Rolling Thunder

Chapter 13

It was a nice house. She was suitably impressed. From her modest background, this nearly looked like a mansion. The driveway was stamped concrete in an intricate tile pattern. It was beautiful; almost too beautiful to drive on.

As she swung off the bike, she noted the sign hanging in the front yard. It was a promotional photo of Evan and another man. The other man was a blond surfer type, flashing a magnetic smile. He stood back-to-back with Evan, whose arms were crossed, deadpanning to the camera, with dark shades on.

Under Renovation by Dan Pelletier and Evan Holton, as seen on Beachfront Salvage!the sign boasted. She chuckled, pointing at the picture on the sign.

“Were they holding you hostage, or do you just hate pictures?” she asked.

“Both,” he replied, which made her laugh harder.

“Honestly, Dan is the people guy. I should never have even been involved with the TV show, but they said they…liked my look.” He air-quoted with sarcasm. She laughed harder, and he couldn’t help but join her, as he unlocked the door. “I keep hoping they’ll fire me from the show and save me from the torture. I like wiring houses. I like working with Dan, but I’m only doing this because I owe him a favor.”

“I have a hard time picturing you on a reality show. It must be some favor.”

“It was,” he said, slightly more somber, and she had the sense that she shouldn’t ask about that.

“When Dan pitched the idea about helping people rebuild after the hurricane, it gave what we were doing real meaning. So that makes it worth it.” He opened the front door.

The house had an expansive, cool interior with custom-tiled floors.

“We’ll keep these floors. They’re salvageable. The crown molding is good. The walls have to be painted, and we’re tearing out the whole kitchen. We’ll bring in some other guys to do the appliances. There’s a huge garage with some stuff that isn’t up to code, so that’s my big project right now. But check this out.” He led her toward the back of the house.

She followed him in awe. She’d seen him in his element on the bike, but she’d never seen him in any kind of professional element like she was now. He was competent, organized, and he really was on TV if the sign were to be believed. She hadn’t looked up the show yet, but now she felt like she’d have to try to find an episode to sate her own curiosity about him.

The back glass doors opened to a palatial semi-outdoor area. There was a roof over the part nearest the house, offering a shady, cool place to sit. There were Spanish-style arches with columns in this section, which was more like a porch. The next section opened into a never-ending lanai enclosing the pool. The pool was a custom-job, looking like many different rectangles all spliced together, with one corner being a hot tub.

“Woooow,” she said softly. “So, this is how the other half lives, huh? You get to swim in the pool while you’re working on the house?”

“Wouldn’t want to let something that nice that go to waste,” he replied. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it. She had on a bikini under her clothes for just this reason. She didn’t mind admiring him in swim trunks in the broad daylight. She’d hardly gotten to fully appreciate him outside their brief, passionate moments. He had a full sleeve tattoo on his left arm that led into a huge piece on his upper back. Thanks to Canyon Bill, she could recognize David Mann art—a biker roaring through a desert on a motorcycle racing with the spirit of a cowboy on a galloping horse. Above it, stylized into the clouds, was the word FREEDOM. Before she could ask him about it, he leaped into the pool.

He turned back just as she was doing a little shimmy out of her jeans, and he whistled. She looked down at him in the pool. It was almost a perfect mirror of her other life, her other self, which she hated. She turned away from him, hoping to hide the grimace she was sure was on her face.

Suddenly, he was one of them, the faceless, soulless men who threw money at her to take her clothes off on a stage. She dug in her jacket pocket for a cigarette, hoping to shake it off and calm her nerves. What she really wanted was a drink. The alternative was to face the reality that he didn’t know what she did at night to make ends meet and he would probably hate her for it. Or he would like it, and she would hate him for it. Either way, it was almost destined to destroy anything good that could happen here.

“Don’t you want to get in?” he asked.

“Just thinking we need umbrella drinks,” she lied, blowing out a stream of calming smoke.

“Dan’s probably got beer in the fridge.”

“Perfect.” She padded back inside and checked the freezer, ever hopeful. It was empty. There was beer in the fridge, but better yet, there was also a bottle of tequila. She grabbed it, glanced over her shoulder to make sure he couldn’t see her, and upended the bottle. The swig she took burned her throat and flipped her stomach, but it was also heaven. She stood, breathing deeply, trying to get a handle on herself. One more.

An engine outside got her attention, and she looked out the front window. A big black SUV had rolled into the driveway behind Evan’s bike. Somehow, it seemed menacing. She shoved the bottle of tequila back in the fridge and retreated to the pool area without the beer.

