Golden Trail

  “I made cookies. Chocolate chip. You get two. The rest are for Devin and the boys,” she announced then turned back to the counter, nabbed a scarf and her purse and started winding the scarf around her neck with one hand, the other one hooking the strap of her purse on her arm at the same time she started shooting around the apartment turning off lights.

  “Sweetcheeks, this bag weighs a ton. How many cookies did you make?” Layne asked as he watched her move in her velvet jacket, tight dark gray cords and high-heeled black boots.

  “Three dozen,” she answered, switching off the last light then heading toward the door, Layne following.

  “Three dozen and I only get two?” Layne asked when she’d pulled open the door.

  She whipped her head around again, her ponytail flying to land over her shoulder and curl around the scarf at her neck and she smiled up at him. “Okay, you can have three.”

  He smiled down at her and muttered, “Thanks, baby.”

  Her smile brightened even further, the dimple firmly in place then she exited the house, Layne moved out behind her, she turned and locked it and they headed down the stairs.

  “All right, Roc, you wanna tell me what’s goin’ on?” Layne asked.

  “In the car, we need to get going,” she answered, hoofing it to his Suburban.

  Layne bleeped the locks, Rocky climbed in and he handed her the bag which she set between her legs on the floor as he shut her door. Layne rounded the back and when he swung in his side she was already buckled up but straining the belt because she was bent forward and digging in the bag. She pulled out what appeared to be a huge, oval, foil wrapped sandwich while Layne pulled out of the parking spot.

  “You gonna talk?” he asked when they were out of the complex, on the road and she seemed intent on unwrapping the sandwich, a sandwich that, as she unwrapped it, subsequently filled the cab with a mouth-watering scent of fresh roast beef.

  “Get this,” she started, handing him the sandwich that had its foil-over-greaseproof paper unwrapped enough for him to eat, wrapped enough so that he could eat it without the gargantuan portion of warm beef and melted cheese stuffed in a hoagie roll dripping all over his jeans. “I called my attorneys this morning because, well…” she paused, “I told you about Jarrod playing dirty but I didn’t tell you how but he cut me off, money-wise. Rent is due at the end of next week and things will be…” she paused again, “well, you know, I told you about it.”

  “Yeah?” Layne prompted through a mouth full of succulent, warm roast beef and tangy melted cheese when she stopped speaking.

  “So, I called my attorneys to see if anything was happening with that. They promised to call Jarrod’s attorneys and, this afternoon, I had a text to phone them back urgently.”

  Layne had a feeling he knew where this was going. He’d been letting Devin do his work and hadn’t asked for a status report since that first night. Layne was the only man Devin had worked with in his career, post-CIA, so Devin was used to working alone, doing his own thing and not reporting in or asking for instructions. Therefore, Layne’s feeling was that Devin had done his own thing.

  “Did you phone them back?” Layne asked Rocky and glanced her way.

  She yanked open a bag of chips and set it between the two seats, the opening of the bag facing Layne.

  “Oh yeah, I phoned them back,” she told him, going back to the bag and digging, she pulled out a can of cola and snapped it open. “And guess what?”

  “What?” he asked as she put it in his cup holder.

  “Fifty thousand dollars is what!” she announced then started digging in her bag again.

  “Come again?” Layne asked.

  She came up with a can of diet orange which she popped open while saying, “Fifty thousand dollars, Layne. He’s transferring it into my new account on Monday.”

  Yep, Devin had done his own thing.

  Layne smiled and said, “Good news, sweetcheeks.”

  She placed her pop in her holder and went back to the bag. “No, Layne, not good news. Great news! I was freaking out!” she declared and Layne’s smile died. “My attorneys told me they called his attorneys and they phoned back in, like, thirty minutes. He offered ten K at first but my attorneys pushed it and got fifty!” He glanced at her to see she had her own sandwich in her hand and she sat back, wiping the fingers of her other hand on her brow and emitting an adorable yet annoying due to its cause, “Shoo!”

  That fucking jackass. Ten K? He should give her fifty times that, he had it and she’d lived with his bullshit for ten years so she’d earned it. Not to mention, she’d lived a week with the worry she couldn’t make her rent.

