Huckleberry Lake

by Catherine Anderson

  “What is it about him that gets to you?” Erin asked. “I mean, he’s definitely got it nailed in the looks department, but there’s no shortage of handsome men in Mystic Creek, and you’re pretty enough and nice enough to take your pick.”

  Julie sighed again, which made Erin grin. “Well, he’s as solid as a rock, for one thing. He not only knows what he wants out of life, but he’s already attained it. He’s happy with his work and daily routine. And you know the instant you walk into his apartment that he enjoys his leisure hours. I saw heaps of books on his shelving. He’s got a television almost big enough for Marcus Mariota to run the ball clear to the goal line on the screen. And I could tell, just by looking around, that he cooks, does laundry, and keeps his place spotlessly clean.”

  Erin frowned in bewilderment, because to her way of thinking, Julie was basically saying that the attractive things to her about Fred Black were pretty low on her own importance list. “Okay,” she said. “Go on.”

  “Well, honestly?” She heard Julie shifting positions and could almost picture her with her legs dangling over the arm of her favorite chair. “I think one of the most attractive things to me about Blackie is that he isn’t looking for anyone to fix his life. It’s full just as it is. If I have a relationship with him, I’ll be a fringe benefit, not something he actually needs.”

  It took Erin a moment, but she finally said, “Aha, I’m finally getting it. Derek needed you as camouflage, and you suffered greatly for that. Isn’t it perfectly normal—and emotionally healthy—for you to feel strongly attracted to a man who needs nothing from you? That’s how solid relationships should begin, anyway, I think, with an attraction that isn’t fueled by desperation. With Blackie, you needn’t worry about a hidden agenda.”

  “Exactly!” Julie exclaimed with a shrill note of excitement in her voice. “I find his transparency and honesty so incredibly sexy.”

  Erin smiled in spite of herself. “Well, I see absolutely nothing wrong with that, Jules. So just go for it.”

  “Maybe I will,” Julie shot back. “I just want to be sure. You know?”

  “I do. Absolutely.”

  After the call ended, Erin contemplated her attraction to Wyatt and wished she could see her own situation with such clarity.

  * * *

  * * *

  Kennedy sat at the long, rectangular table in the bunkhouse. The overhead light in the kitchen had dead houseflies in the glass globe, and their dehydrated corpses cast polka dot shadows on the pages of his textbook. He needed to climb up there and clean it, but between classes, studying, and working on the ranch taking up most of his time, he couldn’t work up the energy. Besides, it didn’t seem to bother anyone but him. His brother seemed to have a filter in his brain that allowed him to sift through all the things that needed to be done and focus on only the most urgent. Bugs in the light globe didn’t rank high on that list.

  Bugs didn’t rank high on Kennedy’s list, either. But that was what he had to study if he wanted to ace his final exam. Bugs. He guessed he was missing something, because he couldn’t see how it was important for him to know that the common housefly’s scientific name was Musca domestica. He wanted to be a game biologist, not an entomologist. And besides, who in his right mind would say, “Somebody needs to get those darned Musca domestica out of the ceiling lights?” Nobody, not even Wyatt, the self-made scholar, would know what he meant.

  Kennedy closed the book with a little more force than necessary. He was tired of reading. He’d been at it for so many hours that his vision was blurring. His stomach was also rumbling with hunger, which wasn’t unusual. He had a big appetite, and food didn’t stick to his ribs very long. That was especially true tonight, because it had been Tex’s turn to cook, and he’d made macaroni and cheese, one of Kennedy’s favorites, but he’d ruined the whole pot by dumping in a bunch of canned tuna. Yuck. Kennedy liked tuna in a sandwich or creamy casserole, but he didn’t want fish mixed into his cheesy comfort food. Even the lingering smells of their meal turned his stomach.

  Abandoning his textbook, he pushed up from the chair and advanced on the cupboards, which Wyatt kept well stocked with snacks. Only Kennedy felt the need for something more substantial than cookies or chips, so he decided to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. That meant he’d need to make two. Four Toes, Slade’s rescued black bear, dearly loved PB&Js, his favorite treat next to a squeeze bottle of ketchup. Kennedy laid paper towels out on the Formica counter, not because they didn’t have cutting boards, but because he was lazy and hated washing the darned things. He saw no point in making a sandwich on a stupid board when he could do it this way, save himself work, and use the towels as a napkin as he ate.

