A/N: Many, many thanks to those who continue to read and review. Your thoughtful comments give me perspective and alternative angles as I continue to think my way through this story and write the ensuing chapters. Thank you so much for taking the time. It is greatly appreciated.

Key West Blues

Chapter 19

She awoke with a start, blinking at the tentative gray of the early dawn fingering through the slats of the blinds, desperately trying to grasp what had been playing inside her mind just moments prior. It was familiar and it was important; the thump of her heart and the shortness of her breath told her that. But now in her consciousness it was elusive; only the image of a hand reaching for her – whose she did not know, and the sound of a voice calling to her – it was muffled, remained. And she wanted to know, needed to know, felt it was imperative to know and yet the only way to know was to drift … back … into … sleep.

Half-sitting, half-standing against his Harley, waiting for Silas to arrive and unlock the place, Danny watched the kids playing stick ball in the street, their shadows stretching long, charging ahead of them, as they approached first base then rounded second, changing to a chasing gallop behind them as they tapped third and then stomped (for sliding was out of the question on asphalt) home plate triumphantly amid congratulatory cries from fellow teammates and in-your-face trashing talking to the opponents.

Silas approached him from behind. "You're here early."

Danny glanced around at Silas and shrugged, "What else I got going on right now? Except be here … hauling trash." He folded his arms and concentrated on the stick ball game again.

"Uh oh, that meeting yesterday with your old boss-"

"Nah, it went great." He broke his concentration from the game, giving Silas a serious look. "But bad news for you, Silas."

Silas shifting a package from under his right arm to under his left, the worry wrinkles stacking up from his eyebrows to his hairline. "What's that?"

Danny paused a moment to heighten the tension then grinned, slapping Silas on the back, "You're stuck with me for another month."

Silas wagged a finger at him. "As my Grand-maman Valmont always used to say, 'It don't pay to be a wise acre'."

Danny laughed from somewhere deep inside himself. "Sounds like my Nana Tucci."

"And compliments of my Grand-maman Valmont – God rest her soul – I brought us a mess of boudin." Silas now held the package in both hands, reverently lifting it towards Danny's nose.

"Boo-dan?" he questioned, whiffing then agreeing with a full-blown inhale, "Whatever Boo-dan is – my compliments to your Grand-maman Valmont."

"Sausage – Cajun style. It's her own special recipe passed on to my momma when I was just knee high to a grasshopper and then to me when my momma passed – God rest her soul."

"Silas, you cook?"

"Always, besides there ain't nowhere to get boudin in this neighborhood."

"Break it out, I'm hungry."

"Now, hold on!" Tucking the package securely under one arm again, swinging the other wide through the air in mock reprimand, "What have you been doing since you been here? The place looks exactly as I left it yesterday."

"I can't do anything until you unlock the place – but I don't understand why you lock it," Danny jibed, then absentmindedly added, "Not like there's anything to steal," as a cry of "Striiikkkeee One" echoed from street.

Silas' gaze shifted, following Danny's, commenting, "Them young'uns been at it just about every afternoon since I've been here – and today – early morning on a school holiday like today; they're hard at it again."

"Yeah, I've been noticing that, but you see that tall skinny one that's pitching?"

"Uh huh, that's Jamal Wilkinson. His granny works for the borough offices."

"Okay well, Jamal's torque on his windup is all wrong. It's gonna sideline him with a shoulder injury before he even gets old enough to try out for the high school team."

Silas saw Jamal palm his shoulder after he released the pitch. "Uh huh, I shore do see that."

"And that little kid batting?"

"That'd be Jamal's little brother, Jawan."

Danny straightened a little and rubbed his hands together. "Watch this."

Jawan, following the bat in a wild swing at the ball, twirled furiously in full circle.

"Striiiikkkeee Two!" The catcher, who was no taller than Jawan, but definitely stouter shouted at the top of his lungs with all intonation of the showiest of umps.

Danny gestured toward the young batter, "See that – rookie mistake – little brother Jawan is closing his eyes at the last second and throwing his weight into the swing instead of holding stance and following through."

