Return to the Black Hills (10 page)

“I forgot to check the oil yesterday. I’m about ready to replace the engine again.”

“Again?”

“The first was a couple of years after we got it. My mom’s boyfriend at the time owned a body shop. He showed me how to drop the tranny. It’s not all that hard if you have the right tools.”

He didn’t look convinced. “And the second?”

“I bought a crate motor and rented a stall at a garage down the street from where I live.”

“You’re pretty self-sufficient.”

She was—and proud of it. And while there was nothing overtly judgmental in his tone, she felt defensive. “I think every woman should know about car engines. If for no other reason than to be aware if some unscrupulous mechanic is trying to screw you.”

He walked closer. “I agree. Do you think you could teach Shiloh how to change the oil? I was starting to show her some of those things when she suddenly decided I was a mean and controlling father. Not someone she wanted to learn squat from.”

She replaced the dipstick and closed the hood, balancing on her good foot. “Sure. I could do that. And I wouldn’t worry too much. Kids butt heads with their parents. That’s a given.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“Absolutely. My mother and I were polar opposites. She never understood why I did the things I do, and, I guess you could say, I felt the same way about some of her life choices.”

“Like what?”

She grabbed her crutches, glad for the support. “Do you have any more of that?” she asked, motioning toward his cup with her chin—partly because she needed a caffeine fix and partly to avoid the much-too-personal question. “I live within walking distance from four fabulous coffee houses. I haven’t made my own since I moved to L.A.”

“Sure. I’ll meet you on Dad’s veranda with the pot.”

He smiled that friendly puppy-dog smile that had stayed in her mind all night. She’d even dreamed about him, for heaven’s sake. A nice dream. The kind that was probably illegal in several states in the South.

Jessie had been awake for a couple of hours. She’d been too wiped out the night before to shower, so that was the first order of business. After another hot and cold compress therapy, she felt fairly optimistic that the specialist would have good news for her when she saw him.

But she wasn’t taking any chances. She moved slowly, carefully skirting the collage of outdoor furniture. Instead of taking a chair at the table, she eased her butt into a chaise so she could elevate her foot.

“Hey,” Cade said a couple of minutes later. “Your ankle looks a lot better.” He set an insulated Thermos on the table and handed her a mug that said World’s Best Grandpa. “Do you like sugar and cream? I can run back inside.”

“Black is good. Thanks.”

He pulled out a chair at the table and joined her, refreshing his plain green ceramic mug, too. “I don’t mean to sound nosy, but you and Remy have both mentioned your mother. I understand she passed away recently, and I’m sorry to hear that. But could I ask about your father? I thought Shiloh and I had a pretty great relationship until about six months ago.”

Jessie brought the mug to her nose and inhaled deeply. She loved coffee, but there was nothing like the kind her mother used to make. She took a sip before answering. “This is good. Thanks. And, I’m sorry, but I can’t be of any help where you and Shiloh are concerned. Remy and I never knew our father.”

“Oh. He passed away?”

“Yes, but that’s not why we didn’t know him. Mama refused to tell us his name. Our birth certificates say Unknown.”

He looked shocked. “She never told you?”

Jessie looked toward the house, where her sister was busy composing a shopping list. “She did, but not until we were seventeen. He was dead by then.” The revelation had been high drama at the time, completely devastating poor Remy. But as usual, Mama made no excuses, offered no apologies. She lived her life the way she wanted and everyone could be damned.

The patio door opened a few inches and a tousled blond head popped out. “The list is done, Jess. Better check it over and see if you want anything.” She looked at Cade and smiled. “Hi, Cade. Hey, I was going to call over and see if Shiloh could go shopping with me.” She pulled a face. “But it is Sunday. If you’re going to church…”

He shook his head. “We haven’t gotten back into that routine, yet. She’s still asleep, but it’s time for her to get up. I’m sure she’d love to go.”

“I’ll be ready in half an hour,” Remy said, crossing her fingers.

