“Why couldn’t we have done this at the gym or the community center?” Mason groused, blowing hot air into his cupped hands and swearing under his breath.
“You’re getting soft, Mase. I thought the weather didn’t bother you.”
“Easy living will do that to you,” his brother said with a cocky grin. “I can tolerate the weather when necessary. This doesn’t seem necessary. Not when we have perfectly good interior alternatives.”
“Yeah, well, Harry ‘the Ass’ Walters doesn’t want a bunch of ‘young hooligans’—his words—fucking up his expensive gym equipment. And I told you, man, the community center has a water leak. The place is flooded. We’re working on fixing the problem, but until then this is the only place we can come to for the youth program.”
“I don’t think anyone is going to show up, Spence,” Mason said, his voice almost apologetic. He knew how much the program meant to Spencer.
“Let’s give them a few more minutes. Some of them have to travel a distance to get here. I’m thinking of chartering a bus or something to pick them up every week. But it’s tough finding a driver who’s willing to go to some of the places these kids live.”
Mason nodded, and they stood in silence for a moment before the younger man spoke again.
“I didn’t mean to spring the news on you like that. About moving to Grahamstown, I mean.”
“Well, I was kind of expecting it. You can’t exactly go to university in Riversend, can you?”
“Yeah, but five years is quite a stretch.”
“Better than twelve years,” Spencer responded, referring to the last time Mason had left. “And at least this time you won’t be on the other side of the world.”
Spencer wasn’t happy to be losing his only family again, but he wasn’t about to reveal to Mason how he felt. His brother had enough on his plate without having to worry about Spencer’s feelings.
“Daff says you and Daisy want a mixed stag and hen?” Spencer said, changing the subject. Mason grimaced.
“It’s weird, right?” he said with a slight shake of his head.
“Off-the-charts weird,” Spencer agreed. “What the fuck, bro?”
“Daisy mentioned it, and she looked so damned cute and hopeful I found myself agreeing to it before I knew what I was doing.”
“Come on, Mase. At least put up a semblance of a fight. If you’re already crumbling over shit like this, you’ll never have a say in anything in your marriage.”
Mason laughed.
“It’s not like that. The stag thing isn’t important, and if it makes Daisy happy then that’s all that matters. I just think it’s bizarre as fuck to have a mixed thing, is all.”
“Daff and I were thinking we could start off separately and the two parties could merge later in the evening.”
“Daff, huh?” Mason crossed his arms and tucked his hands beneath his armpits.
“We’re just getting a jump on the whole maid of honor/best man thing.”
“You guys aren’t going to kill each other and break my fiancée’s heart, right?”
“Depends on how much more of a bitch Daff is.”
“Come on, she’s not that bad.” Spencer said nothing in response to that, merely watched Mason with raised brows, and the latter laughed.
“You’re the one with the hard-on for her,” Mason pointed out, and Spencer ran an irate hand through his hair.
“I’m over that.” And he was, despite giving in to his really odd whim to take her lunch that afternoon. Even odder was the fact that it couldn’t be dismissed as an impulse. He had prepared the extra sandwich before work, fully intending to give it to Daff. He couldn’t explain what had motivated the act any more than he could explain the knowledge that he was going to do the same thing tomorrow. Maybe it was because he knew that she’d probably packed a salad in her misguided attempt to diet. He was pissed off with her, sure, but he didn’t really want her to starve herself.
“Spence, no one’s coming,” Mason said after another beat of silence, and Spencer sighed and nodded.
“It’s the shitty weather. Who can blame them? Maybe we can reschedule for next week.”
“Suits me.” Mason moved to quickly and efficiently stack the half dozen exercise mats they had brought into a neat pile. “Want to grab a beer after this?”
“Shouldn’t you be getting home to do wedding stuff?”
“Nah, I already committed to spending the next few hours with you, so we might as well hang out. Besides, Daisy’s still pissed off with me for even mentioning the word braai in relation to the wedding, so I’m kind of in the doghouse as far as wedding plans go at the moment.”
