The World is a Stage

Danger comes packaged in bulging muscles…and a codpiece. Games of Love, Book 2 Highland Games athlete Michael O’Leary is famous for his ability to charm a woman right out of her pants. Maybe a little too famous. When he’s sidelined with a knee injury, his wingman pounces on the chance to take full advantage of Michael’s idle time. Trying out for the local adult-themed Shakespearean production seems simple, but there’s a catch. Michael must woo the notoriously demanding lead actress, Rachel Hewitt, thereby freeing his friend to pursue a courtship of Rachel’s sister. Rachel hates the thought of handing over the lead role in her admittedly scandalous troupe to someone so wholly uneducated in the ways of the Great Bard. But she’s in a bind, and the only one who can step up is a man who looks way too good in a codpiece—and knows it. To add insult to injury, he refuses to take the role until she agrees to take his place in some barbaric warrior race. She’ll do it, but not with a smile. Unfortunately, the hardest part isn’t antagonizing her Scottish foes. It’s resisting the one man who seems determined to line and cue her heart—forever. Warning: This book’s half-naked Shakespearean actors are not approved of or acknowledged by people with actual literary merit. Neither are the dirty limericks.

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B Cincinnati OH 45249 The World is a Stage Copyright © 2012 by Tamara Morgan ISBN: 978-1-60928-953-9 Edited by Linda Ingmanson Cover by Kim Killion All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2012 www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage Games of Love, Book 2

Tamara Morgan

Dedication

For my parents, who gifted me with a love of reading, a sense of humor, and most importantly, the belief I could do anything I set my mind to.

Chapter One Bardolatry

“That is the third woman tonight who has taken one look at me and run for the hills.” Michael O’Leary dropped onto the stool and pretended to examine his reflection in the shellacked wood-grain surface of the bar. “I think I might be losing my game.” Next to him, Peterson mumbled something incoherent, not paying the least bit of attention to Michael’s current downward spiral. That wasn’t like him. Normally, Peterson’s favorite Saturday night pastime was watching Michael crash and burn—and doing it with unholy glee lighting up his smug little face. But tonight, he’d spent the better part of the last half hour on his cell phone, texting and giggling like it was his first prom. It should have been a killer night for the both of them. Michael was wearing his favorite kilt. Peterson too was all dolled up, his recent buzz cut showcasing a tattoo of a dragon eating the side of his face. The ladies loved the kilt. The ladies loved bad-ass tattoos. These were the laws upon which Michael’s entire world was built. “Seriously, bro. Have you ever seen my luck hide so far up a leprechaun’s ass?” Michael asked. He took in their favorite bar at a glance, the walls flaking with age and grease, the floor packed with bodies. “Something must be wrong. I think Mercury might be in retrograde.” That did it. Peterson looked up and grinned, tucking his cell phone into his pocket and finally giving due attention to the pint of beer in front of him. “You

The World is a Stage

never miss a chance to let us know you had your way with that famous astrologer, do you? What was her name? Madame Butterball?” “Butterfly, you asshole. It’s literary.” “I’ll bet it is.” Peterson swiveled on his stool, facing out, both his elbows propped on the bar. “You still seeing her?” “The Madame?” No way. She’d been a little more unhinged than Michael preferred in a woman, always talking about how the colors of their auras clashed. He didn’t mind when a lady friend brought her work home with her, but there was no way his aura was pink. She had to be making that shit up. “Nah. I’m footloose and fancy free,” was all the explanation Michael offered. “Why? Did you have something in mind?” “Well…actually.” Peterson’s voice was like a little boy’s as he rubbed one hand across the back of his neck. That was where the dragon’s body and impressive male parts were located. The ladies loved that too. “I scored us tickets to a little thing they’re doing over at the Odyssey Theater.” “Really?” “Front-row seats, backstage passes, the works. We might even be able to get our way into the after-party.” “That’s funny. I didn’t even know there was a band in town.” Peterson opened his mouth to reply, but he was interrupted by a woman in a red, low-cut tank top. Unlike every other pair of heels in the bar, she took one look at Michael and brightened, going so far as to pucker her lips and lean in, allowing him a generous glance down the front of her bra. It was a bit forward, but Michael was as agreeable as any other hot-blooded man to such tactics. “Darling, I think maybe you didn’t look in the mirror when you left the house,” she said.

www.samhainpublishing.com

7

Tamara Morgan

Pulling back, she dangled a pair of pink panties from her lacquered nail. Michael narrowed his eyes. Those weren’t just any pink panties. They were covered with tiny dancing princesses and cheerful green frogs. Next to him, Peterson let out a strangled laugh. Michael didn’t normally take great pride in his appearance. Sure, he was wearing his kilt tonight—but that was for the attention more than any attempt at fashion. He was the only one of their friends who ever wore the traditional gear off-season, when they weren’t working the Highland Games circuit. No one else had the balls—or the legs—to pull it off. But even he balked at waltzing into the bar with children’s underwear clinging to the back of his T-shirt. No wonder he’d been striking out so bad. He looked like a fucking pervert. “Oh, shit, Mikey. I’m sorry,” Peterson said, grabbing the underwear from the woman in red and shoving them into his back pocket. “I should have noticed before you got out of the car.” “You planted those there,” Michael accused, knowing full well it wasn’t true. When Peterson had swung by to pick him up, there had been a load of laundry in the backseat. With two young daughters at home, Peterson had a hell of a lot of tiny pink things in his laundry. “It happens to the best of us,” the woman said warmly. She made a not-sosubtle glance toward Michael’s empty ring finger. “You tell your wife to try fabric softener next time.” Michael was getting ready to proudly proclaim no affiliations whatsoever with the matrimonial state when he saw Peterson’s face school itself into a mask of bro-code acceptance. Taking this woman home would be easy. Michael could practically taste her tongue playing tonsil hockey with him, and he knew it

8

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

would require only a few words to have her falling for a sob story of single parenthood and long, lonely nights. But Peterson, the poor bastard, got out only a few times a month. He was the real victim of single parenthood and long, lonely nights. “I sure will,” Michael agreed, heroically distancing himself from the impressive, rose-scented breasts. “My wife loves it when I give her housekeeping tips.” The woman, oblivious to the joke, offered a disappointed and cock-shifting smile. “Dude. Those kids of yours are some sort of lady magnet,” Michael said, shaking his head and tearing his gaze from the woman’s ass as it wiggled and shook its way across the bar. So close and yet so far away. “Can I borrow them next week?” “Not on your life. The last time I let you babysit, Sammy spent the entire next week telling everyone what a dingleberry is.” “She asked,” Michael protested, holding up his hands in mock defense. “You know it’s against my nature to lie to women. Especially cute, miniature ones.” “Very funny. Just keep the poop jokes to a minimum next time, okay?” Michael shrugged good-naturedly. Of all the jokes he knew, the ones dealing with bodily functions were by far the most four- and six-year-old appropriate. And they always went over well with his friend’s progeny. If there was one thing Michael knew, it was how to please his audience. “You’re just lucky I didn’t tell them the one about the twin hookers in a cave.” Peterson snorted. “No hooker jokes until they’re at least sixteen. Official orders.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

9

Tamara Morgan

“Done,” Michael agreed, rubbing his hands together. “Now. What’s this about a concert tonight?” “Well…” Peterson drew the syllable out, and Michael’s suspicions deepened with each passing second. “It’s Hamlet.” “Never heard of them. And if it’s hipster music, you can count me out. You know how I feel about all those bands no one has ever heard of. There’s a reason, bro. And it’s rarely good.” “It’s not a them, Mikey. It’s Hamlet. You know, Shakespeare? Thee and thou and the most famous playwright of all time?” “I know who Shakespeare is.” Michael crossed his arms. He might have spent the better part of his twenties more focused on building up his body than his brains, but he wasn’t dead. “What I don’t understand is why you got me all hot and bothered if this was what you had to deliver. Where I come from, we call that—” Peterson laughed and held up a hand. “Spare me the description, buddy. I haven’t even gotten to the best part yet.” “Is there sex in it?” “Better.” “A whole orgy?” “If we play our cards right.” Michael laughed. “Okay. Now I’m listening.” “It’s called Shakespeare After Dark. They do the original plays, all Shakespearified and stuff, but the actors are almost completely naked, and they add good parts to the story. You know. The good kind of good parts.” “Define ‘almost completely naked’,” Michael said, instantly wary. Peterson was holding something back. If his friend was about to offer him a stage of half-

10

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

dressed ladies, like any true friend ought, Peterson wouldn’t be so afraid to look him in the eye. “What’s the catch?” Peterson paused and finally looked his way, and Michael felt his skin grow cold. The last one of his friends to have those big, soulful, ridiculous eyes was Julian. Julian, who now put on fancy pants once a month and escorted his girlfriend to a historical re-enactment ball where the women sucked a little bit of his manhood away each time—and he didn’t mean that in the good way. Not that Michael had anything against Julian’s girlfriend, Kate. It was just hard to practice caber tossing on the field knowing his friend had something called a cravat in his practice bag. It was weird. “I got the tickets through a friend of mine who’s in the show,” Peterson began. “A good friend.” “What’s her name?” Michael asked, resigned. “And how does this end with me getting some much-needed naked time?” Peterson’s eyes flashed with humor, but there was a firmness to his mouth that didn’t sit well. “Her name is Molly. Molly Hewitt. She plays Ophelia.” “Good for her,” Michael offered. “Who the fuck is Ophelia?” “It doesn’t matter, Mikey. The point is, she’s got a pair of front-row seats waiting for us at the ticket counter, and I intend to use them. And I need you to come with me.” “So take Pink Panties back there,” Michael suggested, thumbing over his shoulder at the woman in red. “Or Julian. He loves that high-brow shit now.” “Don’t be dumb. I’m not taking a random woman from the bar, and Jules has some big tournament in Seattle this weekend. Besides, I might need someone to help me out a little with a friend of hers. We’ll be man and manlier. Tit and tat. Please, Mikey?”

www.samhainpublishing.com

11

Tamara Morgan

There were those eyes again. He could see where Sammy and Pris, Peterson’s manipulative little monsters, got it. “Fine,” he agreed, shaking his head ruefully. If there was an award for being the best wingman in the world, Michael was definitely in the running. Shakespeare—even naked Shakespeare—had to be about as bad as it got. He kicked back the last of his beer and pointed the empty glass at his friend. “But you have to be tat. I want to be tit. I’m not agreeing to anything unless there’s at least one of those involved.”

“What do you mean, you gave away the tickets?” Rachel turned on her stool, pulling the almost nunlike wimple down from around her neck so Molly was sure to see her frown. “I put them at the Will Call booth for a reason.” “Those reviewers you invited aren’t coming, Rachel. You know that as well as I do. There’s no reason to let the tickets go to waste.” Her sister stood as a vision of ethereal youth before her, braids in her long, ashy blonde hair, the sweeping folds of her see-through white gown making her look at least half a decade younger than her twenty-two years. She made a very convincing Ophelia, even with a pair of daisy-shaped pasties over her nipples and nude panties that looked almost invisible under the stage lights. Innocence and sex and melancholy all wrapped up in one of the most talented actresses Rachel knew. The audience would eat her up. Something like pride ticked in her chest, but she tamped it down. This was not the moment for sisterly adoration. “I don’t see what the big deal is,” Molly persisted. “Stop being so dramatic,” Rachel said, turning back to her mirror. Like her dressing room—also known as Former Janitor’s Closet—it was small and poorly

12

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

lit, with someone else’s month-old makeup smeared along the edges. The whole theater was like that, used and dark and smudged. How was she supposed to get her makeup on when she could barely see three feet in front of her? “If your stupid friends wanted to come that bad, they could have paid to see the show. Just like everyone else.” “My friend isn’t stupid. Leaving front-row tickets to sit there, unused, because you’re too stubborn to admit your little intellectual-journal contact isn’t coming—that’s stupid.” Rachel frowned, but she wasn’t defeated. “This friend of yours…is he male?” “Yes.” “How many tattoos does he have?” “That’s not a fair question!” The black pencil Rachel was using to paint on a pair of highly arched brows stilled. “How many?” “I don’t know. Six. Maybe seven. That I’ve seen so far.” Rachel let out a whoosh of breath. She couldn’t tell if it was annoyance or relief—annoyance that her sister was once again being lured by a man whose ineligibility was literally stamped on his skin, or relief that she hadn’t yet had the time or the opportunity to count all his tattoos. “How many piercings?” “Just two,” Molly mumbled, refusing to meet Rachel’s eye in the mirror. She was beginning to falter. “A pair of gauges—small ones, I swear.” “And what does this paragon of ours do for a living?” “I’m not telling you.” Rachel let her sister stand there, nervously tapping her foot, until both brows were finished. When she was satisfied they were perfect, she turned her head a little, marveling at the changes those simple brows wrought.

www.samhainpublishing.com

13

Tamara Morgan

She looked fifteen years older, pale and wan with worry. A heavy circlet painted gold covered her head cloth, completely wiping away her hair, and an extra dab of gray face paint in the hollows of her cheeks gave her an eerie pallor. From the neck up, she was the perfect Gertrude, adopting the role of Hamlet’s mother with as much grace as could be expected of a woman still firmly in her twenties. From the neck down, Rachel was much less Queen of Denmark and much more Las Vegas showgirl. A garter belt and a corset that pushed her boobs up to her neck weren’t exactly time-period accurate, but that was the deal. One didn’t work at Shakespeare After Dark, Little Willy’s Jack-Off-Broadway Review, without a bit of cleavage coming into the equation. Times were hard for a stage actress stuck in a midsize Eastern Washington city. Rachel made do. She always did. “I thought Debbie was supposed to do everyone’s makeup,” Molly said, full of petulance, very much in keeping with her attire. “Debbie,” returned Rachel calmly, spinning on her stool and rising to her stiletto-clad feet in a single graceful movement, “is a white-trash hack who thinks it’s okay to apply greasepaint with her bare fingers. Ten dollars says your face breaks out like you’re fifteen again.” Molly’s hand went involuntarily to her cheek. Rachel grabbed her wrist and held it for just a second too long before letting go, immediately contrite. She was doing it again—letting the worry take over everything else. Molly deserved better. “Let me guess,” she said quietly, looking into her sister’s turbulent gray eyes, so very much like her own. It was the only trait they shared outside of the signature sloped Hewitt nose, which everyone assumed was the product of a plastic surgeon’s skilled hand rather than really good genetics. “You met him at a

14

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

bar. He didn’t even try to get you drunk or passed out in his bed. He’s misunderstood, really sweet once you get to know him. Not at all like the last one. I just don’t understand.” Tears filled Molly’s eyes, and she didn’t even try to check them or keep them from running down Debbie’s botched attempt at stage makeup. Rachel’s chest tightened. That was the fundamental difference between the two of them. Never let them see you cry. Never let them see they’ve won. “You two ready?” Dominic, the director of the production, popped his head in through the creaking wooden door and nodded. “I see you’ve turned yourself into a Gorgon again tonight, Rachel. How delightful. That’s exactly what our guests pay to see.” “Shove off, Dominic,” Rachel promptly replied. Most of the cast and crew didn’t dare question Dominic’s superior opinion in all matters Shakespeare and stage. The man, aged gracefully into his late forties with the salt-and-pepper hair that had always been his signature, boasted of the quintessential academic. For years, he’d taught English classes at the local university. This production was his brainchild, a gutsy move to introduce classic literature to the masses by whatever means were necessary. Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one whose nipples had to be taped down to keep them from popping out of his top. “Five minutes to places. We won’t wait for you, Rachel—I mean it this time.” “I hear you, already. I’m just going to give Molly a quick touch-up.” He paused a beat too long, his gaze lingering on the band of thigh where garter met stocking. “Okay. Break a leg.” As the door clicked shut behind him, Molly sucked in a sharp, excited breath. “Ooooh, he likes you. Are you going to start seeing him again?”

www.samhainpublishing.com

15

Tamara Morgan

Rachel’s response was a sharp look and a strong hand that forced her sister to the seat she’d just been occupying. It was no secret she and Dominic had once dated. And by dated, she meant she’d been a starry-eyed drama student and he’d been the bespectacled and patchouli-scented professor of all her college-age longings. There had been a lot of clandestine, locked-office sex. Not a whole lot of nice dinners for two. A real gentleman. Even if he redeemed himself with an entire month of nice dinners, dating a guy like Dominic wasn’t in the long-term plan. Dating anyone wasn’t in the long-term plan. These days, a girl either got a Neanderthal whose knuckles and balls dragged on the ground, or a clean-shaven city boy with retractable testes. It was slim pickings out there. Rachel peered into her sister’s face and quickly worked her over with some powder and an eye pencil. She thought they were done with the conversation, but Molly had more to say. “You’re wrong, you know.” Molly kept her facial movements to a minimum, her voice soft. “Eric is different. You’ll see. He’s coming to the show and to the cast party at Dominic’s tonight. He really wants to meet you.” “Good,” Rachel agreed. She turned away so her sister couldn’t see how hard it was for her to keep a smile plastered on her face. “I can’t wait to meet him too.” “Really?” “Really.” They hurried out of the room and to the backstage area, a fairly large extension of the stage that held all their equipment, changes of costume, and one or two weather-beaten couches that were a welcome respite from their dangerously tall heels. The entire female cast hobbled around in said heels and

16

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

bustiers, the men primarily in pants so tight the little muscular indentation of every one of their butt cheeks within a twenty-foot radius was clearly outlined. Another day, another dollar. Even though it was obvious Molly wanted to keep talking, Rachel expertly maneuvered them to their spots without once mentioning the tattooed and ineligible man of her sister’s dreams. Because Rachel would go ahead and meet this guy, all right. And then she’d get rid of him before he got anywhere near her sister’s soft, malleable and completely patchwork heart.

www.samhainpublishing.com

17

Chapter Two A Freckled Whelp

Michael didn’t normally favor hats for casual wear. If you asked him, they had a tendency to move a man firmly up the charts of tool-dom. The jauntier the angle, the more likely the guy was to post pictures of his dick on the Internet. But if there was one thing he learned in high school, it was that a hat provided the perfect cover for long, boring lectures given by long-faced, boring men. He wasn’t taking any chances on this Shakespeare fellow. A wool fedora went firmly over his head, and just to give Peterson something to bitch about, he cocked the hat so it almost covered one of his eyes. He checked his image in the side-view mirror of Peterson’s van. Perfect. “You look like an idiot,” Peterson said. Michael waggled his eyebrows and tipped the brim. “I feel like an idiot. Why are we doing this again?” When Peterson opened his mouth to talk, Michael interrupted. “Oh, yeah. Because you plan on owing me—big-time and for the rest of your pathetic life. I still don’t see why you couldn’t bring someone else in my place, though.” Peterson focused his eyes on the road and didn’t offer a response. Michael took a deep breath and prepared for the inevitable. “What do you want, Peterson? And what’s it going to cost me?” “The thing is, I really like this girl.” “Got it.” Michael held up one hand and placed the other reverently over his chest. “I hereby solemnly swear not to hit up your lady friend with my numerable charms.”

The World is a Stage

Even though Peterson concentrated on driving, Michael flexed his arms for good effect, doing his best not to notice how much less impressive the results were these days. A few months off from his regular training schedule for the Scottish Highland Games, where both he and Peterson were regular competitors, and he was withering away like an old woman. It was March, so there weren’t any competitions for a while, but they always did a team Top Warrior Race this time of year, to keep the brotherhood and muscles going strong. One more month. He just needed to give his knee, five months post-surgery and still not fully functional, some time to recuperate before he could get back on his regular track. And then it was back to life. Back to flexing his muscles. Back to being the Michael O’Leary everyone knew and loved. “It’s not just that,” Peterson warned. The blur of trees and shopping malls blended into a kind of static as Michael waited to hear the rest. “I need your help.” “You don’t have to say anything more,” Michael offered, trying to find his footing in the strangely heavy air between them. “She’s got this friend, and your girl won’t go anywhere without her. You need me, and you need my game. Just say it, bro. You. Need. My. Game.” It worked. Peterson grinned. “I might have lied some,” he admitted. “It’s not a friend—it’s her sister. Apparently, she can be high-strung, and I want to make a good impression. It’d be awesome if you could unwind her a little.” “Unwind? Is that what we’re calling it now?” “I’m practically doing you a favor, Mikey.” It was hard to ignore the question in Peterson’s voice. No—not a question. This was out-and-out pleading. “Molly says she’s drop-dead gorgeous.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

19

Tamara Morgan

Michael pulled the hat down lower over his head and braced himself for the worst. That’s what they always said.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” A woman seated behind them in the darkened theater shushed loudly. Michael lowered his voice a few notches and tried again. “Seriously? The woman in red? That’s the sister?” Michael considered himself a lover of women—all women, really. Skinny, curvy, tall, short, smart, dumb… There was ample place in his heart and arms for each one. It was a credo that had turned him into a semipermanent wingman for his friends, and that was fine. He was more than happy to take on the role. After all, someone had to placate the flesh that others left behind. But that up there on the stage hardly qualified as flesh at all. It was as though someone had sucked all the life and vibrancy out of a human being and replaced it with a zombie. A creepy Shakespearean zombie in negligee. “What’s wrong with her?” Peterson protested. “I think she looks nice. Check out those legs.” “Dude. That woman is fifty, if not more. You’ve got to have the wrong one.” Peterson leaned forward in his chair, a fluffy velvet thing too narrow to accommodate the breadth of him. “I’m pretty sure that’s her. Molly said her sister was the queen, and she’s the only one wearing that crown thing. Besides, you’ve got to admit, Mikey—if you squint a little, she’s pretty hot.” Michael squinted, and it did, in fact, help.

20

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

Like most of the other actors and actresses on the stage, the supposed sister wore an almost nonexistent dress, stockings that reached to the middle of her thighs, and a corset that made the most out of an already buxom form. There was a definite appeal to that kind of getup, and Michael was trying his best to enjoy it. Every woman had value. He firmly believed that. “Maybe it’s just the stage makeup?” Michael finally offered. “I bet that’s it!” Peterson shouted, happy to latch on to an excuse. “You’re being rude,” the woman behind them hissed. “I can’t hear what they’re saying.” Michael shot an apologetic look over his shoulder before pulling his attention back to the stage. He had to admit, it was a pretty good production, and the theater was nice enough. It was small and dark and decorated mostly in the deep red draperies whorehouses in Wild West movies always had. Besides, whoever had thought to put all that antiquated dialogue into the mouths of a young, vibrant and scantily clad cast was a genius. Boobs made everything better. True fact. But it was damnably hard to follow what the actors were saying—especially every time that Gertrude character came on stage and stabbed her freakishly high eyebrows right into her hairline. With a little color in her, she wouldn’t be ugly, exactly. Sour was a better word for it, like a schoolteacher bent on punishing him—and not in the good way. Michael didn’t think he’d ever seen a more unhappy person in his entire life. Wooing a shady sex-show actress should have been something a man looked forward to, like a sailor’s first port call. Maybe some intensive tongue-and-voice lessons to start. A whole closet full of those costumes and wild, kinky role-

www.samhainpublishing.com

21

Tamara Morgan

playing later on. He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes a little. Maybe that teacher thing wasn’t out of the question. “I’ll say this, Peterson. You’re one lucky bastard to have me for a friend. I’ve never been a man to back down from a challenge. In fact, my motto’s always been the bigger, the better.” He chuckled. “Let’s just hope she feels the same way.” “Will you please be quiet and watch your language?” The woman kicked his seat this time. “This is a family show.” On stage, a pair of men without any shirts on started talking to a human skull. Michael turned and grinned. “Lady, if you bring your kids to something like this, you’re seriously demented.” When he turned back around, it was to face a pair of ushers who had materialized in front of him. Based on the lack of musculature on display, it was obvious they were in their current positions due to an inability to look good without a shirt on. Both men took one look at Michael and Peterson and lost all the blood in their faces—and he sincerely doubted it was pooling anywhere a man liked his blood to go every now and then. “Sir—” one of them began. “Um, we’re so sorry, but the noise—” Peterson, who split his time between being a concert security guard and a bouncer at a nightclub, swallowed a laugh. He could have booted this pair with a single glance. “We’ll keep it down, boys. We promise. No need to get rough.” “It’s not that. We, uh, need to escort you out.” Michael sat up and crossed his arms. “My friend here wants to see the show.” “But we’ve had several complaints, sir. You’re disrupting the patrons.”

