The Last Mile Trilogy Read online

  Bishop huffed. “Why are you complaining? At least you didn’t get booed. I didn’t make it halfway through the song.”

  “You suck, that’s why,” Doc answered.

  “Thank you. Thank you very much for that.” Bishop groaned. “I can’t wait to see how well Greek does. Hopefully as bad as me.”

  Doc gasped. “Look at you shooting down the cripple. I hope he kicks your ass.”

  “He probably will.”

  Tate rolled Greek to in front of the television. He adjusted the headset on him, they moved to the game. “Ready.”

  “Yeah.” Greek cleared his throat. “I use to be one heck of a karaoke singer.”

  Tate laughed. “Then you should do well.” He started the game.

  Greek did well. Despite the fact that his head and body were duct taped to the red dolly. He sang his song.

  Bishop made his way to the Elvis bar and to where Nick was pouring a soft drink. Bishop sulked.

  “Dude, you can’t get mad,” Nick said. “Greek said he was good at Karaoke.”

  “Yeah, but I’m highly competitive in video games. And . . . look at him.” Bishop gave an up motion of his head. “He’s so into it, he’s rocking the dolly.”

  The dolly moved forward and back in a rocking motion as Greek sang.

  Nick titled his head. “That can’t be good.”

  “Sure, look at his score.”

  “That’s not what I mean. I mean he can …”

  Before Nick could finish his sentence, the dolly rocked hard and tipped straight back with a slam to the floor.

  Greek kept singing.

  Nick laughed hard and Bishop squealed in his laughter.

  “Mom is missing this,” Nick said.

  “Poor Robi.”

  Nick gave a single shake of his head and poured a drink as he watched Tate lift Greek upright, and Greek didn’t miss a beat. “She’s probably miserable. She doesn’t get along with Jeb.”

  “Not at all,” Bishop said. “Knowing her she’s arguing and getting angry.”

  “But we need to remember it was her choice to be miserable tonight. She chose to go to Jeb” Nick said.

  <><><><>

  Robi laughed so hard, she had tears in her eyes. “That’s a daughter for you.” She pushed her glass forward.

  Jeb refreshed it as he leaned over the bar. “I wouldn’t know. Two weeks with her and her kid was enough to show me fatherhood wasn’t for me. Never again did I date a woman with kids.”

  “You do well with baby Martha.”

  “Baby Martha seems rather easy,” Jeb commented. “She really does nothing.”

  “She’s still immobile.”

  “True and unable to talk.”

  “Or embarrasses you in public.”

  “Never again.”

  “I got news for you,” Robi whispered, “there’s no more public.”

  Snickering, Jeb paused to sing a line from the Elvis song that played on the jukebox. “I love this song,” he sang again.

  This made Robi laugh. “You love Elvis.”

  “True.”

  “You’re funny, Jeb.”

  “Ha!” Jeb cocked his head. “I know this. I always thought this. But, you call me an asshole so much. I was starting to doubt my humor.”

  “Don’t doubt your humor, just understand, that you can be an asshole.”

  Jeb tilted his head in a ‘true’ stating manner. He walked around the bar. “Do you shoot pool?”

  “Well or at all?”

  “Either.”

  “I shoot pool. Not well.”

  “Wanna play?”

  “Sure.” With a shrug, Robi slid from the stool. She swayed. “Whoa.”

  “Too much?”

  “Nah, got my balance now.” She smiled.

  “Then let’s go …” Jeb paused, he tilted his head and smiled. “Hey, great tune.”

  “Is there an Elvis song you don’t like?”

  “In the Ghetto. But that’s not a racist thing.”

  Robi snickered.

  “Dance?” Jeb held out his hand.

  “With me?” Robi asked sarcastically.

  Jeb looked right to left. “No one else is here. And seeing how all Elvis tunes only last two minutes, make up your mind before the song is over.”

  “I haven’t danced in...” Before Robi could finish, Jeb had snatched her and pulled her close. He cupped his hand in hers.

  With a drunken laugh, Robi said, “You’re too tall; I’ll injure my neck if I look up to you.”

