Chapter Fourteen
They awoke in the dark for the second time. Grace was an unwilling participant, just as before. Rigsby silently lavished adoration on her as he pressed kisses into her annoyed, pouty lips, waking her up with each pass of his mouth. They showered, dressed, packed up and checked out. They had a long drive ahead.
As Grace paid the bill, Rigsby ran next door to grab breakfast-to-go and munchies for the journey. His mind was wandering back to a certain redwood forest as he passed a twenty over the counter and waited for his change. Maybe that forest required further exploration on the way back.
He jogged back in time to watch Grace loading their SUV up with their things. His chivalry ordered him to go help her, but the art lover in him preferred to watch her lithe, graceful form as it lifted and bent over the back end, her loose hair catching the light and blazing brightly as she moved. She wore it down a lot these days. He hadn't asked, but he suspected she did it for him. He stroked and gazed at it so often that she had to know how extraordinary he found it. Now it flowed around her shoulders as her slim arms lifted his duffle bag and shoved it further into the back. Rigsby sighed. She was so breathtakingly lovely. What killed him as he watched her was that she had no idea. She must have been told a thousand times by a thousand people that she was beautiful, but she shrugged them off. Almost like she didn't really believe them. Or she believed them just fine, she just didn't want the attention. He wasn't sure to this day which one was right. But he did know that before they'd gotten together, he'd watched her shy away from men who called her pretty. Just like he knew that when he told her she was the most stunning creature on earth, she smiled and blushed with genuine pleasure. So either she didn't agree but was glad that he thought so, or she knew she was beautiful but only felt comfortable hearing it from him.
Either answer made him giddy. Both meant that his opinion mattered dearly to her.
He shook off his moony gaze and walked up to her. As she slammed the back door shut, he spun her around and pinned her to the car, leaning down and invading her lips with his. She gave a startled squeak of surprise before murmuring with happiness and pushing up into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sighing into their kiss.
He broke away and smiled. "I love kissing you in a town where no one knows us. It's nice not to look over our shoulders every twenty minutes."
Grace hummed, toying with the short hair on the nape of his neck. "I love kissing you period. I don't give a damn about location."
He smirked. "No? So if I took you to a Kings' game in Sacramento and they put us on the Jumbotron Kiss Cam, you'd kiss me in front of thousands of people? People that might work with us?"
She looked stunned. "It's the Kiss Cam! I can't not kiss you! That's like spitting on the flag. Haven't you ever read the Ten Commandments of Sporting Events? Thou shalt smooch thine neighbor when on thy Kiss Cam. That's like, number three."
He grinned from ear to ear. "Is it just coaches' daughters, or are all Iowa girls as cute as you?"
"Hey!" she poked him in the chest, her eyes narrowing with a pretend jealous glare. "As far as you're concerned, I'm the only Iowa girl."
His brows wriggled in delight at her jealousy. He leaned down and bit at her jaw playfully before whispering, "Then I need to send their governor a Thank You note for exporting their hottest natural resource to me."
She pushed at him teasingly. "Get off, you. We've got a long way to go." She jingled the keys. "You want me to drive?"
He plucked them from her fingers. "Nope. I need the wheel for a while, if that's okay."
"Sure. Lemme know when you get tired," she said as she headed for the passenger's side.
"Questioning my stamina?" he asked in an insinuating tone across the hood.
"Never!" She put her hand on her heart in a solemn swear.
They buckled themselves in and took off down the interstate, heading north.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Grace watched the blur of trees for the passenger seat, her forehead pressed against the window. They'd been on the road for about two hours, spending most of it in companionable silence.
As the various shades of green flew by, Grace wondered if she'd ever be able to view their mutual silences in the same way ever again. Would she always wonder, just as she was now, if it was just an ordinary lapse in conversation, or if Rigsby was actually refraining from speech. She chastised herself, knowing that he was perfectly capable of sitting quietly without actually being mute, just like everyone else. It annoyed her that she might start over-analyzing the situation. He would hate the idea of her thinking of him as different than everyone else in that respect. After all, she'd spent over a year talking with him normally. There was absolutely no reason to assume it wouldn't resume now that they were away from the catalyst.
They passed an RV on the highway. Grace tried to quickly count the state stickers on the bumper before they pushed ahead of the guy. Twenty-three states. That RV had visited twenty-three states. She was impressed and instantly a little jealous. She tried to imagine packing her suitcase and throwing it into an apartment on wheels, touring this massive country, going to rodeos, state monuments, county fairs, national museums, and kitsch tourist stops that began with World's Largest something or other.