22

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

The shorter of the two ushers, who was clad in an oversized dress shirt and blue cummerbund, swallowed heavily. “Due to the nature of the content, it’s the theater’s policy to provide an escort to the lobby in the event of inappropriate behavior.” “If you want us out, you’re going to have to physically remove us.” Michael slapped on his biggest scowl. Between his face and the several hundred pounds of muscle he and Peterson shared, it should have been enough to scare away a whole fleet of knobby-kneed ushers. Unfortunately, Michael made the mistake of using the usher’s scared pause to look up toward the stage, where the woman—the harpy with the eyebrows of death—was glaring at them. That was the problem with front-row seats, whether in a theater like this or at a rock concert that was actually worth a damn. It was close enough to see the blood, sweat and tears. And that woman… Well, Michael saw blood reflecting in her eyes. His own blood. Lots of it. He gulped. “Let’s go, Peterson. I think I’ve had all the culture I can stand for one night.” “You’re worse than my kids, Mikey,” he muttered. The two of them ducked out of the aisle and headed toward the bright green sign of the exit, unable to resist a quick jump at the ushers, who may or may not have loosened their bowels in the process. “I think it was just about to get good,” Peterson added, leading the way out. “I’ll buy you the Blu-Ray version,” Michael promised. “Dude—there is no Blu-Ray version. It’s slutty Shakespeare.” As soon as they were back in the lights of the faded art-deco lobby, away from the eyes of the zombie actress, Michael relaxed. With a hearty slap on Peterson’s back, he directed them both toward the wine and cocktail bar, which

www.samhainpublishing.com

23

Tamara Morgan

was small but lit up with a welcoming red glow. He met the bartender’s eyes and flicked two fingers up. “Slutty Shakespeare?” Michael shook his head. “Fifty bucks says there is a Blu-Ray version. With deleted scenes.”

“Aren’t you going to change out of your costume?” Molly’s voice was small as she came up behind Rachel. The backstage area had cleared for the night, most of the crew already out the doors and headed toward the cast party, a celebration they had every few months when rehearsals for the next show were about to begin. Work hard, play hard—it was Dominic’s way of filling his production with highly trained and talented actors. Well, that and a decent salary—at least in terms of stage work. Rachel had earned only half as much last year, when she’d toured with a small but prestigious troupe doing Arsenic and Old Lace to a much older and more sedate crowd. That in itself wasn’t surprising; in the world of entertainment, pay was directly proportionate to the amount of skin showing. Even though Rachel loved this time of night, when the theater seemed to pulse with abated activity and there was an almost quiet reverence to the place, she missed the sense of euphoria that followed on the heels of a great performance. In all her time on this production, she’d never been able to duplicate the soaring sense of satisfaction that had made her get into the field in the first place. But what did she expect? Sullying literary genius with fishnet stockings had a tendency to deflate the ego.

24

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

She sighed. So it wasn’t exactly what she’d dreamed of as a little girl, but it was Shakespeare. Technically, there was a stage and an audience and a regular paycheck too. And Molly. Molly counted for a lot, even if Rachel was tempted to lock her in a chastity belt and swallow the key. For as long as she could remember, they’d only had each other, two lives so intertwined it was impossible not to do or think anything without her sister playing a role. Rachel turned to face Molly, who had changed into her off-stage outfit—a small skirt and even smaller shirt that might as well have been her Ophelia pasties. She bit back a caustic remark. For a classically trained actress, Molly had serious issues with her personal wardrobe. “Everyone else is already at the party,” Molly said. “Looking, you know, like human beings. You can’t show up wearing that.” “Yes, I can.” Rachel extended her leg behind her and examined a run beginning to form along her calf. “Public humiliation seems to be all the rage. I figure it’s my turn to have a go.” Molly caught her meaning and wrinkled her nose. “It’s not as bad as you think it is. It was just a misunderstanding, I’m sure.” Misunderstanding? It was a misunderstanding to show up for an appointment an hour late. It was a misunderstanding to bring home rice cakes when a woman clearly said chocolate ice cream. It was not a misunderstanding to place a pair of thugs in the best seats in the house. Thugs, thank you very much, who not only had no necks to speak of, but who’d dared to heckle them.

www.samhainpublishing.com

25

Tamara Morgan

Dominic had one rule—staff was not to be harassed. As far as Rachel was concerned, that was something you rarely got in stage work these days. Some of those ladies at the Arsenic and Old Lace productions had been brutal. “They’ll be here any minute,” Molly pleaded. “Look—you don’t have to like Eric. You don’t even have to be nice to him. But please, just put on some normal clothes and try to act like a human being. Try to act like my sister.” “Unfortunately, this is how your sister acts,” Rachel warned. She knew what Molly was doing—the girl was as easy to see through as her Ophelia costume. Molly thought if Rachel would just play nice for a few days, she would fall in love with the tattooed behemoth and give her blessing to the mismatched pair. Not in a million years. Not even if he had a million dollars. Clenching her jaw, Rachel added, “And I’ll tell you right now, if this boyfriend of yours so much as tries to get his overgrown mule of a friend in here tonight—” “Eric!” Molly squealed. She almost launched herself over Rachel in her hurry to get to the doorway, a blur of miniskirt and tube top that didn’t stop until it hit the wall of man that had somehow found a way through the back entrance. Rachel turned away and examined her nails, unwilling—and unable—to stomach the sights and sounds of so much exuberant saliva making its way into the room. “You must be the sister,” a pleasant voice called, followed by another wall of man. Rachel toyed with the idea of ignoring the guy and hoping he’d eventually disappear, but he was very much in the present, gaping at her like she was a giant sandwich or something. What a charmer. He probably chewed and made love like that too.

26

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

She scowled, sorry she hadn’t followed Molly’s advice and changed, but glad she hadn’t yet started chipping away at her stage makeup. The greasepaint might not cover her chest any, but it was an effective layer of protection just the same. And if there was one thing she’d learned from her family history, it was that it wasn’t good to let men like this get too close. “You,” she said slowly, rolling her mouth around each word, “have the manners of a pig.” “Oh, I’m sorry. I completely forgot.” He extended his hand, a huge, meaty paw of an appendage, coming so close he could have twitched a finger and flicked her nipple. “The name’s Michael. Michael O’Leary. The overgrown mule. Or pig. I’m having a hard time keeping track.” Rachel blinked, looking down at his arm—which contained the image of a tattooed pinup girl dancing brazenly across it—and back up at his face. His smile was wide, bland and unwavering. It suited him, the inanity of it all. Like he was a bull out to pasture, bemused by the glare of the sun. He had light hair, a little too long and too wavy to look the least bit attractive on anyone with a Y chromosome, and blue eyes that crinkled at the edges. And Lord, was he big. She was a tall woman, much more so than her sister, and she liked to think she was built on queenly lines. But she had to look up to meet his expression, and if he put his arms around her, he could have swallowed her whole. He had to be a bodybuilder or something. Maybe ex-military. Possibly a steroid addict looking to sell her sister’s organs for cash. Since his hand wasn’t moving, Rachel took a slight step back and shook it— firmly, with resolution. She did not pay any attention to how warm his grasp was, or how he didn’t shrink at all when she squeezed hard enough to give her

www.samhainpublishing.com

27

Tamara Morgan

pinky finger a cramp. And although she did give a second glance to his attire, which was some sort of strange Macbeth-Braveheart montage, she most certainly didn’t notice the legs peeking out from beneath his skirt. Thick, chiseled legs that made no apologies for their presence right there in her dressing room. Thick, chiseled legs that hinted at the kind of powerful thighs a woman could sink her teeth into. “I’m Rachel,” she said, keeping her eyes firmly above waist level. The only interest she had in that man’s legs was how far away they could take him. “I don’t know who you think you are or what kind of a barn you were raised in, but you can’t act like a pair of frat boys when you’re in a theater like this one. Do you know how prestigious the Odyssey Theater is? Do you know what kind of actors and actresses have walked this stage before?” “Old ones, probably.” Michael held a hat in one hand, and he plopped it at a crooked angle on his head, crushing his beach-bum surfer curls. Rachel didn’t bother to hide any of her feelings from crossing her face, but he launched right ahead, oblivious. “I know I acted like a three-legged jerk tonight. If it makes you feel any better, I doubt I’ll be able to sleep a wink tonight, what with the guilt and the shame eating at my soul.” Three-legged jerk? She didn’t even want to ask. Rachel turned to find her sister unwinding herself from around the other man’s waist. “And this is the other one?” she asked, her voice coated with disdain. “I can’t tell which one of you is worse.” “Oh, Peterson is much worse, I assure you.” Michael angled himself by her side like a puppy determined to wedge itself at her heel. He probably wasn’t

28

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

potty trained, either. “I’m definitely the charming one. Are you surprised? You look surprised.” “I didn’t say anything.” He lifted a hand to her brow and, with the wide pad of his thumb—probably unwashed from the last time he peed in a bush—wiped a line along her entire forehead. “What are you doing? Stop that!” She batted at his hands. “Are you insane?” He stepped back and viewed his handiwork, a slight squint in his cherubic eyes. “I missed a spot.” He dove back in, jabbing his fingers into her flesh for a full ten seconds before he finally stopped and wiped his thumbs on his shirt. “There,” he said, grinning. “Now you look like you believe me.” Molly clamped a hand over her mouth and bit off a giggle as Rachel turned to assess the damages in the reflection of one of the spotlights that had been lowered on its rig. Two black smudges existed where her brows had been, almost all the makeup wiped clear of her forehead. People don’t act like this in public. She whirled on her heel. “I’m done, Molly. I’m not about to stand here while this guy mauls me and insults me to my face. We’re going.” “Wait, Rach—you haven’t even met Eric yet.” Molly could barely get the words out between her bursts of poorly muffled laughter. “Eric, huh?” the mule-beast said, his voice also rumbling with laughter. Laughter he had no right to, thank you very much. “I forgot he even had a first name.” Rachel viewed Eric with a cold eye. Like his friend, he had an incredible pair of man hands and large, square shoulders that tapered down to the kind of body that existed only after hours of photo manipulation. But while Michael-the-Mule

www.samhainpublishing.com

29

Tamara Morgan

had what lesser women might term classic good looks on top of everything else, Molly’s boyfriend sported a close-cut buzz cut and did, in fact, have six or seven visible tattoos. The only ones Rachel could make out were a scaly monster that took up half of his head and two women’s names, one on each wrist. Samantha and Priscilla. He looked like the type of man who had no nasal septum and tucked used needles into his back pockets. And where, exactly, was Molly’s name supposed to fit? On his ass? “I’m Eric Peterson,” he said, nodding slightly, his voiced clipped but polite. “Molly’s told me so much about you.” A cold silence descended, and Rachel was happy to let it. She could stare a man into oblivion with her hands tied behind her back. She had, in fact, done just that, once upon a time. An ex-boyfriend thought a little bondage might “loosen her up” in the bedroom, and he’d pulled out all the stops with a pair of silk ties and his brass bedposts. It hadn’t worked. No amount of kink would have helped that man understand the basics of female anatomy. She could have sat there, tied up and on display for hours, while he perused a textbook. He still would have been unable to find her clitoris. “I think this is where you’re supposed to say ‘only good things, I hope,’ even though we all know you don’t mean it.” Michael whispered, full of drama and mischief. He was like an imp, except ginormous and seemingly incapable of complex thought. “And if I remember correctly, that’s when we all laugh and pretend we’re clever.” Rachel turned. “Why are you still here? In case I didn’t make myself clear, I’m not interested. You ruined our show, you look like an idiot in that skirt, and

30

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

you smell like the floor of a bar. That’s three strikes and you are way, way out. Now, if you’ll excuse us, Molly and I have a cast party to attend.” “Eric’s riding with me, Rachel. You can come with us, if you want.” Rachel’s stomach clenched. Us. Her sister said it so casually, with so much pride. “Thanks, Molly, but I’ll pass,” she said, her jaw tight. “I’ll just meet you guys at Dominic’s.” There. She’d tried. She’d met the boyfriend and his genius of a friend—and they’d both confirmed the worst of her suspicions. Molly hadn’t learned anything, and she was letting down the walls way too soon. “There is one thing you should know before you go,” the Mule added, still pointing that asinine grin at her. It was only with supreme self-control that she was able to answer without shattering her teeth. “What?” “Everything I’ve heard about you has been good. Just in case you were wondering.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

31

Chapter Three

The Old Bait and Switch

Michael pulled up to the address Molly had given him for the cast party and did his best to feel cheerful about it. He’d been reduced to driving Peterson’s embarrassingly soccer-mom-like minivan, and was trying very hard to ignore the smell of what must have been years-old french fries wedged between the seats. Eric, as he was apparently known now, had chosen to ride with his sweet and quiet girlfriend, leaving Michael to make his own way to the producer’s place, a converted firehouse out in the middle of nowhere. If there was a fire pole still inside, he was definitely going to ask if he could slide down it. A man deserved his kicks, especially after a night like this one. It was only through a fierce loyalty to the bro code that he was willing to come at all. “I think I’ve done all I can do here, you two,” he’d said once Rachel made her grand exit, her zombie face halfway wiped off and her ass cheeks fully visible underneath her tiny flared skirt. It was an odd combination of features—one Michael’s poor, confused body had no idea how to handle. He turned to Molly. “A man hates to admit defeat, and I’m sure your sister’s a perfectly doe-eyed peach most of the time, but I’m going to go out on a limb here and say I don’t think I’m her type.” “No—no!” Molly had instantly pleaded, her hands coming together around his. “She’s just overprotective sometimes. It takes her a little while to warm up, but I think she really liked you. Honest.” He’d laughed, thinking she was joking, but Peterson’s mouth was firm as their eyes met over her head. Peterson looked an awful lot like a man in love.

The World is a Stage

He looked fucking miserable. “Give her a chance, please?” Peterson had asked quietly. Had he joked or laughed or even cracked a smile, Michael would have abandoned him on the spot, happily and without a single backward glance. But with that face and that plea, Peterson obviously needed him. And Michael never left a man behind. So he’d sighed and agreed, knowing the whole time he would live to regret it. There was more in that small request than just one night of sacrificing himself on the altar of good wingman behavior. Unless he was very much mistaken, that woman planned to cut him up into tiny pieces and feed him to a pet lion. Of course, Michael let none of those fears show as he made his way up the steps to the house, exchanging warm greetings with people he’d never met and gratefully accepting the first red plastic cup of beer that was placed in his hand. He was Michael O’Leary. He wore a skirt, and he smiled in the face of hostility. He stood by his friends through Shakespearean zombies and hissing she-bats. These were the things he knew to be true. It only took him a few minutes to unwind, and he wasn’t the only one. Based on the number of empty cups lying on their sides, he’d say these actors could drink as well as any Scottish Highland athlete after a big game. At last. People after his own heart. Just about everyone had changed into street clothes, and as Michael scanned the crowd, he realized he had no idea what the sister looked like without her creepy face on. He tried searching for someone who looked like Molly, but no one jumped out at him. He decided, about half a beer and a fruitless twenty-minute search in, he’d have probably been better off searching for an unhappy-looking woman with a man’s balls pinned to her chest.

www.samhainpublishing.com

33

Tamara Morgan

“So, is there a fire pole somewhere around here?” he asked, giving up the search and directing his conversation toward a pleasant-looking man in a velvet vest and cargo pants. Michael recognized him as one of the guys who’d pranced around the stage in nothing but tights. It was a memory that would burn for a long time, but the guy seemed decent enough now that his clothes were back on. “I’ve always wanted to try one of those.” The man grinned. “I wish. Dominic had it taken out a few years ago. He fell through the hole one night on his way to the john. I hear there’s a rundown fire truck out back, though.” They chatted a little about the possibility of getting the hose to work again. Michael was tempted to go out and give it a try, since he had a knack for breaking down mechanical devices and putting them back together again. It was a skill that came from an adolescence spent working a farm. Out where the wheat whistled and the hills rolled, things had a tendency to break, and no one worth his salt out on the Palouse hired someone else to fix it. A man given to deeper reflection might make the connection between salvaging broken-down hay balers and a knee that refused to hold his own weight anymore. Fortunately, Michael was not that man. He was a wingman, the friend Peterson could count on to woo a slab of stone wrapped in ice. “Do you know if Rachel Hewitt is around here anywhere?” he asked. His companion’s eyes flickered for a moment, something like surprise or amusement or—most likely—gut-wrenching sympathy flitting through. The man nodded toward the direction of the kitchen, which was open to the living room, separated only by a huge granite island covered with bottles of every kind of alcohol known to mankind.

34

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

Good. Maybe she was a little bit…softer when she was drinking. The two scotches he and Peterson had kicked back while the show ended certainly hadn’t improved things on his end. There were several people gathered around that part of the kitchen, but it wasn’t hard to pick Rachel out. She was tall and long-limbed, a woman who looked like she had quite a bit of flexibility in her, if truth and awesomeness be told. She had fairly normal eyebrows once all that face paint was wiped off, her short, dark hair matched by a pair of chunky glasses. Not exactly the beauty her sister was, but he could definitely work with what he saw. “I see you made it here safe and sound,” Michael said. He moved toward her cautiously, his arms down at his sides, his smile wide and warm, the same way he’d approach a Rottweiler for the first time. There was no need to invite attack. “Um. Yeah. I’m a pretty good driver,” Rachel said. Her eyes widened as she looked him over. “Did you want me to get you another drink?” “Oh, no. Not me. I have it on good authority that I smell like the floor of a bar. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” “O-kay. I guess not.” She drew each syllable out; her brows pulled together as she contemplated him. Michael nodded a little, feeling optimistic. There had been no shrieking yet. No insults. Where he was from, that was called progress. “You’re a lot different without your stage wear on. Much more human, if you don’t mind my saying. I’ve always found that to be a trait I love in a woman.” Her nose wrinkled, and she pushed her glasses up. “That she’s human?” “Well, it’s not a deal breaker, but…” She laughed. Success. When a woman laughed at his jokes, he was as good as in.

www.samhainpublishing.com

35

Tamara Morgan

“So, this Shakespeare stuff… Is it a hobby or a job? It looks like your producer director guy does pretty well for himself.” Rachel smiled and leaned against the counter. Her guard slipped down, and Michael found that relaxation suited her. It usually did. Women had no idea how much more attractive they were once they stopped thinking so much and let themselves just be. No one would ever accuse Michael of putting on a show for the opposite sex. He was what he was, no questions asked, no apologies offered. “Who? Dominic?” Rachel asked. “I think he comes mostly from family money. He used to be a professor over at the university, but I think he got fired for taking up with his students. If you ask me, the Shakespeare After Dark stuff is his way to rub it in all those academic faces. It’s a funny story. I actually met Dominic a few years ago at a benefit luncheon—” Michael nodded in all the right places, asked the questions that were expected of him and strove to be as pleasant as possible. Now that Rachel wasn’t railing at him as though he were the boogeyman, she was actually quite chatty. A lot chatty, actually—Michael felt like he should have been taking notes. Iambic pentameter was why they all sounded so funny up there on the stage. The best way to repair a run in a pair of nylons was with clear nail polish. Rachel hated goats but loved feta cheese. She was definitely more of a talker than a listener, which suited his purposes just fine. Michael’s job had been made very clear—keep Rachel occupied and happy for the duration of the party. Talking occupied her, and more than one smile had crossed her face in the last fifteen minutes. He was doing a damn fine job, if you asked him. Hell, if things kept going this well, he might even ask her out on a regular date.

36

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“So, is this party the end of the road for you, or did you want to maybe go grab a bite somewhere?” Michael asked. “You certainly don’t waste any time, do you?” They were interrupted by a redheaded woman standing at Michael’s elbow. Redhead was the only way to describe her—she wore her hair color like a flag tucked into her back pocket. Long, deep red strands reached toward her midback, and he would have sworn she wore a tight white T-shirt and white pants just to emphasize the hair. She had almost no makeup on, but her skin was clear and smooth, her lashes and brows a shade darker than her bright locks. Her mouth was a bit wide but perfectly in keeping with her stature, which was also generous in all the right places. Many years of training in the art of handling women were the only things that prevented Michael from turning his back completely on Rachel and shining the full rays of his charm on this new one. To some men, the redhead might have seemed spartan and overgrown. Michael had other ideas. She seemed robust and strong—traits never to be overlooked in someone who might be willing to grapple in the nude. “It’s only wasting time if you aren’t enjoying it,” Michael said with a grin and a wide wink in Rachel’s direction. “And I’m enjoying myself immensely.” Rachel let out a little giggle at his words, obviously pleased, but the redhead scowled. There was a curl to her lips, and her eyes—a strangely iridescent gray— flashed. His heart picked up a beat as he looked her over again. Where had he seen those eyes before? “I’ll bet you are,” the redhead muttered. “Let me guess—when one door slams in your face, another one spreads itself open?” “Have you two ladies met?” Michael interposed smoothly. He might not know exactly what kind of sticks were up the asses of all these theater women,

www.samhainpublishing.com

37

Tamara Morgan

but he could at least put a stop to things before they pulled them out and started beating one another. “This is Rachel Hewitt, and I don’t believe—” “Don’t be a moron,” the redhead said, crossing her arms over her chest and glowering. “Of course we know each other. You’re the one crashing our cast party, unwanted and uninvited. Not Jillian. She’s been working the lights for years.” Michael’s head spun a little, but it didn’t have a chance to do more than one or two whirls before the redhead—Rachel? Not Rachel?—let out a low laugh and turned her mercenary stare on the brunette—Jillian? Not Jillian? Not good. That’s what this was. “Don’t be too flattered, Jillian. He tried that same smile-and-charm routine with me back at the Odyssey. I guess when I turned him down, he moved on to the next warm body.” Correction. Bad. This was very, very bad. “Ladies, please.” Michael put his hands up in full surrender and plastered a smile on his face. “There’s more than enough of me to go around. I’m a very substantial man.” Both of them turned on him, scowls on their once so promising faces. Wasn’t it Shakespeare who said that bit about a woman scorned? “I’m also a very good sharer,” he added. “Larson!” Rachel’s shout was loud and final, piercing his heart but not the stirring underneath his kilt. That woman had volume. Michael had always admired a strong pair of…lungs. “Larson, get this brute out of the party. He’s preying on the female staff.” For the second time in one evening, Michael found himself confronting the hundred-pound usher, his cummerbund replaced with a Mario T-shirt that looked much closer to his actual size. The look of stark fear on his face was the

38

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

same, though, terror in the white skin with illuminated bursts of teenage acne smattered across his forehead. Unable to help himself, Michael widened his stance and crossed his arms. It was his menacing look. He liked it. “Um, Miss Hewitt? Can’t you just get one of the other guys to kick him out?” “For crying out loud. This is what you do for a living—just get him out of my sight and make sure he doesn’t try to sneak back in. Do you want to be the one responsible for all the roofies he’s probably slipping into the punch?” Great. In addition to a mule and a pig, he was now a rapist. What kind of brownies had Peterson been eating, begging him to take on this woman? He liked a challenge, but this Rachel character was a hell of a lot more than that. She was a lunatic. “Actually, Ms. Hewitt, I mostly help people find their seats,” the usher squeaked. “I’m not qualified for this.” “Get him out of here, or you won’t be qualified to do anything remotely connected with the theater ever again.” Larson’s lower lip quivered. “For fuck’s sake. I’ll go. Don’t break the poor kid into tiny usher pieces.” Michael turned to Jillian and smiled. “It really was nice to meet you. I’m sorry to run off before I could give you those goat-wrangling pointers, but all you really need to remember is to go for the eyes.” Jillian smiled directly at Rachel and gave her shoulders a little shake, obviously feeling the triumph of his kindness and eager to flaunt it. No judgment. If ever a woman needed to be put in her place—a tight, cramped, uncomfortable hole where she’d be forced to smell her own shit—it was Rachel Hewitt. “It’s okay. Give me a call sometime,” Jillian added.

www.samhainpublishing.com

39

Tamara Morgan

“Hey, Larson—you want to walk me out? Make it official?” “Sure. Thanks, man. I’m sorry about before.” “You’re just doing your job.” Larson stood up a little straighter. Atta boy. A good three-fourths of confidence was just letting yourself feel it. For the rest, the kid would have to do a few thousand bench presses. “This satisfy you, Your Highness?” Michael smirked, turning back to Rachel. “Or would you prefer to get the cops involved? Maybe just the handcuffs? Some whips and chains?” He had the pleasure of seeing her turn on her heel and storm away, that ass making yet another grand departure to feast his eyes on. A righteous ass, that’s what it was, all mad and stomping and full of motion. He wondered if she did it on purpose. Still. Score. Michael O’Leary: One. Rachel Hewitt: Zero. He cracked his knuckles and allowed Larson to lead the way out the back door. He’d tell Peterson and Molly that he tried, but even Michael O’Leary had to know when to bow out of a fight. It wasn’t fear, of course. Michael just wasn’t keen on losing his balls.