“Someone’s here,” she said, pulling her clothes back on. He climbed the pool ladder looking like a girl’s wet dream, his hair wild and water dripping off his tattooed muscles. She wished she could admire him, wished she hadn’t just been reminded why she shouldn’t even be dating him. “Big, black SUV.”

“Show producers come in an SUV sometimes, but we aren’t filming at this house until next week,” he said as he toweled off and pulled his clothes back on. She followed him out the front. As they emerged, the electric window lowered, revealing a slimy-looking guy with a pencil mustache.

Evan held out his arm in a subtle gesture, stopping her slightly behind him to keep himself between her and the guy in the SUV. Weirder and weirder. She glanced at him and saw the charming flirt was gone and the mad-dog glare was back. It scared her to see him change so fast to something so different from the man who made her feel all the things she’d tried to shut off.

“I believe you’re Evan Holton. Previously known as Evan Flint? We’d sure like to talk to you.” She looked from one to the other. Evan had an alias?

“Who’s askin’?”

“I’m an interviewer with Hollywood Insider. We’re doing a story on you. We thought you might like to tell it yourself.” She gaped from the sleazy man in the SUV to Evan. Evan looked truly frightening now.

“Hollywood Insider?” she repeated softly, totally baffled.

“No fucking way.”

“You might want to take a look before you decide,” the man said, holding out an envelope. Evan snatched it with barely contained fury. “The story will break tomorrow, officially, with or without your input. My number’s in there.”

With that, the window slid back up and the SUV retreated from the driveway.

The tension radiating from Evan frightened her in a way he’d never frightened her before. She knew that dark look. She wanted to reach out to him and see if he was okay, but instead, she stood rooted to the ground, holding her breath, waiting. It was a survival instinct. Her mother had brought home some winners. Some had been violent. Sometimes, playing dead would spare you the worst.

He turned back toward her, but that dangerous glare had melted into anguish.

“Are you okay?” she dared to ask. He stared at her for a long moment as if he were about to say something. Then he shook his head in the manner of someone disgusted with something and swung back onto his bike.

“I gotta go talk to Dan. I’ll have to take you home. I’m sorry.” he said shortly. All the charisma that had enveloped her and drew her into him had evaporated. The motorcycle roared angrily. She didn’t want to ride with him, but she had no viable alternative. She was left feeling small and confused.

Back in her house, she gave in to temptation and pulled out her phone, punching his name into Google. First, Evan Holton. Then, Evan Flint. A half dozen search results popped up.

LOCAL MAN EXONERATED ON DRUG CHARGES AFTER ARREST OF CORRUPT COP

UP-AND-COMING REMODEL NETWORK STAR HAS A PAST BEHIND BARS

EVAN FLINT, OF HOMESTEAD, FLORIDA, SENTENCED TO 13 YEARS FOR CHARGES RELATED TO PRODUCTION AND DISTRIBUTION OF METHAMPHETAMINE FOR THE IRON PIRATES MOTORCYCLE GANG

Meth. The Iron Pirates. She thought of his mysteriously humble little house in the swamp with a barn behind it hiding hundreds of thousands of dollars’ worth of Indians and classic cars. Was it drug money? Was he associated with the club after all, even though he said he wasn’t? She’d never seen him wearing their patches.

After stewing for too long, she turned her phone off and headed for the barn. No matter what else was going on, if she wanted to keep her farm, she had work to do.

She pulled up short in the doorway of her barn. Bill was testing a new latch on the back doors to the stalls on the back side of the barn. He swung the door closed, and it latched perfectly with a satisfying click. Just when she thought she might succumb to despair, a wave of relief washed over her. The back stalls were once again usable for the first time in years. She could see a line of new hot wire extending off the back of the barn. He glanced at her.

“These are done,” he said unassumingly.

“Wow!” She was floored. Half the barn had been unusable since she’d been back, and Canyon Bill had restored it. She didn’t have enough training business to fill these stalls, but she could rent them to boarders, and it would bring in more than enough money to pay the mortgage. She could finally break free from Trent, once and for all. If he would let her go.

“I don’t even know what to say.” She sank down to sit on a tack trunk that had been left with Rocket, gazing at the refurbished stalls. He sat next to her.

“You ain’t got to say nothin’ at all,” he said, his voice heavy with some emotion she couldn’t quite identify. “You got a raw deal, Kayla. When y’all needed me, I cut and run. Your momma’s been off the rails since way before you was born. Don’t let her take you with her. You stay clear of them people. Remember, when you lie down with dogs, you get up with fleas.”

“I try, but…she’s my mother…”

“Well, she ain’t hardly ever acted like it. Tryin’ to help her is like trying to save a drowning horse with nothin’ but your bare hands. She’ll just clobber you and take you down with her.”

