Whistle Pass (12 page)

“You’ve got some guts, hotel manager.” Charlie leaned over and pressed his lips on Gabe’s. They were heated and dry but tasted of sweet seduction. Charlie blinked and straightened.
What are you doing?

He filled his lungs and eased out the breath… and the question. Not everything required debate or thought. Sometimes, the heart didn’t need to know the why of it, just the who. A chuckle caught in his throat. The man’s sculpted hair was a tangled mess. With his fingers, he caressed each strand into its proper place.

Charlie took off his coat and settled on the couch under the windows in the one-room apartment. He laid the pea coat over him like a blanket and stared at Gabe. The compress would need to be changed every half hour or so throughout the night to quell the swelling. He adjusted his shoulders under the wool coat and smiled.

His body hadn’t so much as quivered after the confrontations with Austin and Upton. But those meetings didn’t even register at skirmish level. Still, he couldn’t deny the calmness within him where there should have been a gnawing need to crawl up and escape fear. Only one thing in his life had really changed—Gabe.

“Isn’t this some shit,” Charlie grumbled. “I don’t even know his last name.”

Chapter 13

G
ABE
opened his eyes. Something was on his forehead. He pulled the damp towel off. Looking around the room, he quickly deduced he was alone and inhaled deeply. Charlie’s fresh forest and tobacco musk crept up his nostrils. Wherever the man had gone, he hadn’t left very long ago.

He rolled off the bed to his feet. The room’s whirl and wobble sat him down again. Like a cat seeking a place to nap, pain kneaded, then sprawled across his belly.

“Okay.” He gingerly touched the knot on his skull. “Let’s take it a little slower this time, Gabriel.”

Gabe focused on the bathroom and tub. A nice hot bath could definitely serve as the day’s appetizer.

While the claw-foot tub filled, he undressed. The face in the mirror didn’t resemble anyone he knew. The stranger was battered and bruised, but he sure did have nice hair. He smoothed the pillow-manufactured rumples with his open palm and smiled. Charlie had to have combed the mess the coiffure had been. The man’s hands had been on him. Maybe his fingers had even run through his hair. Gabe’s balls tightened. The dangling branch between his legs thickened to a limp log.

The reflection’s gray eyes glistened with attitude.
Attitude
. Gabe stuck out his chin, slowly turning his head back and forth while focusing on his features. A satisfied smirk narrowed his lips. He’d stood his ground against Perkins. Granted, he’d gotten the shit beat out of him, but he hadn’t run, or worse, fainted. The lump wasn’t an injury—it was a badge of honor.

He glanced down at the web of red on his stomach. “Now this,” he proclaimed, “hurts like hell.” A grimace twisted his face. Rubbing the wound, he stepped into the tub and sank down into the cloaking warmth. The bar of Ivory floated past, and he stabbed at it with a finger. “Boom. Boom.” The bar ducked under the water only to resurface. “Boom. Take
that
, Perkins.”

Gabe rested his head on the porcelain and let the water’s temperature
seep into his bones. Charlie Harris had to have stayed the night, placing wet towels on his forehead. And, he’d combed his hair. He inhaled the rising ribbons of heat. If Charlie really thought Gabe was nothing but a whore, he wouldn’t have done those things.
Would he?

“No, he wouldn’t have.” He slapped the bar of soap. Water splashed his face and out of the tub. “Hee hee.” Pleased with his conclusion, he bludgeoned the floating bar again. He licked his lips and… froze.

He ran his tongue over his lips again. A hint of tobacco danced on the tip of his taste buds. Had Charlie kissed him?
Wish I’d been awake for that!

Gabe traced his lips with a finger. Charlie Harris cared. Gabe’s heart thumped like the leg of a rabbit in heat. He grabbed the Ivory, scrubbed it over a washcloth, and whistled “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah.”

He had no idea what would happen once Charlie finished doing whatever the hell it was Charlie was doing. But for right now, Gabe had found a man who’d kissed him just because he wanted to, and if any opportunity, any opportunity at all presented itself, he was going to find out what Charlie Harris’s lips tasted like, once he returned the picture to the safety of the molding above the bed.

