Flaming Crimes Page 2

****

  After dinner, Beth answered the ringing phone and heard the voices of Donovan’s mom and grandma greeting her simultaneously.

  “Hi, Meredith, Lily, how are you?”

  “We’re fine, sweetie,” Meredith said. “We had an unexpected cold snap, so we’re a bit envious of your Florida weather right now.”

  “Oh, don’t be too envious. Florida skipped spring and went straight to summer. It’s brutally hot here, and the fires are spreading like crazy.” Beth sat down at the kitchen table and put the phone on speaker when Donovan joined her.

  “Hi, Mom. Hi, Grandma.”

  “Donovan,” the women gushed his name. Their love for the boy they raised oozed from the phone, making Beth laugh.

  “Grandma and I have been talking,” Meredith started.

  “Uh oh. That’s never good.” Donovan chuckled.

  Lily tsked into the phone. “If I could smack you in the back of the head for that, I would.”

  Beth reached over to lightly slap Donovan on the back of the head. “I did it for you.”

  “Thanks, Beth.”

  “No problem. Whenever you want me to smack him, just call and I’ll do my duty.” She winked at Donovan, teasing him along with the women who raised him.

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” Meredith said. “Like I was saying, we’ve been talking…”

  Donovan glanced at Beth when his mom gave a dramatic pause. “Yes?”

  “And we want to know if the two of you are on the baby making train.”

  Beth covered her eyes with her hands, wanting to pretend she was no longer in the room. Her cheeks warmed. Talking to Meredith and Lily about the future always ended up embarrassing her, especially when babies were brought into the conversation.

  “Yes, Mom, we’re on the baby making train.” They had been on it just hours before.

  “That’s good, but, umm, how long have you been trying?”

  “Since our one-year anniversary.” It was a promise they had made each other. As it turned out, instead of using that first year to enjoy married life without a pregnancy taking over it, it had been plagued by her efforts to heal from multiple traumas.

  “And you haven’t been using condoms or birth control pills?”

  Beth cringed. Hearing her mother-in-law say “condoms” was horrifying. “No and no,” she said, hoping that was the end to the discussion.

  “Well, we couldn’t help but notice that six months is a long time to be baby making.”

  Beth peered at Donovan through sad eyes. She looked down at the table, unable to form an answer for the women who were optimistically, and understandably, hoping for a new addition to the family.

  Donovan took her hand in his. The touch warmed her. “We’re just grateful to have each other right now.”

  She squeezed his hand, thankful for his words.

  “You’re right. Absolutely.” Meredith’s voice was sympathetic. After they returned from Oahu, Beth had spoken on the phone to Meredith every day, needing the comfort of a mother and missing her own dearly. She took solace in Meredith’s soothing voice and the advice she gave her about taking things slowly and leaning on Donovan for support. “Beth, dear, are you sure your body is completely healed?”

  The implication she was at fault somehow was there, however unintentionally, and it hurt. She had thought the same thing many times—that her body was damaged and would never produce a baby—but she had been checked out by doctors and everything from her ovaries to her uterus were in tip-top shape.

  She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m sure. I had ultrasounds, pap smears, blood work, everything you can think of. It all came back normal. My body is healed, but it’s just not the time right now.” She glanced at Donovan. He nodded with a small smile, letting her know he believed the same thing.

  “Maybe it’s the sperm!” Grandma Lily’s enthusiastic shout made Beth blink. When she registered Lily’s words, she clamped a hand over her mouth. She peeked at Donovan’s face. His mouth was open in speechless shock.

  “Grandma! My sperm is fine.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He sputtered as he tried to form a response.

  Beth’s chuckle escaped, despite her attempt to keep it buried.

  “Well, maybe you’re not doing it right,” Lily accused.

  Donovan’s cheeks turned a bright pink. “I’m doing it right!”

  “How do you know?”

  Donovan held up his hands as if the women could see the gesture and caught Beth’s eye. “Believe me…I know.”

