by Rich Bullock
“Good to be back with you after surviving that virus. Man, that was nasty stuff. A special thanks to my friend, Ember, for being my voice when mine was AWOL. If you enjoyed hearing her, send me a post. I’m pretty sure I can persuade her to step back in periodically.” Skyy grinned at Ember, who rolled her eyes.
They were sitting at the counter in DC Coffee long after hours. The front blinds were closed, and the only light came from two fixtures near the front windows, the counter lights behind the bar, the back storeroom, and Skyy’s laptop. She nodded at Ember to click the next song, signaling Big Jerry to start it playing.
“This is Wayward Bunny’s new release, ‘Grass Cutter,’” Skyy said over the song intro. “Enjoy.” Ember clicked the microphone mute button.
Skyy glanced over to check on Bailey and Olivia, who were sitting at a table a few feet away. Enough light came from the back room so they could read magazines and books available from the shop’s free exchange shelf. The girls had asked to stay at the cabin, but Skyy insisted they come along. No way was she leaving them to their own devices. Plus, she still hadn’t talked to Canon. His number came up on her phone hours ago, but the call dropped and he hadn’t left a message. When she called back, it went straight to voicemail. If he came home tonight as planned, finding two strange girls in his home wouldn’t be good.
She rubbed at the tension between her eyes. Even if she intercepted him, she had no idea how she would explain their presence. He was a cop. How would he handle having two tight-lipped underage girls—possibly runaways or worse—sleeping on his floor and eating his food? Labeling it presumption on her part didn’t even begin to cut it.
She should have asked Connie about who he might call, but last night had blindsided her. Getting the girls home, bathed, dressed in some of Ember’s clothes, fed, and bedded down with every spare blanket had sapped every ounce of her energy.
And today, when she tried to question the girls with all the tact and sensitivity she could muster, they deflected her attempts like seasoned manipulators. Her inquiry about parents led to what’s for lunch? Asking about where they lived brought a suggestion they all go for a walk. When she broached the topic of anyone looking for them, they pummeled her with questions about the size of the lake, if they could swim in the summer, if she ever ate a fish caught there, and could they all go camping in the teardrop in Yosemite?
One bit of information she managed to wring out of the girls was their ages. Bailey was sixteen, and Olivia was fourteen. At least that’s what they said. Who knew? In normal clothes they looked more like thirteen and ten.
She stared at the girls happily reading, as if being up past midnight in a closed coffee shop was a normal experience. Skyy shuddered, realizing maybe this was the best experience they’d had this time of night in a long while. Canon was a trained interrogator—that’s what she needed with this pair.
In a distant corner of her consciousness, she realized Ember was speaking.
“...‘Finding Clover,’ by Color The Wall. Let us know what you think of their music. When we come back, we’ll be talking about safety tips for Spring Break.” Ember clicked the mute button. Big Jerry swelled the music as she turned to Skyy.
“Sorry,” Skyy said with a weak smile. “I don’t even know why I’m here.”
Ember dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “You’re here because you’re the star.”
“I feel more like a fizzled comet.”
“Just remember,” Ember said, “it’s you that Canon tunes in to hear. Wherever he is, he’s probably listening right now.”
Strangely, Ember’s words were a comfort. Even a one-way connection to Canon was, well, a connection. Still, it was beyond bizarre that their conversations so far had been limited to posts and messages through Black Owl, one very public phone call, texts, and her voicemail message. She was living in his house!
Despite their communication shortfalls, she had the photos. She knew his face, the line of his jaw, the distant look in his eyes. Yeah, and the abs.
She smiled. Tomorrow she would meet him and talk face to face.
Canon blinked at a pair of oncoming headlights, concentrating on keeping in his lane while making sure the other car stayed in its lane. San Marcos Pass wound through the mountains between Santa Barbara and Los Olivos, shaving ten to fifteen minutes off the main Highway 101 route through Gaviota.
