Dream Lover. Stacey Keith
parked the cruiser in front of a paint-peeled wood frame house that might have been white once. A magnolia tree cast little shade over a yard full of crabgrass and hard-packed dirt. When April got out of the car, she was almost overwhelmed by the sickly sweet smell of magnolia blossoms. The house wasn’t fancy, but there weren’t any cars up on cinder blocks. Gauzy curtains fluttered from an open window.
There was a stillness about the place that made her feel as though she were dreaming.
“You don’t need to come in unless you want to,” April said to Ryan. “If anything happens, I can always scream.” She smiled to show she was joking. Kind of.
“The hell you say.” He went up the three steps to the porch and then knocked on the door. She followed, her handbag pressed against her side and the case file clutched against her chest. The porch had a swing on it that creaked gently. There was also a bicycle pump, a bug zapper and a piece of nylon rope. Boy things.
When no one answered the door, Ryan said, “Let’s check around back.”
April hesitated. If she were Matthew Barrett and saw a police car coming, where would she hide? “Why don’t you go around back and I’ll take the garage?” she suggested.
The garage was situated about thirty yards from the house, so April started walking. The drone of cicadas rose and fell. Sun devils shimmered over cotton fields. It felt good to be outside, away from the mechanical chugging of the copier and the ping of the breakroom microwave.
She rounded a corner of the garage and found a man on his back, stripped to the waist, working on a Harley. The motorcycle was a beast, all black leather and gleaming chrome. But the man lying beneath it using a torque wrench made her halt in her tracks. She was suddenly aware of how bad she looked in khaki. She could feel the blood quicken in her veins.
He turned his head and saw her.
Dimly, she realized he was taking her in, slowly, starting at the bottom and working his way up. By the time his cool assessing gaze got to her face, her cheeks were on fire.
The men she knew didn’t look at a woman like that. It felt as though she didn’t have any clothes on.
“Who’re you?” he asked in a surprisingly low voice.
“April Roby. I’m with Raymond County Child Protective Services.” Ordinarily, she would show her identification, but she had a feeling it wouldn’t hold any water here. “Are you Brandon McBride?”
He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t deny it either. Brandon ducked his head under the bike again. Muscle rippled beneath his smooth tanned skin as he reapplied the torque wrench to a rear axle nut. April knew all about cars and motorcycles because she had practically been raised in her dad’s garage.
She realized she was staring and hastily averted her eyes. This was crazy. She was supposed to be advocating for Matthew Barrett, not standing here like a dummy. What was wrong with her?
“If you’re here about Matthew, I don’t know what to tell you,” Brandon said.
“He’s been absent thirty-six days in the last seven months,” she replied, baffled by his lack of concern. “If you can’t make him go to school, Mr. McBride, this could become a legal matter.”
Usually she didn’t have to threaten legal action on a truancy call. What kind of man didn’t want his brother going to school? Despite her shyness, she lifted her chin to show she meant business.
Brandon got to his feet and slowly walked over to her. He moved with the lazy dangerous grace of a jungle cat. His eyes were the same clear green as a bottle filled with ocean water. They studied her with a curious mixture of coldness and suspicion, which made her muscles tense. She liked it better when he was ten feet away.
Besides, she was the one who had a million reasons to be suspicious. He’d put some kind of spell on her. He was a terrible role model who was setting his brother up for a lifetime of failure.
“Was that a sad attempt to play hardball with me, April?” he asked softly.
“It’s not a sad anything,” she replied. “Where’s Matthew? I want to talk to him.”
Brandon went to a tool chest that stood in one corner of the garage, examining and then discarding tools. April tried not to keep darting glances at him, but it was impossible. She’d never met a man like him before. The smallest movement made muscles bulge in his broad shoulders. His dark hair was just long enough for him to tie it back with a leather string. His jeans hung so low on his narrow hips, when he turned around she saw the deep V-cut of his chiseled abs.
She was burning up out here in the hot sun. Her purse was an anvil hanging off her shoulder.
“I don’t know where Matthew is,” he said. “But if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t tell you.”
“Your attitude isn’t helping, Mr. McBride,” she shot back. “If you want to continue in the capacity of his guardian, I suggest—”
“You suggest what?” He strolled toward her again, not angry, but with a look in his eyes that she would never describe as friendly. “Go home, Princess. You’re wasting my time.”
April’s mouth flew open. Who talked to people this way? She was a child welfare specialist. She was here to help his brother.
Then Ryan appeared with his hand on the shoulder of a sullen-looking kid who was a dead ringer for Brandon. Same look of cool defiance, but still gangly and boy enough to awaken within her the urge to protect. He had a skateboard tucked under one arm.
“You looking for this guy?” Ryan said. “I found him in the cellar. Told him you wanted to talk to him.”
Ryan had his cop face on. She’d seen it before: Alert. Determined. Accept no bullshit.
But Matthew just seemed hugely annoyed. He yanked his shoulder out of Ryan’s grasp and glared up at him. “Fuck school. I’m not going.”
“It’s the law, Matthew,” April told him, wishing they didn’t have to start out like this. “The state of Texas says—”
“I don’t give a shit about the state of Texas,” Matthew said. “When I turn sixteen, I’m taking the GED, so get your goddamn foot off my balls.”
Brandon gazed fondly at his brother. He actually smiled.
April stared at him in shock. Did he think this was funny? She hadn’t known Matthew thirty seconds and she was ready to scream. You’ve got to be kidding me. She couldn’t believe Brandon took pride in his brother’s smartass mouth.
“You heard him,” Brandon said, his gaze flicking over her before he marched back into the garage. “Now take your mall cop and go.”
Chapter 2
Overloaded with plants and groceries, April staggered into her kitchen and heaved everything onto the counter. Her legs just wouldn’t hold her anymore. She felt dizzy and confused and in way over her head.
The house, a turn-of-the-century white clapboard belonging to her grandmother and then to her sister Cassidy, was littered with drop cloths and paint cans. The half-finished wall in her kitchen showed a coat of cheerful yellow paint.
Right now, though, her mood was anything but cheerful. After meeting Brandon McBride and going through the whole awful business of her home visit with his younger brother, there was nothing to be happy about.
She went to the refrigerator, poured herself a glass of sun tea and then settled outside on the front porch swing. A soft breeze rustled the leaves of twin sycamores that grew in her yard. Instead of soothing her, the sound made her even more restless and gloomy. Her neighbor, Mrs. Felps, waved to her from across the street and April waved back, pretending everything was okay.
Pretending that she hadn’t just called into work with a headache so she could try to pull herself together.
She was a failure.