40

www.samhainpublishing.com

Chapter Four Cradle Will Rock

In Rachel’s experience, early morning visitors to Evergreen Cemetery took the shape of one of two things. The first were one-half of elderly couples divided by fate. They were the little old men who’d lost their wives to breast cancer, the little old ladies mourning husbands taken by heart disease—coming almost every day, like clockwork, walking slowly and resting along the garden paths. It was as though a lifetime of saying “good morning” to the same person was an impossible habit to break, and there was no way for them to start their day without it. It wasn’t sweet, and Rachel wasn’t about to start cooing and clucking over their devotion the way Molly did. She didn’t approve of any kind of addiction that dictated a person’s actions so heavily. Caffeine. Alcohol. Drugs. Love. Especially love. The second types of visitors were runners, herself included. The gym was too confining, and Rachel much preferred the rustle of the barren tree branches and the crunch of her shoes on brown grass grown stiff and iridescent with cold. She wasn’t the only one. Nodding politely to a woman in a tracksuit, Rachel felt the rush that came when she finally hit her stride. Determination urged her to keep going, past the rows of somber headstones and sad elderly people until fatigue made it difficult to focus on anything but the movement of each leg. Forward, forward, always moving ahead. But she didn’t. She slowed to a walk and wrapped her arms over her stomach. It was fairly chilly out, the morning March air showing little puffs of

Tamara Morgan

her breath as she ran. Her body was an odd mixture of hot and cold, simultaneously covered with sweat and goose bumps. If she wanted to keep the adrenaline going, she needed to turn and run the rest of the way home. But she couldn’t. One hundred and seventeen rows back from the entrance. Eight places in from the path. The grave to the right of it had a little cherub sculpture that always seemed to Rachel to be too sickly sweet for the rest of the simple rectangle plaques. Someone showing off. Cemeteries were the worst for that. A huge spray of pink carnations, still fresh and wrapped in green tissue paper, were placed on the headstone, and the grass clippings and debris had been wiped clear of the markings. Baby Hewitt March 22 Rachel reached down and placed her hand on the chilly headstone, holding it there until she could no longer feel her fingers. And that was it. That was all she had to offer. One whole year had gone by, and she still couldn’t find any words to describe the way this cold slab of marble made her feel. “I didn’t think you’d remember.” Rachel wrinkled her nose and blinked a few times before turning to answer her sister. “Well, you were wrong.” Molly blew her nose into an already decrepit-looking tissue and came in for a hug. Rachel winced. “I’m super sweaty.” “Geez, Rach. Like I care.” Part of the reason she’d come so early this morning was to keep things simple. Get in, get out. Avoid messy displays of emotion. But Molly must have

42

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

been walking on the far side of the cemetery—she did that sometimes. Usually Rachel remembered to keep an eye out for her. Her sister’s arms tightened, and Rachel relaxed a little, letting Molly add to the dampness on her shoulder with a sudden rush of tears. She ran her hands over her sister’s hair, up and down, tugging through the curls as she went. It felt awkward at first, almost like petting a dog, but she soon gave in to the rightness of it. No matter what else happened, they still had each other. Rachel wished she didn’t have to make a conscious effort to remind herself of that simple truth, but she did. Every day was an affirmation. Every day was her proof that the sacrifice was worth it. “She’d be one today,” Molly eventually said, her voice thick. “A whole year.” “No. She wouldn’t.” The words were automatic, a knee-jerk reaction to a situation that was well outside Rachel’s comfort zone. She was no good at this kind of thing—the laying bare of emotions. The finding a way to talk about what happened. Molly was good at that. Their mother, once upon a time, had been good at that. Molly jerked back as if Rachel had punched her, so she tried again, feebly. “I just meant that she wouldn’t have been born in March. You know. If Justin hadn’t… If you hadn’t…” “Don’t, Rachel. Please stop.” Rachel tried reaching for her sister to resume their hug, but Molly shook her off, stepping back and crushing a few of the carnations under her heel. “You don’t really get it, do you?”

www.samhainpublishing.com

43

Tamara Morgan

“I’m trying, Molly. I really am.” And she was. She’d never tried so hard at anything in her whole life. “I know I don’t always have the right thing to say, but—” “That’s just it,” Molly said between sniffles, looking down at the grave with a kind of tenderness that made Rachel shift uncomfortably. “It’s not about you.” “I know it’s not—” Molly held up her hand. “See? You know. You try.” Rachel stood there, her mouth wide open, her mind at a complete blank. Why couldn’t she think of a single sentence that didn’t start with “I”? “For once, it would be nice if we could keep you entirely out of the conversation. Today. Just for today—that’s all I’m asking. Yep. Molly is weak and useless and has bad judgment in men. Yep. Molly killed her own baby.” Her eyes filled again. “Can you just allow me the luxury of not feeling guilty for twenty-four hours so I can be sad?” “I didn’t mean to say it like that.” Molly let out a scream, one so loud the groundskeeper walking by asked if she needed some help. With gritted teeth, she offered the man a light pleasantry, wishing him a good day and even calling him by name. Rachel wasn’t fooled. There was nothing light or pleasant about her sister in that moment. But she knew better than to try again. Clamping her lips shut, she did her best to stand there, silent and strong or whatever it was Molly wanted her to be. “Please go away. I know I owe you a lot, but I can’t really look at you right now. I just want to be alone.” Gone. Molly wanted her gone. “Sure thing.” It was shameful and weak, but she wanted herself to be out of there almost as much as her sister did. It was too hard, seeing the baby and

44

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

Molly like this—the only way they could ever be together. “Will I see you? I mean, will you be home later today? Before work?” “No. Eric invited me over for this afternoon.” She said it as a challenge. A dare. Rachel clamped her mouth shut again and flipped the volume on her iPod— the Bitchin’ Workout Mix—as high as it could go. Running and loud music were all that was left to her. She wasn’t allowed to scream her frustration into the air like Molly, and her own inadequacies as a human being meant she could never find a way to give voice to all the things she felt. Don’t go, she wanted to plead. Don’t let that man do what the others have done. Use your brain for once. Use it for the four-months-too-early child frozen in the ground. Her sister’s judgment in men was awful. Not just break-her-heart awful, but break-her-bones awful. Break-her-body-and-her-spirit-and-the-tiny-little-soulgrowing-inside-her awful. Rachel couldn’t understand why Molly kept turning to the same type of guys, why she kept turning into the same type of girl with them. She was irrevocably drawn to bad boys, and no amount of begging and pleading on Rachel’s part could change her mind or give her the backbone she needed to stand up to them. And the worst part was, she expected Rachel to do nothing more than stand by and watch her make the same mistakes again. Didn’t her sister have any idea what that did to a person? This new guy, Eric, was the poster boy for everything that wasn’t good for Molly: big and mean and much too old for her. And his giant Nordic demon of a friend wasn’t helping matters any. Brainless brutes, the pair of them, targeting Molly because she was sweet and trusting and completely clueless when it came to guys like them.

www.samhainpublishing.com

45

Tamara Morgan

As Rachel made her way along the trail out of the cemetery, one of the little old men raised a hand in farewell, his papery hand cheerful despite the fact he hunched over the grave of a wife gone ten years. Add it to the list. Caffeine. Alcohol. Drugs. Love. Men. Rachel didn’t need any of it. Especially that last bit.

“Nope. No way. No how. Never again.” Michael tested his leg before lifting the empty wooden keg. So far, so good. Other than a tightness along the back of his knee, he was fine. With a roar, he hefted the barrel so it was level with his chest and started running, making it a good fifty feet through the shorn field before turning around and heading back. “Good speed on that one, Mikey,” Julian said. Then he promptly stepped up and beat Michael by at least ten seconds. “Show-off,” Michael said with a laugh. “I was hoping all that sitting for magazines in your underwear you’ve been doing now that you’re some fancy Scottish Games mascot would slow you down. Some guys have all the luck. You’re up, Peterson.” “Won’t you even think about it?” Peterson stretched his arms and bent at the knee to get his arms around the full width of it. The barrel wasn’t in the lineup of their usual tricks—the hammer throw, the caber toss and the weight over bar— but it was one of the events in the upcoming Top Warrior Race. Also, it was really fun. “Wait—wait.” Michael paused, watching Peterson make his round, the barrel falling to his feet about halfway so that he had to resort to a roll for the rest of the lap. That was ten points off. Already, Peterson was slipping.

46

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“Okay. There. I thought about it.” “And?” “Still no.” Julian laughed as he watched the way Peterson’s face fell. “I still don’t understand how you could have failed that bad, Mikey. What exactly did you say to this woman?” “It wouldn’t have mattered. I was full of compliments and charm, but she was wound up tighter than a nun’s habit—and a hell of a lot less fun to talk to. I think Peterson is trying to have me killed. Oh, I’m sorry. Not Peterson. Eric. He goes by Eric now.” Peterson flipped him the bird before leaning heavily on his barrel, the bottom of it digging a circle into the hard-packed dirt. “It’s only for a few weeks. All you have to do is show up and volunteer to be a bouncer with me. You saw those ushers Dominic hired—there’s no way they could stop some jerk trying for a little more than a peep show.” It was true. But Michael was not a man to stick his nose in other people’s business. “Come on,” Peterson persisted. “They could use the help. I could use the company. And Molly says you’re the perfect distraction.” “More like the perfect sacrifice,” Michael said. “Why should I be the moving target for that woman’s rage while you and your girlfriend go make out in all those dark corners backstage?” “I already explained it, Mikey.” Peterson looked pained. “Molly’s sister is crazy overprotective, and she’s hell-bent on getting me out of the way. Apparently, she’s the sort of woman who will hire a private investigator…and dig up enough dirt to bury me alive. Molly says Rachel’s done it before.” His

www.samhainpublishing.com

47

Tamara Morgan

voice lowered. “You know I can’t risk stirring that up. Not with Sammy and Pris at home.” It wasn’t fair, and Peterson was all too aware of it, the bastard. He wouldn’t even look Michael in the eye. They were none of them saints, but Peterson’s sins ran a little bit deeper and darker than the rest of theirs. Michael didn’t know all the details, but there had been something across state lines in Idaho a few months ago involving Peterson’s brother, Nick, and a bar fight that sent a man to the hospital for weeks. If he remembered correctly, no arrests had been made, but not for lack of trying. He’d have to ask Peterson about that later. “Molly and I just need you to distract her sister,” Peterson added. “Keep her occupied until I can find a way to win her over, explain away a few things so she won’t turn around and go batshit crazy all over my life. Please, Mikey?” “This girl means that much?” First Julian, now Peterson. His bros were falling, one by one. Peterson nodded, and Julian clapped him heavily on the back, sharing a look that seemed a lot like a giant pussy whip dipped in romantic comedies and trimmed with lace. Turning to Michael, Julian added, “How bad can it be? All you really have to do is be nice to a woman who, according to Peterson here, is pretty fucking hot.” Michael perked up a little. She was pretty fucking hot. He wasn’t going to lie—he’d much rather sleep on a bed of nails with that Jillian woman than poke Rachel with a stick from a distance of a hundred feet, but he could still appreciate the finer points of a well-built woman. And it had been fun making her so angry the muscle along her temple looked like it was going to explode. He gave it one last try.

48

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“But volunteer for a naked Shakespeare play, Peterson? For a woman who wants to eat my soul and shit it out in bricks? I do have a reputation to uphold.” Not to mention a lively interest in keeping all his favorite parts intact. Julian laughed. “What reputation? This is the first time I’ve seen you near a field in weeks, and Kate says you never called back that friend of hers she set you up with. What else have you got going on right now?” “You can tell Kate it was not my fault,” Michael said mulishly. “That woman she set me up with only wanted me for my body. I refuse to be treated like a piece of meat.” He got the obligatory laughs, glad when the men’s conversation moved in the direction of an action flick they’d all been to see the day before. The sad truth of it was he wasn’t doing a whole hell of a lot of anything right now. A gentle workout that didn’t strain his knee. Food. Sleep. Repeat. A few more weeks of this and he’d be begging for a woman to spit in his face and trample him in stiletto heels. “You’ll do it, right?” Peterson asked later as they packed up their stuff, ready to call it a day. Michael wanted to go out for beers, but Julian had a date, and Peterson had mumbled something about a babysitter and exorbitant rates. “They’re starting the tryouts for Antony and Cleopatra next Monday. Dominic already likes you, and we can offer to do it for cheap. Please? I need this.” Michael sighed. “Yeah, man. You know I’m there.” Peterson grinned. “But I refuse to wear one of those pointy hats.” “Of course.” “Or tights.” “I’m pretty sure bouncers don’t wear costumes.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

49

Tamara Morgan

“You better hope you’re right, Peterson.” With those weird theater people, Michael wasn’t taking any chances. “Or I’m making you eat the tights. After I wear them.”

50

www.samhainpublishing.com

Chapter Five An Ass-Head

Rachel loved the first day of a new play. Because the Shakespeare After Dark production catered to a rather debauched crowd, it showed only four nights a week, which meant it could be a year-round production and not strain the actor’s limits. They mixed up the shows every couple of months to keep things fresh. Hamlet had gone well, aside from the debacle the other night, and the next show they were doing was Antony and Cleopatra, one of Rachel’s favorites. She was a shoo-in for the lead role. Sexy Cleopatra. She could totally pull that off. “Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite redhead.” Rachel’s eyes closed at the sound of that voice. That voice. Mocking, condescending and so supremely full of self-importance she wanted to scream just to cover it up. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask any obvious questions about drapes and the rug. I can tell you’re a natural.” With more control than she thought was humanly possible, Rachel opened her eyes and smiled, her lips spread about as thin as they could go. Michael-theMule stood just inches away, all casual and at his ease, actually looking halfway decent in a white polo shirt and tastefully faded jeans, his arms crossed over his chest. Rachel felt her heart pick up and her body growing warm at the sight of him. It wasn’t her fault. They were big arms. It was a big chest.

Tamara Morgan

“I think you might be lost,” she said coldly, forcing herself to look up at his big, bovine eyes instead. “Auditions here are by invitation only.” “Oh, I know. I’ve been invited. It’s just about the best day of my life—well, aside from that time I had a layover in Denver. Did you know that when you’re at higher elevations, a man can actually—” “Stop right there. I don’t want to hear another word.” Rachel flipped through the pages of her clipboard until she came to the end, where Dominic had scrawled in the last-minute entries. Michael O’Leary. Eric Peterson. The Mule and the Skeazy Boyfriend. God help her. They were little better than stalkers, infiltrating Molly’s life, taking over everything until all her ties to the outside world were severed for good. She knew that story. It didn’t end well. Eric came up behind Michael until he caught sight of her and veered a wide path in the opposite direction. At least he knew what was good for him. “Who did you sleep with to get on here? You can’t just waltz in and expect to be treated as an equal.” Michael thumbed over his shoulder to where Dominic bent over a stack of screenplays near the front of the stage. “Oh, Peterson thought it might be fun, so we stopped by a few days ago to have some beers at Dom’s house. I even got his fire hose up and running again.” Rachel narrowed her eyes. “Is that a euphemism?” “If by euphemism you mean completely awesome, then yes,” Michael said with a grin. God, he had a lot of teeth when he smiled, all flashy and…there. Just like a mule. “Did you know the manual hydraulics on one of those older models can get the water just as far as the pump systems today? It’s amazing.” “So let me get this straight.” Rachel tucked the clipboard under her arm and did her best to look like the authoritarian backstage manager she technically

52

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

wasn’t but might as well be. “You got asked to participate in a professional Shakespeare production without a scrap of experience because you played squirt guns with the producer?” He chuckled and spread his arms wide. He must have had the wingspan of a raptor. “I might not know all those fancy words you love to spout, Red, but I believe the kids today call that networking.” “Aaaarrgh!” was all she could come up with on short notice. Her jaw clamped down so hard she felt something pop up near her temple as she tried again. “You know this doesn’t make you an actor, right? You’ll most likely end up moving a few pieces of scenery and sitting around chewing your cud all day.” “That sounds right up my alley,” he said, grinning harder—if such a thing was possible. “It just so happens I like to keep my mouth in good shape. You have no idea how much better a man is at—” Rachel didn’t stay to hear the rest of his low-brow and most likely off-color statement. Throwing the clipboard on the ground with a resounding and satisfying slap, she stormed toward the bathrooms. The ladies room, at least, was one place the Mule couldn’t follow her. Although she wouldn’t put it past him to try.

“This is going better than I hoped.” Molly let out a squeal and wrapped her arms around Michael’s midsection. Her arms didn’t go all the way around, but that didn’t stop her from giving him a warm squeeze. “I can’t thank you enough for agreeing to do this. She hasn’t been like this in a long time.” “Throwing things and screaming is a good sign?” Michael was confused. He’d come over here expecting Molly to yell at him for pissing her sister off in

www.samhainpublishing.com

53

Tamara Morgan

less than fifteen minutes, not look at him with those adoring eyes, the same color as her sister’s but oh so very different in the way they measured a man. “It’s the best sign. I don’t think I’ve seen so much emotion out of her in, well, about a year.” Molly’s smile faltered a little, but she tucked her arm confidently in his and led him toward Dominic. “She didn’t even look twice at Eric being here. It’s like when you’re around, every last bit of her rage is funneled right into you.” It was a dubious honor, and Michael was about to say so, but she gave his arm another squeeze. “It won’t be forever, I promise. She just needs to take a little time to get to know Eric, that’s all.” “Hey, Michael. Molly.” Dominic nodded absentmindedly and handed them both a fat stack of papers. “Find the part you want to read for and tell Gretchen, who’s coordinating all the auditions this time around.” When he saw Michael’s stricken face, he laughed. “Don’t worry too much about it. Just say the lines how it feels natural. I have a good idea about casting already, so this is a formality.” “But I’m here to help with backstage and security stuff. You know, the muscle?” He flexed. “Oh, didn’t I tell you?” Molly’s face was stricken. “We have such a small production crew that everyone has to have an acting role. Even if it’s just as an understudy.” Michael stopped. Acting? Understudy? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so thoroughly taken in by a woman he wasn’t either sleeping with or hoping to sleep with within the week. “Peterson promised me no tights.”

54

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

Molly let out a gurgled laugh. It was amazing to think she was related to Rachel. The only reason that woman would gurgle was if she was brushing her teeth—or if Michael gave in to temptation and tossed her into the nearest creek. “You’re a really great guy, you know that? Not many people would do all this just to help a friend out.” Michael let out a theatrical sigh. “I know. Put me in a diaper and give me a crossbow, and I’m the baddest-ass cupid on the block.” She punched him playfully in the arm. “I’m serious. Thanks for this. Things haven’t been great for me in a long time. And Eric—he’s kind of great.” From across the room, Peterson came into view, looking, Michael had to admit, happier than he’d been in a long time. Even his dragon looked like it was smiling. “He’s not half bad,” Michael agreed. “I just wish there was a way to get Rachel to see him like you and I do,” Molly said wistfully. “We need to stage an intervention or something.” “A stop-acting-like-a-royal-bitch intervention? You can count me out of that one.” She gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “No. A relax-and-give-people-achance intervention.” “Where I come from, we call that a party.” “Rachel doesn’t party. She broods.” Michael laughed. That sounded about right. “That’s probably because she’s never been to a party at Casa O’Leary.” Molly’s eyes lit up, and no amount of playing dumb would give Michael the out he needed to pretend he didn’t catch her meaning. Her hands came together and she hopped up and down. “Would you…?” He tried to be strong. He tried to resist.

www.samhainpublishing.com

55

Tamara Morgan

He failed. Closing his eyes, Michael did what he always did when faced with someone who needed his help. He said yes. “One party, O’Leary-style, coming right up. I think if we do it Tuesday, Peterson can even bring the Two Terrors. Has your sister met them yet?” Molly let out a squeal and reached up to peck him on the cheek, almost bringing a damn blush to his face. At least it was getting easier to see what Peterson saw in this chick. Such easy adoration had its charm. “That would be so awesome of you, Michael. You’re the best! It’ll be so great for her to see you guys in, you know, your natural element.” Michael smiled. Seeing as how their natural element was closer to being halfwasted on Red Bull and Jaeger shots and decked out in full Highland gear, underwear optional, he doubted Rachel was ready for the full effect of the Peterson-Michael-Julian tornado. No woman was. “But, um, there’s just one thing.” Michael kept the smile going strong, his jaw fixed. “Oh?” he managed. “She won’t come unless you hide the invitation.” “Hide it?” “Yeah. You know, make her an offer she can’t refuse? She won’t want to come, but if you can just get her there, she won’t actually up and leave. She’s too polite for that. Well, maybe not polite—but she’ll do anything to avoid making herself look like she’s not on top of everything. She hates being made to look like a fool. You can always count on that.” Alarm bells sounded in every nerve ending of Michael’s body. He couldn’t think of a single thing that existed on earth that Rachel wouldn’t have been

56

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

happy to refuse. Denying other people pleasure seemed to make her as content as a pig rolling in its own shit. But he let none of his hesitation show—he didn’t have the heart to crush Molly’s wide-eyed hope like that. “What sort of offer were you thinking of?” “Um…I don’t know. I’m sure you can think of something. I don’t know why, but you’re ten times better at handling her than I’ve ever been in my whole life.” And that was it. The clincher. The sealing of the deal. The superglue between the ass cheeks. Molly thought he could tame her sister. Molly thought he could win. “No problem. I’ll figure it out.” Molly gave him another peck before running off to tell Peterson the good news. Her enthusiasm was infectious only in a roughly five-foot radius around her, because as Peterson flashed him a hearty thumbs up, Michael realized with a heaviness that he was in this for the long haul. All he needed was to find something Rachel wanted enough to get her to agree to come. Other than offering up his own body, dead and prostrate at her feet, he had no idea what he was going to come up with.

Rachel heard her mother’s voice long before she saw her appear in the auditorium. Once a great actress in her own right, she had the kind of voice that carried over audiences with clarity and panache. That was, her voice used to have clarity and panache. These days, it was mostly loud and obnoxious, the consonants slurred together in a way that was recognizable to just about everyone.

www.samhainpublishing.com

57

Tamara Morgan

“I’ve come to see my daughters,” her mother announced to no one in particular. “They do a sex show here.” That sex show of yours. Since the day they’d signed on to be a part of this, that was what their mother had insisted on calling it. Never mind that her mother had been on the chorus line of a traditional burlesque back in her heyday. Never mind that Shakespeare After Dark played to sold-out audiences and there was even talk of one or two Broadway reviewers showing up to the opening night of Antony and Cleopatra. To their mother, it would never be more than a sex show, and her daughters would never be more than pseudo-literary strippers. Molly, who had been just about to do her reading for the part of Octavia, glanced immediately at Rachel, their eyes meeting over the top of several heads all turned in the direction of the disturbance. That was all their mother was anymore. A disturbance. It bothered Molly a lot more than it did Rachel. Molly believed their mother had good intentions, believed that the sixth in a long line of embarrassingly public divorces was going to be the last, and that she’d stay home long enough to actually have a stake in her children’s lives this time. Rachel had long since given up on the woman, and the only emotion she felt at seeing her here was irritation. Irritation and an overwhelming urge to get her out of here before Molly broke down in tears. Molly wasn’t strong like she was. Molly still cared. It was her job to protect her sister. It always had been. “Darlings!” Their mother stumbled onto the aisle and beamed up at them, her arms spread wide. She’d done a fairly good job dressing herself that morning, although she’d chosen a dangerously high pair of heels and had lipstick smudged a good half an inch beyond her lip line. Divorce always did that to her. The second she met a potential husband, she was a teetotaler, giving

58

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

up all substances except the heady rush of new love. But the second the charm wore away and the ring was on her finger, it was back to the booze. That was always the beginning of the end. What they were looking at right now was something closer to the finish line. “I’m early, aren’t I? How shameful. One ought never be too early to the theater. It isn’t done.” Rachel hopped down from the stage, avoiding the curious stares. Those who knew her family history looked politely away. Those who didn’t know the history invariably recognized the slightly puffy face of Indira Hewitt (née Longfellow), and gave audible gasps of delight. “You aren’t dressed as a prostitute!” her mother called by way of greeting, taking in Rachel’s striped boatneck tee and slacks with a frown, her brow puckered as she tried to work it out. “Haven’t you got a part in tonight’s performance?” “First of all, it’s eleven o’clock in the morning,” Rachel said coolly, taking her mother by the arm and trying to swivel her on the tips of her heels in the opposite direction. “Second of all, there is no show tonight. It’s a weekday and we’re in auditions.” “Auditions? But I came to see my girls perform. I took a taxi all this way— and you know how I feel about public transportation.” “Taxis are not public transportation, Mother,” Rachel said through her teeth, though she was grateful to hear that she hadn’t attempted driving herself. “And I’ll be happy to take you home.” “Nonsense!” With a surprising burst of agility, her mother twisted loose and ducked right under her arm, wobbling quickly to the stage and trying, unsuccessfully, to climb up it. “Help me up, young man, will you?”

www.samhainpublishing.com

59

Tamara Morgan

Larson, the most useless security personnel on the face of the planet, obeyed, his eyes wide as Rachel’s mother grunted her way to two feet. “Who’s in charge here?” she demanded. By now, even the most adoring Indira Longfellow fans had taken her measure. Molly was nowhere to be seen, and Rachel could only assume she was off pouring her heart into her boyfriend’s shoulder. For once, Rachel was grateful to him. Getting rid of a post-divorce decaying actress returned to the scene of her former glory wasn’t going to be pretty. Her mother had somehow leeched herself onto Dominic’s arm and was peering into his too-close-together eyes as if to take the measure of his soul. That was what she’d always taught them growing up, in place of more worthy conversations regarding birds, bees and the propagation thereof. “A man’s worth lies not in his heart or in his pants,” she would announce. “It’s in his eyes.” Which meant, of course, that she pressed her face up against the nose of every man she ever met, reading his irises like they were folio paper. As a Tony Award winning actress, it had been a quirk, an eccentricity. Charming, even. As a poorly aging divorcee with breath this side of Hades, it was only the good manners of the men she met that kept them from vomiting onto her shoes. “I think I like you, young man,” she announced some awful minutes later. “All right. I’ll do it. I’ll be in your show.” Rachel rushed forward and disentangled her mother, doing her best not to meet Dominic’s eyes. Could there be anything worse for their show than Indira Longfellow’s bosoms on display, crinkled with age and hanging to her waist? “I’m so sorry, Dominic. I’ll just need about an hour to get her home and get her quiet. I promise this will never happen again.”

