Set The Dark On Fire

“I can do more.”

“I don’t want your money.”

Clay cast an annoyed glance toward Luke, probably wishing he would leave them alone for a minute. He didn’t. “You gonna let your mom look after Grace while you’re in class again?”

“No,” she whispered, her eyes wet. “I’ll have to drop out.”

“Don’t. I’ll watch her.”

Her head jerked toward him. “You would do that?”

“Of course,” he said in a stiff voice. “I’m off work at three every day. That will give me plenty of time to get here before you have to leave.”

She moistened her lips, hesitant. “I’ll think about it.”

He nodded curtly and dropped the subject.

“I-I’m not a bad mother,” she said after a long pause, pleading with Luke, meeting his gaze. “Grace is in a good day care while I’m at work, but she stays with Mama when I have a late-afternoon class. I’d never have left her if I’d known…” She shook her head helplessly. “She usually doesn’t start drinking this early.”

Luke told her he believed her, because he did, and not to worry. Grace was asleep now, safe and cozy in her arms. He wondered if times had been this hard for his own mother, and guessed that they had.

There was no way he would come between them.

Clay said good-bye and they both left in somber moods, contemplating the situation in shared silence. Luke wasn’t a meddler, but he had a case to solve, and like it or not, Clay was wrapped up in it.

“You have some kind of claim on her?” he asked, meaning Tamara.

Clay’s blue eyes narrowed. “No. Why?”

“A man doesn’t usually offer that kind of assistance without…” He tried to think of a way to put it delicately, because Clay looked like he wanted to punch him, “… a return on his investment.”

Clay’s lips thinned. “Some men.”

Luke shrugged, dividing his concentration between Clay and the road. “You always take care of Jesse’s leftovers?” he asked, prodding harder.

“She’s my niece,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Tamara Ryan is your niece?”

“No. Grace is. Jesse and I are brothers.”

Luke searched his face for the resemblance, but he didn’t see it. As the town rebel, Jesse had the requisite dark good looks and bad-boy attitude. With his light eyes and sun-streaked ponytail, Clay was Jesse’s polar opposite in appearance and demeanor.

“We have different mothers,” he muttered.

Ah. Everything became very clear. Jesse was legitimate and Clay had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. Literally.

Were the half brothers the best of friends or the worst of enemies? If Luke wasn’t mistaken, Clay was infatuated with Jesse’s wife. Had Tamara Ryan played up their rivalry, pitting one brother against the other, or was she just another innocent bystander?

Luke could say one thing for Tenaja Falls: it wasn’t boring.

16

Just before 8:00 P.M., Shay stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, adding volume to her hair and applying another layer of mascara. From the confines of Dylan’s bedroom, where he’d been holed up since dinner, System of a Down was blaring. Every time the bass line picked up, the shelves rattled.

Home sweet home.

She stepped back from the sink and studied her appearance, wanting to make sure she’d nailed the look she was going for. Tousled blond hair, check. Rock ‘n’ roll T-shirt, short denim miniskirt, check. Smoky eyes and cinnamon lip gloss, check.

Yep. She looked like trailer trash.

Even her bruised knee, which any lady with class would have the sense to cover up, was on proud display. If anything ruined the ensemble it was her shoes. The black suede Steve Madden pumps had been an indulgence, but they were still kind of wild.

Coco Chanel, she wasn’t.

Shay flashed her reflection a bitter smile. When the doorbell rang ten minutes later, she grabbed her silver metallic purse and rapped a quick good-bye to Dylan on his bedroom door.

Instead of Clay, she was met by Angel Martinez. “Wow,” the girl said, taking in Shay’s skyscraper heels and short skirt. “You look…”

“Like a hooker?”

Angel’s eyes jumped up. “No! Are you kidding me? You look hot.”

Shay smiled, accepting the teenager’s compliment with a grain of salt. Angel was wearing an alarming number of hoop earrings, a scarred leather wristband, and a black tank top cut low enough to show off the kind of cleavage Shay had always longed for.

“You want Dylan?” she asked, stepping aside to let the girl in.

Angel flushed. “Well, yeah. I mean, I just wanted to talk to him, if that’s all right-”

Shay lifted a hand to ward off her stammering. “I’ll get him for you.”

Pounding on the door was useless when Dylan was blasting the stereo, so Shay just walked inside, resigning herself to his wrath. He was sitting at his desk, math book open, scrawling numbers on lined notepaper.

How anyone could study with all that racket was beyond her.

When she put her hand on his shoulder, he startled. He looked past her, to where Angel was standing in the doorway, and came to his feet so fast the chair fell over. He was wearing his usual attire for hanging around the house, basketball shorts and nothing else. Judging by the stricken expression on his face, and Angel’s renewed flush, he may as well have been standing there naked.

Horrified, he rushed to put on a T-shirt and turn down the music.

Good grief. Shay would have laughed if the exchange hadn’t been so painful to watch. Although Dylan and Angel had looked pretty cozy the last time they’d been in his bedroom together, they were obviously uncomfortable now.

Post-hookup awkwardness. Shay recognized it well.

When the doorbell rang again, she excused herself, leaving her brother and Angel to their own devices. This time it was Luke on her doorstep, and unlike Angel, he didn’t miss the nuances of her eye-popping outfit.

“Nice,” he said sarcastically, tearing his gaze from her bare legs.

“Clay said he was going to pick me up,” she said.

“I told him I would.”

She let out a frustrated breath, annoyed with Luke’s high-handed behavior. She also couldn’t help but notice how delicious he looked in plainclothes. His gray T-shirt accented his broad shoulders and clung to his flat belly, and his faded blue Levi’s fit him to perfection. There was nothing more flattering to a man’s body, in her opinion, than button-fly jeans.

With her heels on, she only had to look up a few inches to meet his eyes. If he was feeling the effects of a sleepless night or having second thoughts about giving her the brush-off, it didn’t show on his face. His expression was guarded, his jaw freshly shaved.

“Are you ready?”

She hesitated, all of the emotions she’d been carrying around inside her threatening to rise to the surface. Post-hookup awkwardness, to the nth degree. “I’m ready,” she said, taking a deep breath and stepping out into the night.

Luke knew exactly what Shay was doing.

Her outfit, her eyes, her body, her attitude; everything about her screamed easy. He’d never been more certain that she wasn’t.