Splash

by Kristen Kelly

  “Er. same pants too?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I said you’re gonna wear the same pants as yesterday? Don’t you have…Oh, I guess not. Your suitcase is back in the hotel, isn’t it?”

  “What? You’re thinking a man of my means shouldn’t wear the same pants two days in a row?”

  “Well…yeah.” She wished she hadn’t said it. Who the hell was she to make judgments? Maybe he wore the same pants every day. The exact same pants, only clean ones. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  “It’s okay, Val. I know we’re from different worlds. No offence taken.”

  “So what’s for breakfast?” she asked, trying to change the subject.

  Turner laughed. You tell me, Sweetheart. As I recall, you were going to cook for my whole crew this morning.”

  “I was? Oh. Yeah. I was. I mean, I am. “Okay what do your crew usually eat for breakfast?

  “Hmm, not sure but I’m guessing they would eat anything if they had you to look at across the table.”

  Damn, her face was hot. She dropped her gaze, trying to move past. He grabbed her hand, stalling her escape.

  “Awe, you look so pretty when you do that.” He tightened his grip and then swung her into his arms.

  “Do what?” she said, losing her breath.

  “Turn all pink and bubbly with a compliment. Just like a young girl.”

  “Are you calling me old?”

  “Not at all,” he said still holding her hand. The back of his hand slid down one side of her face. “You are sassy, bossy, opinionated and so hot I have burn marks on my dick but I would never…ever call you old, sweetheart.”

  “That’s supposed to be a compliment, right?”

  He laughed. “Not working?”

  “Well, I can’t say it’s not the truth.” As he pulled her closer, she reached around and pinched his backside just for fun. A chuckle burst out of him.

  “Just want you to know. I’m not a little girl,” she teased.

  “Thank you universe!” And then he kissed her. Her arms betraying her, she wrapped them around his neck and kissed him back. She didn’t want to like this guy but she couldn’t help it. When they pulled apart, he wiped her lip gloss off his lips. They both laughed. Being with Turner was fun. More fun than she’d know was possible with a man.

  Taking a deep breath, Val stepped away, letting the heat between them dissipate. “All right, now where did I take off my stockings?” Her heart was beating like a drum and if she didn’t finish dressing fast, she was going to undress even faster. She needed her head clear.

  Turner scanned the room, his gaze landing on a pile near the vanity. “There. They’re over there.”

  The phone rang again. “Fuck! Not again,” he muttered. “I’ll have to take this.” Holding the phone against one shoulder, he struggled one burly arm into his shirt sleeve. Although he looked like a rumpled bed, the wrinkles didn’t detract from his smoldering maleness. Eyes the color of midnight. The waves of his hair just begging to be tossed. And thighs so muscular she wondered if he could crack coconuts between them.

  “Yeah. Uh, huh. I understand but…well, come on! You don’t give a guy a break! Don’t you understand what he’s been through? How the hell would you like it if…Yeah. I know it’s not your problem and I do understand but…but…No. You can’t do that. Where the hell am I gonna get someone on such short notice? Can you recommend someone? Oh hell! He’s not that bad, is he? He what? A long pause. “Say that again. You’re kidding me, right? No. That doesn’t sound…” His voice trailed off.

  Val stood in the doorway, staring. “Can I be so bold as to ask? I mean…I know it’s not my place but maybe I could help.”

  “Not really.” Turner paused in reflection, nostrils flaring. “Unless... No. That’s asking too much.”

  “Just tell me what the problem is.”

  Swiveling his wrist, he buttoned the cuffs on his shirt. “That was my maid. Or should I say, the nursemaid for my twin brother.”

  “Nursemaid?”

  “Yeah. I know it sounds foolish. He is a grown man but he’s in kind of…messed up right now”

  “Messed up?”

  “Yeah. His wife and son died in an accident. He blames himself. Stopped eating and all that so I hired someone to look out for him.”

  “And he was okay with that?”

  “He thinks she’s the housekeeper. In addition to keeping an eye on him, she’s a pretty good cook or so I thought”

  “If she could cook, he would eat. Is that it?”

  “Exactly. But …”

  “So is she?”

