The Brotherhood 7 Single White Fang Read online

  And with that, he turned and walked away, too fast to follow, but with his head up instead of hanging low. David caught a snatch of music floating back. Liam was singing, something sweet and lilting, in a language he didn’t recognize.

  He looked down at the square of cardboard in his hand. “Midnight All-Night Flea Fest,” he read aloud. He hadn’t dared to even think about going. But now ... now he thought he would. And maybe, just maybe he would find something good.

  Standing in the dying rain, David began to smile. He felt something he hadn’t in a long, long time.

  Liam’s kiss must have worked. He felt ... lucky.

  Chapter Two

  Liam had been right ... the Fest was lit up almost as brightly as day. David pulled into the spot near the entrance he’d been able to find almost immediately, marveling at the stroke of good fortune. Funny how no one else had taken it. Someone must just have left early; there had been at least three cars in front of him doing the slow circle-up and turn-around of someone hunting for a space.

  The parking slot proved to be a tight squeeze for his truck, but he guided Sweet Rose in with remarkable grace for the old junker.

  “Good girl,” he crooned, patting the leather seats. Old, cracked material. He should get her re-upholstered, he knew, but by that logic, he should rebuild her engine, buy new tires, and have the entire chassis reworked. In fact, he should probably just get a different truck altogether, but he didn’t think he could stand it. Sweet Rose had been his first big purchase after saving up enough at the Antique Barn, and she’d carried him for almost ten years.

  You didn’t let a lady down by putting her out to pasture like an old nag, especially when she still had some good miles left in her. She fit him just right, too, the legroom exactly as long as he needed and tall enough for his head not to bump the roof, and her radio always tuned in the sweetest country music to be found.

  Humming along to three angel-voiced women, David gazed out the window at the throngs of people making their way through the Fest. He could see vendor tables stretching on for what seemed like miles, mostly under tents in case of more rain, but some were out in the open.

  What beautiful lights and colors! He loved looking at houses come Christmastime, but something like this was almost better. It was like an ocean of light, color, sound, and smell. David could see old sewing machines, tallboys, wardrobes, and fainting couches standing out among the booths. With his window slightly cracked, he smelled the air and scented the sugary sweetness of cotton candy, the saltiness of pretzels, yeasty beer, and the pervasive scent of popcorn. At this kind of celebration, he knew there would also be tables with homemade jams and jellies, hand-dipped candles, and sculpted soaps.

  Even inside the truck, David could hear people’s voices rising and falling in waves of excited laughter, whoops of jubilation, and below it all, the lulling chatter of vendors hawking their wares.

  Felt like home. His hand hesitated on his seatbelt. If only it wasn’t dark ...

  It’d been dark like this a little over a year ago. He’d finally had the nerve to take out the restraining order against Tommy. Good old Tommy, who’d hugged David in public, pinched his stomach and teased, kissed him in front of his family -- and liked to use his fists whenever David screwed up, which he couldn’t seem to help doing.

  Tommy’d been waiting in the shadows.

  David had been walking down the street to get an ice cream -- comfort food -- and his ex-lover had been there. Bigger and stronger, he’d dragged David into more darkness and used his fists and feet ...

  The EMTs had said David was lucky to be alive. One more kick to the head and who knew what would have happened. One more broken rib and it might have punctured a lung. Thing was, it could happen again at any time. Cops didn’t jail men who battered their wives, kids, or girlfriends. Who’d keep a gay man locked up for whaling on his boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend.

  David gave a bitter laugh. If he hadn’t known for sure that Tommy had moved out of town and found someone else to party with, he’d have wondered and worried that the man was still out there somewhere. Stalking him. Waiting in the night for another reminder that no one walked out on him -- it was Tommy who told you when he’d had enough. He didn’t have to be afraid, though. He didn’t.

  Sweet Rose gave a rumbling cough. “It’s all right, girl.” David reassured the old truck, then turned the engine off. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t like sitting in neutral. How about I promise you some shiny new hubcaps? I see a display of those.”

