Close Match

by Jerald, Tracey

  Then a thought occurs to me. “Are Ev and Char truly out running errands?”

  A smile slashes across his face. “They might have been encouraged to once they knew we already had plans.”

  I laugh as he backs the SUV out of the garage. “Find something for us to listen to. It’s going to take about forty-five minutes for us to get there.” Monty unlocks his phone so that I can scroll through his music choices.

  Soon we’re zooming down I-66 talking and laughing about my riding lessons. “And to think I was going to suggest you get driving lessons soon,” Monty teases me.

  I punch him in the arm right before I take a sip of the coffee he bought me. Like the first time, it’s delicious. It’s an unexpected sweet treat.

  Much like the man next to me.

  * * *

  “This place is beautiful.”

  “I agree. Skyline Drive is a special place.”

  “What is it exactly?”

  “It’s a road that runs along the Blue Ridge Mountains inside Shenandoah National Park. It’s spectacular at this time of the year. The views are incomparable, which is why”—a note of humor enters his voice, and I swivel my head toward him—“we’ve already stopped four times.”

  “That’s not my fault!”

  Monty mocks me. “Not at all. I’m sure your sister wants every picture of every leaf sent to her. I figured we’d drive down to Thornton Gap. With all the times you’re going to want to stop and get out, that’s going to take us hours.”

  I’m practically bouncing in my seat. “Why will it take so long?”

  “Trust me when I say there’s going to be places we’ll want to get out.”

  “I assume one of these places has a bathroom.”

  “What if I told you that you’d have to pee in the woods?” He takes his attention away from the curvy mountain road briefly to see my reaction.

  I’m about to blast him, but I see the glint of humor in his eyes. I grab a balled-up napkin and throw it at him. “Cute.”

  “If you think I am, why don’t you take a picture? You know, add it to the ones you’re sending to your sister?” Monty’s teasing, but hmm, Bristol’s been asking what he looks like. Lifting my phone, I take a few quick shots while he’s driving.

  “Could you look over for just a second?” Monty whips his head over, and I take a snap of his stunned face. I save a copy and send it to Bristol with a “Caption this.”

  The blue dots move while Monty sputters next to me. “Did you seriously…”

  “Send that to Bris? Of course I did. Don’t dare me to do anything you don’t want me to…” I begin howling with laughter when I get Bristol’s reply. Simon’s more my type. Monty seems more…rugged? Enjoy your date with my blessing.

  I quickly write back. It’s not a date! But before I can shut off my phone’s screen, Monty snags it out of my hands. “Hey! That’s a private message. And you’re not supposed to be texting and driving.”

  “I’m not texting. I’m reading.” Monty grins. “By the way, tell your sister she’s right. It is a date.” He tosses my phone back into my lap.

  “Oh, holy hell,” I mutter, my cheeks bright red with embarrassment. I lean my head against the window to try to cool down my flushed face.

  “Do you know what I did the first time I ever saw you?

  “You asked me out. Then we had lunch with my father.” There’s a thread of humor in my voice. I mean, come on? How many people can say that?

  “Actually, no,” Monty says casually. “The first time I ever saw you, I had just put Ev and Mom in a horse-drawn carriage at Central Park for a ride during their anniversary weekend. We’d seen your show the night before. I bet if I told you the date, you’d be able to tell me that you were out for a run the next morning; you keep to such a strict routine. While I was waiting for them, a knockout brunette accidentally bumped into me when she was running. I turned around and watched her run half the block before she crossed into her building by the Plaza.” I gape at him. “I wished I was staying in New York for a few more days because I couldn’t get her off my mind. Then I happened to meet someone in the lobby of the Hamilton who stirred the same feelings inside of me.”

  “That’s impossible.” The words escape past my lips

  Monty pulls the car off into the Visitor Center parking lot. Killing the engine, he turns to me. “Nothing’s impossible. Impossible is only something you believe in because you won’t see what’s beyond it.”