  “What?”

  “A good cook.”

  “Apparently not. He threw the last dish she made out the window and we live on the top floor!”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, I know. Besides some unsuspecting shmuck walking by can you imagine what an insult that was?”

  Val could relate to the situation. After learning everything she knew about cooking, she tried to educate Diego’s slimy palette to the finer foods in life. He still criticized every meal , several times making her cry. The last time, she’d thrown the food at him. “So what will you do now?”

  “Well I have to travel. We used to take turns but not lately so I’ll need a replacement cook for Mrs. Baker.”

  “Can’t you call an agency or something?”

  “No time. She’s leaving on Saturday and I have a mansion to prepare for construction in Canada next week.”

  A wisp of air whooshed in as the sliding glass doors in the back of the house slid open. “Hey boss, you in here?”

  “I guess that’s the crew,” Turner said. “Better get cooking, Sweetheart. Makes sure there’s lots of protein. These guys are animals when it comes to work.”

  Chapter 10

  The plane was late but Val was grateful.

  She’d hardly slept the night before but she didn’t feel tired. After a night of joking, laughing, and watching the Las Vegas Outlaws in the Playoffs on television with Turner’s crew, she realized the night was slipping away. Those guys certainly knew how to talk. A rowdy bunch, beer guzzling and dirty, she liked them a great deal and she felt sad knowing she would never see any of them again. In fact, the crew reminded her of her brothers. All husky, crude, and just plain cute. It was 3 am before they’d called it a night and morning came awfully early for Val. Thankfully, Turner hadn’t noticed when she slipped out of his bed at six am.

  “Eight hundred dollars,” the girl at the ticket counter said.

  “What? Certainly she’d heard her wrong.

  “One way to California. It’s eight hundred.”

  “Seriously?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “But it’s only nine hundred to go round trip,” Val protested.

  “Eight hundred,” the girl repeated with a dead pan expression.

  “Shit, why don’t you just cut out one of my lungs and take that too?”

  The ticket girl scowled. “Do you want it or not?”

  Val fumbled in her wallet, trying to decide whether she should use credit or cash. She hesitated to use Turner’s credit card. Credit was asking for trouble. The breadcrumbs to her destination, so to speak. But if she used cash, what would she have left for clothes? Already people were giving her looks like they thought she was a hooker. Who flies the friendly skies in a backless scarlet dress with peek-a-boo cut-outs and the fuck-me heels? No one. That’s who.

  “Fine,” Val said. “Give me the damn ticket.”

  Why were her choices so limited? Her Catholic mother would swear she was being punished. That, included divorcing her first abusive husband. Didn’t matter that he’d beat her to an inch of her life. Nope. Divorce was a sin. Plain and simple. Her brothers would applaud her however. Especially Hugo. He was her biggest supporter. Too bad he was in jail for beating the crap out of Diego. Diego. Now that was as huge a mistake as they came. Not that Diego didn’t deserve, but he had connections both in t
he underworld and Immigration. Apparently, he was still holding a grudge. It was why she needed to get as far away from Las Vegas as possible. Not that California was that far, but it was the best place to find a job plus she had her own illegal connections there.

  “Cash or credit?” asked the girl behind the counter. Her hair was impeccable, perched high upon her head, not a strand out of place. She tipped her head in expectation.

  “Um…credit…I guess,” Val murmured. “And can you tell me where a good boutique is. I hear the flight doesn’t leave for three hours. I need to buy some clothes.”

  “Huh,” said the girl with a sneer. “I should say so.”

  Val ignored her snide attitude. “A store? Maybe one that sells jeans,” Val asked.

  “Try near Gate 18. That’s where I shop.” She gave Val a smile. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.” She handed her the ticket. Val took it and walked away. “Oh and Miss?”

  Val did an about-face and walked back to the counter. The ticket girl leaned in conspiratorially. “He’s not worth it, sweetie,” she whispered.

  Val gave her a tight smile. Oh, he was worth it. You can bet on it.

  ***

  Turner

  “So how far are we with the driveway?” Turner asked his foreman, Dave. The man had shoulders wide as hockey sticks but not a hair on his large round head. The mirrored sunglasses on his face gave him a sinister appeal.