Jawan hiked the bat above his shoulder, facing the catcher in frustration, "Shut up Denton, you're just showing off."

"So what are you waiting for you little pisser?" Denton taunted back. "I bet you can't even hit me with that bat and I'm ten times the size of a baseball."

"Try a hundred times bigger, you fat-sucking nigger."

Danny and Silas leaped into the street, Silas grabbing the stout kid around the middle and the neck, dragging him backwards a couple steps while Danny stepped in front of Jawan stalling the swing of the bat with his palm.

"What the hell? Get out of my way," shouted Jawan, giving the bat a jerk trying to dislodge it from Danny's hand. Danny could hear Denton behind him, scuffling against Silas' restraint, shouting, "Let me at the little pisser, I can take him even with a bat in his hand."

Danny remembered those days as the little brother, the tag along, the runt, the constant fight to be better, to be accepted – all for a chance to join in and play. He also remembered the rush of disappointment, frustration, even anger as he lashed out trying to assert his position in the hierarchy of the neighborhood boys and he saw it now, in Jawan, as Jawan twisted his grip on the bat, strengthening his resolve.

"Easy Jawan." Danny warned quietly, "You could do a lot of damage with this bat."

"Exactly what I wanna do."

"No it isn't." Danny said, recalling his own reaction to a taunt, throwing the punch that broke his wrist, sidelined his bid with the majors, ended his baseball career. "You got too much talent to waste on going to juvie hall for beating a hot-aired numbskull like him in the head." Danny jerked his head back in the direction of Denton, who'd finally been secured by Silas but still couldn't resist shouting, "The little pisser's full of shit!" But then added a yelping, "Shit old man, whyddya gotta do that for?" at Silas' momentary tightening of his choke hold on the stout little fellow.

Teammates now tightened in around Danny and Jawan, causing Jawan to bite his lip in a frustrated tug of war between two fears – the fear of losing face in backing down or the fear of losing his life as he knew it if he did inflict serious damage on Denton. It gave him pause to finally say, "Whaddya you know about it?"

"Let go of the bat and I'll show you," Danny said, but made no move to step closer to Jawan or wrest the bat away from him.

Jamal, the older brother, stepped forward from the throng, waving a hand at Jawan, "Come on Jawan, let it go. Maybe he know something we don't, you know help us with our game."

Jawan shed the crouching tenseness, loosening his grip on the bat as he straightened, suddenly confident in his position as the one to give the go ahead. "Okay, but it better be worth something."

"I promise you it will." Resting the bat on his shoulder Danny gestured around the group of doubtful onlookers, "Alright, back to your positions." Emphasizing with a point of the bat, he said, "You're gonna need to be waaayy out there," then swinging it from shoulder to shoulder a couple of times, more for show than anything else, he crouched next to home plate waiting for Jamal to reach the brick denoting the pitcher's mound. He tapped the bat on the old asphalt shingled denoting home plate. "Send it right over here Jamal and I bet ya I hit it to the end of the block."

Jamal, pitching hand behind his back, spinning the ball in his palm with each thrust of his thumb, challenged, "What's the bet?"

Danny straightened, resting the bat on his shoulder again, shouting back to Jamal, "If I hit it to the end of the block, you and your friends gotta help Mr. Benoit clean out this building for the day."

"Shit!" A kid in right field yelled, "I ain't gonna haul trash for some old man for no pay."

Both Danny and Jamal ignored the grumbling from the rest of the players that signaled their agreement with the dissenter in right field.

Jamal shouted back, "And if you don't?"

Danny would be the first to admit the kid in right field had a very strong point, but still, sensing Jamal was the one who ran the show, he countered, "I teach you everything I know about baseball." He waited silently for a few moments, leaving the decision to Jamal, but then in the spirit of friendly competition, he couldn't resist a little bit of good natured challenging himself. "Whaddya say Jamal? You up for it? Can you strike me out before I can connect on a clean pitch and send it to the end of the block?"

Jamal finally gripped the ball in agreement. "Alright."

Throwing a serious look over his shoulder at Denton, who'd since been released from Silas' choke hold and was now squatted into catching position, Danny admonished, "Call 'em clean, okay … or I'll sic Silas on you again."