T
HE
restaurant rarely had many customers before eleven on Sundays, and today wasn’t any different. Gabe plopped down in a chair at a table against the wall.

Pad and pencil in hand, Cathy strolled over. “Good morning, Gabe.” Her jaw dropped a bit. “What happened to you?” She reached out and touched her fingertips to the painful mound. “Are you okay?” She furtively looked back to the counter. “We’ve got some aspirin. I can get you a tin.”

“I’m fine, Cathy. Really.” He smiled. Yeah. Life was good.

A brow rose in obvious doubt. Her voice discarded the friendly waitress tone. “What happened?”

“I tripped over a curb and hit my head on the sidewalk.”
Okay. That sounded reasonable.

She lightly touched the lump. “Well, be more careful, will you please?” Transferring the pencil to her free hand, she asked, “You want your usual?”

Tender muscles cramped in his belly. “Maybe just coffee this morning.”

“Coffee and a small orange juice, coming up. You’re hurt. You need the vitamins.” She turned and walked to the counter.

“And a pack of Lucky Strikes,” he called out after her. “And matches.”

Cathy poured the coffee. “Why? You don’t smoke.”

“Thought I’d try once. Never know, I might like it.”

At the blue and clear dispenser with a metal bar stirring the orange juice, Cathy filled a glass. “Whatever floats your boat, but I think you’re making a mistake.”

Cathy set the round Coca-Cola tray on the table while she placed the coffee, orange juice, cigarettes, and a glass of water in front of Gabe. She motioned to the water. “Just in case.”

Gabe tore open the pack and tapped out a cigarette. He clenched it between his teeth like he’d seen Charlie do and struck a match. The match’s flame heated the tip of his nose. He drew in a deep breath.

“Haawk! Gack!” His entire body lurched for the water. He grabbed the glass in both hands. His throat burned hotter than the match in his hand, which he dropped onto the table. The cigarette rolled until it nudged against the coffee cup. He gulped down every precious drop of water, then held up the empty glass. “More,” squeaked out of his mouth.

He hacked bursts of smoke. His lungs tried to join the evacuation. He somehow managed to swallow them back into his chest.

Cathy held out another glass of lifesaving water. Gabe drank it without a breath, then set the empty glass on the table. He wiped the tears streaming down his face.

She sat in the chair across from him and took his trembling hand in hers. “This is because of the new guy in town, isn’t it?”

Gabe pulled napkins from the metal holder and dabbed his mouth. He tried to pull his hand from her, but she gripped him tighter. The thought Cathy would think him a
queer
shivered his shoulders.

“Look at you. You’re trying to smoke like him, you’re dressed like him. Where’s my friend Gabe? Is he still in there somewhere?”

Gabe fidgeted his feet in the combat boots. He scrubbed his face with a handful of dry napkins, then rubbed his chin on the top of the army jacket. She reached across the table and pulled his hand down.

“Don’t you try and hide from me. We’ve known each other too long.”

A thick sigh of surrender slid out his nose. But his throat clamped shut. He couldn’t discuss this here… or ever.

Cathy massaged the back of his hand with her fingers. “Gabe.” Her whispered voice was half scolding, half motherly. “We grew up on the same block. When my dad would come home drunk, Mom would send me to your house to spend the night. You think I don’t know?”

She leaned over and kissed his hand. Jumbled, rubber band emotions balled and bounced around inside him as if his body was a pinball machine and the secret he’d thought to be well-hidden was the flipper.

“Shoot. Half this town knows, Gabe. The other half gossips.”

He stared at her.
Shit. They all know?
He shot a glance to the door for an escape route.

Her grip tightened. “No, you don’t. You’re not running away from talking to me this time.”

“Hey! How about some more coffee?” a gravel voice shouted from a stool at the counter.

Cathy put her chin to her shoulder. “Get it yourself! Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

For the first time, Gabe noticed lines at the corners of Cathy’s blue eyes, and a few more at the corners of her pink-lipsticked mouth. She wasn’t but twenty-nine. Or was she thirty now? Ashamed he couldn’t remember for certain, he closed his eyes to avoid her gaze.

