, he admitted, been able to get the thing with Sarah off of his mind.

Not just the thing, but the woman.  The entire aggravating, intrusive, mouthwatering package.

“As… cathartic as
that may be,” Mason continued drolly “we’re still going out.”

“I don’t want to.”  He nearly added: you can’t make me, which made him realize he was twitchier than he’d thought.
Probably not the best time to be using power tools, anyway.  “I have beer in my own fridge, and I don’t have to talk to anyone else to get it.”

Mason sighed.

Tucker walked over toward the rubbish pile, thinking he’d just haul it to the dumpster.

And was tackled from behind.

Mason, though two inches shorter and thirty pounds lighter, had taken him rather handily to the floor.

Tucker spat out sawdust
.  “What the hell, Armitage?”

“Consider it a token of my friendship.”  And delivered a short-armed punch to Tucker’s k
idney.

Tucker saw red.  And using his superior bulk, bucked so that it was Mason who landed hard on the floor.
 

The Brit muttered an oath, but being game – and damn quick – shifted so that the force of Tucker’s punch caught him in the shoulder instead of the jaw.  He groaned, rolled, leapt nimbly to his feet, and assumed the
ready stance of a boxer.  “Still ham-fisted, I see.  No elegance whatso –”

The word died on an
oomph
as he hit the floor again, Tucker’s slashing legs having knocked him off his feet.  He tried to gain them again, but the force of Tucker’s next blow shoved him back.

The air turned blue with curses as they grappled.
  Fists jabbed, bodies rolled.  Tucker shot out an elbow, heard bone crunch against bone.

The bare-knuckled punch Tucker received in return felt like the crack of a baseball bat.

“Not the face, you twit.”

Tucker shook the stars out of
his eyes to see Mason swiping blood from his mouth.  “Shit.  Sorry.”  He prodded the flesh around his left cheekbone.  “I think you blackened my eye.”

“You bloodied my lip.  And damn near cost me a tooth.”

Tucker studied his friend, who sat with his battered hands dangling between his knees, covered in blood and sweat and sawdust.  And recalled that he had to be on stage in a matter of weeks, fit for public consumption.  “Don’t worry, Nancy.  You’re still pretty.”

“Oh, sod off.”

They sat there, just breathing.

“What the hell was that move
with your legs?” Mason wondered. “Jiu-Jitsu?”

“Basic street fighting.  Doesn’t need to be elegant to get the job done.”  He hauled himself up.
“Come on.”  He extended his hand.  “Let’s get cleaned up and I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Damn straight you will.”

He pulled Mason to his feet.  They moved – a little stiffly – down the hall.  Tucker paused at the door to his bedroom. 

“Mason.”  He waited until his friend looked back.  “Thanks.”

“Anytime you need a kick in the arse, I’m always happy to oblige.”

SARAH
watched Noah slip The Tavern’s new bartender’s number into his pocket.  She didn’t know how he did it.  He wasn’t outrageously handsome – not on Mason’s level, anyway.  He wasn’t particularly outgoing, wasn’t flirtatious, wasn’t rich. 

He was quiet – unless you got him started on fishing, boat engines or baseball.  And then God help you.  He slept with his dog, tended to wear wrinkled T-shirts
and faded jeans, and smelled, inevitably, of salt.

Yet women
tended to act like he was the only man standing.

Like their father, Sarah was forced to admit.  Even at his lowest, when her dad had been drunk and unemployable and nearly destroyed
by grief, there’d been women. Plenty of women.  Certain they could be the one to fill the hole her mother’s death had torn in his heart.