by Freya Barker
I grab on to her hip.
“Lady, you’re gonna hurt me if you don’t.”
The next moment I lose the ability to think, let alone formulate words, when she sinks down and takes me deep inside her body.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Hillary
I stretch my arms over my head.
This is the life.
Phil, who is curled at my feet, briefly lifts her head, only to put it back down on her paws and promptly close her eyes.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve taken a vacation, working diligently toward the goal I set myself many years ago and which is still months and sixty-two hundred dollars away. I’ve always worked two jobs, lived frugally, and socked away the extra cash to pay down my student loans. St. Mary’s provided me with decent medical insurance, the start of a small pension, and some job security, none of which I have now.
You’d think I’d be a wreck without that security, but I’m not. I’m lazing on the front porch of a gorgeous lodge, enjoying a beautiful view, made even better when I look over at where Radar is perfecting his one-armed cast.
The guys are fishing, something they’ve done daily since we got here. During the warmest hours of the day, we’d hang on the porch in the shade, talking, and twice we’ve gone for a hike while Chuck took a nap.
Other than preparing a few meals—which is always better when you cook for an appreciative audience—I have done absolutely nothing. Zip. Nada. And the weird part is, I don’t even feel guilty. In fact, I think this may well be the most relaxed I’ve been in a decade.
The late afternoon sun feels great on my skin, my book is upside down on the table beside me, and I’m perfectly content just being in the moment. I may as well soak it up because tomorrow we’re heading back home.
Hugh is flying back to Anchorage—his job and his family are waiting for him—and Chuck wants to be back in Montrose for his Saturday night poker game at the community center. Both Radar and I have at least one more week before we’re even allowed anywhere near our jobs, and it’ll be interesting to see what life will be like in our regular environment.
This short week has been amazing. Observing Radar with his brother and father has given me a good look at both the man and some of the family dynamics, providing me with even more insight. I can see how he is different from the other men in his family. His dad and brother are all about the physical, where Radar is definitely a mix of physical and bookish. Interesting is that his bookish side disappeared completely during this trip.
I like both sides of the man. Heck, I love all of him.
Chuck comes sauntering toward the house. He skipped his nap today because it’s our last day, so I’m guessing he’s getting tired.
“Any luck?” I call out when he’s close enough. Phil immediately wakes up and jumps to her feet, her tail wagging as she waits at the edge of the porch.
The boys had promised fish for dinner tonight. They have a routine of practicing catch and release, except for the last day when—so they tell me—they feast on the day’s spoils.
“Couple of rainbows, a brown, and a bucket of perch. Comin’ to get a couple’a beers and the fillet knife. Gonna clean ‘em.”
“Can I help?”
I’m already getting up from my seat.
“Suit yourself,” he says with a wave of his hand, and in passing adds, “Hope you’ve got a strong stomach ‘cause it can get messy.”
“Chuck,” I call after him. “I’m an ER nurse, remember? I’ve had my hands in body cavities, I think I can handle some fish guts.”
It wouldn’t be the first time. Grandma didn’t just teach me to cook, she made sure I knew how to find and prepare food if ever I was stranded on my own in the wilderness. I used to roll my eyes at that, but she felt it was important for me to learn some traditional skills. I have to say, being able to skin or debone a rabbit or a wild turkey hasn’t exactly moved my life along, but it did give me a fascination with anatomy and a strong stomach.
“Well, then make yourself useful and grab the beers while I fetch my knife.”
I grin as I watch him walk away. Crusty old coot. I feel like I’ve been accepted into the fold; he now grumps as hard at me as he does at his sons.
Armed with beers, a decent knife from the kitchen, some old newspapers, and a plastic tub I found in the laundry room, I follow Chuck. Phil sticks close to my heels.
“Hey, Lady,” Radar grins, leaning down for a kiss.
He looks good. Relaxed. We lucked out with the weather and the daily dose of sun has given him a bit of a tan. Surprisingly he looks like he belongs out in the elements instead of in an office.
“Nice catch,” I comment, checking the haul laid out on a large rock at the water’s edge. A bucket sitting beside it holds about six or seven perch. I hand out the beers, set the tub down, and spread out the newspapers on a flat rock. When I straighten up I find all three men looking at me curiously. “What?”
“Wondering what you’re doing,” Radar asks, a smirk on his face when he looks at the Santoku knife I brought from the kitchen.
“Your dad said you were cleaning fish, I’ll help.”
Ignoring the doubtful looks, I reach for one of the larger trout and place it on the newspaper. With the tail firmly in my hand I use the blunt side of the knife to deftly scrape the scales off both sides of the fish. I step over to the water and rinse any that stick to the skin off. Then I fold over the top sheet of newspaper so I have a clean slate and cut off the dorsal fin and carefully slice open the belly. The Santoku knife was the sharpest one and, although a thin boning or filleting knife would’ve been easier, the thin edge slices effortlessly through the tough skin. The innards are easily removed and I make sure the cavity is empty before putting the blade of the knife behind the gills sliding it down to the spine, and then I flip it over and do the same on the other side. All it takes is some pressure with the heel of my other hand to snap through the spine. I toss the body into the plastic tub for a good rinsing in the kitchen, roll up the top layers of newspaper cleaning up my workspace, and reach for the next one.