  Right before she took a huge bite of her sandwich, she said, “I wonder what happened.”

  Layne knew what happened. Devin Glover and Natalie Ulrich happened.

  “Maybe he isn’t so stupid,” Layne replied.

  “Or maybe he’s moving on,” Rocky suggested through a mouth full of sandwich he knew she swallowed before she went on. “That would work for me, maybe he’ll settle and this will be done and I can get on with my life.”

  Layne glanced at her before his eyes went back to the road, knowing, one way or the other, Dr. Jarrod Astley would settle so Rocky could get on with her life.

  “Beginning of the end, baby,” he muttered.

  “I hope so,” she replied.

  Layne ate and drove and when he heard Rocky’s hand crinkling the chip bag, he spoke.

  “Need you to think about doin’ somethin’ for me.”

  “What?” she asked and he heard crunching chips.

  “You know Sean O’Leary?”

  “Of course,” she replied, reaching for her orange soda.

  “His sister’s in a bad way.”

  She took a slug, put the pop back and Layne heard the foil move on her sandwich as he peeled back more on his.

  “I know,” she said softly. “Meghan’s had it tough. She was having symptoms for ages and no one knew what was going on. It took five years to diagnose her, can you believe that?”

  Jesus, five years?

  “There’s a treatment that they think can help,” Layne told her. “Colt stopped by, told me about it.” Layne took another bite of sandwich and said while chewing. “It’s expensive.”

  “Most of them are,” Rocky murmured and he heard her moving foil.

  Layne put his sandwich in his hand at the steering wheel and dug into the bag of chips. “She can’t afford it and I thought you could do your magic.”

  He knew she’d turned to face him when she asked, “My magic?”

  He shoved the chips in his mouth, chewed, swallowed, glanced at her and saw she was looking at him. “Yeah, baby, your charity magic. Raise some money for her. Help her out.”

  He glanced back out the windshield and reached for his pop as she whispered, “Shit.”

  Layne took a slug and put the soda back as he said, “Roc, your plate is full, you don’t have to –”

  “It’s not that, it’s just that Halloween is just around the corner. A charity haunted house would be the bomb. We did that three years ago, ran it for the whole month of October and we raised a fortune. But now, I don’t have enough time to pull it off and, to rake in the dough, we need it to run awhile.” She paused for several long beats before she muttered, “I’ll have to think about this.”

  Layne smiled before he ate the last bite of sandwich and asked, “So you’ll do it?”

  He was balling the foil and grease paper in his fist when he saw her hand reach out in front of him to take it and he gave it to her as she said, “Yes, Layne, I’ll do it. Sean’s a neat guy and Meghan’s lovely. I’ll be happy to help.”

  He reached out, curled his fingers around her upper thigh and squeezed. It was high enough that it was far more intimate than a squeeze on the knee, low enough not to be too forward.

  “Thanks, baby,” he whispered.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, surprising him, her fingers curled around his on
her thigh, not to pry them away, but to give them a squeeze.

  Then she let his hand go and she asked, “Do you want a cookie?”

  “Yeah,” he answered and she immediately leaned forward and started digging in the bag again.

  By the time they made it to the field at the high school two towns over where the game was, he had his three cookies, she’d had her three cookies and she’d cleared everything but the pops away. He parked and met her at the rear of the SUV, getting close and sliding his arm around her shoulders. She reciprocated, her arm gliding along his waist under his jacket, her hand curling in at the side. There were others heading toward the gate and Layne knew the ones from the ‘burg because they were watching Layne and Rocky walk to the field like they were two movie stars in the middle of filming a romantic comedy.

  He paid and they made their way to the away team’s bleachers, Layne spying Colt and Cal standing at their normal spot at the fence. Keira was standing with them and with her was a red-haired, freckle-faced girl who could do Irish Spring commercials.

  “Hey Ms. Merrick!” Keira shouted as they approached.

  “Hey Keira, Heather,” Rocky greeted back, showing no reaction to being referred to by her maiden name then she smiled at Colt and Cal. “Hi guys.”

  “Rocky,” Colt smiled at her and Cal smiled as well but didn’t verbalize his greeting, he just lifted his chin.