In the daytime, The Pass, as everyone called it, provided gorgeous views of the ocean, mountains, majestic oaks, and Lake Cachuma. At night, however, the mostly two-lane highway was notorious for cars hitting deer, running off the steep road, and some tragic head-on crashes. Add the pouring rain coming down now and it had him wishing he’d opted for the longer, safer route. Still, he wanted to get to the lake as soon as he could and find out about Skyy’s “situation.”
He’d bought a convenience store disposable and called the cabin phone. From the fast busy signal he heard, the lines were still down. Then he called Mart—the only other phone number he had memorized—and asked if he had numbers for anyone else in Deer Cove. He didn’t, but volunteered to look up some numbers—as soon as mopped up an apartment complex fire. Could be a while.
Canon slowed as his headlights lit up rocks washed down from the steep hillside on his right. Unable to go around the obstacles in good conscience, he stopped, turned on his emergency flashers, and then stepped out into the wet. Even a road worker rain suit wouldn’t have kept him dry as he bent over the first of two basketball-sized rocks. Rolling it with one hand took serious effort, but he cleared both boulders before too many vehicles lined up behind his truck.
Water ran from his hat and clothes when he climbed back in, soaking the upholstery and fogging the windows. He shifted into gear and started forward, but had to slam on his breaks as a Corvette whipped around the cars behind him and cut in front of his truck, narrowly avoiding an oncoming van. Canon checked his side mirror before accelerating again.
Skyy would be finished with the Night Thoughts show by now. If he’d been able to listen in, he could have phoned the call line and gotten a message to her. He sighed, vowing to memorize more phone numbers, especially hers.
Twenty minutes later, he reached the junction where he merged back onto 101 North. He rolled his neck, working at the kinks and groaning at the soreness. His formerly good left shoulder took the brunt of his fall in San Diego, so now he was crippled on both sides. Tomorrow was going to be awesome.
But first, he had at least two more hours on the road. In the dark. In the rain.
Regardless, in a few hours he would talk with Skyy D in person.
Chapter 23
Skyy kicked aside the blanket and an annoying dream in one motion. Nightmare, really. One of those endlessly frustrating episodes about the first day of school and not being able to locate her locker. Never her problem back then, so why stress over it now in a dream?
After using the bathroom, she tiptoed down the dark hall to get coffee started. She avoided the clock. That it was still before dawn was enough. She usually slept late after a show night, physically and sometimes emotionally depleted after an hour fielding comments, questions, and occasional callers. Not this morning. It depended on the topic, of course. Love topics were the easiest because no one knew anything about how it worked—especially her.
She paused at the living room, distracted by the two girls piled in blankets sleeping in front of the flickering fireplace. Whatever last night’s discussion had been, today would be like one giant Night Thoughts dealing with the toughest questions on the planet. For that she needed much caffeine.
The under-cabinet lights glowed way too bright, and she squinted as she filled the coffeemaker and pressed start. While it took its sweet time heating and gurgling, Skyy sat at a barstool and rested her head on crossed arms.
Whether Connie came through with some help or not, Skyy would have to call someone in authority. Was it a crime to keep these two girls without telling someone? Probably. Her being hauled off to jail
certainly wouldn’t help. What if they asked for a permanent address? Homeless wasn’t the answer she wanted to give.
If only Canon would call—but he couldn’t because she didn’t have any cell service here and the house phone was still dead. She lifted the handset just to make sure. Yep, dead. Since he hadn’t come home last night, he’d probably be here for sure sometime today. This morning, maybe. She rubbed her face, anticipating the conversation.
“Well, Canon, see I was trying to help this girl who called and, well, it sort of turned into two girls.”
Yeah, no. She’d have to do better than that.
A chunk of wood shifted in the fireplace, sending a snapping burst of sparks against the glass. In the momentary light, she realized there were three bundled forms, not two. She stood and walked closer. Olivia was the middle form, flanked on one side by Bailey and the other side by Ember. She had probably gotten up to add wood to the fireplace and decided to join them. Again, Skyy had the image of three sisters, Ember being the older responsible one.