“Nine minutes,” I hear Hugh mumble behind me. “Faster than you, Dad.”
“Bullshit,” the old man grumbles. “Gimme that fish.”
What started off as a little showoff on my part turns into a full-out competition, accompanied by beer, complete with heckling and challenges. The loudest—and only one not competing because he only has use of one hand—is Radar, taking great pleasure in taunting his brother in particular. The result is a tub full of cleaned fish and a sense of camaraderie that feels a little unfamiliar, but warm and wonderful all the same.
Hugh picks up the tub, Chuck grabs the dirty newspapers we’ll burn in the firepit tonight, and I carry the empties back to the house. Radar walks beside me and slings his good arm around my shoulders, tugging me close.
“That was hot,” he mumbles, his lips brushing my ear.
“You’re nuts. I’m covered in scales and fish guts. I stink.”
“Oddly, not a deterrent,” he mutters amused.
It is for me, and after rinsing and seasoning the fish, I head to the bathroom for a quick shower. The guys announced they’d be cooking tonight and far be it from me to argue.
By the time I get downstairs, a hint of sautéed garlic and spices hits my nose, luring me straight to the kitchen where Hugh is stirring something in a frying pan on the stove. A quick peek out the back doors shows Radar and his father manning the grill.
“What’s cooking?” I ask, peeking around him.
“Pan-fried potatoes,” he announces, stepping aside so I can see.
It looks amazing; small new potatoes, colored with diced bell pepper, red onions, and chopped spinach tossed together in what smells like a royal amount of butter.
“That smells awesome. I had no idea you could cook.”
He chuckles softly.
“I’m a one-trick pony, this is all I can make. It’s one of Leslie’s recipes and
the only reason I learned how to make it is because when we moved to Alaska, I had to fend for myself for a few months before she came up with the kids.” He steps back up to the stove to stir. “It’s my favorite and the prospect of eating takeout for two months didn’t appeal. I can do this, fry an egg, and I can grill a decent steak, but that’s about the extent of it.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard to expand your menu?” I suggest, grabbing a water from the fridge. “Drink?”
“Please, and as to the other, hell no,” he returns. “Not until the boys are grown. Kids are unbelievably picky eaters and harsh critics to boot. Leslie has the thicker skin.”
I laugh at the poor excuse as I hand him one of the beers I pulled from the fridge. “Coward.”
“You bet I am.” He grins and shoots me a wink.
I pull open the sliding door and step out on the deck. The two out here are arguing about the proper way to grill the fish. I step in between and hand Chuck a bottle before turning to Radar and distracting him with a kiss.
“You smell good,” he hums, not seeming to care his father is looking on. “Coconut.”
“My shampoo.”
“I know.” He grins down at me. “You told me.”
“You, however,” I poke a finger in his chest, “still reek of fish.”
I hadn’t noticed before, I only smelled myself.
“Not washing it off until after dinner,” he announces.
“Then I’m sitting next to your dad,” I fire back, taking a step back and hooking my arm through Chuck’s, catching another whiff of eau-de-trout. “Scratch that.” I release him and take a few steps away. “I think we should eat outside.”
For the first time I watch Chuck crack a wide smile, crumpling his face.
“You’ll do for my boy, Hilly, you’ll do.”
Radar
“Gonna miss you, girlie.”
Hugh and I look at each other and grin.
Beside the vehicle, Dad is hugging Hillary hard. Or maybe it’s the other way around.
“I have one more mandatory week off, Radar probably more, and Montrose isn’t that far,” she says, releasing my father. “We’ll swing by next weekend and you can show me around town. I’ve only ever driven through, so it’s pretty much new to me.”
Dad throws her a lopsided grin.
“It’s a date.”
She waits to get back in beside me until Dad disappears into his trailer with just a wave for Hugh and me.
“You know you could’ve gotten in the front,” my brother says over his shoulder.
“You’re a nice guy and all that, Hugh, but I’d rather sit beside my boyfriend.”
He mumbles something inaudible from the front seat as he starts the SUV, while Hillary lifts Phil on her lap and snuggles in against my good shoulder.
“I’m gonna miss him too,” she whispers.
How my cranky father managed I don’t know, but I think she fell faster for him than she did for me. Hillary seems to have effortlessly charmed her way into the hearts of my family too. Even Leslie, who she only briefly spoke to last night when Hugh handed her the phone. Hillary promised to visit Alaska soon too. I believe her exact words were, “Don’t worry, I’ll drag his ass up there if I have to.” I have no doubt she was talking about me.
They’ve been in Anchorage for three years and I have yet to show my face. Work has always been in the way, but I get the sense I won’t be able to wield that as an excuse all the time anymore. Not that I would anyway, now that I have a reason to go home at night.
Needless to say, by the time they hung up, Hillary was Leslie’s new best friend.
“I love your family,” she says in a soft voice.
I smile in her hair.
“I’m getting that impression.”
“It’s possible I love you too.”