  Rose gave the tink of a rapidly cooling engine. David laughed as he caressed her steering wheel. “You’re a good friend,” he sweet-talked his old baby girl. “You wait here for me. I’ll be back soon with some treats for us to haul home.”

  He took a deep breath and undid the seatbelt, which crank-rolled back against the door. Watching his hand, ashamed of how it shook, David reached for the handle and pressed. The door popped open into the night air.

  Whew. David exhaled heavily. Okay, step one down. He reached up above the visor and got his glasses. He didn’t usually wear them because he thought they made him look even worse, but he’d need the things to examine the goods and to see the prices written in teeny-tiny print on discreet little tags. A place like the Fest might have the atmosphere of a carnival, but the really hard-core vendors were out there, and they knew the value of what they were selling down to the penny.

  He grinned again, hoping he could get in a serious haggling session. It was the one time he wasn’t afraid to speak up. Felt good, freeing. And the looks of respect he got, well, those didn’t hurt, either. He thought maybe the sellers could tell he loved antiques, and the old things loved him back, too.

  Huh! Pushing the glasses up on his nose, David thought hard. I forgot to be scared. Maybe Liam did give me some luck with his kiss. That’d be really ... cool. Or maybe it was just that he was coming into his element.

  Was his hair messed up? He didn’t carry a comb. Running his fingers through it would have to do. He was beyond late for a haircut, but Christian kept coaxing him out of it. He said the shaggy, tousled look was “way sexy,” and had once dragged David away from the old barber shop he frequented.

  David thought for another second, then decided not to check in the rearview mirror. He didn’t like mirrors. A quick glance after he brushed his teeth, to make sure nothing was buttoned wrong or smeared on his face, was all he could take. Mirrors weren’t kind.

  With that, and another deep breath, David stepped out into the Fest.

  The second Sweet Rose’s door closed behind him, the sounds and smells rose up to engulf David. He let the crush of people carry him along, at first alarmed by the way people kept moving, but then easing into it. Up and down, sidestep and shimmy, just as if they had their own soundtrack. It felt like the dancing he did in his apartment when no one else was around.

  On impulse, he stopped at the first table he could break away to. Directly underneath a bright light, the display held jars of sweet clover honey, harmonicas shining brightly in their cases, homemade silver jewelry, and expensive-looking cowboy hats racked up on poles. David laughed to himself at the eclectic collection.

  The woman manning the booth grinned at him. “Hell of an assortment, ain’t it?” she asked. “Hey, you remember me? You bought that Victorian chair from me back when I was cleaning out my granny’s attic.”

  David took a second look and burst into a smile. “Doralee! How are you? It’s been, what? A year, two?”

  “Try three!” she fired with a chuckle, leaning back in her rocking chair and folding her hands over her stomach. “You’re lookin’ good, boy. Lost some weight, have you?”

  David blinked. Had he? “Maybe a few pounds ...” he said slowly. “A friend of mine gave me this citrus diet.”

  “And all that citrus gave you the runs, didn’t it?” Doralee cackled. David blushed. “Ease up, there, I’m just teasing. Fruit’s good for you. Here, take a look at this. You should just taste it.” She clo
sed her eyes and kissed her fingertips.

  With a wink, she reached underneath the cloth covering her table and drew out a different jar of honey. It had a red ribbon tied around the wide Mason mouth. “This is from a different hive. Special. I set it up right underneath the cherry trees on my Granny’s land. Nothing like it before or since.”

  David held the jar up to the light, admiring the way its contents glowed amber-warm. He could almost smell the cherries. The honey looked smooth as velvet and rich as butter. “This is wonderful,” he said reverently. He’d have loved to eat it himself, but even better was the thought of giving it as a gift.

  Liam! Would Liam like honey? The thought of slipping his small benefactor the jar filled David with delight. “How much is this?”

  “For you? Not a damn penny.” Doralee smiled from ear to ear. “I figure I owe you a lot, son. You got me into this whole party circuit when all I wanted to do was have a yard sale. The money I got from Granny’s houseful of stuff set me up just fine for a good year, and I used some of it to get into things I always wanted to try out. Honey. Playing the harmonica. Mandolin, too, though I don’t have any of those.” She whistled. “Those are pricey, and I’m not a luthier. Maybe someday, though.

