Heat Wave (Riders Up) (17 page)

He’d tried to quit,
or at least back off, dozens of times. He was no fool. But the brew was
seductive, more seductive than any woman he’d encountered, with the exception
of one. There were days when he would have done most anything to get the next
drink. That scared him when he was sober, so he drank to avoid the fear.

What would she
think if she could see him now? Would serve her right—putting her faith in a
drunk. What did she really expect of him?

Without flinching,
Ed ran a finger around the rim of the shot glass. Long moments dragged by while
his mind resembled a blank slate. He knew if he drank enough he could make
those blank periods last longer. Blackouts—they enticed him and terrorized him.
He would be able to function, but not remember. Was that bliss, or a coward’s
way out? It wouldn’t take long, if he only had the courage to take that first
drink.

Hah. So many people
in those meetings he’d been attending talked about the courage necessary to
avoid next drink. Here he was asking himself if he had the guts to lift a
single glass to his lips and let the stinging, hot whisky glide down his
throat. He could practically feel the familiar burning. So why didn’t he just
gulp the damn stuff down and get on with it?

He could leave them
all behind. No Maggie harping at him, wanting more than he could give. No
worrying about which kid was going to get injured next. No wondering when they’d
all figure out he didn’t measure up—that he was some kind of fake, a figment of
their imagination.

Ed glanced
furtively around with renewed awareness. His senses sharpened. How long had he
been sitting like that, gawking at his future? The waitress and bartender
stared at him as if he were an alien. He scratched the two-day growth of beard.
He swore inwardly at the booze. He swore at the memories.

Why couldn’t he
just walk away from her? He didn’t owe her anything. Not anymore. He’d paid his
debt. But she wanted more, much more.

The bouncy, buxom
waitress stood in front of him. “Listen, Bud, if you’re gonna drink, drink up. We’re
gonna be closing soon. And don’t forget my tip.” Leaning over, jiggling huge
breasts, she whispered, “Or maybe you’ve got something else in mind. You’ve got
possibilities. I can see that.”

She withered under
his icy glare. “Okay, I get the message, Bud. Why don’t you just get out of
here? You give me the willies. Any man who buys whiskey and beer and then just
stares at them for more than an hour can’t be much of a man in my book.” The
waitress brushed back curly brown hair and then flounced off to serve other
customers.

Ed hardly knew she’d
left. He wet his lips. Trying to steady his hand, he reached for the whiskey
glass. Lifting it, he paused, and then slammed it down, splashing its contents
over the scarred table.

He might be able to
run from all of them, but he knew he’d never be able to run from himself.

Pushing his chair
back, Ed stumbled getting up. He threw some coins on the table and rushed
toward the exit.

Outside, Ed gulped
for air. His hand shook like some ancient reminder of what used to be and could
so easily have been again. He placed a hand in his pocket and curled his
fingers around the ninety day chip.

Sobriety was a
daily battle. Everybody said it. He knew it. And this day, he had been
victorious—so far. He had not been that close to a drink since he was accosted
by the tiny blonde woman in Des Moines. Dangerously close. Wiping his mouth
with the back of his hand, he staggered, bone tired, down the alley toward his
truck.

“Not so fast,
Mister,” thundered a stocky man dressed in dark clothing. Grabbing Ed by his
open collar, the stranger jerked him nearly off his feet.

Ed kept his mouth
shut. His senses went into overdrive. He was keenly aware of a second man
standing behind him ready to pounce.

“Rushing back to
take care of the little babe?” The man laughed derisively, pushing and pulling
Ed back and forth as if he were a rag doll.

Ed went limp; he’d
been rolled before. It didn’t pay to put up a fight. Let them take his money. Wasn’t
much anyway.

“We just want to
help you on your way, friend. But we want to make sure you’re going in the
right direction. Crawl back to Chicago, to New Orleans, to California. Anywhere
but back to her farm. You don’t want to get caught up in Maggie Anderson’s
battles.” The burly man jerked him again. “Nothing good can come to you from
that. Just in case you have a short memory from all the booze you drank, we’re
gonna tattoo the message clear…on your body.”

Ed felt himself
being pushed backwards into the waiting arms of the second stranger who
stretched him out like a helpless scarecrow. And then the fists started pelting
his body. First the solar plexus. Then the rib cage. The man holding him
managed to do damage to Ed’s kidneys.

“You won’t go near
that farm again, if you know what’s good for you.” The only man to speak
pounded until Ed could no longer see through bruised eyes. A blow to the jaw
loosened some teeth.

Through a haze, Ed
felt cartilage in his nose break. Then, mercifully, he was on the pavement. The
smaller assailant kicked him in the groin repeatedly. Ed tried vainly to roll
into a ball.

“That bitch is more
than you can handle anyway, cowboy. You better heed our message,” the little
man wheezed. “The next one won’t be near so gentle.”

Vaguely, Ed heard
their footsteps retreating. There was a hysterical internal laugh when he
realized that they didn’t get his money. Then there was blackness. Total
blackness.

- o -

The kitchen phone
rang at eight a.m., jangling Maggie’s already frayed nerves. She grabbed it on
the second ring.

“Yes,” she said
warily.

“Maggie, it’s me,
Flo. How are you?

“I’m okay. What’s
up?” Maggie knew her attempt at cheerfulness fell flat. Her throat was so dry
it was a wonder she could talk.

“I’m not sure I
should have called.” Flo hesitated. “Does that man, Harrington, still work for
you?”

Maggie ran fingers
through her hair wishing she knew the answer to that question, but she was no
sphinx. “I don’t know. He stormed out of here a couple days ago.”

A deafening silence
ensued. Finally, Maggie could wait no longer. “What have you heard, Flo? Why
did you ask?”

