Tribute

and he’d been looking for a way in.
    And somehow, they’d both found it.
    He turned into her drive, smiling to himself when he noted she’d left a light on out front for him, and another inside that glowed against one of the windows. That was Cilla, he thought. She thought of the little things, remembered details.
    And the light in the window reminded him it had to be after two in the morning. In the country quiet his Harley sounded like a tornado blowing out to Oz. She’d probably sleep through it—when Cilla went out, she went out —but he cut the engine halfway down the drive and coasted.
    Singing under his breath, he hopped off the bike to guide it the rest of the way to the barn. He took off his helmet, strapped it onto the bike, then pulled open the creaking barn door. He left the headlight on to cut a swath through the dark and, with a belch that brought back the memory of Corona, slapped the kickstand down. When he angled the front wheel, the headlight cut across one of Cilla’s storage boxes. It sat open, with its lid beside it, and scattered with photos and papers.
    “Hey.”
    He took a step forward for a closer look. He heard nothing, saw nothing, and felt only an instant of shattering pain before he pitched forward onto the concrete.
    CILLA HAD the first of what she thought of as a heads-together with Matt just after seven A.M. She planned others with the electrician and the plumber, but she wanted Steve in on that. As long as he was here, she thought, she’d use him.
    Plus, she wanted him to go with her on a buying trip. She needed to choose tile and hardware, fixtures, and order more lumber. By seven-thirty, the cacophony of saws, hammers and radios filled the house, and figuring Steve had had a late night, she took pity on him and carried a mug of coffee up to the bedroom where he slept in his borrowed Spider-Man sleeping bag.
    When she saw Spidey was currently unoccupied, she blew out a breath. “Somebody got lucky,” she muttered, and drank the coffee herself as she headed downstairs.
    She grabbed her lists, her notebook, her purse. As she stepped outside, the landscape crew pulled in. Cilla’s eyebrows quirked up when she spotted Shanna. Just who did Steve get lucky with? she wondered. Shanna lifted a hand in a wave, then, carrying a to-go cup of coffee, wandered over.
    “Morning. Brian’s got to site another job this morning, but he’ll swing by in a couple hours.”
    “Fine. I’m heading in to pick up some materials. Do you need me for anything?”
    “We’re good. But you ought to come around when you get back. We’ll be starting on hardscape—the patio and walkways today.” Shanna glanced at the house. “So, is Steve among the living this morning?”
    “Haven’t seen him yet.”
    “I’m not surprised.” Adjusting the cap over her dark braid, Shanna flashed a smile. “We about closed the place down last night. That Steve, he sure can dance.”
    “Yes, he can.”
    “He’s a sweetie. Followed me home to make sure I got there safe, then didn’t push—or not hard—to come in. He’d pushed a little harder, and who knows?” She hooted out a laugh.
    “He didn’t stay with you?”
    “No.” Shanna’s smile faded. “Did he get home all right?”
    “I don’t know. I didn’t see him inside, so I assumed . . .” With a shrug, Cilla jingled her keys. “I’ll just go see if his bike’s in the barn.”
    Shanna fell into step beside her. “He was fine when he left, I mean he hadn’t been drinking much. A couple of beers all night. I only live about twenty minutes from here.”
    “I probably just missed him in the house.” But her stomach started to jump as Cilla reached the barn door. “Maybe he went up while I went down.”
    Sunlight splashed into the barn and erupted with dust motes. Cilla blinked to adjust her eyes and felt a fresh wave of anxiety when she didn’t immediately spot the Harley.
    Stepping in, she noted some of her storage boxes were tipped over, the contents spilled. An old chair lay broken on its side. She saw the Harley then, on the floor, handlebars up as if its rider had wiped out. Steve, arms and legs splayed, sprawled under the weighty bulk of it.
    “Oh God.” She sprang forward, Shanna beside her, to lift the bike off Steve. Blood matted his hair, and more stained his raw and bruised face. Afraid to move him, Cilla pressed her fingers to his throat. And nearly shook as she felt his pulse beat.
    “He’s alive. He’s got a pulse.