60

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

Behind her and to the right, someone laughed. A few feet farther to the left, another person started whispering. Without even turning around, Rachel could place each voice, envision the clusters of people talking and pointing and seeing so much more of her life than they should. No, not just people. Her peers. These were the people she worked with every single day of her life. They looked up to her. Respected her. Okay, maybe not respect. That was hard when they’d all seen each other practically naked. But still. “No, Poppy.” The use of Rachel’s childhood nickname, infantile and flimsy just like the bright red flower, only infuriated her more. Her mother knew how much Rachel hated that name. “I am going to do it, and you can’t stop me. It’s like being alive again. It’s like being young again!” Her mother twirled in circles, her arms opened wide, embracing her audience. Except her audience feared for their safety. People dove out of the way, one woman even tucking and rolling toward the wings. Rachel, on the other hand, couldn’t move. She could only watch, frozen like one of those women in a horror flick who fail to see the gun lying just within arm’s reach. Her mother lost her balance and careered toward the end of the stage. Rachel sprang forward, but she was too late. Indira’s heel caught on the edge of the floorboards and she dove, headfirst, toward the auditorium floor. “Whoa, there.” As if out of nowhere, Michael grabbed hold of her mother and pulled her back to safety, lifting her as if she weighed no more than a child.

www.samhainpublishing.com

61

Tamara Morgan

Indira wasn’t even fazed. She immediately looked up into the face of her rescuer and started to read his eyes. Oh, dear God. Not that man. Finally moved to action, Rachel ran over and pulled the two of them apart, as much as a five-foot-nine, one-hundred-fifty-pound woman could move a man made of obstinate stone. He put Indira on her feet, steadying her with one of his giant man hands while holding Rachel back with the other. “She’s all right. Just give her a moment to get her balance.” Rachel’s jaw went tight. He had to be the only man on the face of the planet not able to recognize a woman who was drunk off her ass. He probably preferred them that way. “She’s not all right, but it’s not really any of your damn business, is it?” “Nope. It’s not. My apologies.” He backed away. Finally. At last, he was reading her cues in the manner in which they were intended. Go away. Not interested. In fact, annoyed beyond all recognition. “C’mon, Mom,” Rachel said, quieter this time. “Let’s go home.” “But it’s time for my audition! Young man—young man, surely you won’t turn Indira Longfellow away without giving her a chance to read?” Dominic shrugged apologetically. “We, ah, don’t really—” “You do know who I am, don’t you?” “Of course, Ms. Longfellow. I can’t tell you what an honor it is—” “And you do know that, however retired I may be, I still have friends in high places? Much, much higher than you could ever hope to look?” Rachel’s stomach tightened. Each of her mother’s successive husbands had been a little bit less important, a little bit less rich, a little bit more like Plumber

62

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

Harry, the last one. Even he’d realized his mistake a few months in—and he cleaned septic tanks for a living. Rachel had to get her out of here. She needed Molly. She needed someone. She needed help. “Absolutely,” Dominic said smoothly, his professional charm on high. “Of course you can read for a part. Why don’t you do it right now?” “Yes. Yes, I think I will. What are we doing, anyway? The Tempest?” “Antony and Cleopatra.” “Lovely! Perfect! I’ll read for Cleo, naturally.” Rachel had to grip the back of a nearby chair to keep herself from falling. Her mother, the Nile Queen herself. Rachel could practically see the marquee now. “Of course, Ms. Longfellow. Act I, Scene III? With Antony?” “Excellent!” Indira clapped and hiccupped at the same time. “Who will read with me?” Silence. Crickets. Just about everyone involved in the production was in the room, either circling upstage or standing in the aisles of the auditorium. They watched, like vultures bent on amusement, no one speaking up or volunteering to stand opposite her mother. Not even for the prestige of saying they once read with the great Indira Longfellow. “Kevin?” Dominic asked, indicating one of the men standing in the wings, a nicely formed twenty-something who couldn’t act very well but looked amazing without his shirt on. He wasn’t their lead actor, but he had aspirations headed that direction. Not even a request straight from their fearless leader’s lips moved him from the spot. He shrugged and became intensely interested in his script.

www.samhainpublishing.com

63

Tamara Morgan

“Johnson?” “Thanks but no thanks, boss,” the stagehand replied. “Well, hell. I’ll do it.” At the sound of that last voice, pleasant and warm, Rachel’s stomach plunged so far she wasn’t sure it was still attached to the rest of her. Why did that man insist on tormenting her so? “You’ll have to forgive me, Ms. Longfellow,” Michael said, swaggering up like he owned the stage. “I’m a piss-poor actor, and I can’t say that I’ve spent a lot of time reading over Shakespeare’s shoulder, but I’d be honored to try.” “Oh, lovely!” Indira cleared her throat and struck a pose, the wavering of her uplifted arm the only indication that she wasn’t in full possession of her faculties. “Do you, ah, need a script?” Dominic asked. The director had moved to Rachel’s side, creeping closer and closer as if he wanted to wrap his arms around her. Rachel stepped away, her jaw tight. She didn’t want his pity. She wanted the stage to open up and swallow her. “Of course not,” Indira snapped. “I am sick and sullen.” “Would you like to sit for a few minutes first?” Michael asked. “I saw some couches in the back that look pretty comfortable.” Oh, for crying out loud. “It’s a line, Boy Genius. Your cue.” “Is it?” He flipped through the pages, taking his time scrutinizing each line. “Oh, yeah. There she is.” He cleared his throat loudly and took a bow. A debacle. That was what he was turning this into. Not so much rubbing salt onto the wound as shoving the whole salt lick in there. “I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose—” He read, clearly and with a surprising attention to the metrical beat. For a few moments, the entire room was suspended on a breath that swelled achingly inside Rachel’s lungs. She felt herself swaying to the words, entranced

64

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

by the sound of her mother’s voice. She’d fallen asleep to that sound—to tape recordings of Indira’s past shows. It had been a poor substitute for a bedtime story, but it was all she’d ever had. And that was when it became clear: her mother and Michael might actually pull this off. They continued through the lines, Indira faltering over only a few of the trickiest passages, Michael actually nailing most of them. But something—the heat of the stage, the intensity of the moment, or the weariness of a body that had been abused with alcohol for too many years— caused her mother to start sweating heavily, the words no longer light on her lips. She couldn’t do it. At that moment, when Rachel felt the last of her hope ebb away, Michael lost his place on the page. His pronunciation took a dramatic turn for the worse, to the point where every other word out of his mouth somehow rhymed with “penis”. By the time he started reading Cleopatra’s lines, “Oh, never was there a queen so mightily betray’d,” the cast was in an uproar. He paused, as if just realizing his folly, and began mincing about the stage—as much as a man his size could mince, tiptoes and all. If she hadn’t been so mortified, Rachel might have been inclined to crack a smile. There was something about a dodderdly behemoth of a man so light on his feet that was irresistible. But resist it she did. While Michael struck up an impromptu waltz with Doris, the owlish technical director, Rachel got her arm around her mother and moved her toward the emergency exit. The fresh air and bright lights of the noonday sun caused both of them to blink.

www.samhainpublishing.com

65

Tamara Morgan

“That went well, didn’t it?” her mother asked, letting out a contented sigh. “It’s been ages since I’ve auditioned for anything. You know, I almost miss those years of paying my dues. What fun we used to have—and how hard we had to work for every single role. Not like you girls. Sometimes I’m not sure you realize how lucky you are to be able to capitalize on my name.” And there it was, the reason Rachel had moved away so many years ago, why it was so painful to continue being home now. Her mother existed in some alternate reality where she was the magic wand that made everything easy, when the truth was she and Molly couldn’t get far enough away from her toxic grasp. Rachel had run to the traveling stage. Molly had run to any man who would take her. And now they were both paying the price. As Rachel led her mother away from the theater, she realized there was another cost to pay too. She owed Michael O’Leary, Mule Extraordinaire and Comedic Distraction Number One, her gratitude. She sighed and got her mother buckled into the back seat of her sensible and understated Honda Accord. She would have rather owed him anything else. Money. A pound of flesh. Her spleen. Just not gratitude.

66

www.samhainpublishing.com

Chapter Six Of a Conquest

When Rachel returned to the theater, Michael took one look at her face and got to work. Her expression bounced between a heavy-browed, murderous gleam and the wobbly smile women always got when they were trying hard not to cry. He wasn’t sure which one was worse. “Oh, good. You’re back,” he called, drawing Rachel’s attention before she could run over poor Jillian, who was doing her best to scatter back toward the light rigs. He’d settled comfortably in the director’s chair near the back entrance to the stage, a sort of lordly position that let him see most of what was going on. Dominic had already told him to get out of that chair five times, but it was cozy, and he pretended he needed it for security purposes. Mostly he just wanted to keep an eye on all the entrances. “Why is that good?” There was a hesitancy to her voice that didn’t sit well with him, so he laid the charm on extra thick, just the way she liked it. “Well, it just so happens I have a proposition for you.” “I’m surprised you even know what that word means,” Rachel replied, her back bristling up within seconds, the murderous gleam taking a clear lead over tears. Good girl. “Proposition. Noun. A fancy way to tell a woman you want to see her honey pot.” “You are not seeing my honey pot.”

Tamara Morgan

“Now, now,” he chided, wagging his finger. God, she was easy to rile up. “We’ll get to that question when we come to it. What I was really asking was if you’ll do me the honor of coming to my house next week.” “No.” She stalked halfway across the backstage area before stopping. “Why? Do you have some secret underground lair or something? Is that your new plan?” He raised a brow. “You mean a sex room? As in, nipple clamps and ball gags and thirty-one flavors of lube?” The vein near her temple throbbed a warning, so he put a hand over his heart and winked. “Not yet, Red. But you say the word, and I promise to dig you one with my own two hands.” “You’re disgusting,” she said, though Michael noted she didn’t actually move away. He launched right ahead. “See, what I figure is you owe me. I’ve been doing some thinking, and I decided how I want you to make it up to me. And you’ll be happy to know it doesn’t involve honey or the pot it comes in. Or nipple clamps. Yet.” She pokered up even more, so much that a light wind would have caused her to go crashing to the ground. Michael was man enough to admit that it turned him on. Big-time. A magnificent redhead, magnificently angry. If he could wind her up with a few breezy words, just imagine what some intense, one-on-one face time would lead to. Rolling. Pinching. Slapping. Teeth. His cock stirred, and his balls shifted. God bless those boys of his. “I’m aware of…of a debt of gratitude,” she’d said stiffly. “But if you think I’m going to—” “You have no idea what I’m talking about. I’ll have you know that director in there offered me the male lead for this naughty little play of yours.” “You’re lying. He wouldn’t dare.”

68

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

Michael went smoothly on. “Oh, he did dare. And for your sake, I turned him down. I know how much it would kill you to stand opposite me up there every day—there are sex scenes in this story of William’s, right? Or is it just kissing? Maybe some heavy petting?” Her eyes grew wide, the color in her cheeks mounting. He knew it must be costing her to remain silent and still. “Well, the point is, I thought about how you might react to such news and said no. I hate to cause a lady’s head to explode. It’s one of my Ten Rules to Live By. Do you want to hear the other nine?” “No. I don’t want to hear another word out of your stupid, oversized mouth.” He held up one finger. “Rule Number One. A gentleman always sleeps on the wet spot. Rule Number Two. A really good gentleman does his best to ensure that there are, in fact, nothing but wet spots. If you know what I mean.” She was unmoved. “Can you be a little bit less revolting for one second? Are you or are you not telling me you turned the role down?” “Of course I turned it down. I’m now officially the Antony Understudy, unlikely to ever see the lights of the stage. And you are so overcome with joy that you will, obviously, say yes to coming to my party. I could probably even make some good headway on our underground love nest by then.” “Wait a minute—you’re using my career to blackmail me for a date?” “Well, shit. I guess I am. A fancy date too—meat and beer at my house, three o’clock. My cousin Jennings will be there, though, and he’s slightly off. I’d wear pants if I were you.” Her brow wrinkled. “And then we’re even?” “As even as my sword of truth.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

69

Tamara Morgan

“That doesn’t even make sense,” she muttered. “Fine. Just text me the address later. And for the record—I’m not promising to have fun.” “With Michael O’Leary, baby, the fun is guaranteed,” he said solemnly, the twitching of his lips ruining an otherwise stone-faced remark. “You can always count on that.” “I have never met anyone so unjustifiably enamored of himself than you.” Her words were biting, but there wasn’t a whole lot of energy behind them. “I do my best,” he said, shrugging. “Oh, and Rachel?” “What now?” “My dad was the same way. For years, all while I was a kid, I was up there, walking the tightrope with him. It sucks, you know?” She stared at him for a full minute. “Yeah. I know.”

“What’s the Welcome Home banner for?” Rachel looked up at the decorations—correction, decoration—and did her best to swallow her smile. She was not here to have a good time, and she certainly wasn’t going to admit how welcome an afternoon away from her mother’s house, where the whole happy family lived together, actually was. But that didn’t mean she was above taking delight in the fact that Michael O’Leary was hosting an outdoor barbecue in the melting spring of the first weeks of April. Or that he lived on a working lentil farm, in one of a pair of twin Airstreams parked at random angles at the top of a hill. Not that she’d had expectations, of course, but this—this went beyond ridiculous. The Mule couldn’t even be bothered to live in a house. She would have bet her life savings that the family toilet lay somewhere off in the distance, between a patch of trees in a hole dug just for the purpose.

70

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“Maybe he just got back from a long trip,” Molly suggested. “I think it looks nice and festive. You’re going to be nice and festive too, right? You promised.” Molly was like a giddy child, and Rachel didn’t have the heart to back down now. She could have, though—promise or not. Contrary to what the Mule might believe, Rachel didn’t technically owe him anything related to the theater, as he’d suggested. Dominic said there had never been a man more aghast than Michael at being invited to star in one of his productions. “His exact words were, and I quote, ‘Awww hell no’,” Dominic had said with a shake of his head. “I think I may need to retire.” No. It was the knowledge that she owed Michael O’Leary for the unspoken favor that was the real driving force behind her actions. Attending a thousand parties of his would be easier than talking to him about her mother, thanking him face-to-face for being a better friend than even her sister was. She’d come. She’d see. Maybe she wouldn’t conquer anything, but she could at least determine if there were any chinks in the Molly-Eric armor she could exploit. Starting with the fact he hadn’t bothered to offer them a ride. Already, the gallantry was wearing off. That was the first step. Next, he’d be texting Molly at all hours of the night and growing possessive whenever she looked at another man. “I’ll be on my best behavior,” Rachel promised. “But, um…is it just me, or is everyone here sort of oversized?” Molly laughed, not the least bit disconcerted that there were giants roaming among them. A few tables had been set out behind the Airstreams, and a huge black grill was already smoking, the scent of various roasted meats filling the air. Men, all of them in incredible shape, stood around, as if awaiting the meat’s eventual arrival to their jaws, most of them in light jackets as though they were

www.samhainpublishing.com

71

Tamara Morgan

impervious to cold. Rachel couldn’t help looking around for the woolly mammoth tusks and loincloths. “They’re probably Eric’s teammates. I’m kind of dying to see them in action. Can you imagine all these guys running around in skirts?” “Um…I can now.” She turned her head sideways and took in a particularly nice pair of calves. “What did you say Eric did for a living again?” “I didn’t.” Rachel caught the stiffness in her sister’s voice, but the nice pair of calves turned around, providing the perfect distraction. They were attached to a rather gnarly set of knees and led up to…well, crap. “You made it!” Michael-the-Mule said, his arms wide. Was it just her imagination or were his eyes glinting, mocking her sudden flush? “Of course we did,” Molly said warmly, accepting the hug he offered. He moved as if to do the same to Rachel, but she snarled. “Point taken,” he said easily, backing away. “Rachel Hewitt—not a hugger.” “I just don’t like unsolicited hugs,” Rachel countered. “So I can hug you if you ask?” “I won’t ask.” “Hmm.” His eyes glinted again. “We’ll see about that. So, would you ladies like to see the castle?” “Is that what I’m looking at right now?” Rachel asked, nodding toward the shiny metal mobile homes. “Because I think I’ve seen all I need to.” “Rach, don’t be rude,” Molly whispered, though they all heard her just fine. Louder, she added, “Is Eric here yet, by the way?” “Nah. I think there was an issue with too much juice and a locked gas station bathroom. He had to turn around and grab some clean clothes.”

72

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“Oh, the poor thing.” Molly clucked. “I hope it’s not going to ruin his evening.” Rachel stared at her. Last week, Molly had been so upset by their mother’s impromptu stage debut she’d left rehearsal early and gone to a matinee of the latest romantic comedy. That was what she did when she was upset—not the regular things like eat or cry or take to her bed with a box of tissues. Oh no. Instead, Molly filled up on sappy plotlines and unlikely happily ever afters. After she’d lost the baby last year, it had been a nonstop marathon of Hugh Grant and his bumbling affectations. Apparently, their mother’s inability to hold her alcohol was a disaster. In Eric, it was a point of sympathy and charm for him to pee his pants on the way to a party. This was worse than she thought. “Well, if my humble abode is a bit much for you right now, can I at least introduce you to a few people?” Michael asked. Rachel thought he was talking to them both, but Molly had bounded away toward a kindred spirit in the shape of a slight, pretty woman with dark blonde hair and the kind of floaty layers that always made Rachel feel like an Amazonian in drag. “You don’t have to play the charming host for my benefit. I’m fine right here.” “I’m sure you are,” he said with a chuckle. “But I didn’t invite you to stand here and stare my guests into submission.” “I’m not staring.” She crossed her arms. “Okay. Maybe I am a little. But you have freakishly large friends.” He puffed up and preened like a peacock spreading its feathers. He probably screamed like a peacock too. The big ones always did. “You should see us in our kilts.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

73

Tamara Morgan

Rachel stopped. “That’s the second time someone has said that. Is that what you were wearing the other day? Are you in some sort of fetish club?” “Now, I like the sound of that.” He beamed. “No—the truth is I’m a Scottish Highland Games athlete. Most of the guys here are. You know, caber tossing and stone put. Manly stuff. Do you want me to roar?” Oh, for crying out loud. “You throw rocks and sticks? And you live in the woods? In a tin can?” “Not the woods—a lentil farm. It’s my cousin’s. I bought us the Airstreams a few years ago. I think you’ll like him.” He said the words with an absurd quantity of misplaced pride. What sort of a man bragged about living among legumes and felling trees? He might as well have one hand pounding his chest and the other liberally scratching his balls. “I’m sure any family member of yours is filled with surprises and intellectual insights.” “Stop. You’re making me blush.” “Oh, go on, then.” Rachel rolled her eyes and took a deep breath. This was going to be like being led to the gallows. “Impress me with your incredible bloodlines.” Within half an hour, Rachel was ready to admit she might have been a trifle hasty with her judgment. She’d met quite a few of the men, and they were actually a pretty interesting set of people. The pretty blonde from before was attached to a gorgeous Asian man who had a strangely large working knowledge of historical fashions. Another man named McClellan, who had an affinity for Hammerpants, volunteered to show her the steps of the Highland Fling. “These guys are pretty amazing, aren’t they?” the pretty blonde woman asked after Rachel politely declined the dance. She introduced herself as Kate.

74

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“You’d think they’re nothing more than overgrown jocks, but they’ve got hearts of gold. Especially Michael.” “It’s the hair,” Rachel murmured, trying not to get caught staring at Michael standing across the party. “The hair?” Kate asked with a smile. Rachel nodded. “It makes him seem nicer than he really is. It’s all floppy and cute and makes you think he’s twelve years old underneath all those muscles. But I’m not fooled. He’s trouble.” Trouble that was doing far too good a job pulling down her defenses. And Jennings, Michael’s cousin, was the biggest defense-destroyer of all. He turned out to be old, somewhere in his early seventies, and was set up on a vinyl lawn chair with a beer in one hand and a corncob pipe in the other. He also turned out to be quite articulate and was explaining Dostoyevsky’s views on nationalism when Michael pulled up a chair to join them. “Are you boring my poor friend here?” he asked. He set a plate of food on Jennings’s lap and exchanged the pipe for a fork. “If that’s the case, then I’m going to tell you the deer are getting into the south field again.” “Bullshit!” Jennings used his fork to stab at the air. “I was down there with my gun this morning.” “I know. I saw the tree you were making target practice of.” “Is that safe?” Rachel asked, taken aback. “Not in the least,” Michael said, laughing. “But Jennings here refuses to do anything half-assed. Including scaring the deer away. Or talking about Russian philosophers.” Jennings reached up and turned off his hearing aid. With a smile that shone just as brightly as Michael’s, he winked and busied himself with his food. Steak cut up into bite-size pieces. Corn cut off the cob.

www.samhainpublishing.com

75

Tamara Morgan

Despite herself, Rachel softened. “And you’re really cousins? I find that hard to believe.” “Second cousins. Or maybe third? Removed like eight times?” Michael shrugged. “I can never keep track, but he’s been around for just about ever. I think he’s secretly a vampire. You hungry?” Rachel wasn’t really hungry—she’d eaten ahead of time, unsure what sort of conditions awaited her here—but she nodded, her head swimming. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she was enjoying herself. Maybe even feeling impressed by the Mule himself. That can’t be right. She put a hand on her brow. A car pulled up then, the crunch of tires on the dirt road punctuated by Molly’s squeal. Her sister really had it bad this time around. Rachel looked up, expecting to find a miniature sports car or a truck with a pair of blue balls hanging from the hitch. Instead she saw a maroon minivan with a yellow smiley face bobbing cheerfully from the antenna. That’s Eric’s car? Molly pulled the sliding door open, completely at home and at ease with the strangely paternal vehicle. When she emerged, it was with two small, brownhaired creatures in miniature pink peacoats stuck to either hip. “Oh, good. Peterson’s here. Have you met his little demons?” Michael handed her a plate with enough food to feed a small village and raised a hand in greeting. “They’re cute, but if you know what’s good for you, avoid all topics related to bugs, bears and Twinkies.” “Twinkies?” Rachel echoed. Eric had kids? Two of them? And Molly hadn’t felt that might be a pertinent fact?