Skyy shook her head and slumped back to the stool. Sisterhood and one big happy family wouldn’t be happening here. Daylight would bring harsh reality, cruel and indifferent to the wants of Bailey and Olivia. Ember knew that better than most, which was probably why she was sleeping on the hard floor rather than in the bedroom. Time was precious.
Skyy wiped her eyes, then poured the finished coffee into a large mug and headed toward the back of the house. The girls had piled their wet clothing on the washer last night. If this day was going to suck, she might as well start it off with laundry. Any day, no matter how bad, improved after laundry.
Her plan was to close the door to keep the light and noise from waking the girls, but as Skyy walked into the laundry room, she tripped over something and sprawled flat out on a lumpy form. When the form moved, her scream woke everyone like no light or washer ever could.
“Skyy. Skyy!” Canon wrapped his left arm around her as she flailed on top of him. If she didn’t stop soon, things were going to get embarrassing. “It’s me, Canon.” She finally slowed her struggles and pushed her palms against his chest to create some space. Ouch.
“Canon?” she said. “What are you doing here?”
He grinned, even though she couldn’t see him in the dark. “Uh… I live here?”
She slapped his chest. Ouch. “Yes, but what are you doing here?”
“Well,” he said, doing his best to ignore the length of her body, her heat seeping through his sleeping bag, “I got in really late, and all the beds and floor space seemed to be taken.”
The hallway light flashed on, sending a harsh rectangle of light across their length. Skyy twisted to look, and Canon raised his head so he could see over her shoulder. Ember and two younger girls crowded the doorway, blinking with sleep.
“Skyy?” Ember said. “What happ—holy crap.” She put her hand over her mouth.
“Language,” Skyy said.
“Is that your dad?” the youngest girl asked Ember.
The middle girl nodded. “Probably.”
Ember gave up trying to hide her grin, and Canon started chuckling. Skyy glared at him and swatted his chest again. Ouch.
“You better take your hand off my butt, Truax,” she growled in a whisper, “or I’ll have you arrested.”
He slid his hand up to her lower back—slowly—failing to keep a straight face as she slow-boiled.
“It’s not funny,” she snarled.
“Yeah,” he nodded, “it sorta is.”
“Yep,” Ember chimed in.
The small girl asked, “Why is your dad sleeping on the floor?”
Canon laughed out loud, as did Ember.
“What?” asked the girl innocently, looking between the other girl and Ember in turn.
Skyy lowered her forehead to his chest, and soon her whole body began shaking too. “Crap,” she mumbled.
“Language,” he whispered back. She shook harder.
“It’s still night,” the older of the two strange girls said, yawning. “I’m going back to bed,”
“Me too,” said the younger one. They disappeared down the hall.
Ember leaned her shoulder against the doorframe. “I’m staying.”
“Go to bed, Ember,” Skyy ordered, her voice muffled against his chest.
“Yes, ma’am.” She straightened and left, but not before flashing Canon a grin and exaggerated two thumbs up.
The hall light went out, leaving the laundry room in darkness. They remained motionless for a minute.
“This is nice,” he said, moving his hand in small circles on her back. Skyy began shaking again.
“Except…” he said, “am I wet?”
“Coffee,” she said.
“Not right now, thanks.”
“No,” she said, levering off him. “I spilled my coffee when I tripped over your big feet. Good thing the sleeping bag insulated you because it was scorching hot.” She got to her feet and opened the dryer door so they could see by its interior light.
“Looks like you got it too.” He pointed to the brown stain covering the front of her T-shirt.
“I guess we need to shower,” she said, plucking the wet cloth away from her skin.
“I’m up for that.” He shoved the wet bag down to his waist and sat up.
“I didn’t mean…” Her cheeks turned red and she backed toward the doorway. “I mean…” She turned and fled.
“Save some hot water for me!” he called, then started laughing again.