“That was a dumb move.” Spencer chuckled as he lifted one side of the stacked mats and Mason grabbed the other. They carried the mats to the back of Spencer’s huge pickup truck with Spencer ribbing Mason all the way.
“You Carlisle?” The young, gruff voice came from behind them, and both men looked over to see a slight boy, probably no more than fourteen or fifteen, watching them warily. Spencer assessed the boy. He had never seen the kid before. Small, skinny, hands thrust in jeans pockets, and shoulders hunched defensively. His black hair was cropped short and spiky, he had warm, golden-brown skin, and—as with a few of the other mixed-race kids Spencer worked with—had striking light-green eyes.
“Hmm. I’m sorry, we’re packing up. We didn’t think anybody was going to come. You must be new. I’m Spencer Carlisle. This is my brother, Mason.” He held out a hand in greeting, but the boy kept his own hands firmly tucked into his pockets.
“I know who you are,” he snapped.
“And you are?” Spencer prompted, ignoring the rudeness. The kid said nothing at first, merely stared at them with those unnerving eyes.
“Charlie,” he finally replied.
“Well, Charlie, if you don’t mind skipping the self-defense class, we can maybe grab something to eat before I take you home? Or will one of your parents be picking you up?”
“I don’t need your charity,” the kid snapped. His jeans looked at least two sizes too big, and the belt had a few extra holes punched into it to accommodate his small waist and to keep the baggy trousers up.
“It wasn’t meant to be charity. I usually order a pizza for the kids anyway, and I figure you came out in this weather, the least I can do is offer you something to eat since we’re not doing the class. Kind of as an apology for wasting your time.”
Charlie narrowed his eyes on Spencer’s face, as if he were trying to gauge the older man’s sincerity.
“I’m all right. Thanks. I’ll just go home.”
“You need a ride?”
“It’s close by.” Now it was Spencer’s turn to try to figure out if the boy was being truthful, but he couldn’t see anything beyond defiance and challenge in his eyes.
“Check the community center announcement board tomorrow to see when our next self-defense class will be.”
The boy shrugged.
“I hope to see you there.”
“Whatever.” The kid turned away and kicked at the muddy ground as he trudged away, leaving the two tall men to watch his retreating figure.
“You ever seen that kid before?” Mason asked, and Spencer shrugged.
“Never.”
“She seems familiar.”
“She?”
“Yeah, man. Don’t tell me you fell for that gruff act.” Spencer scrutinized the kid’s back speculatively and had to admit that there was a definite feminine gait to Charlie’s stride.
“Why the hell would she pretend to be a boy?” Spencer speculated.
“I can think of any number of reasons, none of them pleasant.”
“Do you think she needs help?”
“Beyond the obvious, you mean?”
“I’m just wondering if she’s in immediate jeopardy.”
“I think she probably does have a safe place to stay tonight—she didn’t seem that desperate.”
Casting another look at the boy—girl—and contemplating whether he should push the issue of food and possibly shelter, Spencer decided that it would probably succeed only in alienating her. Best to tread carefully with a prickly personality like hers. He wanted her to come back so that he could better ascertain what kind of help she needed. He just hoped she really had a decent place to stay and that she wasn’t in a dangerous situation.
“I’ll ask Oom Herbert and Principal Kane if they know her,” he decided out loud, and Mason nodded.
“Good call.” Oom—or Uncle—Herbert was the popular local minister who ran the homeless shelter. And old man Kane had been the principal at the high school since Mason and Spencer were kids. They would know if the girl was local and what her situation was. Then again, Spencer knew pretty much all the at-risk kids in and around town, and he had never seen her before. Somehow he doubted that young Charlie was local.
He sighed and climbed into the cab of his truck. He was going to worry about her all night; it was really bucketing down by now and she was skinny as hell—she could get sick easily. He hoped she really had decent shelter close by. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.