I have to strain to hear her. Tugging her even closer, I use my left hand to lift her face and look down in those beautiful dark pools.
“I figured. Especially after you made the mistake of cooking chili for a houseful of men and still stuck around.” I grin at her when she snickers at the memory. “I doubt it escaped your notice that I love you too.”
“Yeah…”
I kiss her smiling mouth, feeling like my world that so often seemed off-kilter finally righted itself.
We spend the rest of the drive to Grand Junction quietly snuggling in the back seat, with the only exception when we pass the old motel. Beside me Hillary stiffens and puts a hand on my leg.
“It’s behind us, Lady.”
Hard to believe that was only last week. If not for the tightness in my shoulder it might as well have been months ago. I have to thank my brother for dragging us all away for that break. It’s been good for everyone.
I catch Hugh checking on me in the rearview mirror, a smile on his face. I decide on the spot that as soon as I can, I’m going to load Dad and Hillary on a plane to Alaska.
It’s already getting dark when he pulls into the parking lot behind my apartment building. I’m surprised to see my truck parked in its regular spot. I’m guessing one of the guys or Bree dropped it off here at some point. Which reminds me, I need to take Hillary shopping for new wheels.
Hugh has only a small window of time to get to the airport for his flight, so we say goodbye in the parking lot. He gives Hillary a hug first and then turns to me.
“You did good, little brother. Don’t mess this up.”
Of course he had to add the last bit. Wouldn’t be Hugh if he didn’t needle me a little.
“You worry about your own woman,” I fire back.
He starts laughing and grabs me in a one-armed hug.
“Happy for you, Bro,” he whispers, before letting me go with a punch to my good shoulder.
Then he gets into his rental and takes off.
Hillary
I wave after Hugh and turn to Radar, who has his eyes on me.
“What?”
I feel a little uncertain. We’ve spent a lot of time together, even before he got shot, and I’m not quite sure where to go from here. My apartment is waiting right across the parking lot, but I’m not sure if he expects me to go home or stay here.
“Whose place?” he asks with half a smirk.
The relief is instant as I smile back. The prospect of going to my apartment alone was not an appealing one.
“Yours,” I answer right away. “Your building has better water pressure and I really like your bed.”
Heat immediately floods his eyes. “My place it is. We have a week to sort out a more permanent solution.”
Well, then, it’s clear he’s not wasting any time. Excellent.
“Let’s get these bags upstairs,” I suggest, grabbing my tote. “Let’s get you some food,” I tell Phil, who is waiting at my feet.
In Radar’s apartment I get started on our laundry while he looks after the dog. I’m going to have to grab some clean clothes from my place because everything I brought is in the washer.
Radar is clipping the leash on Phil when I walk out of the laundry room.
“I’m just taking her for a walk.”
Just then his phone rings from the kitchen.
“I’ll take her, I need to grab a few things from my place anyway. Take the call.”
He drops a peck on my lips in passing. Then he snatches his phone off the counter and answers as I step out the door.
“Come on girl, we’ll head around the block first.”
As usual Phil sniffs every blade of grass, every lamppost, and pees about twenty-three times before we round the final corner to my building. She’s a little confused when I start up the stairs to my place, but where I go, she follows, like she’s done this entire week.
Funny, I never had a pet in my life, it didn’t even occur to me. Not with two jobs and long hours. I knew there was no way I could care for an animal, so it wasn’t on my radar. Apparently I missed out.
“You hang out here while I get my stuff,” I mutter at the dog, who
continues her sniffing inside my apartment.
In the bedroom I toss a few things in a bag, grab a new book from the shelf—I finished the one I took with me—and head to the bathroom to get my straightener. I haven’t used it in a while.
I pick it up and catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. My hair is big and a little wild, and for many years I carefully controlled it with flat iron and product, but I’m actually starting to like its unpredictability. Radar likes it too.
I twist the cord around my straightener and toss it determinedly into the trash. From now on I take life as it comes.
I find Phil lying on the front doormat and pick up her leash as I turn off the lights and step outside.
I’m pulling the door shut when Philomena starts growling, but before I can move cold steel is pressed to the base of my neck.
“Finally. Bitch.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Radar
“So? How was the trip?”
I drop down on the couch and plant my boots on the coffee table.
“Great,” I answer Dimas. “How did you know I was home? I just walked in the door.”
“Lucky guess. Shoulder coming along?”
I lift my arm and test the joint a little.
“Better. Can’t lift my arm over my head yet, but I’m getting there.”
“You will, but don’t push too hard. Do exactly as much as your PT instructs you.”
Dimas would know. He lost part of his leg his last deployment and set himself back in his recovery by trying too much too soon. Now you can’t even tell he has an artificial limb.
“Fair enough, but after I see the surgeon this week for my follow-up, I’m hoping I can at least get back to work.”
“You’ll have to get that past my brother first. He’ll want you in tip-top shape. According to him you’re the company’s brain and we’d be lost without you.”
I’m silent for a beat. Yanis isn’t one to compliment and I had no idea he regarded me like that. Feels fucking great, even if I’m hearing it second-hand.