  “Hmm. Well, if you need any pointers—”

  “All right, that’s all the conversation we can handle tonight. Bye, Mom. Bye, Grandma. We love you.” Donovan snatched up the phone and ended the call to Beth’s laughter.

  ****

  While lying next to Donovan in bed that night, the insecurity she felt during the phone call, before Grandma Lily intercepted with jokes, came back to her. She realized then that Lily’s jests at Donovan had been for her benefit, to make her laugh and forget about the possibility that it was her body to blame for the fact she wasn’t pregnant.

  She rolled over and gazed at Donovan’s profile. They had turned off the lights five minutes ago, so she knew he wasn’t asleep yet. She gathered her courage and asked the question that had been weighing on her for a long time.

  “Are you disappointed?” Her voice came out in a whisper. She wasn’t sure he heard it until he turned his head to her.

  “Disappointed about what?”

  “About me not being pregnant? Are you disappointed…in me?”

  Donovan shifted so he was looking down at her. He embraced her face with his hands and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I could never be disappointed in you, Beth. Getting pregnant is not something you can just do when you want it. I want to have kids with you, but I’m not in a rush. I truly believe that when it’s time, we’ll have our first little urchin.”

  She had been so worried, and stayed silent for so long, that it was a relief to hear those words. She smiled at the last thing he said. “Urchin?”

  “I think it’s better calling a baby an urchin than a peanut or nugget. Besides…” He lay a hand on her stomach. “There will be water in there with him, so urchin fits better.”

  “Your philosophy makes sense, Dr. Goldwyn.”

  He chuckled, and then he kissed her smiling lips. When he leaned back, he peered into her eyes. “This was spurred on because of what my mom said, wasn’t it?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m sorry.” He combed his fingers through her hair. “Don’t let either of them get to you. You’re perfect, and our baby will be perfect. Our future urchins couldn’t have a better mom.”

  She twined her fingers with his. “Or Dad.”

  Chapter Two

  Donovan woke the next morning with Beth curled next to him. His thoughts drifted to their conversation before they fell asleep. He didn’t want Beth to ever feel responsible for not being pregnant, though he knew women always blamed themselves. His grandmother’s words came back to him, and he had a moment of panic thinking he was the reason they weren’t expecting yet. He looked at her and stole a moment to stare at her sleeping form.

  Brunette hair was spread out over her pillow. Sleeping lips were pink and pouting. A tug in the middle of his abdomen had him wanting to plunder those soft lips. His gaze continued to rove over her. He saw the circle of patched-up skin below her collarbone and the scar stretching across her chest from a tree branch with talons. Everything they ever did together resulted in a bad memory forever etched on her skin. Dread and guilt ripped his heart to shreds, until he was sure his heart resembled a pile of Sloppy Joe meat. What he wouldn’t give to erase those scars with a brush of his fingertips, to banish the disastrous moments that took place during their relationship, but then he wondered how much would be left? Their life together couldn’t be plagued by disasters forever, could it?

  He lifted his hand to touch the thin scar near his eyebr
ow, which he acquired during a fight in San Francisco. At the same time, he saw the small, shiny scar on the back of his hand from a burn, also picked up during their stay in the Golden City.

  They both had scars.

  With a sigh, he rolled out of bed and headed downstairs for the kitchen. The coffeemaker was already gurgling. He pulled out eggs and bacon from the fridge and set about frying his breakfast. He was frying extra crispy bacon for Beth when he sensed her presence. Turning with the spatula in his hand, he saw her smiling at the entrance. She wore a spaghetti strap shirt, that showed the points of her nipples, and a pair of basketball shorts. His basketball shorts.

  “You’re so cute when you cook,” she said with a voice thickened by sleep. “I should buy you one of those ‘Kiss the Chef’ aprons.” She winked at him as she went to the cupboard. She brought down two cups and poured their coffee. “Are you making my bacon extra crispy?”

  “And the yolk of your eggs extra runny,” he confirmed.

  She wrapped her arms around his middle and pressed her body to his back. “You know me so well.”

  He rubbed his free hand along her arms. “Be careful. I don’t want the grease to splatter on your arms.”