  After making a second sandwich for Four Toes, with extra jelly because that was the best part as far as the bear was concerned, Kennedy took a huge bite of his own. He expected a satisfying burst of flavor to fill his mouth, only it didn’t taste all that great. What he really wanted was a big, juicy cheeseburger and a large order of fries. Normally he wouldn’t consider driving clear into Mystic Creek for only that. Going back and forth to college in Crystal Falls already had his gasoline expenses skyrocketing, and he needed to watch his budget. But he also had to take into account that he hadn’t treated himself to anything special in a while. Studying and working. Working and studying. Sometimes a guy just needed to say to hell with all of it and take an evening off. Besides, the Mystical Burger Shack had recently been remodeled into one of those old-fashioned drive-ins where people could pull into the parking lot, order over an intercom, and eat in their cars. Kennedy hadn’t seen the renovations yet, let alone eaten there. That meant he hadn’t gone out for a cheeseburger in months.

  He wrapped both sandwiches up in the paper towels and left the bunkhouse, only to almost trip over Wyatt’s dog, Domino, who was curled up on the porch. Kennedy stepped fancy to keep from falling or hurting the canine, who complicated the situation by leaping to his feet. When Kennedy reached down to pat the border collie mix, the animal caught a whiff of the peanut butter and emitted a mournful whine.

  “Okay, okay,” Kennedy said. “Four Toes will never know he missed out on a second sandwich.”

  Domino wolfed down his PB&J in two bites, then sat and looked up at Kennedy expectantly.

  “You can’t have both of them, Domino. You’ll get fat. Besides, Four Toes wants one, too. His mouth is probably already watering. Bears can smell goodies from as far as a mile away.”

  As Kennedy descended the steps, Domino fell in beside him. “Okay, you can come,” he conceded. “But you don’t get to share. You had yours.”

  When Kennedy and the dog reached the hurricane fence enclosure where the bear was confined at night, Four Toes was nowhere in sight. Kennedy unlatched the gate, and Domino followed him inside. They found the bear curled up and asleep inside his cave, which had cost Slade a small fortune to have built. Even in the darkness, the animal’s gold fur was visible. Kennedy waved the sandwich back and forth to awaken his furry friend. Four Toes let out a rumble and rolled to his feet when he smelled the peanut butter. Laughing, Kennedy handed the bear the treat, and Four Toes sat back on his haunches to enjoy it.

  “See you in the morning, Four Toes,” Kennedy called as he led Domino out of the enclosure and refastened the gate. “I’ll bring you some ketchup tomorrow night.” On the way to his pickup, Kennedy texted his brother. Craving a cheeseburger. Taking Domino with me to town.

  Wyatt always carried his cell phone in his pocket so he’d feel the vibration when he received a message. He texted back: OK, bro. Thnx 4 letting me know.

  Kennedy loved his new truck. Well, it was new to him, anyway. He’d bought it secondhand, but it served him well for driving back and forth to school and came in handy on the ranch when he needed to haul something. As he drew up to open the driver door, he gave it a fond pat.

  Driving at night always soothed him, especially in spring
, when the evening air felt almost balmy after a long, hard winter and he could roll down the windows. Domino shared his enjoyment of the fresh air by hooking his paws over the sill and poking out his head. The wind caught the dog’s fluffy ears and flattened them against his skull, which made Kennedy grin.

  A few minutes later Kennedy arrived at the Mystical Burger Shack, and the place was lighted up like a Christmas tree. Periwinkle Lane was still mostly undeveloped, so it was as dark as the other country roads around town. The sudden radiance as Kennedy came around the bend was startling. The last time he had driven by, the burger place had been little, basically a square building with the interior partitioned off in three sections for storage, a commercial kitchen, and a dining area. But now, with the long overhang built perpendicular to the main structure, it looked almost as big as a football field. Servers on roller skates rolled in and out of the building by a side door, carrying trays of food that hooked over the partially lowered windows of vehicles. There were so many cars that Kennedy decided half the population of Mystic Creek must have been craving a hamburger, too. He was amazed that there was so much business this late at night.

