Blood & Rust (Lock & Key Book 4) Page 6

  “That was beautiful. You play really well.”

  “I haven’t touched a guitar in years. A lot of years.” The lines of his face were taut as he studied the guitar, holding it up to catch the dusty shafts of light, inspecting it from top to bottom with the flashlight. “Needs cleaning, of course. New strings, but the body is in good shape. I can’t say I know what it’s worth or what kind of wood it is, but it feels…right. There’s a label here, but it’s worn off.”

  “I think we’ve seen that before in one of Astrid’s fairy-tale portraits.”

  “Yeah, the serenading mermaid shot,” he said. “Do you want it?”

  “I do, yes.”

  “Here’s the case.”

  He lifted up its case and packed the guitar inside. I put the guitar against the chair.

  “What the hell is this?” His voice rose from the furthest corner of the room.

  I could barely make out his outline in the shadows.

  “Over here.” His hand stretched out toward me, and I took it. He pulled me in close, and that scent of man infiltrated my senses, distracting me.

  “What the fuck?” He moved the light of the flashlight.

  Lining an oddly decoupaged bookcase along the wall was a row of miniature creepy homemade furniture that could have been used in a Viking dollhouse. Ghoulish, grotesque, primitive medieval thrones made of—

  “Chicken bones?” said Butler.

  I leaned forward, picking one up. “Yes!”

  A few were painted in deep hues of blue, red, and orange. On others, the paint had faded considerably. But they were all majestic, crazy gems made of common, ugly components.

  “I have to have these,” I whispered.

  His hand pressed into my shoulder. “I saw some milk crates by the door. We can stash ’em in there.”

  Butler returned with two large dairy crates.

  “Oh my gosh.”

  “What is it?”

  Behind the thrones were a number of tiny skulls.

  “Look at these,” I said.

  “Bird skulls.” He leaned in close to me and took one in his hand, shining the light from the small flashlight. “This one’s a hummingbird.”

  I touched it with my fingertip. “So strange, isn’t it? A hummingbird is such a sweet, joyful creature, yet there’s something harsh and scary about this skull.”

  “Always is when you’re looking at skulls and bones, Tania.”

  A shiver raced up my neck at his remark. A shiver that reminded me of the life he led.

  “Still beautiful though,” he said.

  “Still beautiful.”

  Butler carefully placed the small skulls in his large palm. “This is a hawk skull. This one’s a falcon, and this is a crow.”

  “They’re incredible. So delicate. How do you know this stuff?”

  “My dad was a hunter and a hiker. I used to tag along.”

  We lined the crates with the colorful shawls and coverlets, and we carefully placed the furniture pieces in there along with miniature towers that I found on another shelf. I didn’t have to tell Butler what to do. He handled all the material with care.

  I added the photographs to another crate as well as small paintings Gerhard had made by swirling fat brushes, his own fingers, and objects through paint on pieces of Masonite. Each image was a bright detonation of color in deep space or a glowing underwater abyss.

  “Every piece is a variation on the same image of an explosion, huh?” Butler remarked. “I bet he was obsessed with the H-bomb testing going on back then. I know my granddad was. Shit, those are wild colors. Like some sort of glow-in-the-dark octopus. This guy…baker by day and bizarre artist behind closed doors.”

  “It’s called outsider art.”

  “Meaning?”

  “He wasn’t classically trained and worked outside the mainstream art world. He was obsessed with creating and worked with whatever material was available to him, often dabbling in unusual, unconventional subjects and elaborate fantasy worlds.”

  “He was good.”

  “Very, very good. I wonder if he ever sold anything in his lifetime. So imaginative. Really unique.”

  “Maybe he wasn’t interested in selling. Maybe this was his and his wife’s personal thing. Their world.”

  My eyes slid to his.

  Their world.

  “How’s it going in there?” shouted out Dave from the open doorway.

  “I think we’re done!” I said.