  My mouth opens and closes. I need space and air. “I…” Quickly my hand goes to disengage my seat belt, but Monty lays his on top of it.

  “Come with me and give it a shot.” His hand tightens on mine briefly.

  I pull my hand from his. Undoing my seat belt, I slide from the car. Monty meets me at the back of the vehicle.

  Clasping hands, we walk past the picnic area until we’re overlooking the vista. The orange, gold, and red leaves make up a patchwork quilt in the foothills and valleys. You can barely make out tiny homes spotting the grassy plains in the valleys. What must life be like in those homes? I wonder. Unknowingly, I squeeze Monty’s hand.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” he asks, squeezing back.

  I shake my head. Then I smile. “I’ll take a leaf for them though.”

  Searching my face, he quickly agrees. “That’s a deal.” Bending down, he scoops up a handful of leaves. Dividing them between us, he says, “Ask me any question you want, but you have to pay for it with a leaf. I’ll do the same for you.”

  “And when I run out?” I look down at the three leaves in my hand.

  “We’ll find more at the next stop,” he says confidently.

  “But what if I like the leaf and want to keep it?” I’m looking down at a red maple leaf that’s enormous with a bit of regret. I don’t want to let it go. It’s brazen and beautiful yet fragile. It’s a symbol of the moment he’s creating between us.

  It requires special care if I want it to last.

  “You can keep them all if you answer one question for me?”

  I close my eyes. Here it is, I think cynically. He wants to know something about me I haven’t told anyone.

  “Why do you want to keep it?”

  Without thinking, I answer in confusion. “Doesn’t every girl want to keep a memento from a first date?”

  “Good answer.” Grabbing the wrist holding my leaves, he pushes the bunch of leaves down and out of the way before he wraps his arm around my waist and yanks me toward him. Lowering his head, the red leaves from the maple tree above us form a canopy to block out the blue sky so that I can see his eyes. “Tell me now if you don’t want my lips on yours.”

  My answer is to drop the leaves and to lift my hands to his dark hair. I sink my fingers full of the rich sable strands to pull his face down to mine.

  Monty slants his head, and my head falls back. He cradles me against one arm as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, seeking entrance. I part mine, and he slips in. He tastes of coffee and mint and more. He steals my breath more than the Virginia hills I’ve run up and down.

  He’s right. The thought barely registers through my brain as Monty warms my lips with his own in the fresh mountain air. The spark between us has been dormant, but I’d be lying if I don’t admit I haven’t wondered what this would feel like.

  Our bodies shift into better alignment, so I’m able to wrap my arms around his shoulders, fitting myself as tightly against his body as the puffiness of my vest will allow. His hands don’t remain dormant. One slides into my hair, holding my head prisoner to his ministrations while the other grips my hip to rock me into the cradle of his hips.

  We both are so lost in each other we forget we’re standing in the middle of a public space until the shrill shrieking of childish giggles penetrates my brain. Tearing my mouth away, I gape up at him.

  Never in my life has there been anyone who’s made me feel like that with a single kiss.

  “So, for my question, I’d like to know if you’re rea
dy to discuss the fact we’ve pretty much blown the idea we’re not attracted to each other out of the water?” Monty says with a perfectly straight face.

  “All right. I admit there might be a slight attraction,” I allow, my lips twitching.

  “Sweetheart, if those kids didn’t show up, we might’ve be arrested for starting a forest fire in a national park.” He winks at me before bending over to pick up my leaves. “Come on. You can ask your questions in the car on the way to the next stop.”

  I want to protest, but he holds out his hand so sweetly, it’s all I can do to not fall in his arms again. “If you think I won’t be asking them, you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” I tell him haughtily as I pass by.

  Wrapping an arm around me, he breathes, “Certainly not as well as I hope to either.”

  Damn. I came to stay in Virginia to get closer to my father.

  Not his stepson.

  Thirty-Nine

  Montague

  November

  “Put your hands up!” I yell. I’m sweating bullets. Don’t make me take this shot. Please, God. Just let him drop the gun.