  “It’s done,” Dave replied.

  “No kidding.” Turner said, clearly impressed. He took out his pen from his shirt pocket. Holding a clip board, he checked the task off his list.“The whole concrete flooring?”

  “Yup.”

  “Even with all that hoopla yesterday? By the way, I’m sorry for distracting you guys with my uh…companion.”

  Dave gave him a hearty laugh. “Distractions like that one are totally worth it, boss. If you need a reason to distract us in the future count me in.”

  Yeah, me too.

  “I’ll remember that but in this case—I think our little distraction has flown the coop.”

  Dave took off his sunglasses. “She did?”

  “She did.”

  “Awe, that’s too bad. I liked her.”

  “Yeah, so did I. So what’s next on the list?”

  Dave rubbed the grey stubble on his chin. “The brick wall framing the patio but we still have to pick up the bricks.”

  “How much mortar do we have left?”

  “Hmm. Not sure. Might need another load.” Dave looked at his watch and then up at the heavy dense clouds. He perched his sunglasses on his head. “Might rain. I’m guessing.”

  “Then we better get started,” Turner said. “Get a few hours in at least.”

  “Right boss.”

  “Here…” Retrieving a set of keys from his pocket, he tossed them forward. “Send the kid to pick up the bricks.” Dave smiled as he caught the keys in his thick work-worn hands.

  “Oh and Dave…See if that side lamp for the side of the garage door has been delivered. I think I saw an email about it coming into the store.”

  “Sure thing, boss.”

  As Dave walked away, Turner’s mind tried to make sense of Val’s disappearance. Where the hell did she go and why not say goodbye? Was she all right? He’d been so shocked to see her gone before breakfast, So…hurt, after the night they’d shared, he didn’t know what to say. What to think. He’d just assumed she’d be there in the morning. That she’d make them all another huge breakfast like the morning before. Perhaps she was mad at him. Perhaps one of the guys with their lurid comments pissed her off.

  Damn! They should have talked about this. Unless it had nothing to do with him. Obviously, she hadn’t come here just to play house. She had her own agenda. Why hadn’t he paid attention to that? She’d mentioned something about her clothes and needing to leave several times, but he’d fluffed it off, as if it didn’t matter. Of course it mattered. Was it some stupid remark he made? It wouldn’t be the first time he stuck his foot in his mouth. Something the crew said? No. He couldn’t think of a single instance where she’d appeared uncomfortable around the guys. If she were truly upset, he was sure she would have let him know. No. Something was off…or was it? Perhaps she’d grab her clothes and come back…to him.

  A scrawny freckle-faced kid in a baseball cap appeared at Turner’s side in the back yard. He lugged a long piece of lumber from one of a dozen various projects. “This is it, Mr. Turner.”

  Broken from his reverie, Turner grinned. “You can call me Mr. Howe. Okay?”

  The boy dropped the board with a thud by his feet. “K, Mr. Turner.”

  “Termites?”

  “Yeah, you wanna look?”

  Turner dropped to his haunches to check out the damage. “Oh man, that does look bad.”

  Turner took the wood and threw it to the side. “And they got to all the beams? As bad as that one?

  “Uh huh.”

  “Okay, so here’s your math lesson, son. How much lumber do we need to replace it?”

  The boy looked up at the ceiling. He tapped a finger on his chin.

  “I’ll give you a hint. Calculate the board, multiply by length for thickness, and...”

  “Divide by 144,” the boy shouted.

  “Right. And what are we using…two by fours or something bigger?”

  “Mr. Dave says two-by-fours should do the job.”

  “Okay. Well I think we need about fifteen boards. Give or take a few in case we make a wrong cut.”

  “Uh huh.”

  He ruffled the kid’s shaggy hair. “But you won’t make a wrong cut, now will you?”

  The boy flattened his lips. “No, sir. We won’t cut it wrong. We’ll do just where we have to.”