  He found a parking place and raised the passenger window slightly so Domino could still poke his head through the opening for fresh air but wouldn’t be encouraged to jump out. Working dogs leaped out of trucks all the time on a ranch, and Domino wouldn’t understand the rules were different here in a public place. Kennedy studied the menu. Then he pressed the button to order a cheeseburger and fries for himself and a corn dog for Domino.

  While waiting for his food, Kennedy observed other customers through their windshields, breathed deeply of all the delicious smells, and watched the teenage waitresses zoom back and forth on skates. Wow. Now that he was twenty-two, he shouldn’t think girls under eighteen were sexy, but short, pleated skirts blowing in the wind around slender thighs had a way of snagging a guy’s attention whether he intended to look or not. A couple of the teens were totally hot, but the little blonde eclipsed them even though she’d made no attempt to glam up with cosmetics. Her shoulder-length hair was overall golden with darker streaks the same color as the honey he drizzled over his flapjacks. Yum. She looked good enough to gobble up and still be hungry for seconds.

  He was jazzed when he saw the petite blonde roll to a stop in front of his truck. He admired her skill on roller skates as she stepped off the curb and zoomed around to the driver’s-side window. As she hooked the tray over the lowered pane, she parroted, “One cheeseburger with bacon, a large order of fries, a corn dog, and a Coke. Right?”

  Kennedy hadn’t asked for bacon, but the place was super busy, and he didn’t want to quibble over a little mistake. He placed his credit card on the tray to cover his tab. She pulled a cell phone from her tiny apron pocket and ran his card through a fob attached to it. Then she handed her phone to Kennedy and chirped, “Signature, please.”

  He signed with his fingertip and returned her phone. “Thanks. Tell the owner I like the drive-in.”

  A dimple flashed in her cheek as she smiled. “Isn’t it amazing? My grandparents say it’s just like the olden days! Back in the sixties, drive-in hamburger joints were in almost every town.”

  “It’s pretty awesome.”

  As she skated back toward the building to pick up another food order, Kennedy removed Domino’s corn dog from the paper sheath and fed the dog first. He waited for Domino to bite down on the end and then pulled out the stick. “Bon appétit,” he told the canine.

  Kennedy’s mouth watered as he unwrapped his burger, and he was glad they’d made a mistake on the bacon. After forcing down bites of Tex’s awful supper, he was hungry enough to eat twice what he’d ordered. He settled back against the seat to eat, but Domino polished off his treat in three gulps and whined for some of Kennedy’s.

  “You always do this,” Kennedy grumped. He heard cars starting up all around them and glanced out to see several vehicles backing out. By the time he’d given the dog one of his bacon strips, there were only two cars left under the overhang besides his truck. “Next time, we’ll come earlier. Right?”

  As Kennedy enjoyed his first bite of the burger, another car left and then the second one followed. He didn’t mind sitting out there all alone, though. He got a lot of quiet time while working on the ranch, but he rarely had an opportunity to just sit, eat, and not talk to anybody. Meals in the bunkhouse were almost always noisy, with the guys chatting nonstop, the only exception being Wyatt, who’d given up on reading lips when people’s mouths were full. On days when Kennedy had classes and ate at the cafeteria, the college union was jam-packed with students, who also talked nonstop. It was kind of nice to eat in silence, with the pine-scented night air drifting through the truck cab. Studying for final exams had drained him, and he was glad that he’d taken a break.

  Just then, a ’56 Chevy Bel Air Sport Coupe pulled in under the overhang and almost took out the intercom post. Kennedy startled so badly that his behind parted company with the bucket seat. Holy hell. That car was fully restored, with cherry-red and gleaming white paint, tail fins almost sharp enough to cut bread, and chrome polished to such a shine it glinted. And that kid almost creamed the front fender. He also recognized the raucous rumble of a glasspack muffler. Sweet. Kennedy would have given his right arm to own that vehicle. What father in his right mind allowed an addlebrained teenager to go joyriding in a classic? Kennedy guessed he shouldn’t pass judgment. Some people had money to burn and others didn’t. He also needed to remember that it hadn’t been that long ago when he’d been a rowdy teen with more testosterone than brains, not to mention too many beers under his belt.

