The Way Home (Chasing #3) Read online

  The sound of an approaching vehicle interrupted my dark thoughts. A late model black Cadillac pulled in and parked beside my Harley and pick-up. Last week, I’d had the truck shipped up from Kentucky where it’d been kept in storage… a badass sixty-seven custom kickass Ford. I had this thing for older model vehicles. They just didn’t make them like they used to; all those sleek lines, the power, and chrome.

  Since I was constantly traveling, there’d been no need to rent a place of my own. Mostly everything I’d accumulated over the years wound up in storage. The rest was carried around in a couple of old army green duffel bags and a ratty back pack. I didn’t own a lot anyway, and never stayed rooted in one spot for too long, since that restlessness that lived inside of me was as much a part of me as breathing. It was always there, a constant reminder urging me on. I had to keep moving; never allowing the dust to settle. At one time, that wanderlust had kept me from going insane.

  Standing, I gazed out across the yard studying the car and dusted my hands along the legs of my jeans. I jumped down from the porch and made my way to the graveled driveway to meet the gray haired woman climbing out of the caddy. This must be the famous or the infamous Mavis Davies, the former owner of Eight Balls, which she had renamed The Eight Ball six years ago when it came to be in her possession. When I’d asked her about the name change, she’d claimed that was one too many balls for one old woman to pack around. She was a regular firecracker who had insisted on stopping by to drop off the bill of sale instead of using the postal service like a normal, sane person would have. I’d been expecting her, even though her request had seemed a little strange.

  From what I could gather, she was a nosey busybody who’d inherited the pool hall from an ex-boyfriend. I’d been stunned as hell when she’d explained during one of our previous phone conversations how she’d actually managed to acquire the property. She and the ex had parted as friends, and the son of a bitch had kept her in his will. People never ceased to amaze me. After purchasing the house back from The Logan’s, I’d found myself scouring the internet and had come across the listing for the pool hall, which led me to stumble upon Mavis Davies. The rest was history.

  “Good afternoon, handsome,” Mavis said with a flirtatious smile; her face lined, but friendly and open. A faded red smock covered her hot pink shirt. The color was so bright, it hurt my eyes to look at her. She wore jeans with high heels. The top of her head met my shoulder. I took her extended hand in mine studying her. She seemed vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t pin down or place where I knew her, which was slightly odd since I prided myself on recalling faces and names. It was a must in my line of work.

  “Good afternoon, Mavis.” I addressed her by her first name as she’d previously insisted. I didn’t need another lecture about how “old” Miss Davies made her feel. What was the deal with women and age anyway? It was only a damn number. Thick rimmed glasses dwarfed her somewhat petite features and sat high on a broad nose. Curious, keen eyes observed me. This had the feel of an interrogation. Cherry red lips suddenly curved into a warm and welcoming grin, drawing my attention to the sudden appearance of the dimple flashing back at me in her left cheek. Chin length black and silver hair was held in place by a bright red garish headband. After a moment under the scrutiny of her gaze, she released her death grip on my hand.

  “Here are those papers, honey. Finally,” she said with a smile, handing me a white envelope along with a set of keys. Her voice was raspy, and, through the short distance that separated us, I could smell the lingering tobacco on her breath. She was a smoker and an incorrigible flirt to boot, who at this very moment was busy batting her eyelashes at me. The woman was old enough to be my damn mother!

  “Thanks for bringing these by.”

  I intended to turn to leave when a hand landed firmly on my arm, stopping me dead in my tracks. I peered down at the bright red nails and slim fingers that held me in their grasp. I didn’t like to be touched. Except for Natalie, I had always been the type who shied away from affection. That shit, well, it was useless now unless I was satisfying a need. That’s all it was anymore… just a need; an itch to scratch where the gratification always managed to outweigh the discomfort.