  “Let me take this stuff outside, and we can have a better look at what you’ve got,” muttered Butler.

  “Dave? Could I take a peek into the barn, you think?” I asked.

  “Sure, sure,” he replied.

  Another hour went by with Butler and I sifting through the barn, which was filled with old farm machinery and tools, tattered magazines, and bakery equipment. Butler looked for any motorcycle parts but came up empty-handed. He pulled out an old iron bubble gum dispenser, and my eyes widened at the sight.

  “Thought as much.” He brushed past me, holding the heavy piece. “You need to see something.” He pointed to a mass of rusty bicycles stacked against a wall.

  “The bicycles?”

  He pulled the second one out from the pile. “This one here is a Victory. Victory was one of the first bicycle companies in America. Has the original nameplate, clamp brake system, and pedals. Even the saddle looks original. You’ve got to take it, Tan.”

  His eyes beamed at me, his look intent. Butler was buzzing.

  I bit down on a smile. “Okay.”

  “Hold it while I bring the gum machine outside.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t be a hard-ass with the prices, and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  I rolled my eyes. “What are you talking about? I might like a bargain, but I know a good opportunity when I see it.”

  “Okay, but don’t be too hardcore about it.”

  “Stand back and learn, my friend.”

  Butler let out a laugh as he set the gumball machine on the ground by the crates. He came back and got the bike, and I followed him outside.

  Dave and I bartered on prices, and I managed to quickly bundle several pieces, offering him a special price on those items, putting on my geez-you’re-making-this-hard-on-me-have-some-pity face. I dazzled him with my willingness to compromise and my respect for the pieces, pointing out wear and tear to my benefit and knocking down his prices when I could. Butler agreed with my assessments and didn’t interrupt, only making the appropriate faces as Dave kept glancing at him. Fortunately, Dave was eager to sell, and we quickly reached a mutually happy medium.

  Butler packed my Yukon with our spoils.

  Dave and I shook hands.

  “Thank you for the opportunity, Dave. I really appreciate it.”

  “Sure thing. Glad it worked out.” He tipped his hat at Butler. “You enjoy all that junk now.”

  “Oh, I will.” He waved Dave off as the man headed for his truck.

  Butler turned to me, shaking his head.

  “What? Why do you look so damn smug? Did I miss something?” I asked.

  “I’m not being smug, Scarlett. I’m admiring.”

  A rush of heat flared inside me, and I shifted my weight.

  “You doing the math in your head now?” he asked.

  I smoothed my hair back. “Actually, no. I’m thinking this sort of find might be art gallery-worthy.”

  “And you got here first.”

  “We did, yeah.”

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here then before Davey changes his mind.”

  I touched his arm. “I’m so glad we got to see it the way we did. Untouched, virginal.”

  “Yeah, me, too. We pretty much got to see what they had seen, give or take a few decades of dust and decay.”

  “Thank you for coming with me, for—” I threw my arms around him and hugged him. I savored the fragrance of ash and soap and sweaty man. I held on to him and inhaled.

  Sh
it, what’s come over me?

  “I’m glad I came,” he murmured. His hand bunched in my hair, tugging, and my pulse quickened. He let me go, and I stumbled back.

  Butler opened my car door for me, and I settled into the driver’s seat.

  “Thanks,” I said. I started the engine and lowered my window.

  Butler leaned in. “We’re going back to Meager together, okay?”

  “Okay. Let’s go.”

  “You can’t wait to get home and open your goodies, huh?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Let’s roll.”

  BY THE TIME WE LEFT DAVE’S and got on the road, the sun was setting. Two hours of driving later, with me behind Butler on the highway, he suddenly pulled off into the parking lot of a steak house.

  He tore off his helmet, a hand digging through his matted hair. “I’ve been riding since sunrise this morning. I need a break.”

  “Of course.”

  He tugged off his gloves. “We’ve still got five hours ahead of us. I say we call it a night here and pick it up in the morning.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “I’m starved. How about you?”

