Part 22 (1/2)

Oscar Kincade lifted the welding torch from the steel sculpture he was working on and stood back, raising his welding visor. He nodded his head thoughtfully and then turned his attention to Buddy, a brother in the Pitch Wheels motorcycle club, ”So, Sunday we're running to this beach thing? Bonfire? To chase fish?”

”Grunion,” Buddy corrected, reiterating the name of the fish. ”It's for the kids and babes mainly. Danny will have a blast,” he added, referring to Oscar's seven-year-old son, currently at school.

”Grunion,” Oscar said with a nod, getting this into his head. ”So these grunion, they just swim their way right up on the sand to lay their eggs, and then we catch them with our hands?”

”Not allowed to use a net or anything else,” Buddy agreed. ”Not sporting. Sunday the grunion are going to run, so we'll go down about five o'clock, have a bonfire, cook some hot dogs until the fish start running up the sand.” Buddy walked over beside him, studying the sculpture Oscar was working on, ”Want a line?”

”Wouldn't turn one down,” Oscar told him, shutting down the welder and setting it aside. ”I'll grab us a beer.”

Oscar came back into the garage with two beers, finding a line waiting for him and Buddy back by the sculpture, which was almost complete. After the line he took a long drink from the beer and studied the nearly finished work himself. There was something missing, and he was certain he knew what it was, but he was not quite certain of the actual shape yet.

Buddy looked over his shoulder at him, ”Ya'know, I skipped out of art appreciation in school, but I really like this.” He walked back a few paces, accepting the offered beer. ”It's like it's going to move any second. Like it's primed. Alive, even. It's really weird you can do that with a bunch of solid metal.”

Oscar looked him over. Buddy always surprised him with the s.h.i.+t he came up with. If you didn't know him, the first impression of Buddy usually stacked him up as kind of dense. But he knew all kinds of s.h.i.+t, like what the f.u.c.k grunion were, and his descriptions of Oscar's artwork were insightful and generally dead on. ”Thanks,” he told him. ”That's just what I was going for.”

”One of these days I'm going to have enough cash to buy one of your pieces,” Buddy said thoughtfully.

”Maybe I'll put one together for you,” Oscar offered.

”No,” Buddy shook his head, ”This is how you feed your kid and pay the bills. I wouldn't want it that way.”

Oscar let that slide. After Danny's mother took off on them, Buddy and his wife Kathy helped out with more than a mere sculpture was worth-much more. ”Danny is excited about coming over tomorrow and spending the night with your boys,” Oscar told him.

”Rick and James are excited too,” Buddy replied. ”Kathy is looking forward to the party. She's even making fudge and cookies.” Changing the subject, Buddy asked, ”You going to hit the tavern tonight?”

”Naw.” Oscar shook his head. ”I got a parent/teacher thing with Danny, and then I'm a home body. Besides, my babysitter already told me she has a date.”

Buddy nodded and restudied the sculpture. ”I keep thinking it's about to pounce on something.”

Rosie McCormack watched her cla.s.sroom as parents came in the door, escorted by mostly excited students. The pairs, and some rare groups of three, moved through the various project areas and displays. Sometimes both the mother and father would show with their child, but most of the time is was one or the other-he mother being the most common.

Rosie was tired. She chided herself because she was only twenty-five, way too young to be this tired, but that didn't ease her weariness. This was a long day, and she was looking forward to a long bath when she got home.

She talked with parents about their child's work in the cla.s.s. Most of these conversations were easy-the largest problem with children this age was attention span. Seven-year-olds tended to be like sponges; they sucked up everything.

When Rosie saw Danny Kincade come into the cla.s.sroom with a man, who she a.s.sumed was his father-had to be his father really-the resemblance was stunning. Her heart froze in her chest. Danny's father was tall, with black hair and eyes so dark she got lost in them. His rugged strength and posture were arousing to her even from this distance, and his aura, while free and powerful, gave off the need for release from deep torments.

”A broken wing,” she whispered, as she watched him walk beside his son to the wall where the art displays were posted.

With the fatigue from the long day dismissed, Rosie walked over to them, drawn in by Danny's father. She felt compelled to be near to him, even comfort him, but this was not the place, she reminded herself. Besides, he could be married.

”Danny is quite the artist,” she said as she came up next to them.

”Hi, Miss McCormack!” Danny said, turning his excited face her. ”This is my Dad!”

Danny's father turned to her, his dark eyes looking her over, and for an instant she registered surprise in them. ”Oscar,” he greeted, introducing himself, and extended his hand.

”Rosie McCormack,” she replied, loving the warm, rough strength she felt enveloping her when he took her hand into his. ”Danny's artwork always surprises me.”

”I get it from my dad,” Danny told her with the pride of hero wors.h.i.+p in his voice. ”He's a real artist.”

”Yes?” Rosie asked, turning her attention from Danny back to Oscar.

Oscar shrugged and simply said, ”I've been lucky so far,” and that seemed to be all he wished to share on the matter. ”How has Danny been doing in the other areas? Any problems?”

”I have some notes at my desk. Would you mind joining me for a moment?” she asked. She did have notes but she hardly needed them. Danny was one of her best students, with only a minor struggle in math. But she did want him to herself for a moment, if only for a moment.

”Wait for me here Danny, I'll be right back,” Oscar told his son, who nodded with patience in his eyes and zero apprehension.

At her desk she pulled out Danny's file and told Oscar about the mild struggle Danny had with math.

Oscar didn't appear surprised. ”I had the same issue as a kid,” he explained. His eyes roamed her body, and she fought the urge to push out her b.r.e.a.s.t.s a little, or lift her a.s.s. G.o.d, if only he could find her as attractive as she found him.

”So,” he asked after she had exhausted all of the time she could reasonably monopolize him, ”Are you free tomorrow?”

”Free?” she asked, her understanding choking her throat.

”As in, can I take you out? Dinner? Lunch?” he pressed.

”I... it's probably not- that is- yes,” she finally got out.

He grinned. ”You don't sound all that sure.”

”I am,” she hurriedly replied. ”There was just a lot to consider.”

”Dinner then?”

”Danny?” she asked.

”He'll be spending the night at some friends,” he told her.

”Dinner would be good then.” She nodded and quickly wrote her number on a sc.r.a.p of paper, then offered it to him. ”Any idea what I should wear?”

He looked her over and she warmed in areas she wasn't use to warming in. ”Ever rode on a bike before? Motorcycle?”

”Um, well, my uncle had one. That was a long time ago.”

”Jeans, good shoes, a jacket,” he offered. ”Bikes haven't changed much. Still the same thrill.”

Same thrill, she mused, betting that holding on to him was going to be a far different thrill than holding on to her uncle was. ”Is six alright?”

”Six works for me,” Oscar agreed. ”I'll give you a call in the morning for the address. I should get back to Danny now.”

”Of course,” she said. ”That's my cellphone. Any time is fine.”