Slow Burn: A Texas Heat Novel (4 page)

Chapter 7

Lindsey and Carl Grant stood at the foot of the hospital bed. They stared at their daughter sleeping in the protective arms of Donavan McClain. Lindsey gasped with a shocked whisper, “My God, they love each other.”

“Yep,” Carl said.

“You knew?”

“I suspected in the First Grade, by high school I knew for sure.”

“But, they’re always at each other’s throats,” Lindsey said in dismay.

Carl chuckled. “Donavan would walk through hell and back for her.”

“Let’s hope there will never be a need.”

A few days later, Donavan parked the police cruiser in the circular drive of the Tudor mansion. The oval door flew open. Mrs. Gilbert, the housekeeper, beckoned him inside. Her beloved face lined with worry.

“How bad?” Donavan asked.

“He’s hit a rough patch, to be sure,” she said fretfully. Her blue frosted hair, winter eyes and squat body made her look like one of J.R.R Tolkien’s Hobbits. She ushered Donavan inside. The house always felt suffocating to him, a marble tomb with rooms full of dusty treasures.

While growing up, Donavan wanted for nothing materially. He had all the latest name brand clothes, a mountain of toys, video games, vacations to exotic locales and unlimited money. On the surface, he had an enviable childhood. He certainly enjoyed it. The part that sucked happened to be the man singing buck naked on the terrace. Allister McClain weaved across the Mosaic tile singing the 1970s song
Baby Come Back
at the top of his lungs. He cradled a bottle of imported Scottish brandy to his chest like a lover.

“Oh ho! There he is!” Allister bellowed. “How’s my boy?”

“Traumatized at the sight of your pale, flabby ass this early in the morning.”   

“Ha-ha!” At least his dad was a happy drunk.

Mrs. Gilbert shielded her eyes with one hand and held out a robe with the other.

“Oh come on Donnie, do I have to put it on?”

His father pouted like a petulant, fat toddler. Donavan helped his dad into the plush, Turkish robe.

Mrs. Gilbert sighed her relief. “Would you like some breakfast?” she asked them hopefully. Nothing gave her greater pleasure than feeding the McClain men. It’s a wonder Donavan wasn’t five hundred pounds by now. “Yes, thank you.”

She beamed at him, reached up on the tip of her toes and pinched Donavan’s cheek. “Oh you handsome devil.”

Then she disappeared through the art gallery to the cavernous kitchen beyond. Donavan stared hard at his father. The older man’s skin looked pasty, blue eyes sunken in with purple shadows beneath, lips wet and raw from alcohol, silver blond hair matted. He reeked of unwashed skin and brandy fumes.

Donavan assumed the familiar role of parent. He pried the bottle from Allister’s fingers. “Come on, you’re taking a shower.”

“Aw man, do I have to?” his dad whined.

“Yes damn it, you stink.”

“You don’t have to be so mean.”

Donavan walked him through the sunken living room, up the grand staircase and into the oak paneled bedroom. He waited in the two story library as his father took a shower. “And wash your hair!” Donavan yelled.

“Okie dokie,” Allister called.

Minutes later, Donavan forced his father to eat freshly baked bread, scrambled eggs and bacon. “Drink the coffee,” Donavan ordered. He winked at the housekeeper. She was really like a surrogate mother to him. “Mrs. G, thank you.”

“Anything for my boy,” she said. She left father and son alone. Donavan glared at the view of acres of manicured lawn, infinity pool and tennis court.

“I heard you played cops and robbers the other day, bang, bang.” Allister said with a goofy grin.

Donavan ate without tasting his food. He knew it was only a matter of time before his dad drank himself to death. “Is she really worth all this?” Donavan asked quietly.

Allister stiffened. Something desolate flashed in his eyes and faded to nothing. “Your mother was one of a kind.”

The older man’s shoulder’s shook with heaving sobs. He burst into tears. For a second, Donavan could only watch. For a grown man to act this way was just pathetic.

“Wives leave their husbands every day. It’s been fifteen years, get over it.”

“You don’t understand,” Allister wailed. He wiped snot with his trembling hand. “Cindy was my life, I can’t go on without her.”

Donavan’s jaw clenched. He hated the shadow of a man his once vibrant father had become. Cynthia McClain was a caring, attentive mother until the day she kissed Donavan on the cheek, told him she was going to the grocery store and never came back. He was ten years old. Within twenty-four hours, his mother filed for divorce, moved to Europe and shacked up with her lover. She never looked back.