She wasn't a hick, but at the same time, she hadn't seen much of the world. Almost none, in fact. This trip had shown her more of California than she'd seen since she moved here 18 months ago. She'd been so eager to prove herself at work, so she'd put in a lot of hours. It wasn't hard. She didn't really know anyone outside of work. She took yoga classes and did charity stuff, but she'd yet to meet anyone that she really connected with, men or women. That sometimes made her a bit sad. She'd considered taking some weekend trips, but the idea of exploring the state on her own made her feel lonely. Walking on the beaches, going wine tasting, visiting Alcatraz, exploring national parks, she'd considered doing all of them. But they all felt wasted on just her. Who would she walk with? Who would tease her about not knowing a thing about wine? Who would she take pictures with, laughing and holding the camera at arm's length?
There hadn't been anyone.
So she never went.
She turned to Rigsby. "Will you take me somewhere?"
He didn't even look over. "Absolutely. Where? Doctor's appointment or something?"
"No," she shook her head. "I mean like a trip. Will you go on a trip with me somewhere? Here in California?"
He glanced at her curiously. "Of course. Where do you want to go?"
A loose piece of string hung from her sleeve cuff. Looking down at her hands on her lap, she tugged at it distractedly. "I dunno. I was just thinking that I haven't really explored since I got here. I've only seen towns where there happens to be a dead body. But you," she looked over at him, "you've been everywhere."
Rigsby glanced over again and caught the wistful, almost sad expression on her face as she toyed with her sleeve. She suddenly looked so vulnerable.
"I'll take you anywhere, baby. Just name the place and we're there."
She smiled at that. "I don't know. Somewhere…somewhere pretty. Somewhere you and I can relax, walk around, take pictures, look up at the stars. You know," she looked at him shyly, "couple stuff."
Rigsby instantly kicked himself for being so stupid. Why hadn't he thought of this before? True, they hadn't been together all that long, but he'd known for over a year that Grace hadn't gotten out much. He knew she didn't have family or close friends within two thousand miles. And they both wanted time together where they didn't have to worry about colleagues spotting them at the movies or in restaurants. Idiot! he berated himself. Did he honestly think she wanted to spend every night and weekend hiding out in their apartments? He immediately began running through destinations that were doable for a weekend away.
She loved trees.
She loved nature.
She loved sports and outdoor exercise.
She loved landscapes that looked vastly different from the Midwest.
And she loved him.
"How 'bout I take you camping? Yosemite is about four hours away from Sac. We could take off early Saturday, hike the trails, make smores, stargaze," he reached for her hand and found it already reaching for his, "and sleep all snuggled up in our tent."
He glanced over and found her beaming happily. "Really?"
Her smile was contagious. "Name the weekend, Grace, and we're gone."
His eyes back on the road, he heard an exhaled laugh. "Wayne, I adore you."
Still looking ahead, he dragged her hand to his lips and kissed it soundly. "You're my whole world, baby. We've haven't been together long, but I don't think I need to tell you that I can't live without you. I want to take you everywhere. See everything. I want a million memories of just you and me. I don't care what we're doing."
Grace felt her throat close up with emotion. "I want that, too." The hand in his turned and cupped his face. "Next weekend?"
"Done," he said. He cocked his head to one side before adding, "You sure? It'll be awkward trying to hike when you're naked and wearing high heels."
She slapped his shoulder and snickered. "Fine. The weekend after."
"Done," he repeated.
They settled into a silence that Grace didn't even think to question.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
They pulled into Rigsby's apartment parking lot and parked the SUV next to his truck. Grace was stepping out when she noticed another truck parked alongside the road with a flatbed trailer attached. Whatever was on the flatbed was covered with a tarp. A man was leaning nonchalantly against the door, watching them with calm interest. He was old. About seventy-five. From Grace, he was about thirty feet away, but she could tell just by looking at him that—as old as he was—he was hard a nails. Rough jeans, steel-toed boots, heavy leather jacket, aviator sunglasses and a black bandana in his cropped, steely white hair.
He saw Grace staring and dropped his head in nod of acknowledgment.
"Wayne?" She caught his eye, then nodded towards the man.
Wayne looked towards the road, squinting towards the truck, moving unconsciously so that he blocked Grace from the stranger's view. She edged around him, wanting to know what was going on. She glanced at Rigsby and saw him lose his squint, his eyes rounding out in surprise.
"I don't believe it," he whispered.
"What?" she asked impatiently, glancing back and forth between them. "Do you know him?"