  Rocky looked up into the stands and scanned. Layne’s eyes followed hers and he felt her move, looked down at her to see her waving at someone and he looked back into the bleachers to see Dave sitting with Spike and Ernie. He gave them a chin lift, got them in return and felt Rocky turn into him. He dipped his chin to look at her as she tipped her head back.

  “You want coffee?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, I’m good.”

  “I’m going to go say hi to Dad.”

  “All right, sweetcheeks.”

  She grinned at him and then, surprising him again, she got up on her toes and touched her mouth briefly to his. Apparently lip touches weren’t restricted in her contract. Or maybe they were allowed when the school activity was on another school’s property.

  Good to know.

  “Be back,” she whispered and then moved away.

  He watched her strut through the crowd and kept watching her doing it as she climbed the bleachers and then scooted in to sit by her Dad. He also kept watching as she burrowed under her father’s arm until it moved around her shoulders and she stayed close, turned to her old man, smiling up at him.

  “Gotta say, Tanner, your woman can strut,” Cal noted on a rumble and Layne tore his eyes from Rocky and looked at Cal.

  “Rocky started strutting when she was three years old,” Colt remarked.

  “She’d need to start then considering she’s perfected the art,” Cal returned.

  “What are you talkin’ about, Joe?” Keira asked Cal, her head tipped back to look up at her stepfather and when she did he hooked her with an arm around her upper chest and pulled her in front of him, muttering through a grin, “Nothin’, girl.”

  Layne chuckled and took his place at the fence. Jasper and Seth, the captains of the team, were out in the middle of the field for the coin toss. It was almost time to roll.

  Then Layne stood in the bitter cold with Colt and Cal through the first quarter and two minutes into the second before he was done standing with Colt and Cal in the bitter cold. The ‘dogs were holding their own, zero to zero, this being the score because their defense kicked ass but their offense sucked.

  Layne being done meant, when the ‘dogs tried and failed to kick a desperate-to-get-on-the-board field goal that was well beyond the capabilities of their sophomore kicker, who was good, but who wasn’t playing for the Colts, and the ball was changing sides, Layne turned and looked up at Rocky to see she was still cuddled into her Dad. He put his tongue to his teeth and gave a loud, sharp whistle. Raquel’s eyes went from the field to him and he lifted his hand and crooked a finger at her.

  It was night and she wasn’t exactly close but the field was bright and he could see her roll her eyes. She gave her father a peck on the cheek, reached out to squeeze Spike and Ernie’s hands then she scooted back along the front of the other spectators to the aisle and made her way down to him.

  “You called?” she asked when she got to him.

  He hooked her with an arm around her neck, turned her, pulled her back to his front and wrapped his arm around her upper chest, his other arm around her ribs. Positioning her in front of him at the fence, he dipped his head and, in her ear, whispered, “I’m cold, sweetcheeks. Need somethin’ to keep me warm.”

  Her body had grown stiff when he’d taken hold of her and stayed that way for three seconds then she relaxed on an annoyed sigh but both her hands came up to wrap around his forearm at her chest before she muttered, “At your service.”

  Layne lifted his head, grinned and turned his eyes to the field.

  He kept her close the rest of the quarter and it happened thirty seconds to half-time.

  The ‘dogs were fifteen yards out from their goal line, it was fourth down and for some asinine reason, Cosgrove kept his kicker on the bench and called a passing play. All the eligible receivers scrambled, Jasper got open but the QB ignored him and threw toward Cosgrove’s heavily defended son in the end zone. This time, Seth Cosgrove didn’t intentionally blow the play. He went all out, it was plain to see, but with three defenders, he was no match for it and was intercepted. Seth didn’t hesitate, he bore down on the opposing player, deflected a block and made a diving tackle, wrapping his arms around the player’s legs, taking him down on the five yard line.

  Visibly and justifiably angry, Seth tore his chin guard down and ripped off his helmet as he jogged to the sidelines. Five feet into the field, his father was there to greet him and he greeted him with a vicious, open-palmed tag to the side of the head, making his boy lurch two steps to the side.