76

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“Yeah.” Michael crinkled his brow. “I may have said something about cockroaches and Twinkies. You know, in case of an apocalypse? I’m pretty sure they think the damn things are made of cockroaches now.” “Rachel, would you like to meet Sammy and Pris?” Samantha and Priscilla. The tattoos on Eric’s wrists. Oh God. The juice. “Um…okay?” Rachel stood there, not all of her bewilderment due to the sudden realization she’d been wrong about Eric. As she took in the pair of them, she was a hundred percent unsure what was supposed to happen next. Did she offer them a handshake? Pinch their cheeks? She might have a piece of gum in her purse. “You’re tall for a lady.” Rachel blinked. She couldn’t tell which one had spoken. They weren’t twins or anything, but there was something about cherubic young faces swathed in pink that blurred inside her head as one. “Yep. I am,” she said when it seemed some sort of response was required of her. “Miss Molly is short.” “I think she’s more average-size. Statistically speaking, I mean.” Behind her, Michael snorted. “What does that mean?” “It means, silly pea, that I’m not short or tall.” Molly was cooing. Cooing. “I’m perfect. Just. Like. You.” “Your hair is like Ariel’s,” one of them continued. “She’s a mermaid. You’re not a mermaid.” Rachel blinked. Apparently, small children liked to make patent observations. She could do that. “You have pigtails. And the other one has freckles.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

77

Tamara Morgan

The one with freckles began crying. Rachel was so bewildered she was on the verge of asking the girls if they wanted Twinkies when Michael placed an arm around her shoulder and veered her in the opposite direction. Under any other circumstances, Rachel would have immediately stabbed his arm with the nearest pointed object, but the way his hand gave her shoulder a little squeeze was so…so…comforting. “Don’t worry. They freaked the shit out of me at first too.” A shaky laugh escaped her lips. “Was it really bad?” “Well, it wasn’t good, I’ll be honest. But I doubt you’ve scarred them for life.” “Can I…?” She stopped and turned to look at her sister. Molly had set the girls down, and they were running in circles around her. It was a strange thing to see. Molly had almost been a mother. Rachel had almost been an aunt. But they weren’t, and they’d barely even had time to process it all, both of them still wobbling around on unsteady legs. Picking up another man’s kids and calling them silly names didn’t change what had happened. Molly had to know that. “What?” Michael asked, rubbing his hands together. “Can I show you inside the castle? I knew you’d fold!” “No. I need to talk to Eric.” Her jaw tensed, and she felt a headache coming on. “Just…excuse me for one second.” She didn’t wait for a response. She found Eric leaning against his car, his arms crossed and a smug look on his face. Okay, maybe that wasn’t fair. It might not have been smugness. It might have been a man’s simple pleasure at watching his kids.

78

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

She observed as another man rounded the front of the van and said something in a low voice to Eric. Rachel had seen him milling around the party and thought he looked familiar, but it wasn’t until the two of them were side by side that she realized they were related, both of their faces bearing the same craggy lines of dissipation. They were brothers, probably, though the younger one had a lot fewer tattoos and a messy brown sweep of hair in place of Eric’s signature shorn look. “I know you told me to stay away from that place, but I can’t let them get away with saying that shit about me. I’ll just make a quick trip—” “Not now, Nick. I don’t care what kind of crap they pull. You have to keep your head down and just suck it up for once.” “But you said—” Eric gripped his brother’s arm, fury tightening in the corners of his mouth. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what I said. This is about a lot more than you and me. And I’m not talking about this with the girls and Molly standing right over there. Just play it cool.” “Does she know?” A grimace passed over his face, and Rachel’s blood went cold. “Eric?” Eric looked over at her, and she could tell it was a struggle for him to maintain a semblance of calm. “Hey, Rachel. What’s up?” For the first time, she felt out of her element talking to this man. Granted, she hadn’t been exactly going out of her way to have conversations with him, but she’d always felt assured in what she said and how she said it—tattoos and muscles notwithstanding. But with his face a closed off mask of irritation, his arms crossed over his chest with the veins standing out like twisted ropes, she felt something else. Fear.

www.samhainpublishing.com

79

Tamara Morgan

This was not a man to cross. “I just wanted to say your daughters are really cute. Do you have full custody of them?” A tic along his jawline worked furiously. “You want to grill me about my family? Here? Now? Well, here’s an easy answer for you. It’s not any of your damn business.” Fear gave way to irritation. “Molly is my business, and I think it’s a fair question. Are you or are you not responsible for the lives of two human beings that you may or may not intend to foist upon my sister?” “And Molly knows the answer to it. Why don’t you ask her?” He relaxed a little, rubbing his hand over his mouth and letting out a heavy sigh. “Look, Rachel. I get the protective act you’re pulling—I really do. More than you probably realize. But not everything has to be a life-or-death issue here. Yes, the girls are mine and mine alone, though if you feel like digging through their records, you’ll find lots of shit to rub my face in.” She arched a brow. This would be good. “Oh, you want it all? Fine. Their mother was a fucked-up junkie who cared more about her next fix than her kids, but all the judges in this city strongly favor the mother for custody cases. Even more so when the mother is the daughter of a politician and the father looks like I do.” Rachel’s brow fell, but she still didn’t move. Eric took it as a challenge. “What? You want more? You want to know about the dirt I had to sling to get her parents to back down from pursuing their rights? The campaign smear? The photos? Or do you want to go over there and ask my youngest how it feels to know her mommy abandoned her when it turned out she wasn’t going to win the case against me?”

80

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

She did want to know more—a lot more—but she wasn’t about to say it. Rachel could tell when she was being baited. He was practically begging for her to ask questions so he could shove the sob-story answers down her throat. Well, she wasn’t buying it. He might try to mask it behind heroics, but there was more to that story, more to his life. He had baggage. There was also that look of intense anger on his face and the unspoken threat of violence as the two brothers squared off next to the family minivan. “Sorry I asked,” Rachel bit out, turning away. But she wasn’t sorry. She wasn’t sorry at all. If there was one thing Rachel liked, it was knowing what she was up against. She wasn’t one of those women who turned a blind eye to a man’s faults. She liked to name her foe. Look him in the eye. Rip him to shreds. “Hey. Have you had a chance to finish eating?” Michael was waiting for her underneath the Welcome Home sign, supremely oblivious to everything going on around him. “I thought I might show you my lentils.” “You are impossible,” Rachel said through her teeth. Speaking of a man’s faults. “Do you understand the concept of social cues? Do I look like I want to eat your meat and examine your crops right now?” He cocked his head to the side, considering. “Yes. Yes, I think you do. My meat is surprisingly tender.” She stomped her foot, puffs of dirt making a mess of her white pants, realizing as she did it that she should have known better than to wear white to any event hosted by this cretin. “Your party sucks, by the way. Are my obligations done? Can I go now?” Not even that fazed him. Without losing his smile, he spread his arms open wide. “It sounds like somebody might be ready for that hug now.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

81

Tamara Morgan

Rachel clamped her jaw so hard she bit her tongue. And then she turned on her heel and left.

82

www.samhainpublishing.com

Chapter Seven What Bloody Man

“The quick and dirty answer? Your ACL is shot. Or rather, what’s left of it is.” Michael swore. Those were not a man’s three favorite letters when it came to sports injuries. Especially when his knees already looked like the scene of a recent crime. “What about another surgery?” “Can I be honest?” Dr. Monroe, a slight, thirty-something woman he’d become far too familiar with over the last five years, set aside the chart she was holding and examined the scar tissue along the front of his leg. “As long as your honesty doesn’t include the words ‘early’ and ‘retirement,’ you can tell me anything you want.” The sympathetic look she gave him didn’t fill him with very much hope. “Best case scenario, we could go in there and do another hamstring graft that will hold for three, maybe four months on the field—and you’re looking at twice as much time spent on rehabilitation alone. There’s just not a whole lot left in there to work with. I told you last time to take it easy.” “I did take it easy.” “There are two types of people you can’t lie to in this world,” Dr. Monroe said with a smile. “Your doctor and your mother.” “I took it easier, at least.” In fact, he was starting to get those looks of death from the other guys—the glances at his knee when they thought he wasn’t paying attention, more invitations to work out in the safe, controlled gym rather than taking the cabers out for a spin. Hell—he’d done it himself a few times,

Tamara Morgan

when it was obvious one of the other athletes had peaked and was on his way down, but no one wanted to say as much to his face. “It might be time to rethink your career.” She shut the chart and held it against her chest. “I hear there’s good money in knee surgery.” Michael smiled and laughed, flirting with the good doctor for a few more minutes before she had to see her next patient. For the first time in a long time, the smile was faked and his laugh forced. He’d never been quite as successful at the Highland Games as the other guys, and that was okay. He didn’t need the money, like Julian. He didn’t really need the glory, either. Sure, it was fun to take home a trophy or two, give the ladies something to swoon over, but he didn’t have to win to enjoy himself. But the Games were a part of him. They were who he was. Michael O’Leary, local caber-tossing champion and national-award-winning stone putter. The easy-going man in a kilt the other guys counted on for a good time. He wasn’t smart and he wasn’t worldly—and he never pretended to be. He was the type of man women like Rachel Hewitt looked down on, even as she stole covert and highly charged glances at his legs when she thought he wasn’t looking. Work hard, play hard. Drink hard, fuck hard. He wouldn’t call himself a simple man, but his needs were few. Now, all of a sudden, he was faced with the knowledge that his knee was done, which meant he was too. That left playing video games and drinking and fucking. And while that might have sounded like a hell of a lot of fun a few years ago, Michael was getting a little too old to build a life around the frat-boy party his life had been for the past ten years. It was a sobering reflection. Michael didn’t like it. As he called out cheerful farewells to the ladies working the reception counter, his cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. It was from Dominic.

84

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

You’re late. Rehearsal 9-1-1. He swore. For the past week, he’d done nothing but stand on the stage for the light guys or move some pieces of wood around for the set guys or go pick up coffee for the entire crew. It wasn’t exactly what he’d signed on for, but Peterson swore things were only going to get better. At least he got to mess with Rachel on a daily basis—that was something to look forward to. Give that woman a fat-free muffin with a wink and a vow to look after her figure for her and the entertainment lasted for hours. “They probably need some lunch,” he muttered, tucking the phone away. Michael O’Leary. Former Athletic God. Current Bringer of Sandwiches. But the smile must go on.

His guess wasn’t that far off. As Michael walked into the backstage area, Dominic rounded the corner, his face pinched so tight it could have been shoved into a bottle and stored for later. “What are you doing?” “That’s a good question. What seems to be the emergency around here? Someone’s corset hook get stuck? Lock themselves out of their car?” If it was possible, Dominic’s face shrank even more. “It’s not my fault! I swear if I could go back in time and remind myself why hiring Rachel Hewitt was a bad idea, I’d do it. That woman is a—” Michael stopped him before he got any further. “That’s what you’d waste time travel on? Hell, no. Not me. I’ve always wanted to be a knight. Armor, jousting, wenches—the whole bit. Don’t tell me you’re not even a little bit curious about the wenches.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

85

Tamara Morgan

Dominic shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about half the time. Will you please just go get a latte? Double tall, skim milk, no more than ten percent foam. Got it?” Michael gave a mock salute and did his bidding, errand boy and general theater bitch. The girls at the coffee stand next door were getting pretty familiar with his face these days. He was going to have to have a serious talk with Peterson. There were limits to man’s endurance—even one of Michael’s reputation for longevity. The coffee acquired, Michael hand-delivered it to the director, even going so far as to throw in a mock bow. “Not for me, Michael. Go give it to Rachel. She won’t work on the next scene.” “And you’re bribing her with coffee?” Michael asked doubtfully. “Do you have a better idea?” He did, actually. Pressing the coffee cup firmly in Dominic’s hand, Michael stomped up the stairs toward the dressing rooms so hard the curtains threatened to come tumbling down. He pulled open the door and caught sight of Rachel scowling into the script. She didn’t even look up as she shouted, “I’m not coming down there until he puts the armor scene back in. I don’t care if we are wearing nothing but our underwear and doing the cancan on stage—Dominic is not God, and he doesn’t get to rewrite Shakespeare. I have some artistic integrity left.” “You’re wanted below.” She turned her scowl on him. “You’re not wanted anywhere. And this has nothing to do with you, thank you very much.” He took a few steps forward. She didn’t exactly shrink back, but her hackles definitely went up. The clutch of tension in her jaw and the tic at the side of her

86

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

mouth were unmistakable. He only wished his knee was a little stronger so he could swoop in and carry her down like he wanted to. But Dr. Monroe had been very strict with her warning. Nothing above forty pounds. Period. “And you’re very welcome,” Michael said with a grin. “But the sad truth is I’ve been tasked with your retrieval.” She shot to her feet. “You are not retrieving anything!” “Will you come willingly?” He spread his arms wide and came toward her. She immediately put the chair between them, as if that would stop a man intent on his goal—especially when the goal was her. “Or am I going to have to force you?” “You wouldn’t dare. If you lay a finger on me, I’ll have you arrested for assault.” “I haven’t assaulted anything yet. Believe me, if I wanted to put my hands on you, I would. And you’d love it. Now—are you going to head down there and do the work you’ve been hired to do, or are you going to sit up here and pout like a spoiled little brat? Peterson’s kids have better manners than you.” He couldn’t tell which part of his speech enraged her more, but by the time he’d finished speaking, she looked so mad that only a woman with her monumental pride would still be standing there, refusing to move. “I’m not going out there until Dominic puts the scene back.” She tossed her hair. “And he can stand out there bumbling and rotting—without me—until he does.” “Why?” Michael asked. The hinge of her jaw loosened just enough to leave an enticing part to her lips. He cocked his head to admire the view, imagining no fewer than three ways to capture that mouth before she realized what he was doing and snapped herself back to attention.

www.samhainpublishing.com

87

Tamara Morgan

“Why what?” she asked suspiciously, keeping her mouth firmly closed this time. “What’s the big deal about the scene?” He nodded sympathetically. “Does it have a ton of your lines? Are you feeling left out?” A scoffing noise escaped her lips as they fell open again. “Of course not.” She paused. “I mean, I do have lines, but that’s not the point.” “So what is the point?” he persisted. “You really want to know?” He spread his arms wide. “Teach me, O Cleopatra.” Disbelief darkened her brow, and she spoke with hesitancy. “It’s when Antony is getting ready to go to war. Cleo wants to help him into his armor, but she can’t get it quite right. She struggles. It’s one of the only times she has a tangible human weakness.” When he didn’t speak right away, she continued, firmer this time. “I know Dominic is working with limited stage time, but when you have a strong female character like that, it’s important to make sure she’s portrayed sympathetically, you know? She’s not the villain in this story. She’s a person—and she makes mistakes.” Michael waited a beat too long to speak. One second sooner and he could have capitalized on the softness in her voice and the slump in her shoulders. But he wanted to get his words right, and he missed his window. The moment was gone, and Rachel’s own armor slid back into place. “You can get out of my dressing room now,” she said, a sneer curling her lip. The hostility didn’t reach her eyes, though, and there was a heavy sorrow to them that made him want to wrap his arms around her and never let go. He didn’t, of course. He wasn’t stupid.

88

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

Michael knew he had two choices in that moment: retreat or push ahead. He had the feeling that retreat would be permanent, and the ground he’d gained, once lost, would be gone to him forever. So he pushed. He was good at that. Michael heaved a hefty sigh and shook his head. “I was afraid you were going to make this difficult.” She jumped back. “What are you going to do?” He sat on the chair she hid behind, straddling it and resting his arms across the top. She was so close he could have flicked his fingers out and grazed her breasts, but he refrained from doing anything that might give her justifiable rage. “There once was a lass from Nantucket,” Michael began, his voice singsong and light. “Are you kidding me?” “Whose cunt was so small none could fuck it.” “This is not happening.” “Then a man came along, with a tiny-ass schlong.” “Quit it. Quit it right now.” “But, alas, he knew not where to tuck it.” Rachel threw her hands up in the air. “What are you, twelve?” Michael cracked his knuckles and took another deep breath. Five minutes. Five minutes of this and she was done. He’d bet his collection of naked lady mud flaps on it. “There once was a girl from Mayotte,” he began again. Rachel immediately clapped her hands over her ears and started humming a tune he didn’t recognize, but that didn’t faze him. He had a powerful set of lungs hidden underneath his barrel of a chest. He could out-volume this woman any day of the week.

www.samhainpublishing.com

89

Tamara Morgan

“Who suffered from nasty crotch rot.” An outraged mewl escaped Rachel’s throat. Good. She was listening. He was just getting warmed up. “She moved to the beach, to showcase her peach.” Rachel’s lips tightened. He finished the limerick with a mighty roar. “Where men loved the smell of her twat.” The door to the dressing room fell open a sliver. “Is, ah, everything okay in here?” came Larson’s quiet voice. He’d obviously been sent against his will, if the sharp whisper at his back was anything to go by. Someone seriously needed to take this boy in hand and teach him to man up a little. “Come in, come in,” Michael called warmly. “We’re just getting started in here. You guys have me surrounded with Shakespeare all the time, so I thought I’d try my hand. It’s not so hard, this poetry thing. I don’t see what all the ruckus is about. Do you want to hear some of my work?” Larson’s eyes grew wide, but he slipped in through the doorway just the same. Michael couldn’t have staged it better if he tried. If there was one thing better than being deliberately offensive to an obstinate woman, it was being deliberately offensive to an obstinate woman in front of an audience. “How about this one? Stop me if you’ve heard it. There once was a man with angina—” “Out!” Rachel yelled. Despite all her cries of assault, she was the first to make a move, both her hands pressed against his chest as she tried to physically move him out the door. Michael got up from the chair and let her push, taking a few small steps so she thought she was making progress. As soon as they were close enough to the door, he let his hand run up her, caressing from forearm to shoulder, which was bare in her filmy sleeveless top.

90

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

In the distance, Larson gulped. “Unhand me,” Rachel said through gritted teeth, but there were goose bumps all along her arm, her skin’s natural reaction to the rough surface of his hand. “You assaulted me first,” Michael replied, his voice low. “I have a witness.” Her lips parted, half temptation, half outrage. It was a temptation he wouldn’t yield to, an outrage he would use to his advantage. Drawing closer, he let his other hand fall along the soft curve of her back, not quite touching, but disturbing so much of the air around them that they both felt the shift. Just as she leaned in, probably unaware of her own body’s betrayal, Michael reached behind him and yanked on the door. The wash of cold air was a shock, and Rachel’s mouth fell the rest of the way open. “There’s coffee down there for you if you want. Dominic ordered it. Double tall. Skim milk. Nothing frothy or sweet about it.” He very purposefully raked his gaze over the length of her. It was a sight he could never tire of, even if he had to do it with mockery shielding his real thoughts. “Huh. Kind of like you, now that I think about it.” With a cry of outrage, Rachel stormed through the door. Larson and Michael watched, side by side, as she grabbed the coffee out of Dominic’s hand and threw it in the nearest garbage can. “I don’t want a stupid latte, Dom. I want you to behave like a professional for once. Do you think you can manage that?” He cast a bewildered look around before finally landing his gaze on Michael. Michael gave him a thumbs-up and then grabbed liberally at his balls. He elbowed Larson and hissed, “You too, buddy. If you ask me, all the men around here could use a little carpe scrotum.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

91

Tamara Morgan

“Yes,” Dominic asserted, trying for a stern look. It was better than nothing. “But we do it my way. It’s my show, and I make the editorial decisions.” Rachel stared at the director for an icy-cold minute in which it seemed the entire room might implode. Michael shrugged his shoulders and splayed his hands, hoping Dominic would get the message. She’s right. Don’t let her walk all over you, but at least fucking listen to what she has to say. Rachel wasn’t an easy woman by any stretch of the imagination, but it seemed to Michael she knew her shit when it came to this Shakespeare character. He didn’t understand how the people in her life could be so catastrophically intent at pushing all her wrong buttons. “No,” Rachel declared. She very deliberately avoided looking anywhere within a few hundred feet of where Michael stood. “This scene is too important to Cleopatra’s character development. You know that as well as I do.” Michael cracked his knuckles and settled onto a coil of ropes, his makeshift couch for the past few days, and listened as she repeated much of what she’d said to him in the dressing room. He even bit back a cheer a few times when she made a particularly good argument, Dominic’s face pinching a little tighter each time. She won, of course. There might have even been scattered applause when Dominic finally conceded. And for the rest of the day, Michael proceeded to watch the rehearsals, the armor scene firmly in place, waiting for the next argument to erupt. God help him, even faced with a bum knee and the full force of her wrath, he was actually looking forward to it.

92

www.samhainpublishing.com

Chapter Eight In Fair Palouse

“I’m not saying another line until he is out of here.” Rachel strove to keep her voice down, but it seemed every single person in the building had come over to hear her exchange with Dominic. All you had to do was say “private word,” and every ear in the place perked up. “I appreciate your position, Rachel, but you also have to appreciate mine. I can’t throw someone out of the company because you don’t like him.” Dominic was talking down to her, and she could see he thought she was being difficult—they all thought that. She wasn’t stupid. She knew what people said about her, heard the rumors floating around about why Dominic would be willing to keep her on staff after one of their conflicts. A woman wasn’t allowed to have an opinion about the way a business was run unless she was sleeping with the boss. Dominic wouldn’t respect her professional opinion unless she was bumping and grinding offstage, as well as on. What garbage. Rachel knew what her strengths and weaknesses were—and so did the people she stood up to. And she especially knew when she was right. If getting other people to agree with her meant the occasional public quarrel, then so be it. Starting right now. “Did you see her eye, Dominic? He hit her. That asshole hit her, and you’re letting him waltz around here like it doesn’t matter.” “What does your sister say?”

Tamara Morgan

Rachel gripped the back of a chair so tight she lost all feeling in her fingertips. She didn’t dare let go. The ground was going to collapse beneath her any minute now—she was sure of it. “Of course she’s denying it. That’s what she does.” “And Eric?” “For crying out loud, Dominic. Like he’s going to admit it to me.” She should have known better. After the barbeque, she’d actually thought things between her sister and Eric were cooling off. Molly had spent almost every evening at home recently. One of those nights, they’d even made dinner with their mother, who’d been surprisingly sober for six o’clock in the evening. “No date night with Father of the Year?” Rachel had asked, cutting up tomatoes for their caprese salad. “Is this new boyfriend of yours an older man? How divine. I always loved a sugar daddy.” Indira was never one to labor over a hot stove, and she’d watched her daughters work from the comfort of the kitchen island, grimacing at her cup of iced tea—which Rachel had poured herself. “No, Mom. He has two young kids Rachel doesn’t approve of. And it’s not like me being home is that big of a deal—Eric has just been really busy with work lately, especially since he’s been spending so much time at the theater. He’s a bouncer, you know, when he’s not doing the Highland Games.” “How very upstanding and paternal of him,” Rachel had murmured. But something in her sister’s voice seemed to suggest there was more than work getting in the way. Good. Let it happen before her sister fell any more in love with this man than she already was. Unfortunately, the reprieve hadn’t lasted. Last night, her sister answered a late-night text that any self-respecting woman would recognize as a booty call.

94

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

She’d come home sometime in the middle of the night after the rest of them had gone to bed. If only Rachel had waited up for her. If only she could find a way to convince Molly that she was so much better than the bright-blue-and-purple bruise around the outer rim of her left eye. “Oh, I didn’t jump out of the way in time when Sammy was playing Wii baseball,” Molly had said with a smile. It had looked forced. “She’s going to throw a wicked curveball someday.” “Rachel, there’s nothing I can do.” Dominic ran his hand through his short, spiky hair and sighed. “I understand you’re upset, but if your sister says there’s nothing wrong, I have no choice but to believe her. Eric and I have been talking about putting him in charge of security and the box office—a real position, not just his volunteer work. I can’t cut him loose because of your suspicions. In fact, you’re going to have to go out there and apologize, or it’s you who will be getting sent home.” No. Absolutely not. “I know you think I took it too far, but I respectfully disagree.” “You kicked him in the groin, Rachel. That’s assault.” Rachel’s jaw tightened “If he ever touches my sister again, it’s going to be a hell of a lot worse than that.” Dominic sighed. “You need to work this out with him, and that’s the last thing I have to say on the subject. Between this and your mom—” She cut him off. “Noted.” Eight years. She’d spent eight years going through college and working in fundraising and doing underpaid community theater work and now this. None of her jobs were very prestigious, and they certainly weren’t what she’d set out to do, but not once in all of those years had she been anything but professional. Distanced. Untouchable.

www.samhainpublishing.com

95

Tamara Morgan

She was not her mother, slipping vodka into her water bottle and screaming at her third husband in the middle of a New York production. She was not her mother, bringing her young daughters to rehearsal to be raised by Darya, the wardrobe department supervisor who spoke very little English but always had candy in her pockets. “I know it might seem harsh—” “I said I get it, Dominic. It won’t happen again.” “Rachel, it’s okay. In fact, I think you probably already know this production inside and out. Didn’t you say you did Antony and Cleopatra in college? It probably wouldn’t kill you to take the rest of the week off.” “Thanks but no thanks. I’m fine.” Or she would be, once she got Molly safely out of Eric’s brutal hands. “I think it might be good for you.” She suddenly remembered why it had never worked out between the two of them. “Dominic?” “Yes?” He had a tendency to treat her like some wilting violet. “If you ever ask me to take time off again, I’ll kick you in the groin too.” His mouth froze halfway between a laugh and a horrified grimace. A third voice joined the discussion. “In my experience, the only women who dare to manhandle the family jewels as much as you are the ones who’ve never had a really good titty twister. Have you ever had one of those, Rachel?” Her arms went automatically over her chest, but she was much too acquainted with Michael’s untimely arrivals to feel anything other than mild surprise at him standing there, waiting for a chance to insert one of his ridiculous commentaries on Life as a Caveman. Dominic took one look at the pair of them squaring off and ducked into the background.