  Jeb hunched down. “Better.”

  Robi laughed.

  “Ok, now I know I’m not that funny.”

  Robi crinkled her face, “I’m a little drunk.”

  “Me too.”

  “It’s been a while since I danced.”

  “Me, too,” Jeb replied. “Wait. You were married.”

  “He didn’t dance. So it’s been a while.”

  There was a silent moment while they just danced. Then …

  Robi peered up to Jeb. “Can I tell you something without sounding mushy or corny?”

  “Good God,” Jeb said in a playful way. “You’re gonna say something emotional. You are female.”

  “Very much so.”

  “Don’t I know that,” Jeb murmured.

  “What was that?”

  Jeb shook his head.

  Robi continued, “I know I portray myself as cold. I’m not. I lost a good bit of my life when the drop happened. All I have left is Nick. This.... this here with you is nice. Even if it’s only dancing, being in a pair of arms that are holding me…” she stopped.

  “What?” Job softened his voice. “You know, you say the words arms and hold in the same sentence, I think … I don’t know … hug?”

  Robi looked up.

  “When is the last time someone hugged you other than your son?”

  “I should ask you the same.”

  Jeb shrugged. “Not since before the drop… You?”

  “That would be before the drop for me as well.”

  “All this tragedy and …”

  Robi reached up and covered his mouth. “Before you say anything. If I wanted someone to hold me, or hug me, I am sure I could have asked. I kept myself at arms distance.”

  “You’re not at arms distance now.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “So, are you asking me for a hug?”

  Robi snickered. “I don’t believe those words came out of my mouth. I was just saying, you know, making a statement.”

  Jeb nodded. “I understand and...” He pulled her closer. “Here we are two people that probably both could use a really, big long hug…”

  “You’re too tall for a good hug.”

  With a tilted head, Jeb gave an ornery smile. “Really?” he slid his hands to her waist, lifted Robi, and set her on the edge of the bar. “This will work. Actually, this will work fine.” Inching to her, Jeb’s body parted Robi’s legs. Hands on her waist he scooted her closer. “This will work fine.”

  “And where in this entire conversation, Mr. Hoyt,” Robi spoke softly, “did you get the idea that I wanted a dance, a hug, or even to be in a…” she glanced down, “compromising position like this?”

  Jeb laughed. “You are tough. I’m trying to break a barrier here.”

  “What barrier?”

  “Between us,” Jeb said, “I mean all we do is bicker. Finally, we aren’t bickering. I’m seeing a ray of hope, which is needed to raise our baby.”

  Robi laughed at that.

  “I like this Robi. The Robi who laughs and is human, and is not fighting with me.”

  “You’ll change your mind. I’ll start fighting with you again.”

  “Man.” Jeb tossed back his head. “You’re killing me.”

  “What?’

  “You keep throwing back at me. I say this … you say that … when all I’m trying to do is…” Jeb paused.

  “Hug me?”

  “Actually,” Jeb said, then
winked, “I’m leaning more toward kissing you.”

  The smile dropped from Robi’s face and was replaced with a blank expression.

  “Uh-oh.” Jeb cocked back his head. “That was the wrong thing to say. What’s with the look? Should I wince? Prepare for the verbal lashing?”

  “The look is because… you made my stomach flutter when you said that.”

  “No way.”

  Robi nodded.

  “So could this be a go?”

  Again, Robi kept eye contact, nodded.

  Half smile, Jeb leaned toward her. “I really made your stomach flutter?”

  “Yep,” She whispered.

  “Whoa. Pressure’s on.” His hand nearly encompassed her entire face as Jeb laid his palm on her cheek. Staring, he lifted his index finger and ran it down the strand of hair that dangled, and then slid his hand to the back of her neck.

  Robi smiled with a slight snicker. “You’re really coming off romantic.”

  “I’m a romantic guy.”

  With snort, Robi laugh.

  “Ok,” Jeb chuckled. “Maybe not. But I can start.” Lips parted, his other hand to her face, Jeb brought Robi to him and he kissed her.

  Soft. Tender. Barely moving. Barely any of the tiny sounds of immature laughs from either, they struggled to find their niche in the bar-moment kiss.