  She pulled away, shifted beside him, and pressed her lips to his cheek. She didn’t have to say anything to show her love for him and his protective ways.

  They ate their breakfast and started to get ready for their day. Donovan grabbed his keys from the side table and tossed Beth hers. She caught it one-handed. At the door, he teasingly tugged her high ponytail. “Have a good day at work.”

  “You, too. Don’t get too crazy in that truck.”

  He grinned. “Crazy? What do you mean?”

  She rubbed her fist into the center of his abdomen and leaned in to kiss him. “I mean it,” she said. “No death-defying stunts.”

  He twined her ponytail around his hand and gently pulled on it so her head tipped back. He stared into her whiskey-brown eyes. “I’m a married man now. I’d be an idiot to do stunts like that,” he said and took her lips on a slow ride, tasting the fruity lip balm she had applied moments ago. “Besides, I’m saving the death-defying stunts for Wednesday.”

  She whacked his arm.

  He chuckled.

  “Don’t worry,” he added. “I’ll be good.”

  ****

  He went to his garage on a patch of private property he bought years ago to entertain his monster truck practices. In two days, he had a competition. His first challenge would be a race with five other fast, skilled drivers. The second challenge would be jumps. The one truck with the biggest air, farthest reach, and best landing would win. He planned to be the champ of both.

  He opened the door to his garage. Inside, his neon-green monster truck waited for him. He felt like fist-bumping the grill. On the side of his truck a black Cobra posed to strike. Along its scaly body, green letters spelled VENOM. That was the name he had given his truck. His fans and competitors often speculated that he didn’t run his truck on the usual methanol that was required of all monster trucks, but rather that he filled it with real snake venom, and that’s why he was undefeated. A few believed he had venom in his veins, and that’s why he was fearless behind the wheel. They were partially true. He had something burning through his veins, but that burn had dulled since Beth came into his life. He didn’t have the desire to be as reckless as he once had been, because he had a life outside of his truck now—a wife, a future.

  He checked the air pressure in the tires and the level of fuel. Both were satisfactory. He was cleaning the windshield when a truck came down the dirt road and pulled in beside his truck.

  A man wearing a raggedy baseball cap, mud-splattered jeans, and a Speedway T-shirt came out.

  He headed toward Donovan with a stop-watch and measuring tape in one hand and a blow horn in the other.

  “Hey, Don.”

  “Hey, Mitch.”

  Mitch was Donovan’s manager. Well, he had started out as Donovan’s manager when Donovan first took on monster truck driving. Now, Mitch sat back and let Donovan do his thing, but he still came out to help Donovan prep for a competition and was present for each one.

  “How’s Beth?”

  Donovan smiled. “She’s great.”

  “Damn, to be young again with a woman like that.”

  Donovan threw the dirty rag he had been using to clean the dust off the windshield into Mitch’s face. “Get my wife’s body out of your head.”

  Mitch chuckled as he removed the rag. “It’s hard, but I’ll do my best.” His laughter grew louder when Donovan scowled at his word choice. “Are you ready to get this beast dirty?”

  Donovan hopped off the tire. “Yeah.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Donovan climbed into the driver’s seat, and Mitch clambered into the passenger’s seat. He drove around the garage to the track in the back.

  “Now remember, the track Wednesday will be twice this size, so you’ll have to go around yours four times before I hit stop.” Mitch lifted the stopwatch.

  Donovan dropped him off at the finish line. He positioned his truck and gripped the steering wheel. His foot itched to come off the brake and punch the gas pedal. He didn’t look at Mitch but kept his eyes trained straight ahead. When the blow horn sounded, he slammed onto the gas. The truck took off, lifting onto its back tires. After a moment, the truck dropped back down, and he whipped the wheel to maneuver the truck around a sharp turn. The track was solid and dry from no rain. Dust floated in his wake. Having a dry track was better for the drivers. He had been in many muddy races where trucks fishtailed and took out competition. Wednesday, though, the playing field would be level. Mud wouldn’t compromise anyone’s times. That meant he’d have to be faster than usual.

