Paradise Disguised(28)

He was a man with appetites. The ladies could attest to that as well,  for he'd left many broken hearts in his wake. But no matter what the  pleasure-whether it be brawls or seduction, violence or compassion-he  always put everything he had into what he wanted.

What was the point of playing if you weren't going to win?

He pulled the P.O.S. car he'd rented off to the side of the road at the  top of a hill, just past the Now Entering Surrender, Montana sign that  sat weathered with age and slightly crooked. It had been ten years since  he'd been home. Sure, he kept in touch with his brothers. They got  together once a year for a vacation and again at Christmas. But always  somewhere else. He hadn't set foot in Surrender since the day he'd  thrown his bags in the trunk of his car and sped out of town.

There were too many memories. Of the old farmhouse he and his brothers  had been raised in. Of the Christmases and birthdays. Of fighting and  carousing with his brothers with equal abandon. The chores, the school  programs, his first kiss in the alley behind Gruber's Ice Cream Shoppe.  And then later, his first taste of a woman-the fumbling, sweaty bodies  on a blanket in the back of his pickup truck. All of those memories were  here, but still he hesitated on the outskirts of town.

Dane opened the car door and got out, ignoring the shudder of the engine  and coughs of smoke from the tailpipe. There hadn't been a lot of  options for car rentals when one of his buddies had flown him to the  private airstrip thirty miles south of Surrender, so he'd taken the keys  of the rusted out Honda and kept his focus on getting home in one  piece. But now that he was here he wanted nothing more than to turn  around and head back to the airport.

Everything was lush and green in the middle of July. Surrender was  nestled snuggly at the bottom of the hill, a gem of white fences and red  barns with hundreds of acres of pasture land dotted with roaming  livestock that was so many people's bread and butter in this part of the  world. The town itself was one long road, and a row of bricked  businesses flanked each side of the street. They all had matching black  awnings and wooden sidewalks. It looked exactly the same as when he'd  left.                       
       
           



       

An uncomfortable feeling lodged in the pit of his stomach. He didn't  even know why he'd come home. Partly for his brothers. He missed them  more than he cared to admit. And partly because he was tired of  traveling. Tired of not having a place of his own-moving from jungles to  army barracks to third world hovels to five star hotels. He'd always  gone where the story had lead him. He'd needed the adventure. To prove  that he could survive outside of Surrender. Without his brothers there  to catch him if he fell.

But now he was here. Home.

And Charlotte wasn't. He'd lost his chance there. It was his one regret  for leaving. The pang of memory hadn't lessoned over the years. He  remembered her as fresh-faced and beautiful. Black hair and bright green  eyes. A sarcastic tongue, and a laugh always ready on her full lips. A  body just beginning to become a woman's. She'd been eighteen when he'd  felt her beneath him for the first time. And in the ten years since, no  woman had ever come close to making him feel the same, though he'd try  to erase her memory as often as possible.

He rubbed his chest just over his heart and got back in the car. He was  here to face his demons. To face his past. And there was no point in  dredging up the memory of the girl he'd loved-the girl he'd walked away  from because he hadn't had the courage to stay. He saw her in his dreams  most nights anyway.

His brothers had told him Charlotte had packed up and left town just a  couple of months after he had, and they didn't know where she'd gone. It  was for the best. The past belonged in the past. At least that's what  he tried to convince himself. She was probably married with a couple of  kids by now, never thinking of the boy who'd had to leave her to  preserve his own sanity.

Dane shifted the car into first, and ground his teeth together at the  unholy sound that greeted his ears. The car took off with a jerk and  shudder and he was on his way into the bowels of Surrender, whether he  wanted to be or not.

The car died less than a mile from the edge of town. He took it with a  shrug of acceptance-he'd been in too many similar situations over the  course of his career not to take things as they came-and grabbed his bag  from the trunk. The sun was just starting to set-an orange ball of  flame nestled between the two hills-and the sky had turned gray,  hovering just on the edge of darkness.

Dane pushed his sunglasses up on his head and slung his bag over his  shoulder. He hadn't slept in more than twenty-four hours. When one was  flying out of Afghanistan and catching four different puddle jumpers to  get home, a man had a tendency to keep his eyes open and his brain  alert.

His shoes kicked up dust as he started the trek into town. Everything  was getting ready to close for the night. It was still another five  miles before he would reach the farmhouse, but if he was lucky his  brother would be on duty for the night, and he could get a ride home in  the squad car. He smiled at the irony. There were plenty of people who  thought he'd spend plenty of time in the back of one before he'd left.  If he was really lucky, there would be dinner still warm on the stove.  He hadn't had a decent meal in a couple of days.

The closer he got to town, the more he realized things had changed. Some  more than others. He heard the music before he saw where it was coming  from. Classic rock pulsed from a white tin building with a blue awning  and several open garage doors. It was the same building that had been  there before he'd left, but it was no longer a full-service gas station.  A new sign with fluid black letters said Charlie's Automotive. It  wouldn't hurt to stop in a see if they could tow the piece of shit car  he'd left down the road. It would save his brothers from having to help  him take care of it later.

Dane stuck his head in the barely air conditioned office. It was stark  in appearance-white walls, grey utilitarian carpet and a solid black  desk piled with papers and invoices. Another glass door led into the  garage, and a restroom sign was tacked to another.

There wasn't anyone in sight, so he followed the sound of the music into  the garage. Three of the four bays had cars in varying states waiting  for attention, but he still didn't see anyone. The jangle of metal  hitting the pavement had him moving between an old Chrysler and a brand  new Ford pickup. A pair of legs covered in blue coveralls stuck out from  beneath the Chrysler, knees bent and boots tapping to the beat.

"Excuse me," he said, pitching his voice over the music. Or at least trying to. It was hard to compete with Robert Plant.

A grubby hand felt along the ground, searching for a tool of some kind.  Dane bent down, picked up a heavy crescent wrench and put it in the  roaming hand. He winced as he heard the thunk of a head hit the  underside of the car in surprise, and he moved out of the way as the  coveralls came out from under the car with a vengeance.                       
       
           



       

The first thought that came to Dane's mind was that he'd never seen a  man so tiny, but then he realized the baggy coveralls were hiding a  decidedly delicate body. A smooth curve of neck and porcelain skin,  smudged with grease. Definitely not a man. A grubby hand rubbed at the  forming knot under thick black hair. Vivid green eyes framed with dark  lashes stared at him in resentment. Mermaid eyes. Or at least that's  what he'd once compared them to. But by the way they were shooting fire  in his direction they resembled that of a sorceress, ready and willing  to turn him to dust with a flick of her wrist.

He felt the blood drain from his face and took a step back.

She grabbed the remote from the hood of the car and shut the music off,  leaving an echo in his ears. Or maybe it was his heartbeat thudding  wildly out of control.

"Charlotte?" he whispered, afraid he was hallucinating.

"Well, if it isn't the Prodigal Son himself. You worthless son of a bitch."

Dane barely had time to duck as the heavy wrench sailed toward his head.