by Wendy Vella
“I’m sure they didn’t say that,” Hope said, feeling the tightness in her chest ease at knowing the Wildlife team weren’t in town. She then thought about her bank balance, or lack thereof. Could she take the chance? Four miles out of town meant they wouldn’t be walking about every day. A night’s wages from the Howler would make a difference for her leaving.
“No, but I filled in the gaps. They stocked up with supplies and headed out to take pictures of some rare bird—”
“The Great Blue Heron,” Hope said. Remembering the conversation she’d had with Jay about the bird, and how Wildlife should come to Oregon and photograph it. Bastard. She added another black mark to his name.
“The very one.” Faith nodded. “They then told Noah they have their own chef, and will be ordering supplies that they want delivered. Stuck-up bastards.”
Hope knew how the Wildlife people could come across, because she’d once been one of them. Single-minded and focused.
“So how about it? I mean, you worked for us briefly years ago. I’m sure you’ll pick it up easily again.”
“Sure. What time?”
“Be there at six, you can help set up.”
Faith had a way of talking that was slow and easy, just like she walked. Not much ruffled her, except her twin brother. He could get under her skin quicker than anyone else.
“Sure.”
“You got anything resembling a denim skirt in your closet?” Faith looked Hope up and down, and she refused to squirm.
“I have jeans?”
“Bare legs are best, it’ll get hot in there. Any chance you have something other than those boots?”
“What’s wrong with my boots?”
Faith liked clothes, unlike Hope. Everything she wore was given a great deal of thought, and usually money. Like Newman, she wore clothes well, unlike Hope who never quite got it right, but didn’t give a damn because she’d never really tried.
“They’re”—Faith circled a finger in the air—“threatening.”
“They are not!”
“Okay, how about I don’t want you stomping on anyone’s foot tonight. Come early, I’ll lend you some stuff. We’ll discuss boat designs, and I’ll see if I can find Noah’s and copy them.”
Like Mikey, she waved, and then she was gone, and Hope looked at the ground, focusing on the dirt, and leaves, the tree roots fighting their way to the surface. Long, thick vines crisscrossed the path before her.
“This place,” she muttered. In a few days, she’d said she would do a photo shoot for a spring catalogue, pictures for Mac for his website, and was building a boat. Add to that working in the Howler, and she was suddenly in employment for at least a week, maybe two. Could she stay and do it with Wildlife so close?
“You can’t keep running forever, Hope,” she said to a large redwood.
She’d stay and make a plan, and then with the money she got from her jobs she’d work out her next move. Her mother would be happy if she hung around, so she’d give her a couple of weeks, and some of her wages, then get out of town and start her life all over again someplace else.
The Howler was quiet when Hope let herself in at 5:45 p.m. Her mother had forced her to eat a lentil casserole that was still giving her issues, and had formed a solid mass in her stomach. Cooking was not her mother’s strong suit. She’d told her not to wait up. Millicent had nodded her approval that Hope was working, handed her a key, and that was pretty much that. She got her conversational skills from her mother.
“Hey there, Hope.”
Noah Harris was a bigger version of his sister. Broad, with short dark hair, he had the face of a warrior, and wore his heritage in every line. Handsome, like many who lived in Howling, she had grown up with him. In fact, Noah and Faith were probably the closest thing to friends Hope had ever had.
She accepted his hug and tried not to stiffen up too much when he kissed her cheek.
“Nice to see you’re still all warm and cuddly.”
She snorted as he released her. “This town and its need to hug and kiss is really off-putting.”
He gave her a wide smile that flashed a mouthful of white teeth.
“So I hear you’re doing the shoot for Macy. Should be fun, all them modelling for the day. And that you’ve signed up to help Mikey and Faith build a boat that will sink.”
“Why will it sink?” Hope accepted the arm he slung around her shoulder as he led her through reception and into the bar.
A big stone fireplace had a wide hearth that people sat on in the winter. Rustic like the rest of Howling, the walls hung with history and Packers stuff. The Harris family had owned it forever, and it was now run by the twins.