  He finished the four laps and braked. A cloud of dust blew past his truck and drifted away. Mitch walked up to the driver’s side and held the stopwatch up to the plastic covering. The stopwatch said 00:02:42.

  Donovan shook his head. “Not good enough. I need to get those seconds down to half that.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Donovan blew around the track, doing four laps each, several times. Each one he knocked a few seconds down on his time. He refueled and kept at it until he reached 00:02:21.

  “Happy with that time?” Mitch asked him.

  Donovan nodded as he guzzled water. “Much.” He pulled out two sub sandwiches from the mini fridge in his garage and handed one to Mitch. They sat at a workbench and consumed the sandwiches with gusto. Once the subs were gone, they went back to practicing. This time to do jumps.

  Donovan lined up his truck to the biggest ramp on his track and revved the engine while he waited for the bull horn to sound. The second it blared, he shot up the ramp. The engine roared as the tires ate up the dirt. At the top of the ramp, the truck sprang into the air. It rose and rose. For several seconds, a feeling of weightlessness overtook him. Then the truck started to descend. The tires hit the ground, jostling Donovan. He eased to a stop and waited for Mitch to measure the distance.

  “One hundred and fifty feet,” Mitch said.

  Donovan punched the steering wheel. “Shit.” That was far from his best jump, which measured in at two hundred and fifteen feet. He checked the tires and went again. Getting closer to two hundred with each jump. Every time he tried again, he adjusted what he did, learning from each attempt. He wouldn’t have a redo tomorrow. He had to nail it the first time. But there was no key to making a perfect jump. There were several factors, such as the angle of the truck when you hit the ramp, the speed at which you lift off, and even the wind was at play. His final jump for the day ranged in at 205 feet. He banged his fists against the steering wheel in triumph.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m talking about!” He drove to the front of the garage and jumped out to give Mitch a high-five.

  “Kid, you’re something.”

  “Thanks, Mitch.” He hosed down the truck, refilled the tires, and locked the garage
. “I’m gonna go home and make love to my wife.” Adrenaline still rushed through him. He needed a release and the best release was with Beth.

  “Now you’re just showing off. Try to take it easy tonight. You have a big day coming up.”

  Donovan grinned. “I will. Afterward, I probably won’t be able to get out of bed.”

  Mitch flipped him the bird as he walked away. Donovan roared with laughter.

  On his way home, he saw three looming smoke stacks in the distance. From their positions, he noted they were away from civilization, burning acres of unoccupied land. He hoped none of the fires got close to his track and garage, though.

  He passed his neighborhood fire station. A sign posted near the road said the fire threat was “High.” No kidding. If there was a level above high, like dangerously-high, meaning a fire could be in your backyard, that’s where they’d be.

  He got home an hour before Beth. By the time he had showered, grabbed a beer, and started the first load of laundry, she was pulling into the driveway.

  “Hey, honey, I’m hoooome!”

  Donovan laughed. “I should be the one saying that to you.”

  She smiled at him. “Then you need to come home later.” She gave him a kiss hello. “How do Sloppy Joes sound for dinner?”

  Donovan recalled his thought this morning about his heart being like Sloppy Joe meat and was repulsed by the idea. “I’m not really in the mood for Sloppy Joes.”

  “Okay. What about Reubens and steak fries?”

  “Sounds good.” He got out the ingredients while Beth took a quick shower. On the way back from the fridge, he caught sight of the calendar on the wall. In a box, he saw his own handwriting alerting him to Beth’s birthday in five days. While preparing for his competition, the days had gone by in a rush. He had a gift for her, but realized they hadn’t talked about doing anything special. If she had it her way, her birthday would be like every other day, but Donovan wanted to celebrate his wife.

  Together, they put together the Reubens and fried them on a skillet. At the table, Donovan studied Beth over his plate. Every night before bed, Beth crossed off the day on the calendar, but she never said anything about her approaching birthday. He took a bite out of his sandwich and washed it down with a swallow of beer.