Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Spence, no one’s coming,” Mason said after another beat of silence, and Spencer sighed and nodded.
“It’s the shitty weather. Who can blame them? Maybe we can reschedule for next week.”
“Suits me.” Mason moved to quickly and efficiently stack the half dozen exercise mats they had brought into a neat pile. “Want to grab a beer after this?”
“Shouldn’t you be getting home to do wedding stuff?”
“Nah, I already committed to spending the next few hours with you, so we might as well hang out. Besides, Daisy’s still pissed off with me for even mentioning the word braai in relation to the wedding, so I’m kind of in the doghouse as far as wedding plans go at the moment.”
“That was a dumb move.” Spencer chuckled as he lifted one side of the stacked mats and Mason grabbed the other. They carried the mats to the back of Spencer’s huge pickup truck with Spencer ribbing Mason all the way.
“You Carlisle?” The young, gruff voice came from behind them, and both men looked over to see a slight boy, probably no more than fourteen or fifteen, watching them warily. Spencer assessed the boy. He had never seen the kid before. Small, skinny, hands thrust in jeans pockets, and shoulders hunched defensively. His black hair was cropped short and spiky, he had warm, golden-brown skin, and—as with a few of the other mixed-race kids Spencer worked with—had striking light-green eyes.
“Hmm. I’m sorry, we’re packing up. We didn’t think anybody was going to come. You must be new. I’m Spencer Carlisle. This is my brother, Mason.” He held out a hand in greeting, but the boy kept his own hands firmly tucked into his pockets.
“I know who you are,” he snapped.
“And you are?” Spencer prompted, ignoring the rudeness. The kid said nothing at first, merely stared at them with those unnerving eyes.
“Charlie,” he finally replied.
“Well, Charlie, if you don’t mind skipping the self-defense class, we can maybe grab something to eat before I take you home? Or will one of your parents be picking you up?”
“I don’t need your charity,” the kid snapped. His jeans looked at least two sizes too big, and the belt had a few extra holes punched into it to accommodate his small waist and to keep the baggy trousers up.
“It wasn’t meant to be charity. I usually order a pizza for the kids anyway, and I figure you came out in this weather, the least I can do is offer you something to eat since we’re not doing the class. Kind of as an apology for wasting your time.”
Charlie narrowed his eyes on Spencer’s face, as if he were trying to gauge the older man’s sincerity.
“I’m all right. Thanks. I’ll just go home.”
“You need a ride?”
“It’s close by.” Now it was Spencer’s turn to try to figure out if the boy was being truthful, but he couldn’t see anything beyond defiance and challenge in his eyes.
“Check the community center announcement board tomorrow to see when our next self-defense class will be.”
The boy shrugged.
“I hope to see you there.”
“Whatever.” The kid turned away and kicked at the muddy ground as he trudged away, leaving the two tall men to watch his retreating figure.
“You ever seen that kid before?” Mason asked, and Spencer shrugged.
“Never.”
“She seems familiar.”
“She?”
“Yeah, man. Don’t tell me you fell for that gruff act.” Spencer scrutinized the kid’s back speculatively and had to admit that there was a definite feminine gait to Charlie’s stride.
“Why the hell would she pretend to be a boy?” Spencer speculated.
“I can think of any number of reasons, none of them pleasant.”
“Do you think she needs help?”
“Beyond the obvious, you mean?”
“I’m just wondering if she’s in immediate jeopardy.”
“I think she probably does have a safe place to stay tonight—she didn’t seem that desperate.”
Casting another look at the boy—girl—and contemplating whether he should push the issue of food and possibly shelter, Spencer decided that it would probably succeed only in alienating her. Best to tread carefully with a prickly personality like hers. He wanted her to come back so that he could better ascertain what kind of help she needed. He just hoped she really had a decent place to stay and that she wasn’t in a dangerous situation.
“I’ll ask Oom Herbert and Principal Kane if they know her,” he decided out loud, and Mason nodded.
“Good call.” Oom—or Uncle—Herbert was the popular local minister who ran the homeless shelter. And old man Kane had been the principal at the high school since Mason and Spencer were kids. They would know if the girl was local and what her situation was. Then again, Spencer knew pretty much all the at-risk kids in and around town, and he had never seen her before. Somehow he doubted that young Charlie was local.
He sighed and climbed into the cab of his truck. He was going to worry about her all night; it was really bucketing down by now and she was skinny as hell—she could get sick easily. He hoped she really had decent shelter close by. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to her.