He didn't answer. As he continued to stare in shock, the stranger held his gaze patiently. Rigsby began to walk towards him and Grace quickly followed, curious as hell. They came to a stop just a few paces in front of him. For Grace, the ensuing silence as the men appraised each other felt crushing. She didn't realize that for these two, silence had been perfectly normal for two whole years.
"Joe," Rigsby breathed quietly.
The stranger's eyes were unreadable behind his reflective shades, but his mouth broke into a well-worn smile at the sound of his name. "Little man," his rasped deeply, another voice created by one too many vices. "It's been a long time."
Rigsby nodded slowly. He couldn't stop staring. His blue eyes kept blinking in surprise, like Joe was a phantom rather than a real person. Suddenly he seemed to realize that they were meeting for the first time in over twenty years, and for the first time as adults. He held out his hand. "It's good to see you, Joe."
Joe smirked kindly at the gesture, looking at the younger man's hand before shaking it. "I told him I wouldn't believe 'til I saw it, but damned if Cross wasn't right. You're his spittin' image, son."
Rigsby winced and smiled sheepishly.
Joe dropped Rigsby's hand and offered it gently to Grace. "Joe Erickson."
She smiled warmly at the man who had taken Rigsby to the hospital and called Child Services all those years ago and put her hand in his. "Grace Van Pelt. I'm so glad to meet you, Mr. Erickson."
"Joe," he said kindheartedly. "And I owe Cross another apology. He said I needed to stand in this spot and wait for an angel to appear. And that when she did, I needed to give her something." He tipped his shades down his nose and looked at her over the frames. Unlike the rest of his hardened appearance, his brown eyes were warm and thoughtful. "It appears that I didn't have to wait long."
Grace blushed and looked down smilingly at his compliment.
"Cross sent you?" Rigsby's question brought Joe's gaze back to him.
"That he did. He called me in Riverside. Told me what happened. Then asked me for a favor." He leaned back onto his truck again. "I must say, the idea of seeing you again appealed. I often wondered about you."
Rigsby looked down at the pavement. "I thought about you too, Joe. Wondered if you stayed with Cross all this time." He looked up with an embarrassed half-smile. "Wondered if you were dead."
Joe snorted softly. "I get that a lot."
They chuckled together as Joe pushed his shades back up the bridge of his nose. "Nope, death ain't got me yet. As for riding, I've been outta the game for awhile now, son. These old bones ain't what they used to be. Now I just fix bikes. Pay my taxes. Water flowers in my yard. Cross spits in disgust every time he stops by."
Rigsby eyed his truck. "Not your usual mode of transport, Joe. What happened to your hog?"
"Oh, she's still around. But like I say, young buck, I'm all worn out. And Sac is a long haul from Riverside. Besides," he jutted his chin at the flatbed, "I had baggage."
He ambled over to one of its corners and started tugging at the rope knots lashed over the tarp. "Now, I was given specific instructions, here. I was told to wait for you to come back, meet a 'bright red angel', give her a present, and head on home." He moved to the next knot.
"A present?" Grace eyed the large lump, still hidden by the tarp. "For me?"
Joe nodded without looking up. "Yes indeed. Cross said you'd understand. Something you said about it being the end of the line?"
The final knot came undone and Joe ripped the tarp away.
Rigsby and Grace stared in bewilderment.
Sitting proudly in front of them on that humble, rusty old flatbed was the most imposing, muscular, shiny, blood red bike that either of them had ever seen.
Joe chuckled at their shocked expressions. "Son? You wanna pick your chin off the ground and tell me what you're looking at?"
Rigsby's stare didn't break. "This is a Harley Davidson Road King. The biggest, meanest hog they ever made. Chopped. Jesus," he reached out to ran his finger down the chrome, "she's beautiful."
"She's yours." Joe informed conversationally.
It was enough to pull Rigsby's eyes from the beast. "No. You tell Cross to go to hell. I don't want her."
Joe gave him a tired look of understanding. "I get that," he offered, "but Cross gets that too. That's why she ain't for you, little man, she's for Grace."
"Me?" Her head whipped to Joe in amazement, then quickly to Rigsby. "No, Joe. Honestly, I can't take it. It's too much. Literally. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't control a bike this size."
"Well," Joe drawled softly. "Seems to me we're at an impasse. Cross won't take no for an answer, see. This bike of his has been in my garage for years, saving it for when his Low Rider gave up the ghost. Like that was ever gonna happen. But now, he won't be needing this red bitch anymore, and he sure as hell doesn't want to fund the LAPD by having her end up in a police auction. He wants someone he trusts lookin' after her. Someone," he slid his shades down again and winked at Grace, "with some spice."
