Blindsided Page 12

  “Honey, he wouldn’t beat you if he didn’t love you.”

  “That’s it!” Cat declared, wrenching her hands from Logan’s loose grasp.

  “Catherine, don’t!”

  “Aw, shit,” Nic whimpered.

  At the edge of her vision, she could see Logan with his head buried in his hands. Nic’s eyes were huge. She turned her back on them and stepped up to the next table. She planted her hands on it and leaned forward, looking squarely at the young woman with blonde hair, black eyes and a stitched lip.

  “Look, honey,” Cat began. “I couldn’t help but hear the advice to the lovelorn that you’ve been getting from whoever this person is here. And no, you don’t know me. But—as one stranger to another—as one woman to another—let me tell you that no one—no one!— has a free pass to beat up on you. And anyone who takes a swing at you sure as hell doesn’t love you. And anyone who tells you otherwise has taken one too many blows to their own head. They don’t care about you any more than whoever’s beating you does. All they want is someone in the same miserable boat they are.

  “If you don’t like getting beat up, get out! If you need help escaping…” Cat straightened and pointed to the parking lot. “That bus is going to Albuquerque. You want a ride, we’ll be glad to give you one. We’ll see that you get to a women’s shelter. That you’re safe. If you’ve got kids, I’ll go with you to get them. He luvs you, my sweet Aunt Fanny. He loves having someone weaker to bully and beat. And that’s all.”

  The girl looked across the table and squeaked, “Mom?”

  Mom? Mom was the one telling her to take the beatings? Oh, this was beyond believable! Cat took a deep breath and launched back in. “Okay, take a look at this situation. A good look. Your mother obviously is a victim of abuse if she thinks a black eye and a split lip are signs of undying love and devotion. But the fact that she’s having to talk you into being a passive victim just like her tells me you’re not nearly as happy about it as she is. Is this the kind of life you want for your daughters when they grow up?”

  “Don’t have no—”

  Whatever else she’d been about to say died on her gasp as a wiry, ball-cap-wearing dirt ball stepped up beside Cat and announced, “Danae, it’s time for you to come home.” Danae’s good eye filled with tears. Cat looked the man up and down. He did the same to her. His lip curled. “Who the hell are you? Some state social worker?”

  She was squaring up to give him a load of verbal buckshot when Logan’s hands came down on her shoulders. Not hard, but hard enough to momentarily knock the words off her tongue. “Her name’s Pollyanna,” Logan said, turning her around, “and she’s going back to her booth now.”

  She was glaring up at him and he was pushing her into the seat when the beater said, “Get up and get out to the car, Danae.”

  Logan leaned close. Fire blazed in his eyes. “Let…it…go.”

  “You gave it a shot,” Nic chimed in. “It’s her choice.”

  Cat clenched her teeth and tried not to look over her shoulder at the sound of the girl sliding off the vinyl seat. Logan held her gaze and slowly straightened. Danae suddenly stumbled past him, her upper body way ahead of her scrambling feet. Cat held her breath and sighed in relief when an arm shot out two booths up and caught her.

  “What you do in your home is your business. When you do it in front of me, it’s mine.”

  Logan! Her attention snapped back to him. That scary cold fire in his eyes, he stood squarely in the other man’s path.

  The bastard who had apparently shoved Danae toward the door did a bit of upper body bobbing that Cat supposed was to be a demonstration of confidence. “She’s my wife.”

  “That’s not the point,” Logan countered, clearly neither impressed nor deterred. “You don’t lay a mean hand on a woman. Any woman. Anytime. Anywhere.”

  A curled lip. Disdain. He’d used that one on her. “Says you?”

  Logan didn’t waver, didn’t so much as blink. “If I don’t know about it, I can’t stop you from doing it. But if I do, I will.”

  “Nice tie, dude.”

  Nic sucked a breath. Cat stopped breathing altogether.

  “Touch it and I’ll flatten your nose.”