96

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

That was another reason they’d never lasted. He was kind of a wimp. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” “Well, seeing as how my friend can’t even sit down right now, I’m making it my business. Did it ever occur to you that violence is not the answer?” “Tell that to your friend.” A dark look crossed Michael’s face, all the more meaningful since it was the first time she’d ever seen him anything but sublimely free of intellect or concern. “You’re wrong about him.” “And you? Am I wrong about you too?” She didn’t want to think about Eric Peterson and his fists of fury. She didn’t want to think at all. “No. What you see is what you get.” Michael said. His flippancy was back on in an instant, but Rachel thought the flicker of darker emotion was rather like walking in on your parents having sex. Once witnessed, it could never be taken away. It was imprinted on her memory in a way that was both unsettling and permanent. “So if I close my eyes, you’ll disappear?” “No. If you close your eyes, I’m going to sneak up and give you that titty twister.” She couldn’t help it. She laughed. Her life was falling to pieces around her and she’d failed at the one thing that was more important than anything else in the world—taking care of Molly. And this man was the enemy, a friend of Eric’s, here seemingly to make her life as difficult as possible. “I dare you to try,” she finally said, wiping away a few tears. “I’ll add it to my bucket list,” Michael said with a grin. He looked supremely satisfied with himself. “Now. Can we talk about that fiasco in the other room?” “No.” All the laughter was snatched away. “You’re lucky I don’t press charges on your friend.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

97

Tamara Morgan

“For what? Letting his kids play video games?” “Don’t give me that crap. There’s a lot more to that man than meets the eye. I know about his brother. I know about his past.” It was a lie, and Rachel wasn’t quite sure how it slipped out, but someone had to be the voice of reason around here. Someone had to step up and play the responsible adult. As always, it fell to her. Rachel, the default adult, who never wore party dresses or even looked at a cocktail. Rachel, who wore sensible shoes and sucked all the joy out of life. The dark look clouded back into place over Michael’s expression, and this time it was concentrated in the twist of his mouth, which turned down at the corners. Rachel almost missed the flash of his teeth. “I’ll warn you one time, and one time only. Peterson is one of the best men I know. He’s a good friend, a better dad and loyal as hell to the people who matter to him. Now, as far as I can tell, your sister matters to him. A lot. So before you start sticking your nose in his business, you should ask yourself if you’re willing to accept the consequences.” “Is that a threat?” “It’s a promise. Don’t stir up trouble there, Rachel. He has two little girls at home who depend on him. Leave the past where it is.” She was shaking. It came as a surprise to look down at her hands and see the way they wobbled, as though she hadn’t had anything to eat in days or was hopped up on eight cups of black coffee. If Michael thought he was reassuring her, he was wrong. The fact that Eric had two little girls at home only increased her sense of urgency in finding out what was wrong. Children deserved better. Molly deserved better. “Now. I heard Dominic give you the rest of the day off. What do you say we get the hell out of Dodge?”

98

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

Her head spun. Hadn’t this man just been handing her a lecture? Didn’t he know she hated the very sight of him? “What are you talking about?” “You. Me. The open air.” He tucked his hands into his armpits and shrugged. “The alternative is to go talk to your sister. I’m pretty sure she wants to murder you.” Rachel was not a procrastinator. She and Molly needed to take the time to talk about this—really talk about this. Eric. Her abusive ex, Justin. Baby Hewitt, whom none of them dared call by the name lovingly picked out while all was safe and cozy inside Molly’s womb. But the thought of walking in there and facing her sister’s hysterics right now was too much, even for Rachel’s nerves of iron. “Where would you take me?” She had a hard time imagining a cozy lunch with linens, crystal and Michael. Then again, a sedate meal for two was hardly something she wanted to share with this man. “Oho! I’m going to rock your world, woman.” He rubbed his hands together and winked. “You have no idea how hard.”

Rachel stood at the base of the swather, her long red hair whipping in the wind like a heroine in one of those dramatic movies women were always going on and on about. Except instead of letting it look all fiery and exotic, she kept spitting out the strands and glaring at Michael. “I am not getting inside a tractor, and that’s final.” “I already told you. It’s not a tractor. It’s a swather,” Michael said. Technically, Rachel was right. It was a tractor with the swather they used for cutting attached to the three-point hitch, but it was far too much fun making her

www.samhainpublishing.com

99

Tamara Morgan

stamp her feet in the dirt to point out the technicalities. “And you’ll like it. It’s neat.” They stood on the eastern slope of the largest field on the lentil farm, rows of pillowy, upturned soil being prepared for the spring planting in every direction. Even after sixteen years out here, it was a sight that filled Michael with equal parts pride and astonishment. Every year, he helped Jennings with the harvest, but he was usually touring the Highland Games or working construction jobs down in Arizona the rest of the year. It had been a while since he’d stuck around for the whole cycle of fertilizing and watering and weeding and something called a wilt complex that made Michael want to weep for the poor half-mast lentils. As a kid, it had been a huge part of his life to work the land under Jennings’s coarse but careful instructions. As an adult, the farm was more of a source of amusement than anything else. “Yeah. I own a lentil farm in Eastern Washington,” was one of his favorite sayings on a first date. It always got a laugh and typically led to more interesting conversations about tumbles in the hay or the size of a workhorse’s package. But actually spend time out here? Give a damn about the harvest? Help Jennings with more than just the occasional muscle? It had been a long time. Too long. Michael gnawed a long piece of grass thoughtfully. Rachel saw it and grimaced, so he loosened his stance and hooked a thumb on his belt. He needed to turn on full Michael Mode, balls to the wall and tits deep. He’d promised Peterson to keep her distracted and direct all of her antagonistic energies his way—at least until they cleared up the issue of the black eye. He understood Rachel’s concern, but Peterson would no more hit a woman than he would slice off his own dick.

100

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“You promised me fun. Tractors—I’m sorry, swathers—are not fun.” She was pouting now. It was kind of cute. “Have you ever tried it?” “Don’t be ridiculous.” “Then in you go.” Michael grabbed her around the waist before she could protest, hoisting her up and placing her on the top step. As she straightened, he made sure to grab her ankles and hold them down. Her feet were eye level, and he didn’t doubt her desire to plant one of those sharp toes in his face. “It’s not so bad. If you look inside the box under the seat, you’ll probably find some weed. There might be chocolate bars too.” She paused. “Are you trying to lure me into your unmarked vehicle with promises of drugs and candy?” “C’mon. I’ll even let you drive.” As she sighed and rolled her eyes, finally giving in, Michael gave the air a little fist pump, making sure she was able to see his triumph. It worked. She let out an irritated grunt and refused to budge, giving him a perfect reason to wrap his arms around her and load her into the seat. It might not have been a hug, but it was probably as close as he was going to get. And damn, she felt good. There was a whole lot of woman lurking just underneath her high-necked blouse and slacks. Full breasts and small waist and hips that, forgive him, didn’t lie—they were all there, and Michael wasn’t above adopting underhanded measures to explore the details. “How subtle. Are you finished manhandling me now?” Michael lifted his hands in mock surrender as he ducked behind her into the tractor’s cab, which was entirely glassed off and pretty damn lush, if you asked him. “You can’t blame a guy for trying. Will it make you feel better if I let you do the same?”

www.samhainpublishing.com

101

Tamara Morgan

God help him, she paused and bit her lip, as if considering. His cock shifted as he took in the exact size and scope of the cab. Yes. It would fit two people quite comfortably, especially if there was some straddling and creative body angles coming into play. But alas. She shook her head and, instead of running her hands over him, gently caressed the black leather seat and large knobby controls. “So you really know how to run this thing?” “Sure.” He indicated for her to have a seat and was just able to shove himself into a semi-erect position in the space behind her. That wasn’t all of him that was semi-erect. Small space. Gorgeous woman. It happened. “Do you know how to drive a clutch?” “Of course.” She seemed insulted. Good. “Is this where you tell me how much better at driving men are than women?” “Well, now. That depends on how well you take control of the shaft.” He felt the slight shake of her laughter. She didn’t release it into the air, of course, but he knew it was there all the same. Somehow, that made it better. “Push in the clutch right there and then the brake there.” He pointed at her legs and then leaned over her to turn the key to the ignition. The tractor roared to life beneath them, the normally heavy rumble of a more than a hundred horsepower engine only a hum and rattle with the door to the cab closed and sealed. “And that’s it?” “Mostly. It’s a lot like driving. Just add the throttle…but not too much.” She added too much, of course, and they lurched forward with enough force that Michael almost toppled into her lap. Slamming the breaks with considerable force, however, sent him the opposite direction.

102

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“That was…good,” he offered. “Oh, don’t coddle me. I just need a second to get used to it.” He caught a peek at her face, which was screwed up in concentration, the tip of her tongue just poking out from between her slightly glossed lips. They moved forward again, still jerky but much better than before. He was almost afraid to offer her any more direction, so intently did she look back and forth between the steering column and the expanse of plowed field in front of them. As much as he appreciated the sight of a woman mastering a large piece of machinery on her own, he didn’t relish the idea of toppling Jennings’s most prized possession into a ditch. They had a good relationship, he and Jennings, built on a mutual desire to keep out of each other’s shit as much as possible, but the man loved this farm like it was his own child. He kept his comments to a minimum, but even then, she didn’t hear very many of them. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was having too much fun to notice his occasional remark on hitting the throttle harder or faster or like she was making sweet, passionate love to it. “Hey, nice turn,” Michael said as she veered sharply and let the wheel spin loosely through her hands. “You’re kind of a natural at this.” “Of course I am. But am I killing all your crops?” Despite her apparent concern, she sped up, leaning forward in her seat. “Nah. We don’t plant for a few more weeks. And as long as you stay to the right of the field, you should be fine. You know, when I was a teenager, we used to have tractor races. I was kind of the local celebrity, actually.” For the first time, she turned, something like actual joy sparking in her eye. She allowed the tractor to come to a stop. “Tractor races?”

www.samhainpublishing.com

103

Tamara Morgan

“Yeah. Not on these ones, obviously. Jennings would’ve cut off my legs before he’d let me drive any of the good stuff. But the smaller ones, sure.” “And do these tractors still exist?” Michael grinned. This woman had a hell of a lot of faults, but lack of spirit wasn’t one of them. “Why, Ms. Hewitt. Are you challenging me to a duel?” She jumped to her feet, smacking her head on the roof in the process. It didn’t faze her. With one hand pressed to the top of her hair, her lips spread, so slow it was hard to tell it was a smile. But it was good, that smile. It had meaning. It had promise. And it made him feel like he was accomplishing something worthwhile—something that had nothing to do with Peterson or Molly or the stage. “You’re on, Mr. O’Leary,” Rachel said, that smile still in place. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me yet. But one thing you should jot down—I never, ever lose.”

Rachel had her shoes kicked off and her linen slacks rolled up to the knee. Mud splattered over every inch of her calves and even spread up her sides so that her cream-colored blouse looked more like leopard skin than a solid color. But if she looked bad, Michael was five times worse. He had mud reaching up to his knees, and his shirt was damp enough that she could make out each line that chiseled along his back, his muscles moving and dancing to a beat she could almost hear inside her head. The racing tractors they steered around the mud pit were tiny compared to the giant piece of farming equipment she’d driven earlier—these were more like riding lawn mowers than anything else. Hers was a rusted red with a white

104

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

stripe along the side. Michael’s was predictably green and sported a leaping yellow deer. They’d lost track of how many laps they were on about half an hour ago, and were now going head-to-head, trying to force each other off the main stretch of mud and into the stubby weeds on either side. Her hair whipped around in a tangled mess, and she was pretty sure this was how people lost their legs. But she was having fun. She swerved into Michael’s tractor, nudging him away to cross the finish line just as that thought really hit her. Fun. That’s what this was. Rachel turned the tractor off and hopped down, her toes squishing into the mud. It was oddly warm and probably ruining every pedicure she’d had over the past five years. “Winner makes lunch. I mentioned that before, right?” She turned to find Michael smiling at her and immediately broke out into a laugh. He had one muddy handprint on each of his pecs, one more placed very obviously and robustly over the crotch of his khaki shorts. “I have never met a man so blatantly nonchalant about his…assets,” Rachel said, rolling her eyes. “And no, the lunch caveat is new. But since I kicked your ass so royally—” A huge glob of mud, wet and grainy and no longer warm, landed right in the middle of her cheek. She wiped it away, leaving a few diagonal tracks along her cheekbone and toward her brow. Warpaint 101. She hadn’t minored in costume makeup for nothing. “You did not just do that,” she said. Another glob hit the opposite side. The man had impeccable aim. Instead of wiping this one off, she reached down and picked up a mud ball of her own. But she should have known better than to go up against an athlete, because his

www.samhainpublishing.com

105

Tamara Morgan

reflexes were about three times faster and a heck of a lot more accurate than hers. Before she even stood up with the ball in her hand, she felt the shock of solid muscle against her midsection. She shot backward like one of those tackling thingies football players used. But it didn’t hurt, and she let out a squeal, feeling like a lion cub must when it was hard at play. The teeth were out, the paws were batting, but there was gentleness to the impact that did much more to rob her of breath than the hit itself. “I let you win,” Michael said, his voice very near her ear. He had her lifted entirely off the ground, and for one electric moment, she was weightless—she was flying. They landed with a weighty squelch. Michael settled on top of her, bracing himself on his arms to prevent the air from being crushed out of her lungs. Still, she couldn’t breathe, and her head felt light and hazy. It should have made her furious, being manhandled, pushed to the mud, the loamy smell of the earth filling her hair and her nostrils. But as Michael reached one hand up to wipe away a strand of hair that had stuck to her cheek, she only felt as though she could remain trapped in this moment forever, if only she knew how to hold on. “Somehow, I get the feeling you’re the type of guy who won’t admit defeat even when it’s staring you directly in the face,” she said the moment her breathing resumed a normal pattern. Michael still hadn’t shifted, but her body was growing accustomed to the heavy, delicious weight of him. It had been too long since she’d participated in this sort of sport, wrestling a man with words while he wrestled her with his body. “Is that what’s staring at me right now?” His finger moved along her cheek, not exactly a caress, but not not one either. “Defeat?”

106

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

She struggled against him, wiggling her legs and hips until she rested on her elbows, face-to-face with him. Oh, geez. If she thought she missed the weight of a man, she certainly wasn’t going to think about how nice it felt to be rubbing against one. Focus on the words. They’d never let her down before. “Does this look like defeat?” She even managed a nicely quirked eyebrow for good effect. “It looks damn good, I’ll give it that.” He leaned in, seemingly unaware that she was inching away, slowly but most definitely surely. “It also looks like it’s in desperate need of this.” Rachel knew what was coming. It was in the shift in his weight, still held suspended so near her. It was in the hitch of breath—hers or his, she couldn’t really tell and didn’t really care. The whole day, all fun and lighthearted and full of Michael’s blatant innuendos, had been heading this direction. What could it hurt? Why, for one delicious moment in the mud, couldn’t she enjoy being a hot-blooded woman pinned underneath an attractive and incredibly hot-blooded man? The kiss was surprisingly tender and resolve-shatteringly soft. In her experience, a man like Michael, who drew attention to his male parts like a baboon, was the kind who treated a woman like she was a piece of spaghetti being thrown at a wall. Attack with tongue, mouth, hands and dick all at once. Eventually, one of them would stick. But his lips on hers were as much a question as they were an answer, and one of those oh, God, so big hands wound up to the back of her head, gripping her hair but not pulling it. There was that lion cub coming out to play again, capable of so much power but restraining it just for her. She wondered if he knew how much that bothered and turned her on all at once. She opened her mouth and deepened the kiss, but still he held back, giving

www.samhainpublishing.com

107

Tamara Morgan

her only a small taste of what he was really capable of. Letting out a low growl of irritation, she pushed him away, hoping she could read something in his face other than the bovine satisfaction he was sure to be wearing. Surprisingly, there was a tenderness in his eyes on top of the satisfaction. But it didn’t last long. As soon as he saw her searching glance, he broke out into that aggravating smile. “You,” he said, licking his lips as if tasting what remained of her there. “Are an incredibly gracious loser. Is that what they call a booby prize?” A short bark of a laugh escaped her, and she relaxed. Michael wouldn’t force any sort of soul searching or meaning out of that kiss, and he wasn’t going to go all weird and start touching her every second he got the chance. He was simple and easy, the type of man who took what pleasures were offered him, or, if they were denied, shrugged his shoulders and moved on. How wonderful it must be to care so little, to see everything through a pair of fratboy beer goggles. “I didn’t lose. I distinctly remember passing the finish line a complete five seconds before you.” “Fine. I’m an incredibly gracious loser, then. Lucky for you.” He grinned and jerked his head toward the top of the hill, where the Airstreams were parked. “I’ll even make lunch. You can get cleaned up over at my place, if you want.” “Uh…” She imagined the tiny aluminum can and cringed. “I’m okay.” “Me have shower. Me have electricity.” He laughed and pounded on his chest. “I might even have something you can change into. I promise—it’s not as bad as you think.” She didn’t know how to gracefully bow out without ruining whatever sort of happy time they were having, so she went along.

108

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

She was pleasantly surprised by what she found. No piles of dirty clothes smelling of rancid man littered the floor. No dishes and garbage and other paraphernalia that usually provided the nesting materials for beasts of his nature were scattered about. It was smaller, certainly, than her mother’s house, but the narrow length of it was clean and simple, and shelves all over the walls provided a way for him to store a few movies and personal items with something approaching organization. At one end, a small kitchenette stood, empty and inviting. At the other, a queen-size bed took up quite a bit of space, but the bedding looked clean, if slightly pimped out in black satin. In the center, a couch and a table provided a serviceable living space. “Bathroom’s through there. The shower’s small, but it works.” Michael moved through the space easily, not the least bit ashamed of the place he called home. He reached into a drawer underneath the bed and pulled out a T-shirt and pair of sweatpants. At this, at least, he had the good grace to change his grin from beaming to sheepish. “It’s not as nice as what you normally wear, but it’ll get you home. I’ll be over at Jennings’s if you need anything.” She murmured her thanks and waited a full twenty seconds after the door shut behind him to start poking through his stuff. She was doomed to disappointment, though. Other than an alarming number of farming equipment user manuals and energy bars bought in bulk, there was nothing personal about the space. Few needs, even fewer possessions. Michael was like a hermit. The Happy Troglodyte, a children’s picture book waiting to happen. Rachel suddenly felt over-everything. Over-dressed, over-analytical, overjudgmental of everything and everyone. Eric and her sister’s problems seemed miles away, and that distance was flooded with doubt and uneasiness and the sinking suspicion that Michael and his friend weren’t all that bad.

www.samhainpublishing.com

109

Tamara Morgan

She kicked the shower door. How dare he? How dare he take away some of her confidence, strip her of the certainty that made it so much easier to do what she knew to be right? And more importantly—how dare he stop that kiss just as it was getting to the good part?

110

www.samhainpublishing.com

Chapter Nine Frailty

Women were changeable. Michael knew that. Accepted it. Played with it, especially when the woman in question was Rachel Hewitt, whose personality was tempestuous and temptress in one increasingly attractive package. In the few weeks he’d known Rachel, he was starting to get a feel for the way she worked. He wasn’t crass enough to compare her to a piece of machinery that he could break down into its individual parts and rebuild from memory, but he could definitely see the parallels. She liked control and power. She liked winning and having the upper hand. The moment any of those were taken away from her, she panicked, lashing out at whatever—or whoever—happened to be standing in the immediate vicinity. Lately, that had been Michael, and he doubted anyone else had put himself so much in the way of her wrath before. Because it was obvious that once her energy was spent, she was soft and pliable and funny and pretty damn great. It was a cycle: fight and fun. Frolic and flail. At some point, he imagined they could introduce fuck into that equation and find a whole new level of entertainment. He sure as hell wanted to. If Rachel fought half as hard in the bedroom as she did in her everyday life, he could die happy. And if her response to him out in the racing field was anything to go by, she was willing.

Tamara Morgan

The question was, why didn’t he make a move? Why did Michael O’Leary, with his game face on and balls tight with anticipation, bow out of the running after just one kiss? Something was very wrong with him. Even worse, he’d actually enjoyed their afternoon—quiet, comfortable and completely free of dick jokes. After a quick shower, Rachel joined him in the other Airstream with Jennings, and she didn’t even pull a face when confronted with a platter of Fluffernutter sandwiches for lunch. They’d been there several hours once they took into account the three games of Scrabble Michael had been forced to sit through, watching the two of them play. By the time they were done, he was ready to swear she was a different person. Maybe it was the adorable way she’d rolled up the waistband of his sweatpants until they rested loosely on her hips, or the face she’d made when she realized she was wearing a Hooters Vancouver T-shirt, but he’d thought she was really getting into the role of Normal Human Being. As they neared her house, however, all signs of the fun, lighthearted Rachel fled. “You can just drop me off here,” she said. They were at the end of her block, a nice, picturesque street with people mowing the lawns and kids’ toys scattered around. Her fingers drummed against the door in a nervous staccato beat. “Nope,” Michael said casually, peering at the numbers on the houses. What had she said hers was? Ten eighty-eight? “This is a doorside service. I’m a very thorough man—I never skimp on the good parts.” The challenge went unmet, and his heart sank. He was going to have to try harder.

112

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“And since you won’t ask me what the good parts are, I’m going to have to ask you for my clothes back. Preferably before you exit the vehicle. Or now. Now is good.” She turned to him and scowled. “You’re horrible at reading people, did you know that? I said let me out of your car, not proposition me with poorly timed sexual advances.” That’s better. The quiet, internalized Rachel was scary. He doubted she had any idea how much scarier she was than the irate, yelling Rachel. He didn’t slow the car. At a neighborhood-friendly fifteen miles per hour, she could have easily tucked and rolled her way to safety, but he wasn’t going to make it any easier on her than he had to. “So what you’re saying is that if my sexual advances are better timed, we’re all sails out and ready to go? Damn, woman. Why didn’t you just say so? I can get my mast up and my canvas billowing—” “You are impossible!” The drumming had stopped, and there was a wild, murderous look in her eyes. “For a few hours there, I thought we were having a good time. I think there was even a whole thirty minute stretch where you didn’t mention sex once.” Michael scratched his jaw thoughtfully. “I think it was actually only about twenty minutes. You missed my reference to all the dirty tea bags Jennings had on his kitchen counter.” He didn’t have time to appreciate the low, guttural obscenities she was about to scream in his ear, because they’d reached her house. It wasn’t the clean two stories of Colonial façade that tipped him off to the cause of her anxiety, or even the line of laundry out back that billowed with silky underthings no decent woman would expose to the neighborhood. No. It was the pair of cop cars in the

www.samhainpublishing.com

113

Tamara Morgan

driveway and the man in a blue hat escorting a very irate-looking woman up the front steps. Her mother. “I’m serious, Michael. If you know what’s good for you, let me out and drive away.” “I’m a glutton for punishment,” he said with a shrug, slowing. He didn’t have time to add anything about his favorite kind of punishments, since Rachel decided she could, in fact, exit a moving vehicle. He gave her a few seconds to correct the wobble in her step and approach the house before he turned the engine off and got out of the car. He leaned against it as though he hadn’t a care in the world—even though his gaze was sharp under his half-lidded eyes and his crossed arms hid a tension that would have burst into action at the first sign she needed him. It was a familiar scene to him, the real Walk of Shame. There was nothing shameful about having a little too much to drink on a Saturday night and waking up in a stranger’s bed. There was, however, a whole hell of a lot of shame in being escorted home by police officers when you were too drunk to stand straight—and in the middle of the afternoon. It was the shame that had pushed Michael’s own parent even further down the path of his own making, strewn as it was with empty liquor bottles. It was the shame that made Rachel refuse to look back and acknowledge him standing there. Well, he was standing here and would remain that way until he was sure she was okay. Rachel wasn’t a woman who asked for help or admitted to any kind of weakness. Obviously, neither was her mother. But that didn’t mean either of them didn’t need it.

114

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

He’d wait. He had nothing but time.