No. Twenty-nine. She’s only five years older than me.
He met her gaze, eye for eye, and laced his fingers through hers. The skin was coarse, work-hardened. She’d put on a few pounds too. Her Marilyn Monroe body was leaning more toward Marilyn ate Judy Garland. He swallowed a lump of irritation. Why hadn’t he seen before this how trying to raise her son right and working all the extra hours to make do had worn on her?

Gabe didn’t have many
real
friends, and he’d ignored two of them long enough. He sat straight in the chair.

“I saw Lester last night. He said to tell you
hi
.”

Her shoulders sank and she sat back, taking her hand with her. She crossed her arms and frowned. Bitterness dripped from her words. “Well, tell him to either tell me himself or shut the hell up.” She sighed and shook her head. The nest of hairspray-coated blonde hair barely moved. “I’m sorry. I’m not upset with you.” She rubbed her arms. “I just don’t know why he won’t talk to me, Gabe.”

This was his chance to be the friend he hadn’t been of late. “I think you scare him.”

Her eyes bulged. “Me? The man’s a monster. Boris Karloff would wet his pants if he ever met Lester. How could I possibly scare Lester Fricks?”

“Because he likes you, Cathy.” Gabe sat back in the chair. “Did you know he’s never been out on a date?”

She scoffed at him. “Not surprising. Who’d ever want a man so strong he changes flat tires without a jack, so bad-tempered nobody will ask me out on a date for fear he’ll tear their head off, so dense he thinks Valentine’s Day is a gangster movie—”

“And so kindhearted he taught your son how to play baseball.”

Tears welled. She snatched some napkins from the holder and dabbed them away.

“Yeah,” Gabe said. “I know all about that.”

“Can I get some damn coffee!” the same voice from the counter snarled.

Cathy shoved out of the chair and stomped her way to the coffeemaker. Pot in hand, she leaned over the linoleum top and poured a healthy serving into his lap. The man bolted out of the restaurant, screaming all the way.

She held the metal pot aloft. “Anybody else want any before I finish my break?” The few remaining faces looked at anything but the coffee-wielding waitress. “No? Suit yourselves.” She set down the pot and returned to Gabe’s table, where she stood, hands on hips.

Gabe chuckled at her. “And you wonder why Lester’s afraid of you?”

Cathy’s face was etched with infuriation. “There’s only two good men in this whole danged county. I’m looking at one of them. I can’t get the other to even say ‘boo’ to me on Halloween.” She stomped a foot and swiped at a renegade tear. “Damn it.” Her lips tightened, and she drew a napkin over her eyes. “No one’s ever done for my boy what Lester does. What do I have to do to get that man to talk to me?”

Gabe pushed out of his chair and stood. “What time do you get off?”

“Two. Why?”

“Can you have a meal ready by three?”

“Of course. You’re always welcome for dinner anytime you want to come by.”

“Not for me. I’d make plenty though. Lester’s not a light eater.” He headed for the door. Cathy caught him at the threshold.

Her hands trembled slightly and she clasped them together. “How can you—”

Gabe patted her jaw. “He’ll be there.” He pushed open the door but stopped when Cathy grabbed his arm.

She put her mouth to his ear. “This man you’re interested in, if he’s interested in you, it’s not because you’re trying to be him. Be you. I love you for who you are. So will he.” Cathy planted a kiss on his cheek, then pushed him out the door. “Now, go forth and perform miracles.”

H
E
FOUND
Lester stacking engine blocks at the family business, Fricks’ Salvage Yard.

“Why don’t you use the chain hoist?”

Lester flexed a bicep bigger around than Gabe’s thigh. “Good exercise.” He strode over and shook Gabe’s hand. “What brings you out here? Can I get you a soda pop or something?” A scowl draped the coarse face. Lester tapped a finger at his own brow. “What happened?”

“Accident. No big deal.” Gabe shook his head. “What I want is for you to get yourself cleaned up. I’m taking you out for dinner. You up for that?”