The door slid shut.

“That’s why you were checking the oil.”

She didn’t say anything. She took care of things: her car, her sister, her family. It’s what she did. Most of the time.

Cade stood. “More?” he asked, reaching for the pot.

“No, thanks. I’d better take a look at that list. Appreciate it, though. Chili
and
coffee. Two for two.”

She swung her legs over the edge of the chaise and readied her crutches. She hated knowing he was watching her. Did he see her as damaged, helpless? That’s how the people of her town saw her when she came home from the burn center. That pity was probably the reason she went out of her way to take on every physical challenge she could find. Starting with gymnastics. Burnt skin didn’t stretch, but she practiced and practiced—back bends, forward rolls, walk-overs, flips—ignoring the pain, until she could do anything the non-burn victims on her school’s team could do.

She took a deep breath and pulled herself up, pausing to catch her balance. She didn’t like the feeling of vertigo the pain pills gave her, but she wouldn’t be taking them for long. As the swelling went down, she could start weaning off the meds.

“Let me get the door for you,” he said.

“No,” she said sharply. His good manners undoubtedly were to blame for her crazy dreams. Sexy dreams. “No, thank you. I’m capable.”

“No one could ever dispute that.” He sounded amused, but he turned and left without touching the door.

Jessie watched him walk across the lawn and mount the stairs two at a time. Being laughed at was almost as unforgivable as pity.

“Get over yourself,” she muttered, nearly dislocating her shoulder trying to slide the door while balancing on one foot. Cade was being nice, not trying to cop a feel. What happened the night before was an accident, and the fact that she couldn’t put it out of her mind was probably due more to her dismal sex life than any sort of mutual attraction. She didn’t
date
—for want of a better word—men with kids. Period. As the child of a serial dater, she lived through the ups and downs of her mother’s passionate, turbulent, confusing relationships. The highs of hoping this Tom, Dick or Harry might be the
one.
The lows of being sent to the store to buy more tissues when he turned out to be simply one of many.

She hobbled to the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room. The house was compact but practical, with bedrooms separated by the common rooms. She heard the water turn off. Remy would need another fifteen minutes, at least, to “get presentable,” as their mother liked to say.

Jessie unplugged her phone from the charger and turned it on. She’d been too wiped out last night to stress about whether or not she got reception, so she’d turned it off. Now she checked for messages.

Two. Eerik and Marsh.

They’d arrived back in L.A. safely. Both apologized for deserting her in her hour of need. She snickered softly and shook her head. They were teammates and friends, but she knew better than anyone that the only way to get ahead in this business was by watching out for your own interests. They had jobs to go to tomorrow. She did not. She’d planned it that way. Not
this
way, but that was hardly their fault.

But it could be J.T.’s fault.

She tried his number. As it had all day yesterday, the call went straight to voice mail. She repeated her earlier message. “Ignoring me only makes you look guilty,” she added.

Could he have tried to hurt her? Worse, could she have been that poor a judge of character? She’d definitely blown it where his mother was concerned, but she’d believed at the time she and J.T. started dating their friendship went beyond their connection to Dar. Had they created an even worse problem by trying to humor Dar’s fixation on the two of them becoming a couple?

She didn’t know, but that situation was out of her hands. Whatever happened to Dar would be settled in the courts. With any luck, Jessie would one day be able to resurrect Girlz on Fire—a mission she still believed in wholeheartedly. It would take time and a lot of money. Money she’d hoped to earn by winning
Kamikaze.

Stifling a sigh, she worked her way around the counter to the refrigerator and pulled her ice pack from the freezer.

Fifteen minutes later, Remy dashed through on a perfume-scented breeze—her hair a cloud of gold, her simple cotton skirt topped by a pretty, pale green blouse. “I’ve got the list and the keys,” she said, looping her purse over one shoulder. “Call me if you forgot anything. Shiloh’s waiting. Behave yourself.”