Denton glanced warily at Silas; Silas flashed him a pearly-white baring grin and Denton nodded vigorously at Danny, "Ya got it."

"I'm ready. Throw out your best pitch, Jamal."

Jamal lifted his leg, drew back his arm and released a pitch that on the follow through sailed precisely over home plate, perfectly level with Danny's swinging arc. The resulting crack drew everyone's eyes skyward as the ball flew a good hundred yards beyond the end of the block before it smacked onto the pavement, bounced once off the curb and complacently rolled into a storm sewer.

Danny grinned holding out his hand as Jamal approached him, "Perfect pitch, man, but … sorry about the baseball, I owe you one."

"Shit, man, forget about it. I just wished … any chance ..."

"Sure, sure, anytime you and your friends work for Mr. Benoit, I'll work with you guys on your game, okay?"

Jamal grinning in agreement, taking Danny's hand, "Sure … Mr? …"

"It's Danny, just call me Danny. Now round up your friends, Mr. Benoit and his mounds of trash are waiting for you."

Much later, awakened from her dreamless sleep by sunlit rays fanning across her face, her eyelids fluttered two or three times, lazy and hazy, until she stretched, long and arching, like the slinkiest cat, muscles releasing completely. No answers were forthcoming in her mind, only memories of last night, front and center – the conversation with Rand, debating the merits of forgetting versus dealing, which had been held between sips of beer and light kisses.

His hand curled around her neck, his thumb stroking the triangular hollow in her neck as he said softly, "Sometimes you need help forgetting."

Her hand light against his chest, feeling his warmth through his shirt, as she raised her eyes to his, questioning, "Forgetting before resolving? Is that the right way to go about it?"

His hand slid under the curtain of her hair, fingers stroking lazily through it. "Who knows? It could turn out to be the right way … the right thing … for both of us."

She shook her head lightly from side to side, "I don't know. This isn't like me … to jump in ... " eyes finally closing, trailing off at the sensual wave that stole over her with every stroke of his fingers through her hair.

His hand fisted into her hair just enough to angle her head back, "Maybe you should try it … you might surprise yourself." His lips dropped to hers again, warm and persuasive, the good feeling creating a spin in her head … or was the spin due to knock to her temple?… or the beer?

She sighed as the kiss broke, pressing her forehead to his, her voice sounding with an unexpected quaver. "I'm not sure I can handle many more surprises."

His hand dropped to her shoulder and he pulled back, looking at her intently, "Look, I don't want you to do something you aren't ready to do."

She looked away quickly, swigging from her bottle of beer to cover her embarrassment – her embarrassment in appearing as some needy teen-ager unsure of how to deal with her feelings. Turning back to him once she had swallowed, she resolved to be as direct as he had been with her. "The bottom line is that I have this unresolved relationship … and ..." She titled her head slightly, an imploring note coloring her tone. "And doesn't that bother you? That you may get involved with someone who really isn't ready to be involved?"

Again his hand curled around her neck, thumb stroking, "Maybe, I'm willing to take the risk."

"Why?"

This time he took a contemplative swallow of beer before answering her. "Honestly, after being around bubble-headed co-eds and stiff-necked scientists types for the past several years, you're a breath of fresh air." He shrugged, taking another swallow of beer before continuing. "Maybe I don't want to risk losing the opportunity. Other than that, I haven't thought much about it. I just know how I feel … I'm attracted to you, I like you and I want to spend some time with you, get to know you." He paused, and when she said nothing, a slightly wicked look – a cocked eyebrow and sideways smile – came over his face. "And who knows? It may be exactly what the doctor ordered."

She laughed lightly. "Okay, but I can't promise you anything."

He held his hands up in surrender. "Not asking for a promise, just a chance."

Placing the beer bottle on the coffee table, she said, "Well, I better get going. You know busy day and all-"

"Yeah me too, busy day, I'll call you a cab."

Before she'd slipped into the cab, he had wrapped her in his arms, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead, her hand soaking up the warmth of him through his shirt. And it had felt good.

But would it be good enough?