Ruthless by Lisa Jackson
“That’s right. I’ll take care of these.” Grabbing a couple of glasses, Dani began stacking them in the cupboard.
“Why the library?”
“Big government test on Friday.”
“Who’re you meeting”
Dani thought fast as she slid plates into their spot in the old cupboard. “Russ Kellogg and probably Mandy Groves. Maybe a few others. Everyone’s worried about the test. It’s half our semester grade.”
“Is it?” Irene reached into the drawer for her cigarettes, thought better of it and rubbed the side of her neck. “You’ve never studied with anyone before.”
“I know, but we thought it might help. Lots of kids work in study groups. That was Russ on the phone. If he doesn’t pass this test, his grade could slip and he’d be off the football team.” Dear God, the lies were tripping so easily from her tongue she was certain to get caught. “Look, Mom, I’m really sorry for messing up at school.” At least that wasn’t stretching the truth. Dani hated hurting her mother.
“All right, but just be back early,” Irene said, her eyes narrowing and her jaw sliding to the side, as if she didn’t quite believe what she was hearing.
“I will. Promise.” Guilt crept after her as she grabbed her books. Why didn’t she just tell her mother the truth, that Brandon was the boy who had given her a ride home when the car had broken down and that she was meeting him tonight?
Because no matter how kind or thoughtful or noble Brandon had been that night, Irene wouldn’t approve.
Because Irene wouldn’t allow Dani to see him. Hadn’t she already concocted a list of boys—troublemakers—that Dani wasn’t supposed to date? Brandon Scarlotti was near the top of the list.
And because Dani had discovered that she’d do just about anything to see him again.
“That’s stupid,” she told herself. She’d always prided herself on keeping her cool and never letting a boy get too near to her. And she’d never had to resort to lying to be with one before.
She felt a headache coming on as she walked past the park and playground, but she fought it. So she lied. Big deal. What was done was done and she wasn’t going to beat herself up over it. In fact, she was going to ignore her guilt and have a good time.
With renewed determination she walked into the library and dashed upstairs to a table by the window.
Keyed up, she opened her government book and notebook and tried to study, but her concentration failed her. She read the same page over three times and kept glancing at her watch while listening for the thrum of a motorcycle engine.
She heard nothing, just the whisper of pages being turned and the soft hum of the computers. Somewhere on the other side of the stacks, someone was softly reading a children’s book out loud. Every once in a while, the kid boomed forth a question and Dani jumped. Now, drumming her fingers in distraction, she shifted in her chair. She read the first boring paragraph on the justice system one more time.
“As I said I don’t like lying and sneaking around.” Brand’s voice, a whisper, was just audible enough for her to hear him. She looked up sharply as he approached, and her throat caught. Under the fluorescent lights, his skin was dark and tanned, his black hair gleamed and his eyes were sharp electric blue.
“Neither . . . neither do I,” she admitted, having trouble finding her voice.
So furious he seemed to radiate anger, he glared at her as he slid into the chair on the opposite side of the small, scarred blond table.
“Then what is it? You ashamed to be seen with me?”
She swallowed hard. “No, that’s not it.”
His look was scathing.
“I don’t usually lie, but if I hadn’t, my mother wouldn’t have let me see you, okay? She’s got this thing against guys who’ve been in trouble with the law. You’ve made quite a reputation for yourself, you know, and my mom’s heard all about it. She and Bess Jamison are good friends.”
His lips thinned into a hard, unyielding line. “Bess Jamison is a gossip who should keep her nose in her own business. She makes a habit out of jumping to conclusions.”
“Probably, but Mom doesn’t know that. So she believes her.”
“And I’m dirt.” A tic started beneath his eye.
“No, not dirt—just a . . . a—”
“Criminal.”
“Well, not quite. But near enough.”
He scraped back his chair. “Nice knowin’ ya.”
He was leaving? She couldn’t believe it, but he’d turned his back and started walking to the stairs. “Brandon!” she whispered, gathering her books and backpack. “Wait!”
She ran past the stacks and hurried down the stairs but she was too late. He had already crossed the lobby and was shouldering his way through the front door. “Damn it,” she muttered under her breath as she ran after him. First she’d lied, then she’d provoked an argument, now she was chasing after him, making a fool of herself.
Though it was after seven, it was still light, and a hot breeze blew through the town, creating a whirlwind that tossed a few dry leaves into the air.
Dani caught up with Brandon in the parking lot. He was already astride his motorcycle, a pair of sunglasses covering his eyes.
“Wait!” She clutched at his arm, her fingers tightening over the worn leather of his jacket.
Impatience hardened his features. “Why?”
“I—I’m sorry. I guess I fouled this up. I didn’t mean to. I wanted to see you again, but—”
“But you were too ashamed to let anyone know.” His jaw showed white. “Don’t worry about it, Dani.”
“Not ashamed. Just concerned.”
“Let’s just forget it.” He revved the engine.
“No, Brandon, please, just listen—”
But he was off. The motorcycle screamed out of the parking lot and he didn’t look back. Not once.