  “Right because we’re charging for materials you know. Don’t want to overcharge the customer. Right?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good boy. Got your driver’s license yet?” He usually didn’t hire anyone without one but he’d liked the boy right off. He was smart, personable, and funny. More importantly, his family needed the money.”

  “I got my license.”

  “Good, then you can go get lumber for us.”

  “With the old truck?” he asked.

  “Nope. Take the rental. It’s brand new.” The boy grinned from ear to ear.

  Turner reached inside his pants pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Let me give you a credit card. I want you to run down To Gharry’s over on Fifth and Elm. Tell him we need this lumber pronto.” Her paused. “Huh. I don’t have the card. I’ll go check my other pants. Maybe I used it at the restaurant and didn’t put it back.”

  A few seconds later, Turner reappeared from the bedroom with a frown on his face. He rubbed his chin, speculating. “I can’t seem to find the card we use for projects. Now, where could I have put it? Unless…no, no, what am I thinking? Maybe I left it back in New York. Here… “ He handed the boy a MasterCard and the keys to the work truck. “Take this one instead. One’s as good as any other anyway. I’ll have to cancel the work card. That’s all.”

  The boy took the card and keys, pushed the navy baseball hat to the back of his head and smiled. “Thank you Mr. Turner. My Ma won’t believe this.” He bounced out of the garage toward the half ton Ford pickup.

  “And don’t hit anything,” Turner called as the boy made to get in the truck.

  Dave appeared at Turner’s elbow. “Uh, boss, we have a problem.”

  Chapter 11

  Val took another sip of her strawberry milkshake and wondered what made her purchase the two-hundred-dollar pair of jeans at the swankiest place she could think of in McCarran Airport. It was the most money she’d ever spent on a single pair of pants in her life. The most she’d spent on any kind of clothing for herself actually. So why had she bought them? Turner. That’s why. He believed in her, said she was worth every penny and more. She clutched the treasured bag tighter to her bosom. Probably a little extravagant if she were being honest with herself but
they’d felt sooo good when she’d tried them on. It was like having a piece of Turner next to her skin. She could pretend they were the ones he bought her. They were the same cool brand. She could have gone back for the originals but she was afraid.

  All of a sudden, a commotion alerted her attention to an old grizzly looking gentleman at the food counter in the McDonalds kiosk. He looked ratty in his old coat, slouch hat, weathered slicker, and beat-up looking face. About sixty five if she were to guess his age but he could have been younger. A homeless person for sure. Val lifted from her chair. On tip-toes, she tried to see over the crowd. One woman wearing a gold and orange dress with a name tag had hold of the man’s arm, another man in a guard’s uniform held the poor man’s cane. The homeless man shouted at them both. “Screw with an ole man, will ye?” He struggled against their grip.

  “Jim. Jimmy! Now calm down,” said the lady with the name tag. “I’m not supposed to serve you no more. I’m sorry Jimmy. Really I am.”

  “I just want a sandwich,” he yelled. “Just a sandwich. Can’t you give an ole man a sandwich? I s that so awful bad?” He pronounced the word, sandwich, sandmich through several missing teeth. He probably had to gum the whole thing. That is if they gave him something to eat. Val wished she could make the sandwich herself for the poor man.

  “Now Jimmy. You know we can’t give you food without payment,” said the guard.

  “Maybe just this…” began the woman but the guard only glared at her.

  “Travesty this is,” said Jimmy. “A damn travesty when ur elders aint respected no more. Help. Help,” he yelled.

  People pretended not to notice, turning their heads in opposite directions. A family got up form their table and walked away.

  Jimmy turned in his coat and wrestled right out of it. After pulling himself free, he fell on the dirty tiled floor acting as if he’d been hit. “Police! Police,” he yelled. “Oh man, why would you hurt a lil ole man like that? I didn’t do nutin to you. I didn’t do nutin.’” He rolled around as if her were having convulsions while the man and woman looked on in horror, their jaws dropped open. Someone whipped out their smart phone and took a picture. For a second Val almost laughed but she remembered how desperate he must be, how that could be easily be her right now if Turner hadn’t saved her. It wasn’t funny at all. A crowd of customers stood oogling Jimmy like he was a crazy idiot. A little boy kicked him.