  My brain stuttered, my gaze hanging on his pale blue eyes.

  Loaded question…

  My eyes flicked up at the huge hanging sign emblazoned with an old-fashioned caricature of a smiling cow. “I could eat that cow.”

  Butler laughed and steered me toward the restaurant’s entrance, a hand at my back as he opened the door for us. A sweet warm ting went off inside me. His tiny bit of chivalry was perhaps trivial, insignificant, but coming from a man like Butler—who, by all outward appearances, did not seem like the polite, caring gesture type—it made an impression.

  We settled into a booth and ordered quickly. The waitress brought us our sodas.

  “Thank you for helping me at Dave’s property,” I said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “I had fun.”

  “Did you? You liked it?”

  “Yeah, I did.”

  “You didn’t think it was boring?”

  “No. I really liked it.” He drained his glass, his eyes on me. “Is that so hard to believe?”

  “A little. But I’m glad. You helped me a lot.”

  “You usually do this shit on your own, right?”

  “I do, yes. It was different to have a partner in crime for a change. You were good. Your eyes kept moving, hunting. You weren’t afraid to get dirty.”

  “Me?”

  We laughed.

  “We found some amazing things,” I said. “Many times, it can be like a really bad garage sale. Or you find something good, but then it’s moldy or damaged. The worst is when they’re badly repaired, and then they don’t have much value, which can be really disappointing.”

  “Every time, you go into it believing, with the same high energy and focus, don’t you?” he asked. “Believing that the next thing you see or touch just might be an authentic whatchamacallit.”

  I laughed and clinked my glass against his.

  He studied me as I drank, his eyes narrowing. “You’ve got a lot of fucking patience then, Tania. And an extreme level of belief. That’s…special.”

  I squirmed in my chair, a stab of heat spreading through me. His good opinion actually mattered to me. “You have to, or you could miss out on something remarkable.”

  “Yeah, remarkable is the word.”

  My pulse ratcheted at his words, at the firm tone in his quiet voice that seeped under my skin, like it wanted to play there.

  “I’ve learned in this business that good things happen when you least expect them. You never know.”

  His eyes leveled with mine. “No, you never know. Life fucks with you that way.”

  “Yeah, but some of those fucks can be good ones.”

  He laughed, a hand passing over his chest.

  The waitress arrived with our dinner, and we both tucked into the chargrilled steaks and thick French fries.

  “So, this past year, you’ve been working with different clubs?” I asked. “Is that how the nomad thing works?”

  “No. I worked with different chapters of my own club. Only if our national president approves can I have contact with other clubs.”

  “That’s why you were at the Flames of Hell when Grace and I saw you in Nebraska?”

  He wiped his mouth with the large white napkin and crumpled it. “Right. How’s your brother doing? Has he calmed his ass down since his girlfriend took off with his kid?”

  “He’s sort of calm. The last time he came up for a visit, my mom laid down the law about him being a consistent dad. He keeps trying with Jill, but I think he needs to give that a rest.”

  “You think?”

  “She’s done with him and all the club crap that comes with being some biker’s old lady—sorry.”

  “I get it. It’s a lot to take on for some. But if he still loves her, he should fight for her.”

  “You’re right.” I put my fork down. “But sometimes, the love crumbles into bits, and there’s no putting it back together.”

  “Sometimes, yeah.”

  “Anyhow, I’m sure my brother is not a suffering monk or feeling lonely at his club without her.”

  “He’s popular.”

  “You’ve spent quality time over there at the Flames’ clubhouse?”

  His eyes caught mine. “So have you.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Something I picked up on that day you and Grace showed up at their clubhouse. You and Finger know each other, don’t you?”

  “He’s Catch’s President. Our paths have crossed.”

  “How much crossing?” His voice was clipped.

  Why did he care if I knew Finger?

  I shrugged. “I’ve met him a few times through my brother.”