“Fool!” she growled at herself and kicked a pebble across the nearly empty lot. It landed with a clink against the hubcap of a new BMW. Letting out her breath, Dani stood, squinting after him, smelling exhaust, hearing the motorcycle’s engine blend with the noise of the other traffic moving slowly through town. So that was it. Over before it began.
Probably for the best, she told herself as she glared into the lowering sun. “Good riddance. I don’t need this kind of grief.”
But deep in her heart, she didn’t believe a word of it.
CHAPTER FOUR
“I t’s official,” Venitia announced, dropping a basket of laundry onto the top of the dryer as Brandon hung his jacket on a peg near the back door of the closed-in porch.
“What?” He braced himself. His mother was always pulling something. But at least she was sober as she turned on the washing machine; the roar of water filled the small room.
Grinning widely, she waggled her fingers in front of her son’s face, and he noticed the ring, a gold band with a tiny diamond sparkling merrily on the fourth finger of her left hand. “Al and I are going to get married.”
He’d been expecting it, of course, but still Brandon felt as if he’d been kicked in the gut. Suddenly the smells of hot water, detergent and mildew were overpowering. “You know how I feel about it.”
Traces of sadness edged her smile. “I don’t know why you want to ruin my happiness.” She opened the lid of the washing machine and tossed in a cup’s worth of detergent.
“Al won’t make you happy.” He was blunt and he knew it, but this time she couldn’t be coddled. Al Cunningham was a louse, and Venitia, despite everything she claimed, didn’t love him.
“Of course he will.”
“Ma, really—”
“And he’ll make my life easier,” she said, her brow puckering as it always did whenever she fought tears. Quickly tossing in the sheets and white towels, she scanned the counter near the sink. “Now, where’s my bleach?”
Brandon found the white bottle, stuck on a shelf behind some boxes and a can of floor wax.
“Thanks,” she said as he handed
“He’ll bore you to tears.”
“He’s got a good job.”
“With Jonah McKee’s mill. You know how things are in the logging business right now. McKee’s already sold off two mills and one of his logging camps. People are let go all the time.” Uncomfortable in his role of marital advisor, he rubbed the back of his neck. Why was his mother so damned naive? Sometimes he felt as if their roles were reversed and he was the parent, she the child. “Don’t marry Al for the security, Ma.”
“You don’t understand. Al’s taken a job with another mill where they make chipboard. In Everett, Washington. He’ll make more money than he does here and I can give up my job with the janitorial service. But that’s not what matters, Brand. I want you to know I’m marrying Al because I love him.” She inched up her chin despite the telltale blush climbing up her neck. She’d always been a lousy liar. “I can’t pine after your father forever.” She slammed down the lid of the washer.
Brandon didn’t want to be reminded of his old man. The jerk had bailed out before he was born, and the irresponsible creep hadn’t even bothered marrying his mother. It had been nearly twenty years, for God’s sake. He never once remembered his mother pining for Jake Kendall, a cowboy and drifter who pulled up stakes when he found out he was going to be a father. No, Venitia hadn’t cried too many tears for the son of a bitch and he didn’t blame her. Brandon suspected her of loving someone else, someone inaccessible and from a distance, though he had no proof. It was just a gut feeling—that his mother was the victim of unrequited love. “There have been other guys,” he reminded her as gently as he could.
Bending over, she yanked faded jeans and sweatshirts from the dryer. “Yeah, well, they weren’t the marrying kind.”
“Is that so important?”
She didn’t answer, just grabbed her wicker basket and turned a stiff back to her son as she stalked out of the room. He knew it had been hard, raising a baby without the benefits, support and respect that a husband provided. He’d heard the whispers and taunts, been the butt of a hundred jokes himself. No wonder she grasped the chance to become respectable. He couldn’t fault her there. But marrying Al Cunningham? The guy was so boring he probably put himself to sleep.
Brandon followed her into the kitchen where she was folding towels on the scarred Formica tabletop. “Think it through, okay?” He pulled an old pair of Levi’s from the basket and snapped them briskly, as he had a thousand times. From the age of seven, he’d helped with the laundry and other household chores. He used to mind and as a thirteen-year-old he’d thought all housework was for women, but slowly he’d learned that it was all part of living.
“I have thought about it,” she said stubbornly. “And I’m going to get married, Brandon. I’m forty-three—I think it’s time. The wedding’s already planned for next month and then, well, after we tie up a few loose ends around here, we’ll be putting this house on the market and moving.”
“To Everett?” He didn’t hide his skepticism.
“That’s right.”
“Where you don’t know a soul.”
“I’ll make new friends. Come on, baby,” she said, her eyes suddenly soft. “Can’t you be happy for me?”
“I’m trying, Ma,” he said, though for the life of him he couldn’t find an iota of joy in the situation. He should have been ecstatic, buoyed by the sense that he would finally be free. His mother would be married off and would have a husband to look after her—to worry about her and tuck her into bed when she’d had too much to drink. But he wasn’t. He felt that she was settling, giving up on her dreams, and she deserved so much better than Al Cunningham.