  It was an invitation, a warning. And Danae’s husband reached out, and with the tip of his finger, plumbed the depths of macho stupidity. Just one punch. Lightning-fast, straight on, accurate and hard. Moron Man went airborne, the soles of his cowboy boots slightly higher than his head. The downward arc of his flight put him flat on his back in the middle of a table. The two cowboys sitting there had seen him coming and had vaulted to their feet, their dinner plates in hand, a half second before impact.

  And what an impact it was. Cat’s jaw dropped. It was better than in the movies. Wood splintered and chunks of it flew in all directions. China coffee cups shattered. Plastic water glasses went spinning through the air. Catsup and mustard bottles, the little creamer tubs, packets of sugar, the basket of dinner rolls… It was a mess. A glorious mess with Danae’s abusive husband lying right in the middle of it, wailing in pain and hold his hands over his mouth and nose. Talk about perfect poetic justice!

  “I’m calling the cops!” Mavis shouted.

  “Thank you,” Logan said calmly as he stood there watching the man kick and thrash in the debris. “That would be nice.”

  Nic grinned and slid out to stand beside him. “Gotta wonder how many brain cells the guy’s missing, don’t ya?”

  Mavis came storming over. “Someone’s paying for that broken table and china!”

  Cat snagged her purse and pulled out her wallet. “I’ll write you a check.”

  “I want cash.”

  “And I want world peace,” Cat shot back, writing. “You’ll take a check or nothing at all. One hundred and fifty should buy you top-of-the-line replacements.”

  “It’ll cost at least three hundred.”

  “Get real.” Cat snorted and tore the check off the pad. She held it out toward the sputtering Mavis. “It’s one-fifty or your lawyer can talk to mine. What’s it going to be?”

  Mavis glared and put her hands on her hips.

  “All right, folks,” someone boomed from the front door. Mavis snatched the check and stomped off as the speaker asked, “What’s going on? Danae’s out front bawlin’ her eyes out and sayin’ someone’s in here tryin’ to kill Billy.”

  “She should be so damn lucky,” Cat declared—loudly—as she slid out to join Logan and Nic. Billy, huh? Billy Butthead.

  The patch on the boomer’s shoulder said he was with the Tucumcari police department. His name tag said Alvarez. The size of his belly said he spent a lot of time at Mavis’s counter. “Ma’am,” he drawled, meeting her gaze, “you and your friends want to step outside with me a moment?” He didn’t wait for her to say yes or no; he just turned and headed back to the door, adding, “Mavis, get Billy a towel with some ice in it.”

  As Logan motioned for her to lead the way, Nic tossed two twenties on their table and said, “And when you get done with that, Mavis, we’ll take our dinners in a to-go box, please.”

  “Are you happy?” Logan asked as they crossed the parking lot toward the squad car.

  “Actually, yes I am,” she admitted. Several of the boys were standing beside the bus, spectating. And probably speculating, too. Oh, well. “I stood up for what’s right. In defense of the weak and powerless. And when push came to shove, you did too.” She took him by the arm and made him stop. “You’re a good man, Logan Dupree.” She stretched up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek.

  He kinda checked a wince and rolled his eyes instead. And then he looked past her at their oohing and laughing team. “Knock it off and get on the bus!”

  No one scrambled to obey, but they did inch toward the open door. “Hey, Stover!” Nic called as he joined the two of them. “Take Vanderossen to watch your back and go inside and get our to-go boxes, will ya?”

  Officer Alvarez cleared his throat and jerked his head
in a silent command to close the distance a bit more. When they reached the side of his car, he looked between the three of them and asked, “Wanna tell me what happened in there?”

  “I’d be more than glad to,” Cat volunteered. She started at the top, introducing each of them, and then told him the whole thing. Three-part harmony and pantomimes thrown in at no extra charge. Halfway through, Nic started singing the “uh-huh, that’s right” chorus. Logan apparently didn’t think she needed any more help than that. He leaned back against the squad car with his arms crossed and stared up at the street-lights.

  When she got to the part where Alvarez had made his entrance, the officer held up his hand. “Tell you what,” he said. “I’d rather not spend the next hour and a half writin’ all this down in a report. So if you folks would be willin’ to just mosey on down the road, I’d be willin’ to forget it ever happened.”