  Butler said nothing. I held his gaze, chewing on the crushed ice cubes from my glass, chewing on the answer he wanted, but wasn’t going to get.

  “How are you doing with going back to Meager?” I asked. “Huge decision. You’re not an officer anymore. You’ll be seeing Grace again and Lock.”

  He pushed his dish away. “I’m glad they’re happy together. They both deserve to be. It’s great that it worked out for them.”

  I shot him a look. “Aw, that’s so sweet.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Save that for the Jacks. How do you really feel?”

  His large shoulders rolled as he leaned forward on the table. “You really want to know?”

  “Yes, I do. Were you in love with her? Are you still?”

  “You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

  “That’s part of my charm. Answer the questions.”

  “I’ve always been attracted to Grace. Everybody knows that, don’t they? Last year, I thought it was our time, our moment. But it wasn’t, and it isn’t ever going to be. Even though we were together for that short time—forgetting that she was working me for Jump—it didn’t click for us. I’d thought it would be a natural fit, but we were trying too hard. Then again, I was high for most of it.”

  “You didn’t want to fight for her?”

  The edges of his lips turned up. “I started to, but then I realized I needed to learn to fight for myself first.”

  My spine straightened. “Yes. Exactly! I couldn’t agree more.”

  “I’d made enough of an ass of myself,” Butler continued. “She and Lock were strung out on each other the whole time anyhow, and it was cutting them deep. You can’t fuck with that. That would be a real sin. My pride got bucked, but I survived.”

  “Yep, you survived. Yet again.” I went back to my food.

  He stared at me. “Did you ever tell Grace about you and me?”

  I pushed the potatoes to the side of my dish with my fork. “No.”

  “Really? I thought girls told each other all about that shit.”

  “Well, sometimes, we girls refrain from confessing inappropriate behavior that might disapp
oint or upset our besties.”

  “Inappropriate, I like. Disappoint? That, I don’t like. I think you got that backward, honey.”

  “Don’t honey me. And that’s not what I meant. You boys always have your minds on one thing.”

  “Which thing is that?”

  “How big and hard your cocks are.”

  “As if women don’t have our big, hard cocks on their minds.”

  I chuckled. “Oh all right. I’ll give you that.” Guilty as charged. “What I meant was, I knew Grace liked you, and I didn’t want her to think that, on her wedding day, I was trying to be some sort of backstabbing evil bitch, grabbing at her spoils, trying to make some kind of point.”

  “Were you? Just a little bit?”

  “No, I wasn’t. Grace and I never competed for guys, never crushed on the same ones. Sorry to let you down, but it wasn’t about you either.”

  “Then, what was it?”

  I let out a small breath. “I felt uncomfortable at her wedding. She was moving on, and I wasn’t. She was doing something she really wanted; she had achieved a dream. I just graduated college—had done really well, too—but I still wasn’t sure what I wanted out of life. I was in limbo. I didn’t have many job prospects or a sense of purpose. Grace did though. She and Dig were flying. I felt stuck in the mud and left behind. Sounds stupid and immature, but—”

  “No, it doesn’t. Emotions are what they are. You can’t help it.”

  “I was really proud of Grace. Really proud. Despite me, my mom, even her sister getting pissed at her over staying with the club and wanting to marry Dig, she did it. A life with Dig at all costs had become her new dream, and she went for it. I only felt buried under all my expectations for myself, my mom’s expectations.”

  “So, at the wedding, you were letting your hair down with me?” He grinned, as if he were watching a replay of our hook-up with a new fascination.

  “I guess so. I was frustrated with myself, my life. I wanted to slap myself in the face.”

  “I don’t remember slapping you in the face. I do remember slapping you on the—”

  “Shut up!”

  He laughed a rich, throaty, unpretentious laugh that only made me laugh, too.

  “Butler, I’m quite sure I was a minor blip on your screen.”

  “You want me to lie?”