“I think one of us should stay home tomorrow,” Rachel said, trying to look casual as she brought the fork to her mouth. She wasn’t hungry, but Molly looked about ready to collapse, her eye still puffy and purple, her shoulders slumped. The only way she would eat was if Rachel led by example. “Just to make sure she’s okay.” “I suppose by ‘one of us,’ you mean me,” Molly replied, stabbing at her salad. She looked up. “Oh, don’t get on your high horse, Rachel. I just meant that you were the one here today, so it’s my turn tomorrow. I get it.” Rachel shifted uncomfortably. She hadn’t yet told her sister about all the day’s adventures. The bit about their mother shoplifting a DVD of a movie she’d once had a cameo in, the bit where the cops got called in to escort her home in not one, but two marked police cars that the whole neighborhood had been happy to see—those she shared. But the part where Rachel had not been the worried daughter at home, instead spending the afternoon rolling in the dirt with a man she barely knew and didn’t even like—that she left out. Especially since she still wasn’t sure what to make of his actions. The last thing she’d wanted while she got her mother inside and talked to the police was an audience. So when Michael propped himself up on his car hood and read the user manual from his glove box for a full twenty minutes, never once looking up or offering his help, she wasn’t sure whether to yell at him or say thanks. Only once the police drove away and she finally got everything quieted down inside did he make an attempt at contact.

www.samhainpublishing.com

115

Tamara Morgan

“You need anything else?” he’d asked, as if he were her waiter or an overgrown pizza-delivery boy. “From you? No.” “Okay. Call if you change your mind. I’ll see you at rehearsal tomorrow.” And with that, he’d gotten into his car, an old Pacer with a wicked backfire, and drove away. Who did that? It would have been creepy if it hadn’t been so…nice. There was no way she was explaining that to Molly. She couldn’t even explain it to herself. “What do people normally do, Rach? With parents like this, I mean?” That was easy. “They move across the country. Then they get married and have kids and feel guilty for not doing more.” “But you did that. Well, the first part, anyway,” Molly quickly amended. “You had the fancy travel stage job and the cross-country career. But you moved back.” Their eyes met over the table, and both of them began picking up their dinner things, all thoughts of food forgotten. Rachel had come back, and it hadn’t been for their mother’s sake. Indira had been just about to get married at the time, still in the highs and sobriety of her newfound love. The truth—which she and Molly both knew—was that Rachel had done it for her sister. But she’d wanted to see the tour out through to the end, and it was during the final two weeks in Florida that Molly had called, tearful and scared, just hours away from losing her baby. She hadn’t come home soon enough. She’d let Molly down. “Well, I guess I’m going to win daughter of the year award, aren’t I?” Rachel kept her tone light and avoided the elephant in the room, even though it was so

116

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

blaringly white it was difficult to miss. “We could send her somewhere, I guess. They have those rehab facilities in Sedona the stars are always sent to. She’d probably think it added to her prestige.” “Would she go?” Rachel shrugged. She hadn’t yet broached the subject to their mother. It was so much easier to bury herself in work and in Molly’s relationships than it was to think about what to do with the woman who had bred them. Other than living in the house she’d purchased when retirement seemed the only alternative to getting continually thrown off shows, they had very little to do with her. Pick up her empty bottles, pick her up from the bar when she’d had one too many, pick her physically up and place her in bed. Hope another man would come along and pick up the rest. It was awful to think that three modern women would resort to such awful measures, but there it was. They wanted a man to make it all better. “Maybe we should call one of the facilities and see,” Rachel said quickly. She could still fix this. “I’m sure they have intervention steps. I know that stuff is hard on you, so I’ll look into it.” “What about tomorrow, then? I’d just go ahead and stay home, but I was supposed to go out with Eric after work—” Rachel dropped the wooden salad bowl she’d been carrying to the sink, and pieces of glistening lettuce went flying. She busied herself picking them up, but Molly waited for her to finish, her arms crossed and a frown etched into place. Truth be told, she finally looked as though she was going to fight for something in her life. A small part of Rachel cheered. The rest of her wanted to cry. Why, oh, why, did it have to be for that particular man, tattoos and possible criminal activities and all?

www.samhainpublishing.com

117

Tamara Morgan

“He didn’t hit me, Rachel. It was an accident with the girls, okay? It happens.” Molly’s foot tapped a warning pattern. “I need you to tell me you understand that.” “Well, I don’t. Even if he didn’t hit you this time…” Molly threw their plates in the sink. Something shattered, but neither one of them flinched. “Oh my God, Rachel. I’m not an idiot, okay? I know I made mistakes before, but that doesn’t mean every man I date from now on is some sort of psycho serial killer. Eric is nice. He cares about me. Why can’t I just enjoy that for a little while?” She stormed off, leaving Rachel to attend to the mess, which she did forcefully. Cups, bowls and silverware clanged together in the sink. It was so patently, painfully typical, and Molly hadn’t even given her a chance to respond. They were always nice. They always cared about her. But it never lasted, and that was when the trouble started. Rachel felt the edge of the broken plate slice into her hand, but she kept picking up the shards and tossing them into the garbage bin. Dots of blood left a trail of perfect circles on the expensive Italian marble floor. Rachel looked at the spots dully, pressing a clean dishtowel to her cut and trying not to let the red seep into her line of vision, not to let the anger welling up in her throat take over. Their mother. Molly. Her own bloody mess. There was so much cleaning to do.

118

www.samhainpublishing.com

Chapter Ten O Noble Fool

“I am not putting those on.” Michael crossed his arms and glared at Mary, the wardrobe matron and living voodoo doll. She had at least two dozen pins sticking out of her hat, and he would rather take every last one of them to the eye than squeeze his boys into the pair of tiny gray tights she dangled in front of him. “I was promised I wouldn’t have to wear a costume.” “Direct orders from Dominic. All understudies need to be fitted.” “Do you see my legs?” Mary looked down over the top of her glasses. She seemed unimpressed. “Yes.” “How big around do you think one of them is? Near the top, where it matters?” “I don’t know, honey, but I’m guessing you get a measuring tape up there pretty often. Why don’t you tell me?” “The answer,” Michael said carefully, “is a hell of a lot more than that.” He pointed at the fabric she held aloft. He knew those things were supposed to stretch, but this was taking things too far. A man had his limits. A man had his rights. “Dude, will you just get this over with so we can go to lunch? I thought you said you were so hungry you could eat a horse and chase the jockey?” Michael flipped Peterson the bird. Peterson was not being fitted for tights. Peterson was the understudy to an understudy of the least important part of the play. Apparently, his extensive ink didn’t fit the image of a Renaissance man.

Tamara Morgan

Lucky bastard. “Mary, I think you’re one hell of a seamstress, but there is no way any woman will get me to shove my man bits where they need to go to make this work. Even if she promised to put them there with her teeth.” “You wear a codpiece.” She dangled something that looked an awful lot like a jockstrap. It didn’t fill him with much in the way of confidence. “Does it come in anything larger?” Peterson groaned. “Seriously, Mikey. Do what the lady says. It’s not going to kill you.” Michael took a deep breath and calmly asked Mary to give them a few minutes. This was it—the wall, the stopping point, the straw that killed the camel or whatever. He was getting damn tired of being told what to do, and it was about time Peterson heard it. He ushered Mary out the door, shutting it firmly behind her with promises of trying on everything in the place as soon as she came back. When he turned, it was to find Peterson standing there with a velvety-looking box open in one hand, a doofy-looking smile on his face. “Why, Eric Peterson—are you finally making an honest man out of me?” he asked. But even as the smile spread on his face and congratulations sprang to the tip of his tongue, his stomach grew heavy. Damn. There went all thoughts of lunch. “The least you could do is get down on one knee.” “What do you think?” Peterson asked, the jokes flying right over his head and lodging into the wall. Michael would never want a woman so much his sense of humor disappeared. That just wasn’t right. “What the fuck do I know? It’s big and glittery. I’ve heard that does the trick.”

120

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“Not just the ring.” Peterson snapped the case shut and tucked it in his pocket. “Do you think it’s too soon?” Yes. But he wasn’t about to say that. The bro code didn’t exactly cover what to do when a man was willing to shackle himself to a woman after a few short months, but it seemed pretty par for the course that complete and total agreement was in order. Michael gave his friend a hearty hug and finished with a slap on the back. “Congratulations, dude. I mean it,” Michael said. “But…ah…aren’t you forgetting one small thing?” “I’ve got a new tie, reservations at Clink’s, and the lifetime warranty on this baby. The girls love her. What could I possibly be missing?” “Rachel?” Peterson sat heavily in the chair recently vacated by Mary. “Oh, yeah. That.” “Why am I here, Peterson?” Michael asked. He sat opposite his friend and nudged him with a swift kick to the shin. “Ow.” “Why are you so afraid of Rachel, and what exactly is my being here supposed to do? Other than comedic value, of course.” Michael nodded toward the various-hued tights hanging along a clothesline strung across the room. “I mean, I’m having a good time and all…but how long is this supposed to keep going? Until you’ve got grandkids?” For the first time, Peterson showed some emotion other than dopey adulation. He dropped his head to his hands and blew out a long, loud breath. “It’s not me I’m worried about. I’d tell Rachel to back the fuck out of my business right now if I could.” His eyes, when he looked up, were stricken. “That’s not true. I wouldn’t do that to Molly. But it’s more than that—it’s more than just me and her at stake here.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

121

Tamara Morgan

“Nick?” Peterson nodded, slowly at first and then gaining momentum. “You remember a few months ago when he got into trouble with those guys across the state line? Those jerks from Hayden Lake?” “I remember it happening, yes. But you never told me what went down.” “There’s a reason. One of the guys messed with Nick’s girlfriend—not just disrespected, mind you. Some serious shit. He convinced me to go to this in-thesticks dive bar called Angelo’s to give them a little scare and teach them how to behave towards a woman.” Michael grinned. That sounded like Peterson to an inch—always the muscle. “You know Jules and I would have been happy to help out.” His smile wasn’t returned. “Be glad we didn’t ask. It turns one of the dickheads Nick took a baseball bat to is the nephew of a hick cop on the force out there. We left before the cops got there, and none of the guys dared turn us in, but the uncle was able to coerce a witness to do an artist’s sketch.” “A baseball bat? That’s not like you.” Peterson groaned. “I know. We were just supposed to rough them up a little, teach them a lesson. I didn’t realize Nick had the bat until it was too late. I stopped him as soon as I could, but the kid spent a few weeks in the hospital. I’m not saying the bastard didn’t deserve it…but if someone IDs us from the sketches and the fight gets filed as a felony, we could both be looking at extradition and jail time.” Michael let out a low whistle. That was a lot worse than he imagined. Roughing up guys in a fair fight was one thing—using weapons was another. “And if someone IDs you?”

122

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

Peterson splayed his hands helplessly. “I can’t let it happen, Mikey. That’s all there is to it. I’ve been talking with a lawyer, trying to figure out if there’s an easy way out of this. I can’t go to jail—there’s just too much at stake.” “Sammy and Pris,” Michael said, nodding. “And Molly. There’s her to think of now too.” Shit. Peterson was a good guy, always had been, but there was a fierce protective streak in him that few people had the mettle to test. His ex, Sarah, learned that the hard way when Peterson came home from work one night to find she’d left their daughters, just two and newborn at the time, alone in their cribs while she shot up with some friends of hers across town. The poor kids had been screaming there for who knew how many hours. The separation and custody battle had been a nightmare—legally and emotionally. Peterson had barely made it through intact. With Nick, Michael knew, the loyalty ran just as deep. It went way beyond bounds to attack a man with a weapon, but Nick was young and green in a lot of ways. Poor Peterson would have a hell of a time choosing between saving his brother’s ass and saving his own—especially with the crew of females he’d accumulated over the years depending on him. Double shit. If there was anyone who deserved some happiness in his life for once, it was Peterson. “Does Molly know?” “Parts. Most of it, anyway.” Peterson reached in his pocket and pulled out the ring box. “She knows there might be a police artist’s sketch of me floating out there in the world somewhere and that any PI worth his salt laying an investigation on me would stumble across it eventually.” Michael crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, so far it tipped over and came to rest against the wall. He hated to resort to such obvious and

www.samhainpublishing.com

123

Tamara Morgan

uncreative means, but… “Has it occurred to you to just talk to Rachel? She’s pretty reasonable once you get to know her.” Peterson’s laugh was short and bitter. It was an unusual sound for him. “Did you not hear the part where she kicked me in the nuts and almost pressed charges?” “There was that,” Michael agreed. “But I think you may have a little too much faith in my ability to woo and conquer. As much as Rachel loves insulting me, I don’t think she’d miss her sister buying a wedding dress and ordering white doves.” Peterson sighed. “I know. You’re right.” “And…?” Michael was waiting for the part where he was off the hook. For tights. For theater games. For babysitting Rachel. “And I just need more time. I need to talk to Nick and meet a few more times with the lawyer and figure this out. I won’t propose yet—it’s not right to put my feelings for Molly before the girls. That’s all I can do.” Michael’s look must have contained more of his thoughts than he meant, because Peterson suddenly grinned and narrowed his eyes. “Besides. I think you like her.” “That’s not the point.” Michael picked up the codpiece and examined it. Really, it defied the laws of nature. “This is a matter of pride. Of manhood.” “And your manhood is getting inside there right now, or I’m throwing the lot of you off the show.” Mary stormed through the door, a look of perseverance in her face and an enormous piece of molded plastic in her hand. She tossed the item at Michael. “That’s as big as it’s gonna get, honey.” “Oh, yeah,” he said, holding it up like a trophy. Bigger. Better. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

124

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Peterson tuck the ring box away, one more lovelorn sigh escaping his lips before he put his game face back on. So that was it, then. Their conversation wasn’t over, but Michael had to keep playing. For now.

If Rachel never saw another set of red and blue flashing lights in her life, she would have given up her antagonistic ways and joined a convent or something. “Oh God. What is it now?” Molly cried. “There’s no way…?” “There’s no way,” Rachel said firmly, scanning the exterior of the theater for signs of catastrophe. They’d just left their mom quietly at home. It was a good day today, and neither one of them wanted to dwell on the fact that it was the direct result of actually being on hand to take care of her for once. “I’m sure it’s nothing. One of the interns probably fainted or something.” Despite her calm façade, Rachel was in panic mode. Pretty much the only people in the world she cared about were inside the theater right now. Dominic, Mary, Doris… “Michael!” She slammed the car door shut and blinked, rooted to the spot with a weightiness that scared her. The last person in the world she ever thought to find lying flat on a stretcher was that man, possibilities of extensive steroid use aside. He was like a mountain. Mountains didn’t just fall. Molly reached over as if to grab her hand and provide support, but Rachel pulled away. She didn’t want Molly’s touch or gentle ministrations. She wanted—

www.samhainpublishing.com

125

Tamara Morgan

“If you don’t stop treating me like some little old lady with a heart attack, I swear I will throw this bed so far you’ll have to catch a plane to pick it up.” “He’s fine,” Rachel muttered. Of course he was fine. Knocking that man off his high horse would be like felling a tree using a butter knife. Still, her pace was clipped as she made her way over to where he was being loaded into the ambulance, her feet doing a strange wobbly thing she didn’t quite like. “You’re acting like a mammoth of a baby,” she called out. Her hand reached out of its own volition to rest on his leg, which was underneath the thin white sheet but thrashing to get out. He instantly stilled under her light touch. “I should have known. The big ones always cry the hardest.” Michael threw off the bracing arm of a harassed-looking paramedic and sat up. The normally relaxed features of his face were pinched, and his signature blond hair fell in his eyes, which sparkled with something other than mirth for once. “Oh? And you have lots of experience with big ones?” “Like you wouldn’t believe,” Rachel said, her smile wobbly. “Especially at making them cry.” “Excellent.” He rubbed his hands together and bit back a wince, obviously determined to put on a brave front. “Then for the love of all that is holy, get the guy driving this rig to let me out. I’m fine.” Rachel glanced at the paramedic in question, who looked as immovable as Michael. “What happened to him, and what do you need me to do to make him listen?” Sensing a kindred spirit, the man, who was almost as wide as he was tall, allied himself at her side. “He was lifting a piece of the set and his knee gave out under him. Which wouldn’t be a big deal, except he’s had orders to avoid doing exactly that thing.”

126

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“You,” Michael said, lifting his finger and pointing it at the paramedic as though he were cursing him for all eternity, “are not my doctor. All it needs is a little ice.” Curious, Rachel pulled back the blanket. A strangled sound escaped her throat. “For crying out loud, Michael. Go to the hospital.” She’d seen his knee before, a battlefield of surgery scars and twisted ligaments that he seemed to consider a badge of honor, but when it was swollen like this, pulsating with fluid and God knew what else, she had a hard time finding the shape of a human leg in there. Is there a human leg in there? She poked it. “I, ah, wouldn’t do that,” the medic warned. Rachel quelled him with a glance—one of the sharp ones she saved for special occasions. It worked, of course. “Does it hurt when I do that?” Michael’s lips spread into a thin smile as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Nope. Not a bit.” She poked a little harder, trying not to let even a flicker of sympathy pain cross her face. “What about that time?” “It’s like being gummed by your grandmother,” Michael said. His voice was strained. “I can tell just by looking at it there’s more scar tissue in there than anything else,” the medic said. He seemed to have reached the end of his generosity. “Your boss called nine-one-one, we’re here, and you need medical help. Let’s get you up into the rig.” “Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Everyone knows that.” Michael swung his legs off the edge of the stretcher and used Rachel as a brace as he

www.samhainpublishing.com

127

Tamara Morgan

stood up. “This is me, formally denying medical care. You can go ahead and write that down. Hold still, will you, Rachel?” She did, but not easily. The amount of pressure he put on her spoke volumes—this man was clearly in pain and unwilling to admit it. “You’d do well to tell your boyfriend to take it easy, okay? And make an appointment with his doctor. I’m releasing him to your care.” The medic handed Michael a clipboard and showed him where to sign. “Oh, he’s definitely not my boyfriend.” Michael’s weight shifted until Rachel felt like she was being pummeled into the floor. “In fact, I don’t think you should release him to me at all. I’m very untrustworthy.” “It’s a good thing I don’t need either of you,” Michael mumbled. “Oh, and you can tell the other paramedic I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to smack him like that. He should know better than to force a man onto a stretcher.” Dominic came out just as the ambulance drove away at a slow, meandering pace and with its patient standing on the sidewalk waving a cheerful good-bye. “O’Leary—I told you I’m not having you limping around, a liability on my stage. And what are you doing here, Rachel? I thought I gave you the week off.” “I wouldn’t piss him off if I were you,” Michael said under his breath. “He had a nasty-looking brunette here this morning giving him a piece of her mind. Made you look like a kindergarten teacher.” “Ha-ha. Very funny.” Rachel stepped away, leaving Michael leaning on thin air. He stumbled and sucked in a sharp breath before finally righting himself on one leg, not altogether unlike a giant, mutated flamingo. “I’ll take this one home, Dominic, but I’m coming back tomorrow. I don’t trust what you’re doing with the suicide scene. You have a tendency to overdo the dramatic pauses.” “Don’t tell me how to do my job!”

128

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

If the state of Dominic’s hair was anything to go by—spiked up in a dozen different directions—Rachel knew the brunette Michael was thinking of. It was the ex-wife, another faculty member at the college and the woman who’d come right after Rachel and Dominic split up. “Then go do it, you overpuffed snob,” she called back, watching Dominic’s hunched, retreating back. He really ought to go vent on the interns for a while. It always made her feel better. Rachel returned to Michael’s side to act as cane-slash-crutch. He scowled. “You don’t have to. For the ten thousandth time, I’m fine.” “Are you kidding me?” Rachel laughed. “I’m not going anywhere near this place today. Did I ever tell you about the time Dominic’s ex-wife set fire to his entire collection of first-draft Tennessee Williams’ plays?” She doubted Michael had ever heard of Mr. Williams, but he limped along next to her all the way to her car, listening and chuckling in all the right places. “Now.” She watched him as he tried to bend his knee into the front seat of her little Honda. He pushed the seat all the way back and still had to brace his leg up on the dashboard. “You won’t go to the doctor, and I seriously doubt you’ll sit at home and rest quietly. So where are we going?” “I could eat.” “Your knee looks like pulverized sausage, and you want a snack?” “Sausage sounds delicious, actually. Good thinking.” Rachel shook her head and pulled out of the lot. Yesterday, she would have sworn on a stack of Shakespeare textbooks there was nothing she wanted less in the whole world than to have to meet this man’s eyes, her own full of shame. But the tables had turned, and his Achilles heel was showing. There was nothing better in the whole world than seeing a man fall prey to his own weaknesses. “Before we get out of the car, though, you have to tell me one thing.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

129

Tamara Morgan

“Anything,” Michael said. “You’re practically my knight in shining armor.” Correction. There was one thing better than seeing a weakness. It was pointing it out. “Why in the world are you wearing a cup?”

130

www.samhainpublishing.com

Chapter Eleven Fourth Wall

Rachel and Michael ended up spending the day at the dollar movie theater. There weren’t any sausages there, but they did have wrinkled hot dogs that looked like they’d been out for several days. And Jujubes. Michael loved Jujubes. “Black-and-white movies make me seasick,” Michael warned Rachel as they made their way down the aisle to the handicapped seats. The usher and ticket seller and owner—all one person—had set up a stool where Michael could put up his leg. There were some pretty nice benefits to being the only people at a movie at noon on a weekday. Rachel was loaded down with their food, so Michael played up his injury a little, watching her scowl her way down to the front. “The smell of all this food is making me seasick. So we’re even.” He lifted the tray from her hands and threw himself into his chair. It was a move that cost him—his knee screamed at the careless movement of it, pounding so hard he thought he might have wrenched something else out of place—but it was worth it. It made him look tough. “You don’t get any of my popcorn, then.” “Would you please stop moving your leg?” With the scowl still firmly in place, Rachel showed a surprising amount of tenderness getting him settled and placing a huge plastic bag of ice over his throbbing, heated flesh. It was probably a bad idea to turn down the hospital escort, but Michael couldn’t handle the thought of looking into the doctor’s eyes and seeing the certainty that would be there. He’d been feeling better lately, and the cable reel

Tamara Morgan

couldn’t have been more than a hundred pounds—less than a regulation caber— but something about the way he’d angled his legs hadn’t boded well. He’d been on the ground almost under the reel in a matter of seconds. The only good thing about it was that neither Peterson nor Rachel had been there to see it. Peterson would have known in an instant what that meant for the Top Warrior Race practice that weekend—and possibly for the Highland Games for good. And Rachel, well… No man liked being caught with his bra strap showing. Last year, he could have easily lifted two cable reels—one in each hand. Someday, he’d have to show her the YouTube clips. “So, what is this we’re watching anyway?” Michael asked, settling into his seat and letting her continue to fuss. One of her hands rested on his thigh, much closer to his package than was strictly necessary. Between the kiss yesterday, her intent focus on the codpiece he had on earlier and this, one might be tempted to call it progress. “The Maltese Falcon. It’s Bogart—Sam Spade? Dashiell Hammett?” She shook her head. “Never mind. You probably only watch movies full of unnecessary violence.” “That’s not fair!” Michael protested. He took a large bite of one of his hot dogs and pointed the remainder of it at Rachel. “I’m also a huge fan of unnecessary nudity.” She stabbed a straw into her soda. “Well, this is one of my favorite examples of noir.” “See, now you’re talking.” He grabbed her soda and took a long sip, watching with pleasure the mixture of laughter and disgust that crossed her features. He’d have thought, as an actress, Rachel would have supreme control over her reactions. Not so. Not so at all. Her expressions could run the whole range of human capabilities in less than sixty seconds, each one as readable as a

132

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

book. “Noir, I know. Cool hats, whisky on the rocks, ladies in red lipstick and tight skirts. This might not be so bad.” The lights dimmed and the show started. Michael was above any of those teenage tricks of hands in the popcorn or accidental brushes of the leg, but he almost reached over and kissed her on the mouth when she handed him two small brown pills about halfway into the movie, just after Sam Spade passed out from the spiked drink. She pointed at her watch and made a motion for him to take the pills. Ibuprofen. It had been four hours since the last two, and the paramedic had suggested them for inflammation. “Thank you,” he mouthed, kicking them back dry. He focused his attention on the screen, trying his best not to steal another glance her way. It had been a long time since anyone took care of him. Years—possibly even decades. His mother had never been terribly maternal, and his father had been good for shit. The best thing they’d ever done for him was send him to Jennings for a little adolescent “straightening out” when he was twelve—he hadn’t looked back since. Jennings, pseudo-relative and ornery bastard, was much more his style. Keep it low-key, keep it light. Keep it fun. One of the pills lodged in his throat, and he reached for the soda. Her hand was there, and his fingers brushed against hers, just as if he’d been planning it all along. Damn. And he’d been so cool up until then. By the time the movie ended, Michael was feeling a lot better. It wasn’t the worst two hours of his life, lack of color notwithstanding, and there’d been an entire thirty minutes or so in there when he was sure Rachel was pressing her leg

www.samhainpublishing.com

133

Tamara Morgan

purposely against his. She was warming to him—definitely feeling a bit of the Michael love. It wasn’t a complete surprise, of course. That had been his objective, and he always finished a race once he started it. But he hadn’t expected to actually care that what he was doing for Peterson and Molly was wrong. He was Michael O’Leary, big of swagger and small of conscience. It didn’t matter if Rachel was in the dark about his true motives as long as he was playing his friend card. He was taking care of Peterson. Bros before hos and all that. So why did he feel like those two small painkillers had shifted everything? “What did you think?” Rachel asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. Maybe it was the monochromatic movie, but everything about her seemed brighter all of a sudden. Especially that hair. Without thinking, he reached out and wound a lock of it around his finger. “It’s no Terminator, but I can see the appeal.” “Really? The Terminator? That’s your gold standard of cinematic excellence?” As always, her words were crafted with careful attention to sarcasm, but there was a hitch to her breath that robbed them of any of their usual acid. “What? In his pre-Junior days, Arnold always had a lot of class.” He crooked his finger, bringing her closer with just that one tiny strand of hair. Her mouth parted, and her breathing came a little faster. Michael was a master at reading the signs. There were signs. Big ones. He really wanted to kiss her again. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said instead. “Can we talk?” Nobility was getting the best of him, the damn thing. That had always been the hallmark of other men—guys like Julian or even Peterson. They loved the high road, looking down on everyone else from their superior heights. Michael

134

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

preferred it down in the dirt. The dirt was where the filthy women liked to play. It was where things got really interesting. She pulled back, confusion softening the features of her face. “Um…sure. Here?” The lights had come on, illuminating the stickiness coating the walls and floor of the auditorium. It was a far cry from the sleek urbanity of the movie— and a far cry from the setting Michael wanted for this confrontation. He needed people around. He needed witnesses. “I think there’s a coffee shop around the corner,” he suggested. “Can you make it that far?” With a grunt, Michael hurtled himself over the edge of one of the chairs, doing his best to keep one leg moving in front of the other. Almost as an afterthought, he grabbed her wrist, pulling her along behind him. His fingers rubbed a warm, circular pattern on her soft skin, and her pulse leaped in response. “You really are a caveman, you know that?” Every part of skin that was showing on her body was flushed with color. She pulled her arm away and glared at him. “I get it. You’re tough. I won’t insult your manhood ever again.” “Believe me, Rachel,” Michael replied, steeling himself to continue putting weight on his knee despite the grinding of bone on bone, which he could practically hear reverberating in his femur. “When I show you my manhood, insults are the last thing we’ll be exchanging.”