Jessie blew out a raspberry. “Don’t forget to use the parking brake if you stop on a hill,” she hollered. She’d been planning to take Yota in to have the rotors turned and the brake pads replaced before she left L.A., but there simply hadn’t been time.

She picked up the remote but didn’t turn on the TV. She wasn’t good with downtime. She didn’t know a single person in her profession who was. Except for Zane. She’d never seen anyone party until the wee hours of the morning, show up for work, hit every mark without pause then drop into a dead sleep between takes. He claimed to have developed the technique in the military. “You know the adage ‘Hurry up and wait’?” he’d once told her. “Nobody waits better than the Army.”

On a lark, she tried his number.

No answer.

“What is going on with these guys?” she muttered with a frustrated sigh.
Oh, well.
There was nothing she could do at the moment.

She hit the power button. What does one watch on a Sunday morning? she wondered, idly punching through the menu. She settled on a car race, but left the sound on mute. She watched the silent jockeying for position without any real interest until she saw two cars collide. The lead car spun into the wall and flipped once, landing on its hood and sliding into oncoming traffic.

A knot formed in her throat. Memories of her own crash worked their way into her head. The sound of metal ripping under pressure—a sound that mimicked the screams she remembered from the treatment room where the nurses scrubbed away the dead and dying tissue on her back, igniting the nerve endings like individual leads attached to an electrical probe.

She startled violently a second later when her phone rang. Swallowing hard to get some saliva back in her mouth, she hit Receive. “Hello?”

“Is this Jessie Bouchard?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“I’m calling from the Pennington County Sheriff’s Department. Deputy Miller wanted to know if you could come in and meet with him today.”

“When? My sister just left with my car.”

The dispatch person hesitated. “Hold on a moment.” Jessie waited, trying not to read too much into the request.

“Ms. Bouchard? It’s Hank Miller. Is Cade around by any chance?”

“Not at the moment.”

“I understand your sister isn’t there right now, and I think you should be here when we interview your friend J.T. He was stopped for speeding near Custer. They just brought him in. If Cade’s available, would you mind catching a ride into town with him? We’re a little shorthanded this morning or I’d send a car for you.”

J.T. had been arrested? No wonder he wasn’t answering his phone. “Um, sure. If he doesn’t mind. Do you have his number?”

“Yes, ma’am, I do. Hopefully I’ll see you soon.”

She ended the call and sat a moment. Her gaze returned to the big-screen TV. Emergency vehicles had surrounded the mangled race car. Two EMTs were kneeling beside the squashed window where the driver was trapped.

She could remember only bits and pieces of what happened after her accident. The doctor said that was due to the trauma of her concussion. She rubbed her temple, wincing slightly. Hopefully, this driver, who, unlike her, was wearing a crash helmet, would emerge unscathed.

She hit the off button.

She couldn’t wait around to see. She needed to change. And getting dressed, she’d discovered that morning, was no easy task.

She’d apologized for not looking more presentable when he knocked on her door after getting Hank’s call. Cade had been planning to meet with his foreman for a couple of hours while Shiloh was off shopping with Remy, but he changed his mind. Getting to the bottom of what happened to her rigging was important. He knew if it were him, the not knowing would be eating away at him.

“Is he telling the truth?”

She turned to look at him. There was a wall of one-way glass separating them from J.T. and Hank, who was conducting the interview. Hank had made it clear that this was not an interrogation and J.T. was not under arrest.

“Sounds like it.”

He could appreciate her frustration.

Hank leaned forward to rest his elbows on the gunmetal-gray table. “Two of your friends—Eerik and Marsh—said you were making threats. Something about Miss Bouchard knowing she needed you. That sounds like a spurned lover looking for some kind of revenge.”