  The shooter—a fourteen-year-old kid who had been sexually assaulted by the father in the home he was staying in while his mother was deployed—holds the gun with the stillness I’ve seen only in battle fatigued soldiers. “I can’t. I won’t.”

  “Just put the gun down. I know what happened. I can help,” I plead with the kid as my partner, Shaun, moves to the back side of him. Saunders and Rogers are slowly climbing the back stairs so they don’t startle him into shooting. He’s surrounded. There’s nowhere to go.

  “No one can help. No one! Don’t you get it! I won’t admit I did anything wrong. No matter who I talked to, they said I was making it up!” he screams.

  I’m not so sure he’s wrong for putting holes with the .45 he’s holding in the chest of his molester either, but that’s not up to me. It’s up to a criminal justice system that’s overrun with too many cases like his. “I can try,” I whisper.

  “I can do better.” He lifts the gun to his head and squeezes.

  “No!”

  I shoot up in bed on a scream the same way I have for the last eight months since the night we solved the case but failed to save the victim.

  Tim McMann died because he didn’t believe. And I no longer know how to.

  Shaking, I get out of bed and stand in front of the window, searching for something to calm my aching heart. Wildly, desperately, I race over to the bar and reach for a glass. I pour myself a drink and pound it back.

  As soon as the burning liquor hits my churning stomach, I race to the bathroom, dropping to my knees. I begin to wretch. Loud, violent heaves. Over and over until I’m sweating with snot and tears coursing down my face.

  When will it end?

  Wearily, I put my head down onto the vomit-ridden toilet seat for just a moment and close my eyes. I know I’ll have to shower before I crawl back into bed, but I don’t have the energy to right now.

  And all I want is peace. Somewhere to escape all the pain.

  Forty

  Montague

  I don’t know why I seek Linnie out the next morning. She wasn’t at breakfast, which was unusual. She hasn’t missed eating with us once since she’s arrived.

  I try her dance studio first, and I’m shocked when the door’s locked. Pulling out my phone, I give Ev a quick call. “Do you know where Linnie is?”

  “She mentioned going for a walk, but I didn’t ask where.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Disconnecting, I think. Where would she go? Deciding to saddle up Hatchet, I wander off to the horse barn where I stop in my tracks. The woman I’ve been looking for is sitting on the floor of the dirty barn in designer jeans having an in-depth conversation with a little girl who’s been sponsored through Ev’s scholarship program. Lorrie lives with her elderly grandmother on the outskirts of Leesburg. She’s been a tough nut to crack with the horses. She’s more than willing to groom them but refuses to get up on them. I can’t figure out why.

  But apparently, she’s a marshmallow for Linnie, who’s making her giggle.

  Lingering in the shadows, I blatantly listen to their conversation with interest. I’m astounded by what I hear.

  “Grandma doesn’t know how to do fancy braids like that.” Lorrie reaches up to touch the french braid that runs down Linnie’s back. “All she can do is pigtails.” She lets out a beleaguered sigh. “And every day she threatens to cut my hair anyway.”

  “Why’s that?” Linnie asks, not putting pity or sympathy in her voice though God knows she has to feel both.

  “Well, we can’t afford conditioner. So it hurts when she pulls a comb through,” Lorrie replies. “Grandma says it’d be easier if my hair were shorter, but then she realizes it’d have to be cut more. Instead, she slaps my hand with the comb if I get too loud.”

  “Does it hurt?” Linnie digs in her bag in front of her, pulling out a bristle brush. As she gets up on her knees, she spots me. She gives me a negative shake of her head, which I acknowledge with a slight tip of my head.

  “Nah. It’s kinda like this.” And from the shadows, I watch as Lorrie pops Linnie lightly on the fingers. The tension in Linnie relaxes.

  “Are you going to do that to me if I try to brush out your hair to braid it?” Linnie teases. The little girl’s face lights up.

  “I might,” she teases back, twisting her head back and grinning at Linnie, showing off where she’s missing a few teeth. Spotting me, she goes, “Uh-oh, Miss Linnie. Now might not be a good time though. There’s Mr. Monty.”