“Come on, are you kidding me? There’s no way in hell you three could build a boat. Faith’s honed skill is shopping, and yours is taking pictures. I’m sure Mikey will have some ideas, but not sure you’ll be able to actually build a boat. If you do manage to get something to stay afloat, it will have to be you and Mikey paddling it, as Faith hates water. And we’ll be stronger, so you’ll lose.”
“Feeling threatened already, Noah?”
Hope found Faith behind the bar, long hair now in a braid that hung over her left shoulder, a red bandana around her head. She came around the bar, glaring at Noah. Like him she wore a short-sleeved white shirt that had The Howler printed in red over the left pocket. Her denim skirt was short and showed miles of leg. On her feet were sneakers.
He scoffed at his sister’s words. “I just don’t want you to humiliate yourself.”
Faith rolled her eyes, but said nothing further. Grabbing Hope’s wrist, she dragged her to the stairs. They then climbed to where the siblings had their rooms.
“See, we have to beat him, Hope.”
“I forgot how competitive you two are.”
“It’s a twin thing,” Faith said, entering her room.
“Wow, this place is a mess.” Hope stood in the middle and did a turn. There were clothes, shoes, and makeup everywhere. Every available surface was covered in something. Beside the bed, books were piled four feet high. Drawers were open and more clothes spilled out. Color was everywhere. Hope had never owned enough clothes to fill a suitcase, let alone an entire room.
“Yup, just how I like it.” Grabbing a pile off her bed, she handed them to Hope. “I think these will fit.”
“I was going to bring my sneakers, but they’re a bit worn.”
“You do surprise me.”
“Not everyone’s main focus in life is fashion, Faith.”
“It should be, because clothes do maketh the man. Now this is the uniform tonight. White shirt, denim skirt, sneakers, and red bandana. So change already, and I’ll see you downstairs.”
“I don’t wear red headscarves.” Hope looked at the offensive item Faith held out to her.
“Don’t be a sissy, it’s a bandana.” Faith snatched the bandana back. “I’ll put it on you when you get downstairs. Now hurry up and stop bitching. You’re getting paid, aren’t you?”
“You people are way too used to having your own way,” Hope muttered when Faith had left. Stripping, she pulled on the shirt, which fit, but was a bit snug over the breasts, as she had a bit more there than Faith. The sneakers fit perfectly, as did the skirt.
“Great, I look like a preppy schoolkid, but I’ll do it for money,” Hope said, looking in the mirror. She was all about being different, and not following any trends. Individuality had always been her thing, because her mother didn’t have the money to clothe her in what the other kids wore.
Stuffing her clothes into her backpack, Hope left it and her boots beside the bed and headed back down to the bar.
Noah’s wolf whistle had her giving him the stink eye.
“Get behind the bar, you sexy thing, and we’ll get you started.”
“I want to beat him now,” Hope said to Faith when she joined her.
“He has that effect on people.”
Hope had worked there years ago, so it wouldn’t take too
long to reacquaint herself.
“So what’s the deal tonight?”
“It’s rock ’n’ roll night.”
“Okay, so that explains the preppy look,” Hope said.
“Now sit while I fix your hair.”
“Aww, look at you girls, playing hair and stuff,” Noah said, walking past with several bottles of wine in his arms. “Brings back memories… no, wait, that was someone else.”
“Dickhead,” Faith said dragging a brush through Hope’s hair and making her eyes water as she tugged at the knots.
“Christ, Hope, I may need to get the rake from the yard for this. When did you last brush it?”
“Bite me.”
It was ruthlessly brushed until it was knot-free. Faith then tied the bandana in place.
“At least it’s red so it will soak up the blood.”
“Wimp. Now, I’m applying makeup, so don’t kick me.”
“What?” Before she could move, Faith was painting stuff on her face. “I didn’t sign up for makeup.”
“What’s your problem with doing girl stuff?”
“I don’t have a problem with it,” Hope muttered. “I just don’t like it.”