“Well, Mel was just
in for breakfast. Harrington is the talk of the town, but I don’t know how much
is rumor.”

“Will you just spit
it out?” Maggie struggled to control her rising temper. What could the bar
owner possibly know about Ed? Oh, no!

“Ed was beaten up
last night outside Mel’s place.”

Stunned, Maggie
gasped, slumping against the wall.

“Maybe I shouldn’t
have said anything,” came the weak whisper over the phone.

“No. No. You did
right,” Maggie assured her friend. “I’ve just got to think, that’s all. I’ll
get back to you later.”

After hanging up
the phone, Maggie leaned against the sink. Acid gnawing on her stomach
threatened to escape. She lowered her head onto the cool sink. What to do?

What to feel? Guilt
for pushing him too far. No, he was already running before she ever suggested
he move into the house. Anger. Damn right, she was angry. They’d had so much to
look forward to. Now there was nothing but memories. Relief? Maybe eventually. Right
now there was too much numbness to experience any relief.

Whatever she might
feel, even if she did want to crawl under a rock and hide, she had to know what
really happened. My God, who would stoop to beat him up, even if he was drunk? She
had to determine if the idiot was okay. If he was, then she could give him a
quick kick in the ass and send him packing.

First things first.
She’d call Mel and find out what had really happened.

- o -

Ed sniffed
lavender. God, it was such a lovely smell. He recognized her scent before he
could force an eyelid open. Her touch on his fingers was warm and comforting.

“Where…” he managed
to murmur.

“You’re in the
hospital,” Maggie said. “Mel found you in the alley by the tavern when he left
for home. You’ve been beaten badly, Ed.”

Behind closed eyes,
Ed winced at the quiver in her voice and tremble in her fingers. He figured he
didn’t look so good.

“Doc says no
internal damage. But you’re going to hurt like hell for days.” Maggie picked up
a paper cup of water with a bent straw. “Here, try to sip some water.”

With great effort,
Ed swallowed twice and then pushed the cup away. He squinted his eyes open and
sighed. It hurt like hell to even breathe. “You look a mess,” he said at last. Actually,
he’d never seen a more attractive sight in his entire life. With mussed up
hair, no makeup, and a rapidly thrown together appearance, she looked more
bewitching than ever. Nor did he fail to notice the worry lines marring her
forehead.

“Well, you’re not
going to win any beauty contest for awhile,” she countered, squeezing his
fingers gently.

“No, don’t suppose,”
he muttered, nodding off.

- o -

Maggie waited as he
slept. She always seemed to be waiting for this man to do something: to come to
work for her, to love her, to come back to her. Of all the possible men out
there in the universe, she couldn’t fathom why her heart had been captured by a
tumbleweed like Ed Harrington.

She had more
confidence in the man than he had in himself. Was he wrong, or was she? Tearfully,
she contemplated their bleak future. Would he come back and reclaim his job? He
couldn’t really go anywhere else for a while, given the shape he was in.

Tracing her
fingertips across the hairs of his forearm, she wondered if he would ever come
back to her. She didn’t think she could stand working next to him without also
loving him. She could turn a clock back, but she couldn’t figure out how to do
the same with her heart. Would he run away again? Would he run from anything
that smacked of commitment?

Right now, all she
wanted was for him to recover and to own the love that she knew they shared. She
had to be in his arms. The rest could wait.

Maybe she was being
foolish. She’d spent most of her life not being foolish. What was it her mother
used to say when quoting the Bible? “There is a time for everything.” Maybe it
was time for being foolish.

Maggie smiled, imagining
some of the whimsical things she wanted to do with the man lying in the raised
hospital bed. He looked so pale, and the room so sterile. The man who could
work miracles with horses and with her kids and with her body looked so out of
place lying bruised and battered against white hospital sheets.

- o -

An hour later, Ed
wrenched himself into a half sitting position. “There,” he declared with a degree
of satisfaction, “I’ll be out of here in no time.” He grimaced at the alarm
darkening Maggie’s features. So she didn’t share his assessment of his physical
well-being.

Ignoring his
comment, Maggie said, “Cops are going to want to talk with you about what
happened as soon as you’re able.”

“Nothing much to
say,” he grunted.

“They know it wasn’t
robbery. Your wallet was intact, even with cash in it.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t
robbery,” he agreed grudgingly. Ed closed his eyes. How could he keep her from
knowing why the guys beat him up? Should he? Was she in danger? The kids? He
doubted that.

Maggie pre-empted
him. “You were beat up because you helped me, weren’t you?”

Her words were like
another blow to his solar plexus. He didn’t want to tell her, to add fuel to her
fears. But she sat erect—so defiant—on the edge of the bed. Her face appeared
frozen in worry. He’d never be able to elude her. She’d know immediately if he
lied.

“You’re too smart
for your own good at times, Maggie.” He closed his eyes seeking darkness. “Just
let it lie. Let me get out of here, out of your life, and you’ll be all right.”

“No,” she said with
a dry chuckle. “You’re not going to get away from me that easily. And whoever
beat you up, or whoever paid to have you beaten, will not be satisfied until I
go belly up. I have no intention of doing that. Magees don’t cave in while
there’s an ounce of fight left in them.”

She placed her
small hand on top of his large one.

“You are coming
home with us. We’ll help you heal, Ed. You are a very good man, a decent man. Please
don’t throw yourself on a garbage heap.”

The glitter in her
eyes mesmerized him. He wanted to cry. What did this woman see in him? Over and
over, he’d let her down, and she was still there goading and egging him on. She
left him little choice. Had he ever really had a choice about her? At last he
spoke. “Maggie, I didn’t drink.” A tear eased its way down his right cheek.