  Mavis Davies was either a brave soul or a fool. She didn’t know me from Adam. Hell, I stood at least a foot taller than her, and there was no one around for miles. She should be more cautious. “Reva would have been pleased to know that you made your way back home,” she murmured. I nodded my head absently and wondered how she’d known of my grandmother. Hell, everyone in this town had probably heard of Reva Lucas since she’d lived here for eighty-nine years. It should come as no surprise that Mavis had known her.

  “I just wanted to find out when you planned on stopping by the pool hall. The staff is a little anxious to meet the new owner.”

  Fuck! I’d been putting it off ever since my arrival in Crawley a week and a half ago, and had finally managed to forget until she’d mentioned it just now. I tried to avoid town like the plague. The Eight Ball was only a few miles from where I lived atop of Hawk Mountain. I liked the solitude. I was the only one here, well… except for Hank.

  He was a rail thin stray I’d found living in the shack out back behind the main house. After a few cans of Alpo, he’d taken to me like stink on shit. I didn’t want a damn dog. I didn’t have the time, nor did I want the responsibility of another living thing depending on me, but Hank… he was inevitable. Whether I wanted to admit it not, I was stuck with him. No matter how many times I’d tried to run him off, he just wouldn’t leave. In some ways, Hank and I had a lot in common if I allowed myself the luxury of wallowing in self-pity; the outcast whose mother and father had abandoned him, who had never wanted a son, but there was no time for that fucking shit.

  Not that I’d been looking for sympathy from anyone anyway, but I’d found more kindness in the faces of strangers than here at home in Crawley, especially after Natalie’s accident, and thanks to the vindictive venom spewed by that twisted bitch, Myra Hayes. In her fucked up mind, she’d blamed me for Natalie’s death, but she didn’t have to place blame. Hell, I placed enough on myself.

  Upon my arrival, the house’s electricity had already been restored and the place stocked to the nines, thanks to the little extra green I’d wirelessly provided to the talented and efficient Mavis Davies. She’d thought of everything. I’d even discovered a box of condoms in the bathroom. The thought alone made me chuckle.

  I’d stayed on the mountain not bothering with venturing far. If I went into town, there was always the chance of running into Addie, or even worse, her mother, Myra Hayes. That bitch had almost destroyed my life, and I’d let her. I didn’t think I could fucking take it if I heard, ‘‘it was all your fault” fall from her lips again. For the last eight years, I’d lived with the guilt of that day, and after all of this time, I didn’t need her pointing her finger at me and blasting me with accusations.

  “Tomorrow,” I finally muttered giving in. I would meet the staff tomorrow. The time had finally arrived, and I couldn’t put it off any longer. With a polite nod directed at Mavis, I headed for the house. There wasn’t the time for idle chitchat. Shit needed to get done, and I’d wasted enough time shooting the breeze with her. Her visit had left me in a sour mood.

  “I’ll let everyone know,” she yelled after me. “They’re real anxious to meet you!”

  Well, I sure as hell wasn’t anxious to meet them.

  Relief coursed through my body when I heard her Caddy start. I stepped up onto a couple of the old concrete blocks that were currently being used as temporary steps and climbed onto the front porch, dodging a pile of discarded rotten wood. When I opened the sagging screen door, I could hear Hank’s nails scratching against the front door. Earlier, I’d let him inside to take a nap since it had been as muggy as hell outside, and the AC had been cranked on high since I’d left the house this morning.

  While pushing open the door, I shooed Hank aside and stepped on into the house. The cool
air from the AC washed over me. It felt like fricking heaven. “Hey, you big goober.”

  I bent down and scratched Hank behind one of his crooked ears. His long tail wagged with affection. A wet tongue snaked out and swiped my forearm. Regardless of what others thought about me, Hank was always happy to see me. While my tolerance for mankind was pretty damn low, I’d always had a soft spot for animals and, well now, for Hank. I could tolerate him even though he was a huge pain in my ass.

  His fur was brown streaked with black, almost a brindle in color. He appeared to be a cross between a Lab and German Shepherd, but I had no real clue as to what in the hell he was, nothing more than a glorified Heinz 57, a mix of this and a little of that. He seemed all right for a dog, and he had been my constant companion. Truth be told, he’d been much more than that.

