Country Roads(87)

ERIC’S PA IS here,” Verna announced through the intercom.

Paul followed Eric’s dash out of his office and into the reception area. His brother stood in front of Verna’s desk, laughing as he threw his arms open to catch his son. Jimmy still wore his dirty work clothes and heavy construction boots, but he looked more like the brother Paul had once known than the defeated alcoholic he’d become.

“Hey, Jimbo,” Paul said. “You didn’t have to come rushing home. Verna’s always glad to have Eric’s company. Of course, once she’s done feeding him sweets, he may not have any teeth left.”

“Eric knows two pieces of candy are the limit,” Verna said. “Then he has to switch to apples.”

Jimmy smiled at his son, his blue eyes striking in contrast to the tan he had acquired since he started working construction. “I’ll make sure he has one when we get home.”

Eric made a face.

“I know you’re busy,” Jimmy said, holding out his hand to Paul and pulling him into a brief embrace, “but I just wanted to say thanks. I don’t know what I’d do without you, bro.”

“You’d do fine,” Paul said, surprised by his brother’s demonstrativeness. He gave Jimmy an affectionate pound on the back before he released him. “It’s always a treat to see Eric.”

The smile faded from Jimmy’s face. “A lot of people talk the talk,” he said, “but you walk the walk too. I just want you to know I appreciate that.” He turned back to his son. “Okay, buddy, let’s get out of Uncle Paul’s hair so he can bill some hours.”

Paul watched them as they exited, Eric carrying Julia’s drawing as carefully as a ten-year-old could while describing his encounter with Julia to his father. Jimmy’s arm was around Eric’s thin shoulders again, and the love between the two of them practically glowed like a halo.

His job was to keep it that way.



The roar of a motorcycle engine shattered Julia’s concentration. She stepped back from her painting as footsteps sounded on the front porch of her studio. The screen door creaked open and Paul strode in, dressed in jeans and leather.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said, coming around the counter to bend her over his arm for a soul-searing kiss.

She took fistfuls of his leather jacket and tilted her head back so he could run his mouth down her neck. When he grazed her skin with just the edge of his teeth, she shivered as the sensation rippled outward from his touch.

“Gosh,” she said, as he righted her, “that wasn’t what I expected. You’re not mad anymore?”

His expression darkened slightly. “It’s not my place.”

“You were mad before.”

Although he didn’t release his hold, he looked away. “Your life and mine are different, and you can live yours any way you see fit.”

Julia wasn’t sure she liked the sound of that. The overprotective Paul made her feel connected to him. This Paul seemed to be distancing himself. She gestured to the painting, just to see if she could provoke him. “What do you think? I was inspired by my first horseback ride and found new depths to add.”

He pivoted, keeping one arm around her waist. “Hmm. My expert appraisal is that it’s pretty damn good. You’ve given him that adolescent combination of insecurity and bravado.”

She studied the half-finished painting, looking for what Paul saw. It was there in the angle of Darkside’s ear and the gleam in his eye. She’d also conveyed the fragility of his skull under his smooth coat. It added a touch of vulnerability.

“That’s what I understood about him today,” she said. “He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do so he acts out to cover it up. I can’t wait to ride him again.” She was so pleased by Paul’s perception she forgot about trying to strike a spark of anger.

Until she felt him stiffen and regretted her last words. Then he drew in a deep breath. “As long as I don’t have to watch.”

Leaning away to look up at him, she said, “When did the aliens kidnap Paul and put a pod person in his place?”

He gave her a tight smile. “You want to go for a ride on the hog?”

“Oh yeah,” she said. “Just let me clean my brushes.” She gathered up her supplies and carried them to the bathroom to give them a speedy scrub.

When she emerged, Paul was standing at the back window as he had earlier. For all his devil-may-care facade, his posture was leaden. She dropped the brushes with a clatter, and he started.

“Ready?” he asked, coming back toward her. Paul plucked the paintbrushes she’d forgotten about out of her hair, sending it tumbling around her shoulders. “Biker chicks let the wind blow back their hair,” he said, combing the fingers of one hand through the mass of tangles. One snagged him, and he carefully worked it out before taking her hand and towing her out the door. “I brought the jacket for you for a farewell ride.”