Declan’s lips had firmed, but he gave a nod ofacknowledgment.
Cherry and Orbra had entered the kitchen without speaking so as not to interrupt the conversation, though both of their faces held strains of worry. Leslie smiled up at her aunt when she patted her shoulder then took a seat at thetable.
Just then, the sounds of Van Morrison’s “Brown-Eyed Girl” bubbled up into the room. Leslie looked over as Declan, whose cheeks were a little ruddier, snatched up hisphone.
“Joe Cap—you better be taking this seriously,” Cherry said. “This is my niece we’re talking about here, living out of town all by herself like this.” Worry made her voice tense andsharp.
“Now, Cherry, when have I not taken every bit of law breaking seriously? You know me better’n that,” he replied mildly. “And so does Helga. I’ll put her on it too, all right, then? We know which kids are generallytroublemakers.”
He glanced at Orbra, which reminded Leslie that Officer Helga van Hest was Orbra’s granddaughter. She’d met her one summer over the July 4thholidays when they were both teenagers, and they’d had a great weekend. From what she remembered, Helga was a smart, determined, and assertive person—good makings for acop.
Leslie bid Captain Longbow goodbye, and agreed to come to the station to fill out paperwork and make her official report the next day. “I hope you’re right that it was just a couple of teenagers,” she said, walking him to thedoor.
“Let me know if something else turns up missing. Other than that, we’ll go with that assumption. Good night, Ms. Nakano. Cherry.Orbra.”
By the time Leslie returned to the table, Declan had hung up his phone. “That was Stephanie. She’s spending the night at a friend’s house tonight.” His words were casual, so surely Leslie was the only one who noticed the disappointment in histones.
Their eyes met briefly, then he eased his chair from the table and stood. “Well, I guess I’ll hit the road—if you’re sure you’re all righthere?”
“I’ve got my chaperones,” Leslie replied brightly. But she’d chosen the word purposely to express her own disappointment at the situation—if Stephanie had only called thirty minutes earlier!—and he recognized it, rolling his eyes in agreement. “See you later. Thanks for the ride home. Oh, and watch for the butterscotchcat.”
By the time she’d walkedhimto the door—chancing only a brief, subtle brush of fingers to express their mutual sentiment—Leslie turned to find Orbra and Cherry were fluttering around the kitchen—the former making tea (more tea? She’d be up all night!) and the latter digging through the fridge (“Don’t you have anything in here for green smoothies? No kale? You could use a burst of energy,Les”).
But as soon as the door was closed and locked and Leslie pushed none too gently into her chair, they were on her. And the first question out of Cherry’s mouth, of course, was: “Are you having sex with that man? Because if you aren’t, there is somethingverywrong with you, LeslieAnnette!”
“But more importantly,” Orbra said, fairly slamming a mug onto the table in front of her, “why the hell did you send himhome?”
Eleven
Declan was hot,sweaty, and his eyeballs were dry and burning behind their protective guard. His bandanna was soaked, his leather gloves suffocating, his ears ringing with the metallic clank of metal onmetal.
But he loved every minute of it: the rhythmicclang-clang-clangwhenever he was hammering on a piece of iron, the way its fired end glowed like an asteroid, the way it made such a satisfactory zip-like sizzling sound whenever he plunged it into a tub ofwater.
He didn’t mind that he tasted salt whenever he paused to think and plan the angle of the next blow, and how many more strikes until the curve would be just right. He didn’t mind the smell of his sweat—the clean scent of good, hard work—for it was the sign of a job in process. Ofcreation.
And the heat…well, he didn’t mind that either, because pretty much everywhere else on earth was cooler than his workshop, so the minute he stepped out of the place, it was a relief. Sure, the occasional sears he got when he wasn’t paying attention, or the random sparks that flew and landed on, say, the side of his neck or chin—the only parts that were really exposed—were an annoyance. But even with the familiar scent of singed flesh, blacksmithing was a greatoccupation.
He got to take out any aggressions he might have—and there were days when he hadmany—on whatever iron bar he was forcing into shape. And then there were days like today, Saturday, when he was in a great mood and the rhythm of his hammer striking the heated iron bar fell in blows that matched whatever song was in hishead.
Literal heavy metalmusic.
He grinned to himself at the old blacksmith’s joke and slid back into AC/DC’s classic “You Shook Me All (strike!) Night (strike!) Long (strike, strike,strike!).”
For some reason, that tune brought to mind Leslie Nakano: celebrity CEO, cat lover, wordsmith, and ghost hunter. And magnificent kisser. Oh,indeed.
He pretty much hadn’t stopped thinking about those few moments of bliss, with her legs wrapped around his waist as she perched on the counter in her kitchen and gave it back as good as she got. Hoo boy. He was hoping to finish this piece of the railing so he could have a reason to stop by andshow—
“Dad!”
Declan abruptly returned to the moment, his goofy grin fading when he realized Stephanie had been standing there, trying to get his attention, for quite some time. He’d warned her not to startle him when he was working, and had shown her where in the workshop was the safe area in which she couldstand.
He lifted the hand holding his hammer in a “wait a sec” gesture, then gave one finalclangand nodded with satisfaction at the nice curve that was taking shape. Then he shoved it back into the brick-oven forge for afew.
Turning back around, he stripped off his goggles and, stepping away from the work area, pulled off his heavy gloves and the heavy canvas work apron, hanging them in their places. Immediately, he was cooler—for beneath he was only wearing one of his old tees that had the sleeves torn off and most of the sides as well, forventilation.
He snagged a towel and mopped off his face—and that was when he realized two of Stephanie’s friends were with her. They (not his daughter, thank God) were staring at him with, he suspected, the same sort of goofy expression he’d just had thinking about Leslie Nakano’s sweet ass settling on the granite while he kissed the life out ofher.
He paused from mopping the sweat off his face, and realized one of the girls was Emily Delton’s daughter Brooklyn. She was ogling his sweaty biceps like she wanted to dry them offherself.