  “Oh! And one more thing. Haberdashery.” She nodded at the rack of hats. “You take one of those, too. I’d like to see you fitted out like the good old cowboy I know you are at heart.”

  David chuckled, feeling his cheeks turn pink. “Doralee, I can’t take this stuff for free.”

  “You want to bet? You are taking it, every bit that I offer.” She gave him a stern stare. “I owe you this life I enjoy so much. You might brush that off, but I surely don’t. You take that honey and you take a hat right this instant. I want to see it on your head before I count ten!”

  Hastily, David snatched a hat off the rack and jammed it onto his head. He started laughing just as Doralee did. “Well, maybe I should have asked you for your head size,” she said as David passed it back over, grinning sheepishly. “You’ve got a good-sized noggin on you. Here, try this one. It ought to fit.”

  The old woman handed David a rough-riding black cowboy’s hat. He held it respectfully for a moment, recognizing good workmanship when he saw it. Made by hand and made well, it was a hat that a real Texan could wear and not be ashamed.

  “You’re going to make me want a six-shooter next,” he said with a shy smile. “Maybe I can find someone selling kids’ toys.”

  “Water pistols, fifteenth table on the left.” Doralee leaned forward. “Don’t be bashful, now. Put it on.”

  A little nervous, David settled the hat on his head. It fit to perfection -- he knew as much right away. So comfortable he felt like he’d had it for years.

  His benefactress gave an approving murmur, nodding her head. “I knew it,” she said proudly. “Now, with that truck of yours, the music you love, and your good working hands, you could catch any man you wanted.”

  “Doralee!”

  “What? You thought I didn’t know? Sweetheart, there ain’t much you can hide from a good old country woman.” She patted his hand. “Unless you’re still with that big old rawhide and bloody bones of a linebacker you used to date. Oh, no, I didn’t think you were his ‘assistant.’” She snorted. “That man looked like trouble with a capital ‘T’ to me back then, but I hadn’t been around plain-speaking folk long enough to tell you as much.”

  Narrow eyes examined David from head to foot. “He ended up hurting you, didn’t he?”

  David winced. “It’s all right,” he muttered, looking down. “I’m ... I left him. Almost a year ago now. He’s not coming back around.”

  “He better not,” Doralee said firmly. “I’ll find myself a voodoo woman and hex his balls off if he does.”

  David couldn’t help chuckling. “Lord help us, Doralee!”

  “May He help us, indeed.” Doralee winked at him. “Sounds like a story.” She glanced around herself. “Not too many customers right now. They always glance and move on, but then they catch me on the way out. No one can resist a sweet tooth.” One hand waved at her gleaming jars. “Come sit a spell and talk to an old woman.”

  David wavered. With her open friendliness, Doralee had won his heart way back when. She’d cooked him and Tommy a big breakfast when he came to appraise her collection. Bacon, eggs scrambled into fluffy white and yellow peaks, fried tomatoes ... his stomach rumbled at the memory.

  He’d talked to her about all the things she was getting rid of. Her plan had been to lay it all out on blankets in her front yard. Tommy, bored, had been all for that. Not David. He’d seen the value in every one of the pieces that had been gathering dust for years and, slowly but surely, he’d talked her into selling them to the Barn and to other dealers.

  Come to think of it, she’d been coming out of her own breakup, hadn’t she ...?

  David ducked his head, but came up smiling. “Got an extra chair?”

  “I keep one special just for handsome young men like you.” Once again, Doralee reached under the table and came up with a roomy folding stool. “Keep me company, like a good old boy would.”

  David couldn’t help widening his grin at that. “You really think so?” he asked bashfully. “That I’m a good guy?”

  “Darlin’, I know you are, for damn sure.” As he settled down next to her, Doralee continued thoughtfully, “Now, all we have to do is find you a good man.”

  David fell off the stool. “Doralee!”