  “That seems quite reasonable,” Cat offered.

  “And the next time you all are through here on your way to or from Albuquerque and thinkin’ about eatin’ dinner, stop in somebody else’s town.”

  “We can do that,” Logan announced as he came off the car. “Have a good day, Officer.”

  Cat trotted up beside him. The look he shot her was borderline disgusted. “What?” she demanded. “We’re not in any trouble.”

  He stopped on a dime. “For someone who says they hate fighting, you’re damn good at squaring up to them.”

  “Well, there’s a huge difference between fighting for the sake of fighting and fighting for a principle or in self-defense or the defense of others who can’t.”

  “She’s got ya there,” Nic said as he walked past. Logan glared after him.

  “Oh, c’mon,” Cat pleaded. “What else could I have done and lived with myself, Logan? Tell me.”

  The steam slowly went out of him. With a sigh, he raked his fingers through his hair. “You have to pick your fights,” he said gently. “The ones you can’t win, aren’t worth wading into. That one wasn’t worth it, Cat.”

  “But you know that only in hindsight. What if all she’s been waiting for is someone to tell her she doesn’t have to be a punching bag and offer her a ride out of town?”

  “People do not grow backbones at the sight of a bus.”

  “No, it takes time and encouragement. If she thinks about what I said and it helps her along the road to escaping, then it was worth it. If she thinks about how you stepped in to protect her, maybe she’ll decide she’s worth more than her mother and her husband say she is. If that moves her off the dime, then the cost of buying Mavis new furniture is worth it.”

  “You are—without a doubt—the most idealistic, optimistic person I’ve ever known.”

  God, when he was being nice, he was beyond yummy. “Is that good or bad?”

  He grinned. “It means you’re a walking, talking threat to public peace and safety.”

  “That’s better than boring any day.”

  “Boring you are not.”

  Stover and Vanderossen walked up and handed her a stack of three square foam containers. “Thanks, guys. Did you happen to snag us some silverware?”

  “Sporks were all they had.” Stover handed them to Logan, said, “Nice job in there, Coach,” and then, chuckling, climbed aboard the bus.

  Logan took the meals from her and motioned with his head toward the steps. “After you, Ms. Quixote.”

  Quixote, huh? That was enlightening. She stepped into her seat area and waited for Logan so they could sort out which container was whose. As he held them and she inspected the contents, she said, “Your education wasn’t limited. You know who Davy Crockett was, don’t you? You were just yanking my chain.”

  His grin was an admission. “Nic’s wasn’t limited, either. He just hates to read. He doesn’t read at all now and I suspect he didn’t do one lick more of it than he had to back then.”

  “What are you reading now?”

  “I’m just about done with a Ludlum. Read it years ago and remembered that I liked it. Still do.”

  With the rib eye found, she took a spork from him and sat down. “Well, if you get done, and need something else to read, I’ll share my stock.”

  His gaze went to the book on the seat beside her. “I wouldn’t be caught dead reading that stuff.”

  He was one of those. “You have no idea what’s between the covers.”

  “Don’t want to know, either.”

  “You’re missing something good.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said with a snort as he headed toward the back of the bus.

  Cat shook her head, opened the lid of the box, and considered the slab of meat and then the plastic combination spoon and fork utensil. She’d about decided to try to stab the steak and just gnaw around the edges when Logan reappeared. He handed her a wood-handled steak knife.

  “Compliments of Nic’s sticky fingers,” he explained. She was laughing when he turned to the driver. “Harold, let’s get this thing rolling before Mavis counts the silverware and all hell breaks loose.”

  “I’ll mail them back when we get to Albuquerque,” she promised Logan as the bus moved forward and he lurched past her.

  “Polly!”

  Not really. A real Pollyanna Goody Two-shoes would get up and take the knives back right then and there. She cut a bite of the steak and popped it into her mouth. And she wouldn’t be wishing that Nic had managed to steal a bottle of steak sauce while he was at it.