  The structure of the old house was solid, which was somewhat surprising since it was well over a hundred and fifty years old. It was in need of a makeover. The outside was the worst, with the rest fairly cosmetic. That was, unless I decided to update all of the cabinets, along with new windows and doors. The old ones worked just fine so why change them? They didn’t bother me none. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. That was more of my gran’s unending supply of wisdom.

  The first time I’d explored the house upon my return, surprisingly, I’d discovered a few of her things still stored inside the attic. I had yet to go through them, and probably never would at this point since they were nothing more than boxes of memories I’d rather not be reminded of. I would keep them, but I wouldn’t look inside. It was better that way.

  The walls were thin and still the same dirt tinged antique white that they’d been when I’d sold the house. Nothing had changed on the inside except for a few new holes I’d discovered in the sheetrock. Someone had obviously driven their fists through the walls. The holes weren’t that bad. They could be repaired; nothing a little plaster and a fresh coat of paint couldn’t handle. The same could be said for the cabinets and drawers.

  If only life could be as simple, and all of the imperfections and ugly could be covered with a simple Band-Aid of a fix. But there were some things you just couldn’t hide, no matter how many layers of plaster or paint you used to try to conceal it. There weren’t enough Band-Aid’s in all of the world to cover the gaping hole in my chest left by Natalie’s absence.

  The humming of the ancient Maytag refrigerator echoed in the silence of the house, keeping time with the steady drip of the kitchen faucet. In an odd way, it was kind of soothing. I’d been in such a hurry to get the hell out of Crawley, I’d ended up leaving everything behind. Thankfully, the Logan’s hadn’t bothered with discarding any of the old furniture, and I’d been able to dig most of it out from the shed in back and had also discovered Hank in the process. There was only me and the stray, but he didn’t get a say in anything since he was a glorified moocher.

  I opened the refrigerator door and snagged a cold beer from inside, twisting the lid off and flicking it onto the kitchen table; I watched it bounce just for the hell of it. With the toe of my boot, I nudged out a chair and took a seat. I tilted the beer back, chugging half of it down in one gulp, and then I set the bottle on the table and opened the envelope lying before me. Hank whined, but I ignored him, and when nothing became of his attention whore seeking ways, he settled down near my feet. His head resting on the toe of my work boot.

  The big pup was such a whiny baby. In the far corner of the kitchen near the pantry sat two bowls: one with his food, and the other for water; both still full. Hank was probably just lonely. Unlike me, in the solitude, I found comfort. I preferred my own company. No one around to judge me.

  Unfolding the papers, I stared blankly down at the bill of sale in my hand while absently wondering to myself what in the hell had I been thinking by coming back home? There was nothing here but bad memories and heartache, and I’d do well to remember just that.

  THE NEXT MORNING at 8:20 a.m., I pulled into the almost deserted parking lot outside of The Eight Ball. The sky was a mess of drizzling rain. There was an occasional clap of thunder. The gray overhead matched my current mood, which was downright shitty. I didn’t want to do this. I’d rather have been anywhere other than here. My plan had been solid, to operate the pool hall from afar. None of that monotonous day to day bullshit. So far that plan had been shot all to hell by one busybody meddler who went by the name of Mavis Davies.

  A lone car sat in the lot; a beat up older model white Corolla. There was a huge ding in the hood and a matching one in the driver’s side door. Someone was already here. I reached for the handle of the door, and was surprised to find the entrance unlocked. The sign on the door stated the place didn’t open until ten. The smoky glass made it impossible to see inside. When I walked through the door, the smell of lemons and pine hung in the air. It was strong, but the floor beneath my boots gleamed in the overhead light.