She knew in her soul he was right. Because that was exactly how it felt to interact with Leanne. And here she was, desperate to pay a mortgage on her grandmother’s farm that she’d taken out to put her mother in rehab. Now her mother was high as a kite again and wanted more money. There was no more. If Kayla were to survive, she had to get away from Leanne.

“It ain’t her fault exactly, Kayla. Her daddy was a rodeo cowboy. Ever hear of Cody Vegas? Hell, if you want to know the truth, your Grandma Kay was a buckle bunny herself, back in her day.”

Kayla laughed unexpectedly, hearing her eternally regal, graceful grandmother being described as a buckle bunny.

“Cody was a wild one. Practically dared them bulls to kill him every time they cut him loose out the chute. Eventually, one of ’em probably did.” Kayla didn’t follow the pro rodeo circuit very closely, but she’d heard the name. It was an unexpected blow. Canyon Bill was the only father figure Kayla had ever known. This was the first time in her life she’d known anything about the identity of the missing men in their lives—her actual blood grandfather. For a second, she longed to ask Bill if he knew who her father was, but she didn’t dare. Even if he knew, did she want to know who the man was who had never once showed up in her life?

“I would hear your momma yellin’ at Kay that if she hadn’t of took up with me, her daddy would have come back for her. The truth is, when he found out Kay was pregnant, he bought her this farm and split. He wasn’t never comin’ back. So, your grandma done what Cody couldn’t do; she quit rodeoing and settled down. She knew Cody wasn’t the settlin’ kind. She done everything she could do for your momma. But that didn’t matter to Leanne. She always thought Cody would hit it big in the Pbr and come swooping in for her. Every day he didn’t, it seemed like she hated me and your Grandma more. By the time she was a teenager, she was meaner’n a snake and tight with the rough crowd. She ain’t never been otherwise.

“When your momma got pregnant with you, she just went even more wild. Kayla, I don’t think she’s comin’ back no matter what. She takes after her daddy that way. But if she ever straightens up, it’ll be because she decides to do it, not because of anything you do or don’t do.”

Kayla glanced over at his weathered face, swamped with both sadness and relief. She prayed that what he was telling her was true. She’d turned her mother away out of desperation, but she needed so badly to be validated that it was the right decision. Especially considering the loss of the family she never even had a chance to know. She needed to hear that she wasn’t like her mother, and that there was another life for her.

“Now it seems like Evan is mixed up with some bad stuff. I thought he was a straight shooter. He did some time, and it had something to do with the Pirates,” Kayla blurted.

She hadn’t had a confidant since her mother spirited her away from the farm and she lost contact with Gram Kay. She’d had only the influence of her mother and Trent, who both pressured her into the worst situations. Suddenly, she saw Canyon Bill as the voice of reason and a chance not to be alone with her worries about Evan.

The Iron Pirates Motorcycle Club had been a dangerous presence in South Florida since the 1970s, and Kayla knew Bill was well aware of them. He leaned over and nudged her shoulder with his.

“You really think I’da let him hang around this long if he had anything to do with the Pirates? I may be old, but I ain’t dead. I still know some people in the life. I asked around about him, fire ant. He’s all right.”

That was a surprising endorsement from Bill.

“Would you quit calling me fire ant?” she demanded, shoving him back with her shoulder.

He laughed. “No, I won’t. Somebody’s got to remind you that you’re a badass. You might be little, but you got a hell of a bite to ya.”

He put a huge, gnarled hand on her shoulder. “You ain’t like your momma, you hear me? You never was.”

She met his eyes for a moment. They were pale blue, like her grandmother’s. Yet she and her mother were brunette and darker complexioned. It was just another reminder that she was like her mother, just like her in so many ways.

“I think I’m more like her than you know.” Kayla said softly. “When she finally left here and took me to Fort Myers…” She trailed off. What was she going to tell Bill about that? She lived in a weekly motel room by Trent’s bar. Where eventually she’d succumbed to all manner of horrible things, right alongside her mother. She didn’t want him to know any of that.

“Way I see it, when you had a choice, you came back here,” he said simply. “I’m mighty sorry I didn’t do better by all of you back then. Me and you are still on the right side of the grass, so we still got a chance to make things right.”

“Well, I guess if I’m gonna do that, I better get to work,” she muttered, and stood up. She wanted to believe everything Bill said. When you had a choice, you came back here. Her eyes stung. She hadn’t had any choices in the beginning, even if Trent had made her think she did. Bill’s belief in her now was a breath of hope to raise her up. She was a scrapper, she didn’t need much. A little validation went a long way.

Maybe Evan was all right, and she wasn’t destined to follow in her mother’s footsteps.