  It was a sure bet that no true-blue Polly would spend so much as a single solitary second wondering what would happen if she ever had a chance to prove she had just a touch of puck bunny in her soul.

  Chapter Eight

  H ow the woman could walk, read and pull a suitcase at the same time… Okay, so she wasn’t walking fast. But she was moving in a deliberate direction, and she wasn’t in danger of knocking anyone over or smacking into a wall. All in all, it was a pretty good trick. Logan waved the boys onto the elevator and let them go ahead without him. Judging by Cat’s pace, the car would be up to the third floor and back by the time she reached the button to call it. If she came up out of her book long enough to think about pushing any buttons. He’d be a gentleman and wait for her, make sure she got to where she was supposed to go.

  What an interesting woman she was. Man, he’d never seen anyone do righteously indignant better than she had in the Tucumcari Café. She deserved either an Oscar or a pulpit for that performance. And the parking lot reenactment for Officer Alvarez… That one had been worth a second Oscar. How a woman two seconds away from being slapped in cuffs for creating a public disturbance could be so damn oblivious to that fact and bubbly and cute… Not that he hadn’t been grateful for it. His butt had ended up on the bus instead of in jail on an assault charge because Alvarez had been just as damn dazzled as he was. And the way she’d handled Mavis after the table had been busted… Logan grinned. And I want world peace.

  God. And he’d once thought she didn’t have the grit and the growl to be an owner. Well, she’d impressed him on every count so far. She’d gotten them more ice time, put the boys out to do volunteer work and dragged more people in to see the games. If she could pull off a good trade with the Scorps, he’d admit that he’d been totally wrong about her. A woman who could execute a strong building plan, scrap with the best of them and make a kick-ass brownie. So what if half the sprinkles were pink? In the big scheme of things, that didn’t matter.

  And she could hold a book and turn a page with just one hand. The walking part of the act slowed to almost nothing while she did it, but given the look on her face, it probably had more to do with what was going on in the story than anything else. She could give Rivera lessons on focus.

  She came to a stop beside him. Apparently completely unaware that she wasn’t the only one waiting for the elevator. He looked up at the numbers, saw the car was on its way back down, and then reached out to lightly tap the top edge of her book.

  Her gaze snapped up instantly. She stiff
ened for the second or two it took for her to blink a couple of times and recognize him.

  “In your zone?” he asked, grinning as she relaxed.

  “I guess so.” She glanced down at the page number, then closed the book and shoved it into her courier bag.

  “Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to come out of it for a while tonight,” Logan said as she punched the already lit call button. “We’re meeting Ralph Van Ecks for dinner and drinks in the restaurant at nine.”

  The bell dinged and the door opened. They stepped into the empty car with Cat pushing the button for the second floor—his floor, too—and slowly saying, “Van Ecks… Van Ecks…” He could practically see a lightbulb over her head go on. “I met him at Tom’s funeral. He’s the one with the thing for cleavage.” Another lightbulb went on. She checked her watch. “An hour and a half. No problem.”

  The bell dinged and the door opened. “I’ll stop by the room for you a few minutes before,” Logan offered as they rolled their suitcases into the hall. “What’s your number?”

  She took the little white key holder from the side of her purse. “Two fifteen.”

  “Nic and I are in two thirty-four if you need anything.”

  She nodded in a vague sort of way and they both turned to read the sign that told them their rooms were on opposite sides of the elevator shaft, at opposite ends of the motel.

  Logan watched her walk away, her floral fabric suitcase in tow. Oh, yeah, she and Rivera had a lot in common. Except that the goalie’s inattention didn’t bother him the way Cat’s did. Women, as a rule, didn’t ignore him. That Cat apparently could… He tilted his head and smiled as she rounded the corner and disappeared from sight. Yeah, well, let her try to zone him out when he showed up at her door later. If there was such a thing as asbestos panty hose, she better have a pair.

  Holding the wineglasses between the fingers of one hand, he knocked on the door of two fifteen with the other. It opened in two seconds flat and without Cat having even bothered to look through the peephole to see who it was.