  There were four boys in the car, all of them laughing and acting silly. Kennedy remembered those days, too. He smiled as he took another bite of his burger and stuffed in a couple of fries. The teenage driver pressed the intercom button and tried to place the orders, which involved a lot of arguing and revising before he finally got it right for his friends. Then all four kids settled down to wait.

  Kennedy had finished half of his burger when the little blonde emerged from the building with a heavily laden tray balanced on her hands. She was all-over adorable in a red-plaid skirt barely long enough to cover her butt cheeks and a white knit top that showcased her small breasts. Again, he admired her skill on skates. He’d probably end up flat on his ass with hamburgers all over him, but she managed on those roller skates as if she’d been born wearing them. She hesitated when she saw the Chevy, but then she stepped off the curb and wheeled over to the driver’s side. Just as she got close, the door flew open, knocking her almost off balance and sending the tray flying. Kennedy nearly dropped his sandwich.

  What the hell? He forgot to swallow and just sat there with a glob of food in his mouth. The driver, a dark-haired kid with a jock’s muscular build, leaped out and grabbed the blonde by both arms. One of the boys in the back pushed the driver’s seat forward and leaned halfway out of the car. The jock jerked the girl toward his waiting friend. Watching on, Kennedy realized that they were going to force her inside the vehicle. Crazy. What were they thinking? If they succeeded in nabbing her, they’d be in more trouble than they could imagine.

  The boys were about the girl’s age, but the jock had a definite physical advantage over her. Kennedy tried to look away rather than interfere. Trouble between local-yokel kids was none of his business. But the driver was determined to get the waitress into the car, and she couldn’t resist while wearing roller skates. When he pulled on her arms, her body followed, even though she tried to put on the brakes by twisting her feet sideways. It was all she could do to remain upright.

  All four boys were now out of the car. They started pushing the girl back and forth between them, grabbing her in inappropriate places when they caught her and then shoving her over to the next guy so he could cop a feel. The girl began screaming, and the jock popped her on the mouth. A chill washed over Kennedy. He glanced towa
rd the building, hoping to see someone race outside. Surely the owner had outdoor camera surveillance so the young waitresses weren’t entirely on their own out here. But nobody emerged from the burger shack to intervene.

  “Shit.” Kennedy pushed open his door, which sent his Coke flying. He couldn’t just sit in his truck while a girl was overpowered by four young men. As his boots connected with the asphalt, Kennedy shouted, “Hey, guys! Let’s keep it friendly. Okay? Let the girl go!”

  The jock spun around to glare at Kennedy. “You and whose army is gonna make us, jackass? You need to mind your own fucking business!”

  One look at the terrified girl told Kennedy that he couldn’t turn his back on this. The last thing he wanted was to get in a fracas with minors. Now that he was twenty-two, he could go to jail for that. For all he knew, striking a kid could be a felony, and if the charges stuck, he might never be able to work for the state. Doesn’t matter. Nobody else was rushing from the building to help the girl, so it fell to him to do something.

  He walked toward the Chevy. “I don’t want any trouble, guys.”

  “Then back off,” the jock demanded.

  The smell of alcohol and weed wafted to Kennedy’s nostrils. Just great. These boys were hammered and probably had the collective genius of a fruit fly. Kennedy really, really didn’t want this to escalate into a fistfight. He pulled out his cell and dialed 911. When the dispatcher answered, he said loudly enough for the boys to hear, “Four male youths are accosting a teenage girl at the hamburger joint, and—”

  The jock leaped onto the center walkway where the waitresses skated back and forth and slapped the cell phone from Kennedy’s hand. Hoping the dispatcher could still hear him, Kennedy shouted out the license plate number on the car. Within seconds, all four boys were on Kennedy. He wasn’t too worried. There was only one hamburger joint in town, so the authorities knew where to go even without a business name or address, and Kennedy could hold his own until they arrived.