  Linnie makes a scoffing sound. “I’ll bet you mucking out Hatchet’s stall he’ll let me braid your hair.”

  Lorrie wrinkles her nose. “I’m not so sure about that.”

  It’s then I step forward. “I think she was betting me, Lorrie. And what do I get if I win?”

  Linnie sits back on her heels for a moment in thought, “Hmm. I have no idea what you want.”

  I do. The thought floats through my mind and drifts into hers because Linnie’s lips part. “How about you sing for me? And Lorrie,” I tack on, catching the little girl’s glare.

  “Deal.” Linnie turns and barely lifts the brush to the ends of Lorrie’s hair when we’re both startled by a howling screech from the child.

  “Good heavens, Lorrie.” Linnie’s startled. “Is your head that sensitive, sweetheart?”

  Mischievously, the little girl throws me a wink. I’m taken aback. “Nah. I didn’t feel a thing. I just want to hear you sing.”

  Linnie bursts out into laughter. “Next time, how about asking versus taking a year off my life?” Lifting the brush back to the ends of the girl’s hair before she unravels the band, Linnie begins to hum before singing a beautiful song about loving yourself as you are.

  Uncaring of what has to be done around the farm, I drop in front of the two girls dappled in the sunlight as Linnie’s fingers quickly separate, tug, and twist. As the first braid finishes, her voice climbs higher, but she calmly scoots behind an unmoving Lorrie. She repeats the process over again with Lorrie held captive by the power of her voice. Even as she ties off the last band, she spends the time brushing out the ends until she finishes the song. “Now, how’s that?”

  I’m entirely unprepared for Lorrie to toss herself into Linnie’s arms. “Maybe now the riding hat will fit better so I can ride. Thank you, Miss Linnie. Thank you!”

  “My pleasure, sweetie. Next week, I’ll start teaching you how to braid your hair so you can do it on your own. Now, why don’t you let Mr. Monty take you to the tack room for a helmet?”

  Linnie’s words jerk me out of my stupor. That’s why this little girl didn’t want to get on a horse? Because her head didn’t fit into a helmet?

  “We need to talk,” I murmur as I pass by Linnie, who’s already putting her brush away.

  “You have precious cargo to take care of. I’ll be in my studio.”

  “Come on, sprout. Let’s g
o try on a helmet. Then let’s get you up and walking today.” I hold out an arm to gesture to the tack room. Lorrie’s shining black eyes are beaming up at me. Then she dashes to the tack room.

  I’m not far behind her.

  * * *

  Hours later, I walk into Linnie’s studio where she’s clad in a pair of tight shorts that barely skim the curve of her ass. As I close the door behind me, she goes up in ballerina pointe shoes and performs a series of spins that frankly leave me as off-kilter as the scene in the barn earlier. Her arms are almost as fast as her legs. Open. Spin. Close. Spin. I’m dizzy.

  And her hair’s flying behind her in a perfect braid.

  I wait until she’s finished in a pose where her arm’s thrust above her head before I ask, “How did you know?”

  “There’s something to be said for saying hello,” She doesn’t turn around. I walk around until I’m in her direct line of vision.

  “How, Linnie? Ev, Mom, we’ve all tried to break through to that little girl for months.” My voice is accusatory, but damn if I’m not a little frustrated.

  She reaches behind her and pulls her mane of dark brown hair forward. “Maybe because I was in the same boat?”

  Understanding flashes through me. “I didn’t…”

  Pushing up on the toes of her shoes, she saunters over to me. I don’t know how she manages to balance on just her toes. “Of course not. I wouldn’t have assumed you would have. Maybe Lorrie would have trusted you eventually, but she saw me struggle with my helmet the first day. I put it down in the dirt to braid my hair lower. She took a chance to form a bond—something I thought we were doing. I don’t get it. I’d thought you’d be happy; why are you upset?”

  I don’t have a good answer, so I do what I think is the wise thing and keep silent.