The emotional wreckage she left behind took years to heal. Donavan had Mrs. Gilbert, a few good teachers and friends to get him through. Fighting with Harper helped him snap out of a deep depression. Their fierce debates, arguments and practical jokes gave him something to look forward to every day. In a real sense, Harper saved him during the worst days of his life. As a result, he survived his mother’s abandonment fairly unscathed and he buried himself in academics and football. His father wasn’t so lucky.

Allister literally fell apart. He resigned from the Fortune 500 Company he ran for years. He slept all day and only woke up to drink, eat junk food and pee. He shunned his society friends and relatives, never left the house. He crawled into a bottle and drowned in the amber swirling depths of brandy. For Donavan, he lost the mother he loved and the father he always looked up to. The man sitting across from him was a weak, watered down version of the father Donavan once knew. Downright pitiful.

“I know you hold me in contempt.”

Oh ya think? Donavan took a long sip of black coffee. Allister sniffed, his eyes bloodshot with tears and alcohol fumes. “I loved her,” his father said. “When you fall in love son, then you’ll understand, she was a part of me. How can I function when a vital part of me is gone?”

Donavan stared at his father as if looking into a mirror. This is why he’d never get married. He’d have his fun with girls like Kimber. The fact remained, there were a million Kimbers out there. They usually came onto him, boldly asking him out, slept with him without drama or complications. He liked it that way. He never kept them for long. A month or two at the most, then onto the next sweet thing. If one left, who cares? She could be replaced in a heartbeat. There was no danger of emotional entanglement. Allister was living proof that loving a woman could bring a man to his knees. No way in hell was Donavan going down that dead end road.

“It’s been fifteen years,” Donavan repeated. “She’s moved on, why can’t you? Instead of crying like a little bitch, get up and live your life.”

Allister’s shoulders slumped. His bottom lip quivered. “I still love her,” he whimpered.

Utterly disgusted, Donavan rose from the table. He’d had enough. This useless shell of a man was obliterated by the so called love of a woman. Well not him. Nope. No way. Donavan kissed the crown of his father’s wet hair. “Bye dad.”

Kimber was getting tiresome. When she whined about their canceled trip, he had to cut her loose. He wasn’t sure who the next flavor of the month would be until Emerson Riley cruised back into town. They met again at a routine traffic stop. His buddy, Dylan Chambers was sweet on her back in the day. He wondered if Dyl knew she was in town? And would he mind if Donavan asked her out?

Chapter 8

Harper stood in the fire chief’s office, feet braced apart, hands behind her back and stubborn jaw set. “I know everyone in the department thinks you walk on water, myself included, but I’m begging you, please, don’t run this guy off.”

Harper shrugged. “Send me a partner who’s worth a damn and we won’t have any problems, chief.”

The fire chief groaned. He rubbed a hand over his grisly beard. “His name is Andy, he was an Army Medic.”

That piqued Harper’s interest. “I’m sure Andy and I will get along just fine.”  

Harper left the chief’s office. Some of the firefighters slept on cots, others ate in the kitchen or hung out in the garage.

“Yo Grant!” Firefighter Samson called.

“Hey,” she said.

“If you were a man, would you go for Shakira or J-Lo?”

“Shakira.”

“Nice!”

“But J-Lo’s got that ass,” Firefighter Jacobs said.

“Yea but Shakira’s butt is on remote control, she can shake it in any direction,” Harper said.

“Oh you got a point there,” Samson agreed.

The guys drooled over Shakira’s new YouTube video. Harper’s cell rang. She grinned when she saw the number.

“Girl!”

“Hallooo darling!”

Harper laughed at Emerson’s fake British accent.

“Hey sunshine, you made it home yet?”

“Yeah, I was in town all of two minutes when I got pulled over.”

Her voice sounded so irate, Harper could just picture the cute strawberry blonde with the pixie face. Pulled over?

“For what?”

“My music.”

“Oh that stupid noise ordinance. I swear the city council has collectively lost their ever loving minds.” Harper huffed. “They’ve passed a bunch of so called laws lately. I wanna bash them all over the head.”

Harper leaned against her rig, ambulance 41. She loved being outside, feel the sun on her face, watch the small town come to life. Tourists strolled in and out of quaint antique shops. The Red Hat Senior Ladies Club were having brunch in the park gazebo.

Emerson said, “Hey back to my cop or should I say yours?”

Harper growled, it was a reflex reaction. “Thor?”