  Then they did.

  The tenderness morphed into intensity. Mouths widening, moving slightly harder.

  Robi’s hands went from resting on the bar to Jeb’s hips, his back, until her fingers gripped his head in her absorbency of the moment.

  They paused … briefly for a breath, and then continued.

  Jeb’s palm cupped the back of her head, as his other moved freely down her side to her leg, then to the bar.

  Crash.

  Glasses, a bottle of Jack, and beer, flew from the bar as Jeb made room, and followed Robi’s lead, bringing his body to hers and down to that bar. He nudged between her parted legs, lowered his weight, and inched slowly and gently upon her.

  Robi gasped. Mouth opening, eyes rolling as his lips sought out her neck. Elvis Presley’s version of You Ain’t Nothin’ But a Hound Dog clicked into play as Jeb brought this mouth to Robi’s.

  Another kiss and then he stopped.

  Breathing heavily, mouth hovering, he looked at her.

  “What’s wrong?” Robi asked.

  He paused and said, “I love this song.”

  That caused them both to laugh.

  “Do you know what we’re doing here?” he whispered, and then lifted some. “Not that we were mind you, but …” He took hold of her arms, and lifted her to a sitting position as he stood upright. “Something is just not right about having sex on a bar, while Elvis is playing on the jukebox in his own hometown.”

  “Jeb, please, we weren’t gonna have sex.”

  A pause.

  They both lowered their heads.

  Jeb looked at Robi through the tops of his eyes. “The last thing I want to do is have sex with you,” he said softly.

  Robi’s eyes widened.

  “No, let me add …” he held up his hand. “On a bar.”

  Her head tilted in wonder.

  “Come on, Robi,” Jeb’s voice was graveling tenderly. “Our world as we know it is done. Whether it’s just the U.S. or the world. Things are different. There’s not lot of people left. And you know if two people are lucky enough to connect then the last thing they should do is start out their connection on the top of a bar.” He swallowed, and then brought his lips to her ear and whispered, “It should be different. Special. And not when we’re drinking.”

  Robi cocked back her head with a look of shock, and then grinned with a wide look. “Why, my Dear Mr. Hoyt. I do believe I just gained more respect for you.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Help me down.”

  Jeb did.

  Robi walked around the bar and grabbed a new bottle, and two glasses. “Different. Special. Not drinking.” She winked. “You got it. But tonight. What do you say about this …” She held up the bottle. “Elvis and a little highly competitive pool?”

  Jeb took the bottle and glasses from her, then leaned down and kissed Robi. “You’re on.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  July 4th

  Bishop heard baby Martha crying, and knowing he was the first to bed, decided to be the one to rise with her. He made her breakfast in Elvis’ kitchen while he himself had coffee. All was quiet for about an hour until the house started to wake.

  Greek was the first, calling out, “I have to pee!”

  Bishop remained in the kitchen, hearing Manny scuffle about to help him. On hearing Greek’s “goddamn it, I peed on my cast,” followed by “someone take these off of me, I can walk now!” Bishop smiled.

  Holding Martha in his arms, Bishop held the bottle to her while he read an old newspaper and sipped his hot beverage.

  He looked up when Tate scuffled in the kitchen at a quick pace. “Morning,” Tate said. “Can I have some?” he indicated to the coffee pot.

  “Be my guest.”

  “Thanks.” He poured some. “Hey, you didn’t by chance see a saw around this house did you?”

  “A saw? Why do you need a saw?” Bishop asked.

  “We’re taking off Greek’s body cast,” Tate replied nonchalantly.

  “What!” Bishop gasped in shock. “He only crushed his legs a few days ago.”

  “He says he’s fine.”

  “Feeling fine and being fine are two different things,” Bishop chuckled as he spoke. “Honestly, he’s not fine.”

  Mas entered the kitchen in his farmer Joe wear, responding to Bishop’s comment as he did, “Of Greek you speak? Fine is he. Done job of her Martha did heal.”

  That caused Tate to stop, and Bishop to look up.