“You’ve never tried it because your mother doesn’t use it. But it’s nice to wear now and again. So sit still, because tonight you’re wearing some so you don’t scare our customers away.”
Hope had never worn makeup. It was just never a thing she’d explored as a teen, and then as she got older she’d lost the urge. “Whatever, just get it done, will you.”
Faith wielded a brush on her eyes, and eyeliner pencil, and brushed something over her cheeks. She then stroked mascara on her lashes.
“Relax your mouth.”
Her lips were then painted.
“There now, and it didn’t even hurt. Now go and restock the spirits, and start cleaning the glasses.”
“Yes, boss.” Hope resisted the urge to scrub her face.
Noah appeared with more wine, and whistled loudly as he looked at Hope.
“Damn, girl, where the hell you been hiding?”
“Ha bloody ha,” Hope muttered. “This shit makes my face itch.”
He smiled, but backed out of the bar before she smacked it off his face.
“It’s Newman’s birthday, so try and be nice to him for five minutes,” Faith said.
Damn, damn, damn. She’d hoped like hell he wouldn’t turn up, but it seemed like she’d have to face him and no doubt his questions.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Newman arrived with Katie and Cubby at the Howler. The air was warm and filled with the scent of a summer night. The town was bustling with tourists and locals out enjoying a walk. No one was in a hurry to go anywhere, and Newman liked that. When he left Howling, everyone was always on the clock. Tonight was rock ’n’ roll night, and he and his friends were dressed accordingly.
“It’s gonna take me a week to get this shit out of my hair, Katie.”
Cubby wore jeans, a white T-shirt, and had his hair slicked back. Katie wore a tight skirt, high spiky heels, a wide belt, and a short-sleeved shirt. Around her head was a pink band.
“Aww, it’s a proud moment. Our sheriff has product in his hair for the first time in his adult life,” Newman said.
“One more word and I’ll deck you, I don’t care that it’s your birthday,” Cubby snarled.
Newman laughed, but left the sheriff of Howling alone… for now. He was greeted by friends as he walked into the bar.
“Happy birthday!” Everyone slapped his back or kissed his cheek. Home, he thought. There really was no place better.
“Your folks back?”
Newman shook his head at this question from a local. “Not for a few more weeks.”
“Shame, your dad’s missing a weekend of golf.”
He smiled and moved on, and tried not to tense up at the mention of his father. Not many people could get a reaction out of him, but he was one. Honesty had him adding Hope Lawrence as the second. But his reaction to her was totally different.
Pushing thoughts of both Hope and his father aside, Newman made for the bar, and waited to be served with Cubby at his side. Noah and Faith often employed tourists temporarily during the summer months, and he guessed that the waitress with her back to him was one of them. Not overly tall, but she had nice long legs, and as he was an ass man, he checked that out too. Very nice in a short denim skirt. Thick, shiny brown hair hung to her shoulders. He nearly swallowed his tongue when she turned and he realized it was Hope. Her eyes looked bigger, and those lashes were indecently long now. He couldn’t seem to drag his eyes from her soft, pouty lips. Makeup, he realized. She was wearing some. The shock held him speechless for seconds.
“What?” Her frown was fierce as she came to serve him.
He found his tongue. “I didn’t know you were working here.”
“Now you do.”
“Be nice, Hope, it’s his birthday,” Cubby said.
“Happy birthday,” she said, offering him a fake smile. “Nice hair, by the way. Although without all those fluffy curls for the girls to swoon over, it may be a lean night. Because let’s be honest here, they’re your best feature.” Her head then tilted slightly as she studied him, and he noted glitter on her cheekbones.
“You told me my abs were my best feature.”
Her eyes shot from him to Cubby, who was now smirking at Newman’s side.
“You play with fire, little girl, you’ll get burnt,” Newman said. Hope may smack talk with him, but the truth was she was an innocent in the world of man-woman combat.
“Whatever. What do you want to drink?”
“You almost look pretty. What’s with the makeup?”
“Faith did it, something about me scaring her customers.”