  “Bless you! You say that one more time, I’m gonna think I’ve started forgetting my own name and need reminders.” She gave him a hand up and dusted him off. Her laughter was infectious, making him want to chortle himself. Impulsively, he gave her a hug.

  She leaned into his big arm, poking him in the side. Not meanly, like Tommy used to, but gently, like Quentin or Christian might. “I’m serious, now. You finally got shed of that loser, then that’s good. But we have to find you someone proper to spend your time with. Someone who’ll appreciate a fine figure of a man like yourself.”

  David shook his head. “Aw, I’m okay alone ...”

  “You are not.” Doralee gave him a severe look. She began fussing with her harmonicas, aligning them just so. “I found myself a good girl. Emma Ann and I get along just fine. We’re both a little past the sex part, but she keeps herself in shape and I find that there’s just something about a woman who knows how to use a vibrator.”

  David almost fell off his stool a second time, guffawing. Doralee’s apple cheeks were red, but she grinned so broadly he could see her gold tooth. When he’d steadied himself, he hugged her again. “I’m glad. Not that being gay is the only choice, but I’m happy you found someone who makes you talk like that.”

  “Like how, sweetie?”

  David considered his answer. “With a chuckle.”

  “Then that’s the sort of man we need to find for you,” Doralee said decisively. “Someone like you, who’s kind enough to spend his time with a foolish old woman.”

  “You have a grandson or a nephew?”

  “Oh, go on with you.” Doralee rocked for a moment, humming to herself. “Now, I have me a few ideas in mind, but what I need from you are some guidelines. Tell me. Who’s your ideal man?”

  David’s mind flashed on a few images, most of them X-rated. Doralee nudged him again. “Once more, out of the gutter.”

  Trying to be serious, David made a second attempt. He skimmed past images of Lawrence, funny and friendly; Collin, big and solid but so cold; and Liam, tiny and warm. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t know, Doralee. I guess I never dreamed up my perfect guy. I just sort of ...”

  “Took what came along?” she asked shrewdly, peering at him. “I thought as much. Why else would someone like you end up with a loser like that Timmy?”

  “Tommy.”

  “Big fartin’ deal.” Doralee stopped fiddling with her harmonicas and turned back to him, folding her hands on her knee. She pursed her lips and eyed him up and d
own. “Someone right about your height, I think. Probably about the same weight, too, which, regardless of those baggy clothes you wear, I can tell ain’t anywhere near what you think it might be. You’re too hard on yourself.”

  David felt a spark of anger. Everyone seemed to be telling him that lately. Why shouldn’t he be? What was he but a high-school graduate who worked a retail job on the highway and drove an ancient truck, bless her sweet mechanical soul? A fat loser who couldn’t find anything to say back when a cute guy smiled at him. He was worthless, and he knew it.

  “Whatever you’re thinking, stop it. Stop it right now, you hear me?” Doralee rapped David hard on the knee. “I’m working up some good country mojo now. All the spirits out there who might be listening, perk an ear, ’cause I’m putting in an order. One prince of a man for this boy, if you please. A good ol’ boy who is truly good, who’ll treat him like a king, and love him tender every damn night.”

  Her grin turned wicked. “Make him cute, too, huh? A real jewel of a guy. There!” She nodded firmly. “That’ll do the trick.”

  David shook his head. “You’re something else, you know that?” Feeling an overflow of warmth toward the woman, he reached out to grasp Doralee’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “I’ve got to be getting along, now. Behave yourself, okay?”

  “Never! That’s no fun. But you, mister, you go on. Enjoy your presents.”

  David nodded, smiling again. “I surely will.” Suddenly, he bent down and kissed Doralee’s cheek. The instant his lips touched her, he almost froze up. What the heck? He never did this sort of thing!

  Her face was aglow when he backed off. “Now that’ll bring me good luck!” she exclaimed. “A kiss from a handsome man. I’d say that’s a fine payment for a hat. A copper for a kiss. You ever hear that?”

  When David shook his head, she patted his hand. “Try it out some time. Oh, and don’t you miss the country band setting up down at the pavilion. They’ll be playing at midnight. Local boys, but they’re good. I listened in on their practice earlier.”