  “Her?” Bishop nodded down to the baby. “Did I hear you right? Martha did her job and healed Greek?’

  Mas smiled. “Talented is she. Gifted.”

  Tate laughed.

  Bishop tried to restrain himself. “If she healed Greek, she is talented.”

  “Ah.” Mas nodded. “Of much. See I do you feed her.”

  “Um, yeah.” Bishop looked at the bottle.

  “Soon very soon no need,” Mas said. “Week of no more, she will herself feed.” He touched her head. “Ripe she is.”

  Tate started to walk from the kitchen. “I want out before you change her.”

  Mas shook his head. “Herself she will change.”

  “Uh, yeah,” Tate replied.

  “Tate of Brothers Hoyt,” Mas called. “Ready is the radios. Demonstration soon?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Tate said. “I’ll get the others after we get healed Greek out of his plaster armor.”

  “I await,” Mas said.

  “Good.” Tate walked out, then stopped, poked his head back in and, thinking Mas couldn’t see, signed to Bishop with a twirling finger around his temple. But his ornery smile turned slightly ‘busted’ when Mas turned around.

  “Ah, to you too my friend.” Mas smiled and twirled a finger around his own temple.

  Tate walked out.

  <><><><>

  Mas had returned to working on his radio presentation, telling Bishop, in his own style, that he wanted the Brother’s Hoyt to be impressed. Bishop was to fetch Mas when Jeb and Robi woke up. Bishop didn’t have a problem with that, but when Jeb or Robi would wake up remained to be seen. He was sleeping long before they came in, and the last Bishop looked at the time, it was two A.M.

  Nick had rolled out of bed and into the kitchen, helping himself to the waffles Bishop had made.

  “Sleeping.” Bishop replied to the question of Martha’s whereabouts. “She cried, I changed her, fed her, and she fell asleep.”

  “That baby sleeps a lot.”

  “I think babies are supposed to.”

  “That much?”

  Bishop shrugged. “Your mom would know best.”

  “Mas
says it’s normal,” Nick said.

  “Mas says a lot of things.”

  “Heard he built the radios,” Nick commented.

  “And by what Manny said, he hasn’t a clue out of what.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, Manny said he didn’t get anything that would even remotely be used to make a radio.”

  “Weird.”

  Bishop nodded, and then looked down where an electric saw lay on the table.

  “Found one,” Tate said. “Can you believe it? This should work well.”

  Bishop shook his head. “You can’t take the cast off a man whose legs are crushed. He’s not healed.”

  “Mas says Baby Martha healed him.”

  Bishop rolled his eyes when Tate laughed. “Why are you removing his cast? You know it’s not time.”

  “Honestly?” Tate asked.

  “Please.”

  “Manny wants to do a better cast,” Tate said. “He was able to find actual fiberglass cast material when he took Mas out.”

  “Ah” Bishop nodded. “Does Greek know this?”

  “Nah,” Tate flung out his hand. “He’ll find out when it hurts. Plus maybe we’ll get Doc to tell him.”

  “Tell him what?” Doc asked as he entered into the kitchen.

  Tate replied, “Tell Greek he can’t have his casts off.”

  “If he feels better why not?” Doc shrugged and walked to the coffee pot.

  It was then, as Doc passed him, that Bishop saw Juanita. Doc had placed her on the table. Bishop stared at the head. “Doc?”

  “Yeah.” Doc returned to the table with coffee.

  “Why did you have Juanita?” Bishop asked ignoring Tate’s snickering.

  “Well, son,” Doc said sliding it across the table, “I had a few last night. She had a few last night.”

  “Oh, my God.” Bishop covered his mouth.

  “Yep. Her and I talked all night. What a smart gal she is. Talked and talked.” He exhaled and stroked her head. “We got into a deep conversation about them aliens. Damn aliens kept projecting in my room. One even pretended to be Elvis. Like I couldn’t tell the difference.”

  “Oh, my God,” Bishop repeated.

  Nick and Tate laughed.

  “Don’t you worry,” Doc said. “Nothing sexual happened between us.”

  Bishop heaved out a breath. “Thank God.”