01 Do You Believe in Magic - The Children of Merlin (16 page)

She was biting her lip and
frowning. Did it take that much concentration to put on a
shirt?

“I can button it.”

“Sure, if I want to leave at
nine a.m.” She pulled it together over his chest and buttoned it
briskly, making him harder with each touch. Then she reached for
the sling he’d laid on the table and buckled him into it. She
finished by slinging his leather jacket over his shoulders. “Not
ready for
GQ
,” she said, stepping away from him, her voice a
little shaky. “But you’ll do.”

Tris didn’t trust himself to
speak. He just nodded and grabbed the little kit that had his
shaving gear and his meds in it.

She took the chair out from under
Elroy’s door, slapped a note on a nail in one of the cupboard doors
saying she’d left breakfast and lunch in the refrigerator for him
and there were TV dinners in the freezer. “Your stuff is already in
the back of the truck.” She headed to the door. Tris grabbed his
crutch and hobbled after her.

*****

Maggie backed the trailer around
to where she could pull slowly onto the dirt track that led out to
the road, watching her rearview mirror to make sure she didn’t hit
the lean-to. The engine of the F350 purred. She liked this
truck.

She sneaked a look at Tris. He’d
been really pale when she woke him, with circles under his eyes.
Hadn’t slept well in spite of the Vicodin. And he seemed tense, his
straight black brows drawn together. His leg was stretched out and
she’d propped it up a little on her backpack, but she couldn’t get
it raised as high as it should be. Maybe later he could put it up
on the dash again. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

He was lying. Boy, the man not
only couldn’t admit weakness, he just plain wasn’t talkative. Just
as well. With the way his baritone growl throbbed through her body,
it was almost as bad as buttoning his shirt. And that was just
icing on the cake of seeing his bare torso, all muscled and
tattooed and scarred, this morning as he got out of bed.

What the hell was wrong with
her? She’d seen lots of men stripped to the waist. Lots. At the
rodeo. At mustang roundups. Washing their trucks.
Lots
of
half-naked men. She’d hardly looked twice. Well, twice maybe, when
they couldn’t see. But they had never affected her like
this
. She felt out of control. She pulled out onto the road
that would lead into Austin, easing the truck up to forty-five or
so. She could feel the weight of the horses shift in the trailer as
they rebalanced themselves to the slow acceleration.

“Ready for some coffee?”

He nodded. “Could be.”

“I set a thermos down by your
feet. And a paper bag of breakfast.”

He leaned forward and fished
around until he came up with the big silver cylinder. He unscrewed
the top. It was the old-fashioned kind with two nested cups. “Can I
pour you some?”

“Yeah. Didn’t bring cream or
sugar.”

“Black’s fine. Smells good.” As
a matter of fact, it smelled better than any coffee had in her
entire life. He poured her a steaming cup and set it in the
makeshift cup holder between the bucket seats. “You were right.
Somebody cared about this truck,” she said, just to take her mind
off how the muscles in his forearm flexed as he moved to pour his
own cup.

“I could tell in the lot,” he
said. “This truck had good years. Just needed an owner again.”

“It did look kinda sad.” She
smiled. Trucks weren’t really sad, of course. “Not surprising. Sold
to that awful used car dealer.”

“It was sad because its owner
died. Sleazeball told me.”

She’d been joking. He wasn’t. He
talked as though the truck were a living thing. No sarcasm, no
irony. Maybe for him it was alive. She remembered his affinity for
her windmill pump. This guy was more fascinating by the minute.
“Well, it’s got a good owner now.”

“Good driver, more like. You can
handle a trailer.”

She chuckled. “Done some
trailering in my time.” They pulled into Austin, hit the main
highway, and she turned west. Jake’s was just turning on the
lights. She looked over at Tris and saw that furrow between his
brows deepen. “So when did you take the pain pills last night?”

“Not sure.”

“I left that clock there for
nothin’?”

He ducked his head in disgust.
“One-ish.”

“Then you’re due. Can you eat a
sandwich for breakfast?”

“Food at this hour?”

“No food, no Vicodin,” she
threatened. “Man up. Eat before dawn.”