Grace smiled, shaking her head. She was never, ever going to escape Rigsby or his biker acquaintances as being anything other than a sweet little spitfire. She turned back to the bike to gaze appreciatively. "The problem still stands, Joe. She's waaaaay to much car for me."
"That," Joe clipped amusedly, "can be resolved with a good teacher. Someone who knows how to handle himself." He reached out and punched Rigsby lightly on the shoulder. "Someone went through some bad shit and came out with some decent bike skills to show for it."
The two men considered each other silently. Grace, wanting to give them their time, circled the flatbed, watching as the metallic, dark red paint shimmered in the sunlight. The chrome was almost blindingly shiny. The engine size told her that when this baby ignited, it roared like a tiger. And yet it was so beautifully put together. An artist and a mechanic had a baby in chopper form. Big as she was, this bike called to Grace just as Cross's black Low Rider had, maybe more. As she ran her hand over the seat, she heard Rigsby resume their discussion.
"Tell Cross that you did as he asked," he agreed tightly. "I'll look after Grace, make sure she learns how to handle the bike. But," he pointed his finger, "if he asks, you still tell him that I said go to hell."
Joe's laugh boomed heartily and startled them both. "He gave me the exact same message for you. He's still awful sore about his baby. Jesus, son," he barked smilingly, "did you really trash it with a tire iron?"
"Damn right," Wayne answered huffily.
"Well," Joe smiled, "you're probably the only man in California who could level that bike and not get killed. Cross will bitch about that for the rest of his life, so help me."
He suddenly bent into his open truck window. "Christ! 'Fore I forget, here are the plates and registration. Bein' cops and all, I suppose you want that stuff in order." He paused as he pulled out the small bike plate and held it up.
"I think this is what some people would call serendipitous. What do you say, pretty lady?"
Grace read the tin rectangle in his hand.
REDANGL
The small California plate read. Grace raised a brow in skepticism. "Cross had that made?"
"Years ago," Joe confirmed. "Been sitting with the bike all this time. He didn't say as much, but I think meeting you tickled him pink. I think he likes the irony of you having this chopper. That Cross," he smiled wistfully, "he's a man that enjoys irony."
A murder of crows.
Grace buried a small shiver. Yes, she could easily believe Cross enjoyed irony.
Joe turned to Rigsby and slapped him lightly on the back. "Help an old man unload this monster?"
The younger man smiled. "You bet."
The two men maneuvered the Harley off the bed and rolled it on the other side of Rigsby's truck. Once they had it in place, Joe tossed Grace the keys. "Treat her cherry," he said.
Grace nodded and said she'd do her very best.
As Joe headed back his truck, Grace called out. "Stay for dinner?"
He turned and flashed her another wink. "Extremely kind of you, sweetheart, but I need to get back on the road. My eyes," he tapped his temple, "they play tricks on me when I drive in the dark."
He turned back and climbed up into the cab. Rigsby stood on the other side as the door slammed. Joe stuck his hand out the open window. "Pleased as hell to see you again, son. You look good. Seem happy."
"I am. Thanks to you." Rigsby shook his hand with feeling. When he released it, Joe waved him off.
"Wish I'd done more, little man. You being with us was a mistake. We shoulda made Cross deal with you long before then. Ain't right, all the shit that went down."
"You did more than anyone. I'm grateful, man. I mean it." He paused. "Joe? What the hell happened? What the fuck is he doing sitting in a cell in L.A.?"
Joe sighed heavily and stared hard out the windshield. His lips pressed into a hard line. " 's hard to explain, kiddo. You live the life we chose, you're either killed quick or you die slow. Diamondback and Croydon, they lived our life and were killed quick. Your dad and me? We're what happens when you die slow. Age hits you harder. Paranoia sets in. Sleep avoids ya. The thrill of being young is nothin' but dust. Before you know it, you're an old man in a middle-aged man's body. I dunno," he shook his head thoughtfully. "Maybe James Dean had the right idea; live hard, die young, leave a beautiful corpse."
Rigsby chuckled at that. "So you think he got pinched on purpose?"
"Not so much," he pursed his lips again, "I think after a certain point, he didn't care what happened one way or the other. Prison ain't got shit on biker life, son. You of all people know that."
Rigsby reached in and put his hand on Joe's shoulder. "Thank you, Joe. Take care of yourself."
"You too, son. And more important, you take care of that little girl." He nodded at Grace, who was still circling her new bike with no small amount of awe. "Cross swore she was one in a million. I must say, I can't disagree."
Rigsby followed his gaze. "She is," he answered quietly, "and I will."
They shook hands again before Joe rolled up the window, waved to Grace, pulled out and disappeared down the road, the empty trailer bumping along behind.