“Right, that makes sense then.” Newman managed to drag his eyes from her lips.
“So order already, I can’t stand here all night talking to you.”
“Two beers, and a medium white wine, thanks.”
“I got this,” Cubby said.
“All good, bud, you go find a seat with the others.”
Newman watched as Hope poured the drinks. She knew what she was doing and he remembered she’d worked here before leaving Howling. She wore a red bandana, and the contrast was something with her dark hair. The top buttons of her shirt were threatening to come undone. She looked hot, and way too sexy, and Newman wasn’t entirely comfortable with the look.
“Eyes up!” he snarled to the two Finlay brothers to his right. They were noticing Hope’s buttons too.
“There you go.” She shot him a look, then the Finlays as she placed the drinks before him.
“Your buttons are coming undone.”
She looked down at her shirt, but didn’t move to do them up.
“I’m wearing something underneath, and FYI, I can take care of myself, and have been for years.”
“Your shirt’s coming undone and you have too much makeup on.” Newman was not someone who usually spoke without thinking.
She braced her hands on the bar and eyeballed him.
“You’re always ragging on me about my clothes and inability to be a woman, in the Paul Newman handbook of how one should look. Yet when I’m reluctantly forced into clothes and makeup, suddenly I’m a tart.” She slapped his card back on the bar.
“I didn’t say you were a tart, and I was just looking out for you.” Newman winced at how lame he sounded.
“I see where you’re going wrong there. You keep confusing me with someone who gives a shit,” she snapped. “Now go away, I have more grateful people to serve.”
Newman sent the Finlays a look that he hoped meant back off, but wasn’t entirely sure they were sharp enough to get it. He then did something totally out of character. Standing on his toes, he leaned over, grabbed the front of Hope’s shirt, and kissed her on the lips.
“Happy birthday to me,” he said. Shooting the brothers another look, he saw they got his point now.
Newman stepped back with his drinks before she could retaliate. The first person he encountered was Buster, and the smirk on his face confirmed he’d seen the kiss. He wore a black suit and glasses and looked like a Blues Brother.
“Pissing on your turf, boy?”
“No, just thanking her for the birthday wishes, baker boy.”
“So that was not about the Finlay brothers and the fact they had their eyes on your girl then?”
“Let it go, Buster.”
“You and Hope, who’d have thought it?”
Newman eyed his friend. Out of the group, this was probably the one who could hold a secret for more than ten seconds.
“Nothing to think about, so let’s leave it there.”
Buster then slapped him on the shoulder. “Your secret’s safe with me, bud.”
“What secret?” Willow arrived. She wore a knee-length lavender dress, nipped in at the waist. Her hair was in a high ponytail.
“Hey there, sweet cheeks.”
“Birthday boy.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a smacking kiss on his cheek. “You can have your present later.”
“Willow,” Buster moaned. “You don’t say shit like that to a guy.”
“What? Why?”
Newman laughed.
“I’ll look forward to it, Willow.”
He left the couple, and heard Buster explaining just what she’d implied. His friends were in a booth, and they made room for him. Jake McBride, another friend and Katie’s brother, raised his glass, and they toasted Newman. He then started opening the presents they handed him. A Longhorns cap from Tex.
“Again, bud? Seriously, it didn’t work last year. You got a lifetime supply of these or something?”
The Texan smiled, flashing his teeth. He was dressed like his brother in a white T-shirt and jeans, hair slicked back, arm slung around his wife, another friend, Annabelle Smith, who looked like she’d stepped off the set of a Grease remake. The other arm was resting on his brother’s shoulder. This is a happy man, Newman thought with a tug of jealousy. In fact, they were all happy. His friends were, for the most part, loved up, and he was pleased… no, really he was, he told himself. The problem was, he’d decided that wasn’t for him, but lately… well, lately he wasn’t quite so sure. His eyes went to the bar, and he looked at Hope and wondered what the hell this shit was with her. Why she made him unsettled. Maybe it was as simple as the fact that he was feeling ready? Should he start looking seriously for a life partner?