He looked half-surprised,
half-offended. Then he chuffed a laugh. “When you put it that
way.…” He grabbed the wrinkled grocery sack and began to
burrow.

“There’s a couple of cheese and
some peanut butter and jelly.”

He gave her a look of
disbelief.

“I like peanut butter for
breakfast, okay? It’s good protein.”
A teensy bit
defensive.

He peered at the sandwiches and
unwrapped one. “I cede the peanut butter to you.”

Cede?
What kind of a word
was that? Not a biker-guy word, that was for sure. She took half
the sandwich, keeping her eyes on the road. It rolled out before
her headlights, the white line tantalizing with possibilities. This
road could go anywhere. Peanut butter sandwiches and coffee on a
long drive. Made her feel free, like she could leave anything
behind. She was going to treasure that feeling as long as she
could.

She was roused from her
satisfied reverie by a choking sound. Tris was hunched over his
sandwich. He gasped in a breath, then held his ribs.
Uh-oh.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I forgot to
tell you about the horseradish. I, uh, like horseradish and
mayonnaise on my cheese sandwiches. Are you okay?”

“Just fine,” he said hoarsely.
“Wakes a man up.”

She couldn’t help but grin.
“Cleans out your sinuses too.”

“Sinuses?” But there was a
little upturn to his mouth. “Oh, you mean those bleeding membranes
in my throat and nose?” His eyes were watering.

“I must’ve got carried
away.”

“Don’t worry about it.” His
breathing was getting a little steadier. “My mother says strong
tastes make you know you’re alive.”

That was the first time he’d
ever mentioned a member of his family other than the Prince of
Wales. “So … you’re alive.”

He looked at her with the strangest
expression. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess I am.”

*****

Jason’s cell tweeted against his
hip and his heart skipped a beat.

Just Prentice,
he told
himself,
calling to say he still hadn’t seen the truck
. The
way Jason figured, Prentice already missed them if they headed
straight to LA. Or they were still at the girl’s house. Jason knew
which alternative he wanted to believe.

He was just tired, after hours
of driving up and down the asphalt road through the middle of
nowhere and a stiff and cold few hours sleeping in the rental car.
He flipped open the cell. No number registered, but the Clan’s
numbers never did.

“
Tell me they’re toast,” he
barked to Prentice.

“
I very much doubt that,” the
old voice whispered.

Shit.
Chills hit him. Is that
what people meant when they said their blood ran cold? He could
think of nothing to say to her. He pulled the rental off to the
side of the road.

“
How did you lose
him?”

How did she know Tremaine wasn’t
dead? But there was no use trying to lie to her. Leave things out,
maybe, but not lie. “Girl picked him up from the hospital.”

“
A girl? Sister?” The wheeze
sharpened.

“
No such luck. Then we would
have had two.” Like he was anywhere near getting them. But she
didn’t have to know that. “It appears to be a girl he met in a
diner right before the crash.” Leaving out, for instance, that it
was also the girl who hauled him into the ER after the crash. “She
may be taking him to LA.”

“
Interesting.” The old
whisper was flat. “Seems sudden to have struck up such a
friendship. Could it be...?”

He waited to be sure she wasn’t
going to finish the sentence. He knew what she meant though.
Unusual attractions in someone with the gene could mean they’d
found the matching DNA. Not likely in this case. “Not his type.
She’s just a hick rodeo rider who sells livestock on the side. From
what I got off the gossip rags, he specializes in trashy blond
Hollywood types.”

“
Then she may be even more
dangerous.” A long pause which sounded thoughtful. “And where are
they, exactly?”

This was what he couldn’t avoid.
“W-well, either at the girl’s place, so Tremaine can rest up, or,
or on their way to LA. But don’t worry,” he hastened to add.
“Prentice is stationed at the California line. They won’t get past
him.”

“
Prentice hasn’t seen the
truck.”

So she’d called Prentice. She
always knew more than she let on. “Then I’m in position to get
them.”

“
Jason.”

“
Yes, ma’am.” He was having a
hard time breathing.