“No. That’s not what I meant. Jessie keeps people at a distance. Even the people closest to her, like me and my mom. She turned my mom—her own business partner—in to the cops without even calling Mom to get her side of things. What I meant was Jessie couldn’t start a firestorm then walk away unscathed. Her reputation, for one thing, was going to wind up tarnished. My mother has a lot of friends in the business. A lot more than Jessie because Jessie doesn’t think she needs anybody. She’s wrong.”

Jessie’s upper lip pulled back in a sneer. “Yeah, Dar is loved. But she won’t be as highly revered when people learn she stole money from Girlz on Fire.”

The man, her ex-boyfriend—lover?—went on. “If Jessie had talked to my mother first, all this could have been cleared up. Yes, Mom made a mistake and borrowed from the company without telling Jessie, but only because Jessie made big promises she didn’t come through on. Mom
covered
for Jessie after Jessie blew it in Japan. Her mother died. We got that, but you don’t immediately turn around and attack someone who has been like a second mother to you a few months later. That was crazy. Unhinged. I wouldn’t put it past her to sabotage her own stunt for the sympathy.”

Jessie came out of her chair and flew at the window, fists ready to pound her way through the glass. Cade got there first, catching her wrists. Her weak foot gave out and she fell against him, struggling and twisting. “Let me go. He’s insane. Why would I do that? He’s trying to spin this away from his mother. And himself.”

The door to the observation room opened and Hank walked in. Cade let go of Jessie’s hands. She spun about and took a step back, colliding with him. A muffled grunt of pain made him take her elbow, giving her time to catch her balance. He could feel her fury and frustration, but to his surprise, her voice was composed when she said, “There is no way in hell I would risk getting injured to make a point. Sympathy sucks. Just ask anybody who’s been on the receiving end. His mother should know that, too, but apparently she enjoys playing the victim.”

Hank closed the door and waited for Jessie to sit before he said, “He gave us permission to search his car. We didn’t find anything resembling a lubricant. The lab won’t have the results for us until sometime tomorrow, but I don’t have anything to hold him on.”

“He could have ditched the bottle. He’s not an idiot,” Cade said, glancing at the glass wall. The man was sitting perfectly still, hands folded on the table, his head down. His body language said he was unhappy. Because he’d been caught? He certainly hadn’t displayed any concern about his ex-girlfriend.

“Yeah, I know. Running away is suspicious behavior in my book. He’s had twenty hours, more or less, to work on his story. That means he’s still a person of interest. I’m going to tell him he needs to stay in the area until we’ve had a chance to talk to the other missing stuntman.”

“Does J.T. know where Zane is?”

Hank shook his head. “He says no. I asked to examine his cell phone but he claims to have lost it. Said he bought a cheap disposable one yesterday to call his mother. Plus, he said he’d planned all along to drive back to California for some project he said you knew about.”

“He might have mentioned that. We haven’t been close for a long time for obvious reasons.” She looked at Cade. “Can we go now? My ankle is starting to throb.”

“Of course.”

Hank stepped into the hallway and waited while Jessie maneuvered sideways on her crutches. “Thanks for coming in.”

“I don’t know what happened yesterday. I’ve gone over and over it in my head. It should have been a simple slam dunk. J.T. felt like the one loose end that didn’t make sense, but, honestly, I couldn’t see him scaling the tower without someone noticing. I wish I could be more help.”

Hank nodded supportively. “We’ll keep you posted.”

She was bummed. Cade could read that clearly enough. He checked his watch. Shiloh and Remy wouldn’t be back for another hour. Shiloh had texted him, asking permission to drop by the mall to buy something. He knew what without asking. A bra. All her friends were wearing them. He’d responded, “OK.”

“I need to ask you something important.”

She looked at him.

“Where do you stand on root-beer floats?”

One corner of her lips twitched in the most beguiling way. “You drink root-beer floats, you don’t stand on them.”

He chuckled appreciatively. Quick wit was a sure-fire way to his heart. “Well, I just happen to know a place that makes the best, hands-down, anywhere in the country.”

“Are you bragging or inviting?”

“Inviting.”

“I’m in.”