This was a lot more fun than listening to her on the Internet.
Chapter 24
Skyy helped Canon haul a chiminea to the edge of the front porch. He laid a fire in it, stoking it with all the wood that would fit while she moved the two chaise lounges closer. But despite the nearly glowing earthenware, Skyy shivered as the breeze raced down the planks and hit the right side of her face. With the girls inside, she and Canon needed privacy so they could talk, but she wished they’d camped out in her teardrop with the portable heater.
Canon brought out another blanket and wrapped it around her from behind, draping it over her head like a shawl. It was hot, fresh out of the dryer, and she sighed as the heat soaked in.
“Thanks.” She smiled up at him. He wore a heavy coat, gloves, and a ski hat pulled low over his ears. “I can’t believe it’s still this cold. I thought the sun would warm things up.”
“In a few months we’ll have days over a hundred, and you’ll be wishing for this.”
A few months. Would she even be here then?
She stared out at the lake, still mostly gray under some thin clouds. Last night’s brief snowstorm, if you could call it that, hadn’t lasted more than two hours, dusting trees, roofs, and roads with a thin layer of white that made the drive home a little slippery. Except for a tiny patch that hid in the shadow at the base of one of the bigger pines out front, it was only a memory.
Canon wedged a couple more pieces of wood into the chiminea, then said, “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
“It’s only 11:00.”
“Be right back,” he said, disappearing inside.
He returned a few minutes later carrying a plate with a three-inch-tall sandwich of turkey, lettuce, tomato, and cheese. And two cans of orange soda, one of which he passed to her. But instead of sitting down and digging into the food, he set it down on the side table and stood beside her.
“What?” she said, stopping her move to open the soda. “Aren’t you going to sit?” Instead of doing so, he pulled the glove off his left hand.
“We haven’t formally met.” He stuck out his hand and smiled. “Canon Truax, police officer, part-time resident of Storm Lake.”
She reached toward him automatically, then jerked her bare hand back before they touched. “Sorry. Skyy Delaney, hopefully not still contagious. Uh…squatter at Storm Lake.”
He grinned at her and tossed the glove onto the small table. “I guess those are kind of long for everyday names. You can
call me Cop Hottie for short, like Ember does.”
She burst out laughing, covering her mouth, then her eyes, with both hands. When she dared look, Canon grinned even wider as he settled on his chaise.
The man had grown out of his boyish good looks evident in some of the online photos, images she had virtually memorized. She blamed that on Ember. But because of Ember’s interrogation abilities, Skyy knew Canon was twenty-nine years old like her, never married and not in a relationship, had a brother named Martin, and lived full time in Los Angeles but was working in San Diego. He’d been a cop for seven years.
And—as Ember also said—Canon Truax could be the model for a recruitment poster. Cop Hottie Wants You. Whew. Where did she sign up?
But it was his eyes that drew her in until everything else about his face faded. Unlike so many guys, he wasn’t looking over her shoulder or checking his phone. His gaze stayed centered on her, interested.
Skyy realized they’d been staring at each other way too long, and it was getting awkward. They popped the tabs of their sodas at the same time.
He took a long drink. “I hope the store in town has more of these. Actually, I’m not sure why I bought them. I haven’t had one in years.”
She glanced sideways at him, stilling her own can at her lips. “Orange sodas have always been my favorite.”
He raised an eyebrow, then smiled as if not surprised.
She shook her head. “I have to apologize.”
“For...?” He bit into his sandwich and chewed, watching her.
“Showing up unannounced without an invitation, spreading germs all over your house, crashing your weekend getaway.”
He swallowed the food. “First off, Ms. Possibly Contagious Squatter, I did invite you…in one of my posts to you on Black Owl. I said something like if you ever need anything. Second, Ember called and I told her to come.” He turned back to his sandwich. “As for the germs, I’m finishing a course of post-surgery antibiotics. They probably aren’t anything like what you’re taking, but maybe they’ll do some general good and keep me healthy.”