The private investigator Rachel used was housed in a suite of small, neat offices located just outside the main downtown area of Spokane. The first time she’d visited, she’d been disappointed at the lack of gumshoe paraphernalia—

www.samhainpublishing.com

135

Tamara Morgan

there were no ashtrays full of half-smoked stubs, and the secretary was an elderly woman with a mustache and three pairs of glasses strung around her neck with glittery glass beads. June had a zillion grandchildren, and, as Rachel had come to learn, all of them were on the honor roll. In fact, the only thing remotely seedy about the place was the bail bondsman who had set up shop across the street. “Miss Hewitt, how lovely to see you again!” June called as the door chime rang heavily to the tune of Beethoven’s 9th. “Can I get you a water? Tea? Coffee?” “No coffee, thanks,” Rachel said, picturing Michael sitting across from her in the café they’d visited after the movie. He’d probably turned her off coffee forever. “I’ve had more than enough for today.” “Sure thing, sweetie,” June said warmly. She scrolled through her computer. “Did Nora forget to tell me you were coming in? I don’t have you down for an appointment today.” “I don’t have an appointment. It’s kind of an emergency.” June looked up over the top of one of her pairs of glasses. Two of them were perched on her nose at varying heights. She must see ten versions of everything—kind of like a bee. “If it’s an emergency, hon, I suggest the police.” “Not that kind of emergency. I was hoping I could get squeezed in.” Rachel did her best to smile and look pleasant. It didn’t use to be such an effort. “How’s that grandson of yours, by the way?” Rachel added when June continued looking at her warily. “The one who was up for the award at school…” As she hoped, the older woman immediately perked up. “You mean Mattie, of course. How sweet of you to remember!”

136

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

Rachel remembered nothing of the kind, but the last time she’d been here, running a background check on the guy Molly had dated for a few weeks back in December, something like twelve of June’s descendants were about to topple over from all the intellect swelling inside their heads. The door to Nora’s office swung open just as June was describing scholarships designed for babies with exceptional drooling skills. There, at least, was a woman who knew how detective work should look. Nora Bean, PI, favored skintight pencil skirts and loose, flowing blouses cut from pure silk. Her hair was gray and black in clearly defined stripes perfected by nature, swept up into an efficient bun. All that was missing to complete the picture was one of those forties nylon seams up the back of her well-toned legs. Rachel had originally come to her to help find out more about the men in Molly’s life, but they’d rapidly become friends. “Hey Rachel—how are you? You didn’t tell me you were stopping by.” Nora leaned forward and did a dual air kiss on her cheeks. On any other woman, it would be an affectation. Nora made it seem perfectly natural and not at all at odds with her hard-boiled profession. “We could have done lunch or something. As it is now, I’m on my way out.” Rachel nodded at the camera bag over her shoulder. “A cheating dirtbag?” “Close. A cheating gold-digger. I’m walking, though, if you’ve got some time. You can be my cover. I was going to pretend to snap photos of the birds in Riverfront Park, but I can pretend I’m shooting your gorgeous face instead.” Rachel laughed and gave her hair a toss. “Do I look model-y enough for it?” “You’re breathtaking, and you know it. June, I’ll be back by four. If Mr. Fielding calls again, tell him I’m still waiting on the federal report. If he doesn’t like it, he can take it up with them.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

137

Tamara Morgan

Despite four-inch heels, Nora walked at a brisk pace that made Rachel glad she had long legs and a runner’s gait. They talked a little about the upcoming Shakespeare in the Dark production before Nora turned off the pleasantries and turned on the efficient investigator. “So what’s this really about, Rachel? And don’t try fooling me with any of your niceties. It’s a work day during rehearsal time. You aren’t out shopping.” Nora had once confided to Rachel that her longest relationship had lasted a grand total of three months, and only then because the guy had been trained by the FBI to be able to lie to interrogators. She could see through every other man by the end of date four. Not one of them had ever told her the complete truth. Even with her acting training and experience, Rachel knew better than to try to get anything past Nora. “It’s Molly.” “Stop right there. Not another word.” She stopped her breakneck pace and swiveled to face her. “You told me that even if you offered me a million dollars and wept tears of blood, I was never to take another job from you involving your sister. On pain of death, you said.” “I know I did.” Rachel began moving again. It was better to be distracted by the sweat she was working up in her oversized sweater than it was to focus on just how far she was sinking, propelled by a force that weighed at least two hundred pounds and whose smile filled her with equal parts hatred and hope. “And I’m pretty sure Molly would never speak to me again if she knew I was breaking my promise. But this is bigger than I thought. It’s—” Nora held up one of her hands, the nails long and bloodred. “If you say ‘life and death,’ I swear I will leave you here. I want facts. Not drama.” They’d arrived at the park, Nora none the worse for wear, Rachel feeling as though she’d just finished her first six-minute mile since she was eighteen and

138

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

ran competitively. It was a nice day, clear but crisp, the sun fooling people into stepping out for an afternoon in the city’s largest park despite the thermometer’s cruel mockery. “Over there, please. By the tree. Stop breathing so heavily and strike a pose.” Rachel looked around. “Why? Is the gold-digger here? Which one is she?” “Oh, for crying out loud. Make it more obvious, will you? Just stand and look pretty.” Rachel caught a glimpse of the offending woman, older than she thought and nuzzling a man who was clearly in need of a shave and a leather intervention on a park bench. They were oblivious to anyone around them, so caught up in whatever stolen moment they were having that they didn’t know disaster watched them through a telephoto lens just a few yards away. Rachel cocked her head a little, watching them. She could kind of see the appeal to Leather Intervention over there. There was just something about a man who put his brawn and his balls right there on the table. Snap. Nora took the first picture, and Rachel used the moment to get her thoughts back where they should be. Not brawn. Certainly not balls. Michael’s crudity must be wearing off on her. She allowed herself to relax into the modeling role even though she knew the lens wasn’t pointed her way. The only time she felt silly was when Nora told her to stop looking so cross-eyed. She’d been going for sultry. It only took a few minutes for the whole thing to be done. PI work, much like all jobs, hers included, was a lot less glamorous and fun in real life than it seemed in the movies. “Thanks, Rach,” Nora said when she was done, carefully stowing her Canon 5D in its matching bag. “You’re a lot better than birds.”

www.samhainpublishing.com

139

Tamara Morgan

“Gee, thanks.” They turned and began their walk-run back toward the office. “Does this mean you might consider running one itsy bitsy background check for me?” “Spill.” Rachel spilled. Not everything, of course. There was a lot Nora already knew about her life—probably more than Rachel even realized, since she knew there was no one more thorough when it came to her work. But the bulk of it—Molly’s relationship with Justin, the catastrophic consequences, her continued dating record of lowlifes scraped off the bar floor or plucked from a police lineup— they’d already discussed at length. Rachel didn’t have too many female friends, but she counted Nora among those who really mattered. Nora listened and she listened well, but always with the kind of professionalism that precluded tearful nights spent watching Sense and Sensibility and eating ice cream together. “So you think this guy has a record?” “I’m sure of it. But even that might be okay if I hadn’t overheard that conversation with his brother. They’re hiding something, and I don’t like it.” “Molly’s a big girl with big-girl pants. Are you sure you want to start telling her who gets in them?” “She’s falling for this one fast and hard, Nora. And he’s already hit her once.” Rachel paused uncomfortably. “Well, allegedly. She swears it wasn’t him, but you know what she’s like about that kind of stuff.” “And what about the other guy you mentioned? The friend? The one you obviously have the hots for?” Rachel stumbled on a rock. “If you’re talking about the one I want to brain with one of the swords from the costume department, then yes. You should check up on him too. Especially him too.”

140

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

She kept her words level and neutral, but she could see Nora studying her out of the corner of her eye. She schooled her features as best she could. Michael had sat across from her at the coffee shop, all full of himself because he managed to pull her hefty five feet nine inches up the movie theater aisle and out onto the street. Even fuller of himself because she’d let him. It was the moment, nothing more. Sam Spade always made her sentimental. “I think maybe you’re digging your own grave,” he’d announced between mouthfuls of pastry. “With your sister, I mean.” “I beg your pardon?” If his goal had been to antagonize her, that was the fast track to get there. No one told her how to handle her sister, least of all a man she’d known a few weeks and who had the understanding and finesse of a horse. He’d had the audacity to laugh. “Oh, calm down, woman. It’s not going to do you any good to get your fur all riled up for me. I’m not scared of you. In fact, I think it’s kind of cute.” “I think you’re kind of heinous. So we’re even.” “Just hear me out for a minute, will you? I’m not going to pretend to know what goes on inside that pretty head of yours, but your sister is lucky to have a guy like Peterson. Damn lucky. There’s no better man I know, and I would sign my name to that fact.” Rachel had snorted. “You must not know very many people.” He’d instantly sobered, leaning forward as if to try and intimidate her. “Lash all you want at me—to my face, behind my back, with your tongue or with your fists. It doesn’t bother me, and I’d rather take all your anger than have you spreading it around. But be very careful what you say about my friends. Even I have limits.” “I’m not scared of you either.” Rachel refused to look away or back down, even though her heart was thumping painfully, suddenly too big and explosive

www.samhainpublishing.com

141

Tamara Morgan

for her ribcage. “And my limits? You’re constantly treading them. Stomping them, actually, with your big, stupid feet.” “That’s better.” He relaxed, though there was still a soberness to his face that unsettled her. “Can I say something serious now?” He’d taken her rigid silence as assent. “Molly and Peterson—they are scared of you. They’re both good people, and they seem to have a nice thing going on. But for some reason, they think if you have even one minute to yourself, you’ll fuck up the best thing either one of them has had in years.” All Neanderthal jokes aside, his brow lowered, and those ridiculously blue eyes of his looked into hers, clouded and troubled. “That’s not true, is it, Rachel?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The conversation had begun to make her feel very uncomfortable. “Me. I’m talking about me.” He’d placed one of his man-paws over her hands then, all warm and comforting and sending pricks of sensation up her spine. “This might come as a surprise to you, but I don’t really like Shakespeare. In fact, I think he’s kind of a tool with all those big words and dramatic, girly men. I do like Peterson, though, and I like Molly. And though you may not believe me, you’re pretty great yourself.” Rachel refused to blink. If this was a declaration of some sort, he sucked at it. Even if her body temperature had risen a few dozen degrees and her head felt suddenly light and unattached to the rest of her. “So?” “So.” Michael shook his head. “Don’t you think it’s kind of…weird that I’m hanging around the stage all day?” “I think you’re a sad, pathetic man without anything else to do.”

142

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

“That’s true,” he’d said with a grin. “But I’m also a man doing a favor for a friend. They want your blessing, Rachel, more than anything else in the world.” She’d sat back, then, the sticky vinyl of the seat too hot and too confining to make her the least bit comfortable. What was this? “What exactly are you saying?” “I’m asking you, as a personal favor, to give them a chance. Lay off, lay low, and let them figure their own shit out. That’s all.” Lay off? Lay low? Michael-the-Mule was telling her what to do? The room grew dangerously quiet, and Rachel could barely see beyond a few feet in front of her. “Are you saying it’s been your job this whole time to make sure I do that?” “No.” He sat back, satisfied. “It’s been my job to keep you from making a mistake until you’re ready to see straight. I think you’re ready. They don’t—but you’re a lot more reasonable than I think people give you credit for.” She felt the impact of his words before they fully registered in her brain. It was odd that her body would acknowledge the blow first, recoiling as though struck. She waited for a moment, expecting the wash of red-hot anger to follow. It didn’t come. According to Michael’s confession, she was being watched. She was being babysat. She was being handled. There was nothing worse than that. Her mother had to be handled, her massive ego stroked even as she was prevented from making a spectacle that would reflect poorly on her brand. But instead of making Rachel so furious she couldn’t see straight, the knowledge fell over her like a numbing blanket. Molly thought she was no better than their mother—when all this time, Rachel had been doing everything, changing her whole life, to try to take care of Molly. And the only person leaping to her defense was Michael.

www.samhainpublishing.com

143

Tamara Morgan

“Say something, Rachel,” Michael had said, peering over the table at her. “You’re kind of freaking me out.” “I can’t believe this,” she’d muttered, pulling away so that all contact between them was separated. It was too much. “You want to talk about it?” “Do I look like I want to talk about it?” “Good point. I’m sorry to spring it all on you like this—and believe me, I feel awful about lying to you that whole time. You deserve better. Just…don’t go crazy or anything now, okay?” Surprisingly, she hadn’t. But her stomach still hadn’t fully unfurled itself from its tight knot, and being here with Nora wasn’t helping as much as she’d hoped. This was supposed to be Rachel’s attempt to make things right. If, as Michael insisted, his friend was a good person, then Nora would find it—and Rachel was willing to back off and let Molly do her thing. But if he and Peterson were hiding something, she reserved the right to step in. It was only fair. She couldn’t stop worrying just because Michael told her to. That wasn’t how the real world worked. “Care to share?” Nora asked, snapping her fingers and bringing Rachel’s attention back to the present. “No, I don’t. Will you just do this for me? Please? It will be the last time.” Rachel continued avoiding her friend’s eyes. She just needed to know the facts. That was all. “I don’t like it,” Nora warned. “You don’t have to like it. Just say yes.” Nora waited a full two blocks before she finally stopped, forcing Rachel to come to a halt next to her. “I’ll do it, but I want to know that you’re aware of

144

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

what you’re getting into here. No one has a completely clear past. Not even you. And I need a few weeks. Spring is the worst for affairs. It’s like the second the sun comes out, women and men can’t help themselves.” “I can wait,” Rachel said. Something like relief warred with something like guilt inside her heart. She refused to acknowledge either. This was about protecting her sister. This was about refusing to bend under the pressure of someone else’s command. “I want nothing held back. I want to know who these guys really are.” “What if it turns out they’re actually quite nice?” Rachel blinked. The image of Michael sitting across from her at the coffee shop, his hand on hers, flashed across her mind. What had he said? Give them a chance…as a personal favor? “What is it, Rachel?” Nora asked, interrupting her thoughts. “Change of heart?” No. Never that. She shook her head. Rachel Hewitt was not her mother or her sister, and she didn’t form her decisions or her life around a man. Not even one who kept snagging on her insides like Michael O’Leary. Especially not that one.

www.samhainpublishing.com

145

Chapter Twelve Man’s Ingratitude

“You’re a fucking moron, O’Leary.” Michael crossed his arms over his chest and firmed his stance. “Get your ass off the field right this minute, or I will forcibly remove you.” With a snort, Michael planted himself even more firmly into the ground. “I’d like to see you try.” They were brave words, considering how little he was able to back them up. A tussle with his Scottish Highlands brethren—Julian, McClellan and Nick— used to be just another form of practice and camaraderie. Today, the first man to come at him in a linebacker tackle would find him more than willing to take his place on the sidelines. There was no way his knee could take it. “That’s it,” Julian said, shaking his head sadly. McClellan cracked his knuckles for good effect. Of all of them, no one said wall-of-muscle quite like he did. “Pull down his pants.” Michael fended them off the best he could, but at three to one, he barely had a chance to tighten his drawstring to stave off their attack. It wasn’t really his drawers they were after, and Michael knew it. Laughing at their antics, he pulled up the leg of his pants, rolling it slowly to expose his knee. There wasn’t much to it—at least not right now. He’d wrapped the damn thing up in three elastic bandages, layered in between with cold packs and topped off with about ten painkillers. If he were to unwrap it, there would be an entirely different story to tell.

The World is a Stage

“See? Fully functional.” “Bend it.” He did. Most of the way, anyway. “Now get up and hop on it.” Michael scowled. “The Top Warrior Race is in a few weeks, and then the Highland Games season kicks off in full force. I’m not about to bow out of either because of a tiny recurring injury in one of my legs. I have two for a reason.” “You are bowing out, at least for today. You can time us instead.” There was little else to do but give in to the guys and accept the gift of a whistle and stopwatch. He couldn’t practice, he didn’t want to stay at home, and Rachel hadn’t returned his phone call. At least he could make the next hour of their lives pretty miserable. Michael went to the bleachers and very purposefully stood next to them rather than taking a seat. “Line up at the end zone. I want four full-length sprints, and then you’re climbing the goal posts. Let’s see how high you can get.” With a holler, all three men set off, Julian taking the lead. He was a good runner, better than McClellan, who had to carry his massive weight, and Nick, who looked as though he’d spent the night passed out underneath his car. At just twenty years old, Nick showed all the signs of wasting his youth on bars and brawls. Poor Peterson. It was hard for him to crack down on his brother when his own youth had looked like something out of a bad cop drama. The Top Warrior Race training was a bit of a change from their normal routine—and a welcome one most of the time. The race was known around the country as a manly man’s obstacle course, five miles of team-focused events that few people finished, let alone mastered. The lengthy run was combined with a

www.samhainpublishing.com

147

Tamara Morgan

tire course, a mud pit covered in barbed wire, a series of scalable walls, a barrel roll and a few other challenges that bonded men and put hair on their chests. It toured all the major cities and had been growing in popularity in recent years. The guys signed up as a way to show a kind of Highland Games solidarity— and they did it wearing their kilts. Their team, which had been coined Team Win one drunken night, hadn’t won a single damn time. They always killed it at the barrel roll and axe throw. Distance running and the wall climb were a different story. As if to demonstrate, the guys reached the goal post and tried shimmying up the length of it. If Michael had been in a better mood, it would have been hilarious. He was just about to suggest using McClellan as a step stool when there was a tap on his shoulder. The blow came as a complete surprise, taking first his jaw and then his neck, which snapped back with so much force he almost lost his footing. Almost. There wasn’t a man alive who could knock him all the way off his feet. He barely had time to see who had struck him when Julian came up from behind, holding him across the chest like a man skilled in breaking up fist fights. Which he was. They all were. But Michael’s vision was clearing, if not the dull throb of his right jaw, and he wasn’t going to hit back. No matter how many daggers Peterson might have lodged in his eyes, their tips pointed straight out. “You fucking snitch bastard,” Peterson raged. It was a good thing McClellan was keeping him back, because he looked ready to charge again. “What the hell did you do?” “Step off, Jules. I’m not going to return the punch,” Michael muttered, fingering the swelling along his jaw. “I might have had this one coming.” “You’re damn right you did!” Peterson got an arm out from under McClellan’s iron grip and flailed it in the vicinity of Michael’s face. “I can’t

148

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

believe you told Rachel about our plan. Especially after I told you specifically not to.” “It’s not as bad as you think it is,” Michael tried. He doubted his words would get very far, but he spoke in the soothing undertones he saved for Jennings when he got too riled up over some kids running across his lawn. “I know she probably seems like some kind of crazed serial killer right now, but in a few days—” “Do you have any idea what she did?” Michael had a few guesses. Some of them involved the decapitated heads of beloved household pets in Peterson’s bed. Others included buckets of blood and prom dresses. He took a stab. “She took a baseball bat to your minivan?” “Very funny, Mikey.” Peterson shook off McClellan’s grip. Julian let go at the same time, and Nick lay down on the grass, his shirt pulled up over his head against the early morning glare. “You guys let me know when you’re done.” He groaned. “I’m picking practice time next week.” Peterson turned his wrath on his brother, kicking him in the side with a thud. He didn’t get much of a reaction. “You should know better than to stay out when we’ve got training to do. And you”—he turned to Michael—“you can stop being a smartass. You know what Rachel did? She played the sister card, built up some big sob story about no one trusting her and treating her like a monster.” Michael shrugged. If you asked him, that’s kind of what they’d done. “So what? Start trusting her and stop treating her like a monster.” Rachel was obviously handling the news well if a guilt trip was her only reaction. Any doubts he had about breaking Peterson’s confidence and telling her the truth disappeared.

www.samhainpublishing.com

149

Tamara Morgan

Michael knew better than anyone that people lived up to the expectations laid on them by others. His parents hadn’t expected much out of the slightly slow, sports-mad son they never really wanted, but Jennings had. From his first day in the ramshackle old house that stood where the Airstreams were now, Jennings had made demands and forced Michael to meet them. Decent grades, four hours of grueling farm chores every day, treating others with kindness—it never even crossed the old man’s mind that Michael couldn’t do it all. So he did it. All of it. And he was pretty sure the only reason Rachel acted like an entitled pain-inthe-ass at work was because of the way people treated her. Dominic rarely looked her in the eye, though he seemed to spend plenty of time staring at her ass. The rest of the staff never asked her to join them for pizza or beer after rehearsal. As far as Michael could see, no one gave her a chance to be anything other than a social pariah. What did they think was going to happen? Peterson’s expectations were clear, that was for sure. His eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and he pointed an accusing finger at Michael. “She got Molly tickets to some Big Band concert tonight.” “Harsh, Peterson. Really harsh,” Julian said with a laugh. “Oh, go fuck off. Tonight was supposed to be kind of a big deal for me and Molly.” “Gee, Eric. Are you going to pop your cherry tonight?” Nick asked from his spot on the ground, peeking over the edge of his shirt. He braced himself for another blow. “Forget it. I’m not talking to you morons.” Peterson lowered his voice and focused on Michael. “She’s edging in, Mikey. Now that she knows our game, she’s going to monopolize every second of her sister’s time.” “Dude—couldn’t Molly just say ‘thanks, but no thanks’?”

150

www.samhainpublishing.com

The World is a Stage

The look Peterson leveled on him didn’t say much about his belief in Michael’s overall intelligence level. “They’re sisters,” was all he’d say. “What can I say, Peterson?” Michael splayed his hands helplessly. “It sounds to me like a win-win scenario. The dirty secret is out, Rachel didn’t blow up in your face, and now you get the night off from the old ball-and-chain to come out with me and the boys. If you ask me, it looks like I did you a pretty big