“
Are you properly motivated
to accomplish this task?”

He took two ragged breaths.
“Yes, ma’am.”

“
I would hate to think you
weren’t.”

“
You can count on me.” He
didn’t like the catch in his voice.
Don’t display weakness.
Don’t give her an opening,
he said to himself.

“
I wonder. My patience is
limited. And I want the girl, too.”

The line went dead.

He stared at the cell.
I
can run,
he said to himself.

But it was a lie. She’d find
him. She’d get the whole Clan after him until she found him. She
was relentless.

And then she’d make his
nightmares come true. Again.

He shook his head and squeezed
his eyes shut, feeling fifteen again, desperate enough to do
anything to avoid the inevitable. It had taken him years to paper
over that desperation with bravado. And he’d proved he wasn’t
fifteen anymore every day of his life since he’d gotten free.

But he wasn’t free. The old
woman had found him. At first she’d seemed like a Godsend. She
understood what happened when he met Selah, no matter how
frightened he was of what he was becoming. She made him feel like
he belonged. The Clan became his family. But belonging turned out
to have a price. The old woman could take him back to that horrible
time he’d tried so hard to escape in the blink of an eye. So there
was no question of failure. He had to get Tremaine and that damned
girl.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Tris shook himself out of the
dream about the last time he saw his family just at the point where
Tammy’s face crumpled into tears in his rearview mirror.
You’re
an asshole as well as a disappointment.
He checked his hands in
the morning light for signs of grease. Yep. There it was. It
stained him like a brand. He was heading back into that familiar
hell. This whole trip was beginning to feel like a death row
prisoner’s last walk.

“You okay?”

Maggie. He took a breath and let
it out. The calm she exuded seemed to chase away the shadows of
dream-twisted memories. “Yeah,” he said, half-surprised. “Where are
we?”

“Just coming up to the
California state line. Can’t be too far now.”

The last batch of Vicodin had
let him get some rest. “Thanks for letting me sleep.” That was
thoughtful of her. “You want to put your music back on?”

“Nah. Bet you’re not a country
music fan.”

“I like it okay. It’s kinda the
new rock and roll. And I like rock and roll.”

She glanced over at him,
skeptical. Like he was saying he liked it just to be nice.

“True.” He crossed his heart.
“New country anyway. That seems to be what you like.” He reached
for the radio and twiddled the dial. All he got was static.

“Think we’re in the middle of
nowhere.”

“And this truck doesn’t get
Sirius.”

“This seems like a very serious
truck.”

He barked a laugh. “Not that
kind of serious.”

Her quizzical look turned
embarrassed. “Oh, that satellite radio thing.”

“Got four or five different
country stations. New country, classic, bluegrass, the whole nine
yards.” That’s what he’d get her as a thank-you for taking him to
LA. Only because it wasn’t right to get her a dog in her situation.
Yeah. Sirius radio for her truck. She’d be surprised. Maybe she’d
even blush with pleasure.

“Guess this old truck is behind
the times.” She cleared her throat. “I just like ’em … solid
feeling. Steady.”

Tris blinked. He got the feeling
she wasn’t just talking about trucks. Or maybe she was talking
about trucks because it never occurred to her that men could be
solid for her. Steady.

So that was what you had to be
in order to be good for her. He stifled a cough. Or maybe a choking
sound. Well, he was the opposite of that. Drifter. Had a hundred
women in his life. Didn’t care about one of them. Well, his sisters
and his mother. But not the girls he fucked. Hell, he wasn’t
romantic at all. And you had to be romantic to believe you could be
steady and solid for one woman all your life and never leave
her.

He jerked his thoughts back to
trucks. “Yeah. This truck is that.” He listened to the hum of the
motor. It sounded … satisfied. It would be good to feel that way.
Man like him never felt satisfied. He cleared his throat. “I think
it likes hauling your horses.”

She chuckled. “Bunch of work.
Can’t like that.”

“No,” he said, surprised at the
thoughts spinning through his head. “It’s … it’s like a sheepdog.
Or a quarter horse. They need a job to be happy.”

She was looking at him from the
corner of her eye like he was a loon.