“Tell me what happened at closing time.”
She swished the blade around in the water. “After last call, which is midnight in Tenaja Falls, everyone started to leave. Yesenia walked away with Jesse.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“It made me feel like drinking some more,” she said flippantly. “Lori had to get home to her baby, but I went over to Monica’s. She only lives a few blocks away from the Round-Up. I was there until about 2 A.M. Then I called a cab.”
“You went home?”
“Yep.”
“Alone?”
Shay froze, razor in hand. Did he really think she’d go home with a guy on Friday night and come on to him Saturday afternoon?
“You didn’t see Jesse again? Or Yesenia?”
She let out a slow breath. “No. But the cab ride was kind of a blur, if you know what I mean.”
He was quiet for a moment while she finished shaving. She’d never been more acutely aware of a man’s eyes on her body, and it was all she could do to keep her hand steady.
“I didn’t come here just to ask questions,” he said finally.
She nicked herself. “Ouch!”
“Would you put that thing down for a minute?”
Glaring at him, she set aside her razor and sluiced water over her legs, clearing away the suds. Her heart was racing now, anticipating his next words, but she picked up her towel casually and dabbed at the tiny cut on her inner thigh.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
She imagined him kissing it better and felt her tummy jump. “No.” She looked up at him, blood rushing through her veins, waiting for him to speak. He stared back at her in silence. Just like the previous day, on that sun-dappled rock at the bank of Deep Creek, the rest of the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of them.
The tension between them was as thick as steam.
Then Dylan crashed through the front door at his usual breakneck pace, destroying the ambience. He was almost on top of them before he realized she had company. Stopping in his tracks, he stood there in the doorway, six feet two inches of pure angst, a basketball lodged under one skinny arm. His T-shirt was sweaty and his hair was damp.
“What the fuck is this?” he said, summing up the situation in an instant. “I’m not allowed to have Angel in my room, but you can bring home random dudes whenever you want?”
Shay’s mouth dropped open. Not only had she never said he couldn’t have Angel over, at a reasonable hour, she’d never brought home a man, random or otherwise. “Dylan, this is the new
Dylan scowled at the star adorning Luke’s front shirt pocket. He hadn’t been a fan of the old sheriff.
“We’re working together,” Shay explained, wondering why Luke didn’t stand and introduce himself. “A woman was killed by a mountain lion yesterday. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember,” he said, looking from the wash-tub to Luke’s face. Although Dylan had a lot to learn about the human condition, as a hormonal teenager, he was well acquainted with lust. “But I’m not stupid. You’re taking a bath in front of him.”
Shay curled her toes up in the tub self-consciously.
“He’s right,” Luke interjected at last. “Your brother understands the way a man thinks even if you don’t. It was inappropriate of me to watch you.”
Dylan relaxed his stance, mollified to have been told he was right
Shay felt her cheeks burn. Having her brother walk in while she was flaunting herself in front of Luke was so embarrassing! What had gotten into her?
“You play?” Luke asked, nodding at Dylan’s bas ketball.
Dylan shrugged, reassessing Luke as a fellow baller. “Yeah. You?”
“All four years at UNLV.”
Dylan’s face lit up. “Really? They have a good team. Were you first string?”
“Nah. Third.”
“You see any court time?”
“Nope.”
Her brother nodded eagerly, impressed all the same, and they started talking about UNLV players, playoffs, and plays. It never failed to amaze her that Dylan seemed to remember every shot from every game he’d ever watched, but Luke was right there with him, discussing the merits of a three-pointer from a final eight over five years ago.
It was the longest, and least contentious, conversation she’d seen Dylan have with an adult in ages. Watching his animated gestures and avid expression, Shay felt her heart twist. Dylan had known Luke five minutes and already connected with him better than her.
Dangerously close to tears, she busied herself by dumping the tub over the edge of the patio and gathering up her supplies.
“I still have to talk to you,” Luke said before she slipped away.
She cleared her throat. “Fine. I just need to, um, get a drink of water.” Knowing she was being inhospitable, she left without offering Luke anything. Because a lively debate had ensued over Shaq’s abysmal free-throw, he probably didn’t notice.
By the time Luke and Dylan returned from the wide world of sports, and gravitated back inside the house, Shay had pulled herself together. She’d also gathered a basket of clean laundry to fold. Propping it on one hip, she stood in the hall, waiting for them to move out of her way. Dylan was tall, but Luke was taller, broader of shoulder, and more heavily muscled. The two of them took up an uncomfortable amount of space.
Shay gave her brother a pointed stare.
“I guess I’ll hit the shower,” Dylan muttered, taking the hint. He turned to walk away then stopped short, seeming to remember his manners. “Nice meeting you, uh…”
“Luke,” he said, shaking Dylan’s hand.
Her little brother took off in his usual fashion, doing some air basketball moves down the hall before he disappeared from sight.
Giving Luke a wide berth, Shay made a beeline for the living room couch. He remained standing while she sat and separated socks from T-shirts. After they heard the shower turn on, Luke said, “He seems like a good kid.”
She nodded because it would be disloyal to disagree. But since the beginning of the school year, Dylan had been suspended for fighting and ordered to take conflict resolution classes for arguing with a teacher. He’d also been arrested twice, with charges ranging from destroying county property to being out after curfew.
Her brother wasn’t a good kid. He was difficult, defiant, and absolutely brilliant. If he could get rid of the chip on his shoulder, he’d be a star, but his behavior had been getting worse for years, and Shay didn’t know how to help him.
She’d failed him in so many ways.
Not meeting Luke’s eyes, she folded one of her everyday bras, an athletic racer-back style with an A-cup, wishing he would say his piece and leave.
“That lion,” he began. “He wasn’t the right one.”
Her hands stilled. “What?”
“Hamlet. He didn’t do it.”
She felt the blood drain from her face. “How do you know?”
“Tests at Davis came back negative for human issue.”
“No,” she gasped, pressing her fist to her stomach. “That can’t be.”
“The medical examiner said the lion who perpetrated the attack had a broken tooth. Hamlet didn’t.