  My eyes immediately landed on a small girl with strawberry blonde pigtails that fell halfway down her back. She sat at a nearby table coloring. Thanks to the chime of the bell above the door, she was now staring back at me and clutching a yellow crayon in her tiny hand. It hovered over the opened book before her. Her bright blue eyes were the color of cornflowers and briefly met mine before frantically darting away to search around the room. It was obvious she was looking for someone else, and there was no disguising the terror that had been reflected in her expression. Before I could even manage to speak, she let out an earsplitting scream.

  “Mommy!” she screeched loudly, making me cringe.

  Damn, it was too early in the morning for this shit! The kid had a set of lungs. I really should have thought twice about drinking that half a bottle of Jack last night.

  A stunning blonde appeared from the back. She scurried around the corner of the bar. Holy Hell! What a looker! When she spotted me, her steps faltered. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the little girl dart around the table. She ran straight for the woman. Shit, the way they were behaving made me feel just like Jack the Ripper.

  You’d think by now I’d be used to people’s reactions to my size and the ugly scar slicing my left eyebrow. I was a big man. My looks could be intimidating at first, and now, thanks to the vindictive legacy left in the wake of Myra Hayes, people tended to avoid me.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asked, her tone firm and still somewhat pleasant even though it was obvious I scared them both. There was something about her. Something about the sound of her voice that unconsciously drew me in, or maybe it could have been the sight of her with the child. I shook my head, feeling rattled; the question she’d asked had still not fully registered as I noted her hand resting protectively atop the little girl’s head.

  When I finally met her gaze, eyes the exact same shade as the child’s were focused steadily on me. Even though her expression appeared relatively calm, the tense way in which she held her petite frame gave away her unease. She reminded me of a frightened doe protecting her fawn. If I said boo, I’d almost bet they’d scatter.

  The woman tugged the child behind her, mistaking my silence for something else, and began edging toward the bar. Fucking hell, I wasn’t going to hurt them. I held my hands up in front of me. This shit was getting out of control… and fast. It was obvious, they felt threatened. I hadn’t meant to scare them.

  “I’m the new owner of The Eight Ball. Nate Lucas.” I announced hoping to put them at ease.

  The way the blonde studied me was slightly unnerving, and I allowed myself the same courtesy, leisurely assessing her features. She was an eyeful. If I didn’t get a grip soon, and if she looked any lower than my chest, I’d end up embarrassing us both. A couple years ago, I’d come back into the area on business and had met a woman. Lilah had approached me in a bar. She was a widow and lonely. She took care of my needs. We had a mutual agreement, whenever I was close by, we would hook up. She lived far enough away from Crawley to never become a problem. In some ways, Lilah was like me. There was no danger in her beco
ming attached. Upon returning to the area, I’d given her a call. We were both more than happy to resume right where we’d left off. She knew the score. None of that hearts and flowers bullshit… ever. I wasn’t that kind of guy… never again. She was convenient and still single. I wasn’t a fucking saint. There was no need in pretending otherwise.

  Hell, I had needs; needs that didn’t involve my heart. Fucking was as natural as breathing. It wasn’t complicated. No pretenses or pressure when all either one of us wanted to do was get sweaty and naked. It was all about convenience… the urge and relief to let go… to forget, if only for a moment. I didn’t do relationships… not anymore, and the instant attraction coursing through my body at this very moment was setting my blood on fire. I’d only felt that intensity with one other woman, and she was dead.

  This lady had trouble written all over her in bold capital letters. It was impossible to miss. From the top of her pretty strawberry blonde head to the dainty tips of her pink toenails that peeked through the opened toes of her black high heels, she was a warning if ever I’d seen one. It would be best to steer clear of her. Sky blue eyes grew even wider as she stared curiously back at me.

  Yeah baby, I felt it too, but it wasn’t happening.

  All of the sudden, lush pink lips curved into a heart stopping grin. It was then I forgot to breathe for a moment. What in the hell was wrong with me?

  “Nate?” she asked, her soft voice filled with uncertainty.

  The way she said my name had me clenching my hands against my thighs. My muscles tightened uncontrollably, but I managed to nod my head yes in reply.