  “What the fuck was that?” Cosgrove shouted, bearing down on him again and then he brought both hands up in fists and sent them crashing down on his son’s shoulder pads so hard, the boy’s knees buckled and he almost went down, his father still shouting, “Hunh? Seth? What the fuck was that!” Another crash, this one more brutal, the sound of his fists hitting the pads cracking through the suddenly silent night, then came another.

  Rocky had frozen in his arms but Layne didn’t hesitate. He set her aside, put two hands on the top of the chain link fence and pushed himself up, throwing his legs over. Colt was doing the same as Cal followed but Layne’s gaze was riveted to the Coach and his boy as Cosgrove landed another open-palmed blow to the side of his son’s head, sending Seth stumbling down on a knee.

  Jasper was closer and got there before Layne, Cal and Colt even though they were all three sprinting.

  “Coach!” Jasper yelled, using both his hands to wrap around Cosgrove’s raised arm and Cosgrove turned, hard, yanking back his arm and he caught Jasper in the chest with his elbow causing Jasper to stagger back into two other players and another coach, all who were close.

  “Sit your ass down, Layne!” Cosgrove bellowed at Jasper as Layne, Colt and Cal hit the scene then Cosgrove’s eyes shot to Layne. “Parents off the field!”

  “Locker room,” Layne growled, Cosgrove’s face went pale when he caught the look on Layne’s but then his chest puffed out as an official jogged up.

  “You can’t call me out in the middle of a fuckin’ game!” Cosgrove roared as the whistle blew.

  “Unsportsmanlike conduct,” the ref shouted, his arms straight out, palms down, his shout scratchy because he was pissed. “Fifteen yards!” Then he leaned into Cosgrove, stuck a pointed finger in his face and clipped, “Get a handle on it, Cosgrove, or you’re off the field and I’m only lettin’ you stay on it ‘cause this is the last thirty seconds of your last game. Do not even think of comin’ back after half-time.” He leaned in further and hissed, “And by God, you better brace man, because after
that shit, I’ll see to it you’re suspended permanently.”

  “Locker room,” Colt repeated Layne’s words and the referee and Cosgrove’s eyes went to Colt. “Hand off to Fullerton and get your ass off the field.” Cosgrove opened his mouth to speak and Colt leaned in and warned, “You got one second, man, before you’re in cuffs.”

  Cosgrove took that second to save face and glare at Colt before he yelled, “Fullerton!” tore his whistle from around his neck and tossed it to one of the Assistant Coaches. Then without further hesitation, head down, he started to jog off the field.

  When he did, both sets of bleachers burst out in a loud standing ovation that rocked the field but Layne went to Seth who was still down on a knee, his face pale, his eyes on his departing father.

  Layne reached a hand to him and called, “Seth.”

  Seth’s eyes sliced to him then down to Layne’s hand, he put his gloved hand in Layne’s and Layne hauled him up.

  “Head back in the game, man, but, after, you need a place to crash, you got one,” Layne said quietly, wrapped his fingers around Seth’s neck, gave him a squeeze with a tug then turned, gave Jasper a head jerk indicating Seth, Jas jerked his chin up in return, moved toward Seth and Layne jogged back to the fence. He put his hands to it and cleared it.

  Rocky was there within seconds, her hands at his abs, she moved in close.

  “Sweetheart?” she whispered and his eyes tipped to hers.

  “It’s okay,” Layne told her, curling the fingers of both his hands around her neck.

  “Seth?” she asked.

  “It’s okay, Roc, he’ll be okay.”

  “Jasper?”

  “It’s all good, baby,” Layne whispered.

  Her eyes searched his then she leaned into him and put her forehead to his chest. One of his hands moved to the back of her neck and gave her a squeeze as his eyes went to find both his sons on the field.

  They moved the ball fifteen yards and play resumed.

  Even with the penalty, the opposing team didn’t manage to translate their turnover to points on the board by half-time.

  The second half Layne watched with Rocky at his side, snuggled into him with both arms around his middle, her head most of the time resting on his shoulder. With Fullerton calling the plays, Jasper seeing the ball and Tripp taking turns with Seth, the ‘dogs won twenty-one to three.