“My only worry is you,” she said, smoothing a once-thick sweatshirt and folding the arms into the middle. “If you want to stay here, I don’t have to sell the house right away—”
“No,” he cut in swiftly, though he wouldn’t tell her that the tiny cottage didn’t hold many happy memories for him. After all, she’d tried. Done her best. “Rent it. Sell it, or whatever. I don’t want it.”
“You wouldn’t mind?” Was there just a tiny crack of disappointment in her voice?
“Not at all.” How could he explain that he’d only stayed on because he’d felt duty bound, that he hadn’t moved out long ago for fear that she’d be incredibly lonely? “I planned to go to California come winter. You know that.”
“A pipe dream.” Her fingers fluttered in the air as if she were brushing the ridiculous idea aside. “You should move in with us. Maybe take some classes at the community college. Make some new friends.”
Inexplicably he thought of Dani. But then he’d thought of her a lot these days, more than was healthy. “I don’t think so.”
“But it would be a chance for you to make a clean start.”
“I can do that in L.A.”
She frowned, unable to let him go. “Al says there are plenty of jobs up there and—”
Tired of dancing around the subject, he snapped. Grabbing her by the arms, he held on tight. The worn T-shirt she’d been folding drifted to the floor and he tried to control the anger that swept through his blood. She’d been laying a guilt trip on him for too long, a trip that wouldn’t work if she was serious about marrying Cunningham. “I don’t care what Al says. It’s past time for me to leave. We both know it.”
Worry clouded her eyes. “I don’t see why you can’t accept Al.”
He held up his hands and backed out of the room. “Look, it doesn’t matter what I say. You’re going to marry Al and I hope to God that you’re happy. Really. What I think doesn’t matter. Whether you marry him or not, I’m outta here. Shoulda left a long time ago.” He stalked back to the porch and reached for his jacket.
“You could have the decency to wish me good luck,” she said, her shoes clicking against the yellowed linoleum.
“Good luck,” he retorted, unable to keep the sarcasm from his words. You’ll need it.
He was out the back door when her voice reached him again. “Brand?”
“What?” He didn’t stop striding toward his bike.
“I was hoping you’d give me away.”
He stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly he turned to face her then and found her standing in the doorway, a proud woman who’d spent the best years of her life trying to provide for him. “Oh, God, Mom, you’re not serious.”
Her back stiffened as if it had been starched. “More serious than I’ve ever been in my life.” She was down the steps and across the uneven yard within seconds. As she ducked under the clothesline, her chin wobbled a bit and it got to him, even though he knew it was probably just an act.
“Don’t ask me.”
“I already have, Brand.” She placed a hand on his sleeve, a warm, motherly hand meant to remind him of all the things she’d done for him, all the sacrifices she’d so willingly made. “Please, if you don’t do another thing for me the rest of my life, walk me down the aisle.”
An ache settled deep in his heart, but he steeled himself. Yanking his arm away, he swung onto his cycle. “If it’s what you want, okay. But that’s it. After the ceremony, I’m gone.”
She bit her lip. “You’re all I have, you know.”
“Not anymore, Mom,” he reminded her, his voice more savage than kind. “You’ve got Al now.” It sounded so final. He ignored the tears shimmering in his mother’s eyes and tried to forget the guilt that was pounding at his temples. He should have been thrilled to finally be free. But as he put his bike through its paces, speeding toward the city limits, he felt the breath of disaster hot against the back of his neck.
* * *
If she didn’t watch herself, she’d end up just like her mother, Dani thought grimly as she sat on the ol
Frowning, she knew she should make her way back home. It was nearly dusk and she’d sought solace in this private place just as she had every time she’d been troubled during her growing-up years when it just didn’t seem right to burden her mother or older sister with her problems. She often exercised horses for free when she was upset, but since she couldn’t today, she’d come to this shady little grove. She’d never seen another living soul in this place, except during hunting season, when an avid rifleman had ignored the posted No Hunting signs and searched the woods for signs of game.
A few times, Dani had brought her friends with her, but usually she walked to the outskirts of town, climbed a couple of fences and hiked down an old deer trail to the creek. The property belonged to somebody, but no one seemed to know who actually held the deed.
Jonah McKee was a name that came readily to mind and it bothered her to think that the old man might own this private little spot as well as most everything else in Rimrock.
Ignoring her mother’s comments from the other day, she reached into her pocket, found the last cigarette in her pack and lit up. Drawing the smoke deep into her lungs, she nearly coughed at the sound of another voice.
“Those things’ll kill ya.”
Brand! Her heart leaped as she looked over her shoulder. Miraculously, as if appearing out of the shadows, he was leaning against the bark of a scraggly old pine tree.
“I’m not kidding. Maybe not right away, but eventually, in the next thirty to sixty years, they’ll do you in.”
She ground out her cigarette in the bark of the tree she was sitting on. “Did you come by just to give me an update on the surgeon general’s latest findings?” He laughed and the deep sound rumbled over the small ravine and echoed in her heart. She suddenly felt self-conscious, as if he could read in her eyes how much she’d missed him, how desperate she’d been to see him again. “Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked, trying to sound as if she didn’t care, as if the drumming in her heart was a normal state for her.