“Yup, why didn’t you tell me how freaking gorgeous he is?”

Harper inwardly groaned. “Eew, take that back.”

“Donavan McClain is fine as vintage wine.”

Harper didn’t know how to handle the burning jealousy that felt like a kick to the stomach. “That’s it, you’re fired. I’m rescinding my friendship effective immediately.”

Emerson wasn’t fooled. “Harper, when was the last time you really looked at him?”

“When he yelled in my face just the other day, he’s a Neanderthal, a caveman, a f-ugly Viking.”

“Forget I said anything.”

Harper grunted. She pressed her rig’s siren. “Oh, gotta go, see you babe.”

“Bye sugar.”

Harper ended the call. She leaned against the ambulance and tried to breathe. She could handle the Kimbers of this world but if Donavan took up with her good friend she didn’t know how to cope with it.

Donavan decided it was high time someone shook up the unflappable Mayor Dylan Chambers. They were really close back in high school. Ever since Dyl went into politics he became lifeless, there was no fire in the belly. Donavan remembered how it was between Dylan and Emerson back in the day. He wondered if the spark was still there? Only one way to find out. He mischievously crashed Dylan’s lunch date with his mother.

Donavan strolled on in to The Dixie Pixie. The bell chimed over the door. The waitress, Miss Viola, waved a greeting. “Hey Officer McClain!”

“Hey Miz Vi.” Donavan pulled up a chair to their booth, uninvited.

“Good afternoon Mrs. Chambers.”

“Hi Donavan sweetie, how are you?”

“Mighty fine.”

“And your dad?”

“Fat n’ sassy.”

She smiled. “Give him my regards.”

“Will do.”

“Hey Mr. Mayor.”

“Don, what’s up?”

“Guess who I just pulled over?”

“Who?” Dylan asked.

“Oh, someone famous?” Ava chimed in. 

Dylan took a long sip of sweet tea.

“Emerson Riley.”

Dylan choked. Donavan pounded him on the back. “You okay bro?”

“Who’s Emerson Riley?” Ava asked.

“Nobody,” Dylan said a little too quickly.

“Oh really?” Donavan drawled.

Dylan flashed him a warning look.

Donavan gleefully ignored it. “Well Mrs. Chambers, Dyl was crazy about this girl in high school.”

“Amber what’s her name?”

“Noooo,” Donavan said, “Her name is Emerson Riley, cute as a button, we called her bookworm.”

Ava stopped eating. She looked at her son wide eyed. Dylan had that football, quarter back look on his face, the one that said he was about to crush anyone in his path. Donavan grinned as if to say, anytime bro.

“So nobody knew how Dylan felt about her until the senior prom.”

Dylan glanced at his watch. “Will you look at the time? Don’t you have criminals to catch?”

“Nope,” Donavan said pleasantly.  

Ava looked from Dylan to Don. “I’ve never heard of this girl before.”

“There was nothing to tell,” Dylan said, his tone clipped. He shot another - shut the hell up - glare at Donavan.

“I should’ve known though,” Donavan mused, “Whenever Emerson walked into class Dyl would stop breathing.”

“Really?” Ava asked, clearly intrigued.

“Oh yeah.”

“Shut.up,” Dylan said.

“Dyl made all of us on the football team dance with Emerson’s nerdy friends just to make her happy.”

Ava looked at her son quizzically. He shrugged as if to say, no big deal. Oh but it was a big deal and Donavan was about to prove it. Wake up Dyl, I know you’re in there. Donavan continued to press.  

“Your son dumped the prom queen and danced with Emerson Riley, the entire social structure of Aberdeen Prep imploded.”

Dylan couldn’t quite meet his mother’s probing eyes.

He leaned over the table. “Don,” he hissed, “I’m going to throat punch you, that’s all the warning you’re gonna get.”

“So you don’t mind if I ask her out?”

Dylan’s blue eyes narrowed to slits. Aw there it is! That spark of life, jealousy in all its glory.

“Emerson is all grown up and damn if she don’t look good enough to-”

Dylan growled low in his throat.

“Beautiful red gold curls, cute pixie face, juicy pink lips-”

“Enough already!” Dylan snapped. He raked a hand through his hair.

Now to ignite the blaze. Donavan said, “Remember how flat chested she was in high school? Not anymore, that girl’s got a rack you wouldn’t believe, huge tits.” Donavan held his hands out in front of his chest to illustrate. “And a luscious ass, now if I tapped that-”