Off-Season Stud

by Abby Knox

  “Holy shit! Who is it, the Vanderbilts?” He was joking, but Gretchen could sense the impressed tone in his voice.

  “I feel awful because I know you need me down there to start my orientation at the firm…”

  But Nicholas cut her off. “Listen, for that kind of money, you can dance topless on the pier for the guy.”

  “Nicholas!”

  “Babe, that was a joke.”

  She didn’t really like that joke. “I suppose I could hire a manager to stay on site to handle things while I’m in Detroit,” she said.

  “For a month? Why bother? We can consider this some practice in customer service,” he replied.

  She was taken aback. “What’s wrong with my customer service?”

  Nicholas laughed. “Good one. Seriously, don’t worry about me. Just come back to town when you can and bring that pretty, pretty cash with you. We’ll paint the town.”

  She put a smile in her voice when saying goodbye to Nicholas, relieved that the call had gone so well. She hadn’t expected him to be so understanding.

  So, why did she feel sort of crappy right now?

  She was sure if she asked her dad, he’d say, “I think you already know the answer to that, little girl.”

  She folded her arms and stared at the phone for a bit, and then opened her planner.

  Suddenly, Gretchen wasn’t looking forward to a month with a family reunion when her own loved ones were so far away.

  There was only one thing left to do. She returned to the dock, waving off the evening clouds of mosquitoes, and dove in the water.

  Gretchen’s cabin was still bathed in darkness when the knock on the door woke her up.

  What time was it?

  She did not keep a clock anywhere in her room, preferring to rise and shine with the sunrise and go to bed when the sun went down. It agreed with her sensibilities.

  What did not agree with her were pre-dawn wake up calls.

  It made her feel scattered and nervous, so she grabbed her pepper spray from her nightstand. She had never needed it around here, but being a business owner, one never knew if it might come in handy in an emergency.

  She approached the door. “Who’s there?” she asked shakily.

  “It’s Dr. Matthew Brendan. Your renter. I called last night to reserve two cabins.”

  She let out her breath but did not release her annoyance.

  She tucked the canister away and opened the door.

  Through lidded eyes she surveyed the hulking man dwarfing her creaky little porch.

  “Are my cabins ready? May I have my keys?” His eyes were wide and expectant, but they had kindness around them. He was tall. And big. And not at all what she had pictured. His voice on the phone was assertive, like an emergency room doctor, and she had pictured an entitled rich guy in designer clothes. Dr. Matthew Brendan was a feast for the pre-caffeinated eyes first thing in the morning: flannel shirt, strong jaw, serious, studious eyes.

  “What time is it?”

  He shrugged. “It was 6 a.m. last I checked my phone. When I passed the Freighter View Bar, my phone was pinging the tower in Canada, so I turned it off. Don’t want roaming charges.”

  She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Come on in.” She shambled over to the coffee pot and it occurred to her how strange it was that a guy who liked to throw away ten thousand dollars on a cabin in the woods for a month would be so fussy about roaming charges.

  “Want some coffee?” she offered.

  “I would like the keys to my cabins.”

  She smiled. “You’re in the Northwoods now, friend. Nobody gets anything done around here until after nine. Come on in and have a seat. I’ll make us some coffee.”

  2

  Matthew

  Matthew looked around the woman’s A-frame office. The cabin was rustic and minimalist, and he suspected the rest of the cabins would be also. This place will suit my needs just perfectly, he thought.

  As long as I can keep my phone turned off, I’ll have all the peace and quiet I need.

  When he had pulled up to the property just a few minutes ago, he had been pleased with the views of the river and Ferris Island, the quaint hand-cut swing on the dock, and the staggering lack of traffic on the main roads.

  The water looked tranquil. It would be the perfect spot to finish out his sabbatical from the university and complete his research paper on post-disaster health epidemics in developing countries.

  The owner of this establishment was going to be a problem, however.

  He took one look at her—Gretchen—and knew he would have a hard time getting any work done.

  She had answered the door in an extra-long baseball shirt with two pink zeros emblazoned across a pair of nice round breasts. Her cropped gray leggings hugged a pair of curvy thighs and revealed deeply tanned calves and feet that were calloused from summers spent barefoot outdoors. Her hair was mussed from sleep; it was somewhere between blonde and golden brown, streaked from sun exposure. Her fine-boned, heart-shaped face was as deeply tanned as her legs, and it made her soft blue eyes pop.

  Matthew knew himself all too well. He had taken a sabbatical to hide. To get away from drama. To keep to himself.

  He should call the whole thing off and just find lodging at one of the other resorts, maybe one of them run by a pair of kindly retirees.

  But he had promised this woman he would make good on his reservation. And…he didn’t really want to stop staring at her.

  He followed Gretchen into her small kitchen. Gretchen was a name that reminded him of fairy tales, and her quaint little cabin that doubled as an office fit the bill for a fairy-tale residence. An A-frame structure, it was full of nooks and crannies and outdated fixtures.

  When she walked away from him and padded around the kitchen sleepily, he watched her hips and ass jiggle in those tight leggings, watched her breasts bounce slightly in that top. He pictured her crawling into bed next to him on all fours, every luscious curve exposed.

  Matthew had to put these unwholesome thoughts out of his head and focus on just making it through coffee with an ungodly erection so he could obtain his keys and get to unpacking.

  When they sat down together for coffee, she handed him a mug that said, “Smitten by the Mitten,” with the shape of the state of Michigan drawn to look like a fluffy winter mitten.

  He politely sipped his coffee, but soon was gulping it in earnest.

  It was the best coffee he ever tasted.

  She finally spoke after finishing half of her cup.

  “So. What time is the rest of your family arriving?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding. It’s just me.”

  She sat erect, suddenly seeming wide awake. “But you said you needed two cabins.”

  He puffed up his chest. “I do need two cabins. I’m on sabbatical from the university. I need one cabin to sleep in and to live in, and one cabin to write in.”

  Gretchen cocked her head to the side. “I thought this was a family reunion.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you. No. It’s just me.”

  “Oh,” she said. “No, not disappointed. I’m glad it’s just you. Well, I don’t mean I’m glad you’re alone. But I’m glad that it appears I’ll have less to do.”

  Matthew could see her chest flushing as she caught herself revealing her pleasure at him being alone with her. He had to spare her further embarrassment and get on with business.

  “Now if I could get my keys, I’ll be out of your hair.”

  But she didn’t move, she was looking at him like he was insane.

  “So you’re telling me, you plonked down ten Gs, for one month, and you are taking up two whole cabins?”

  “I’ve spent quite enough time living where I work. I just can’t do it anymore.”

  Gretchen stared at him. Matthew was feeling very self-conscious with the way she stared, but then again, it gave him a chance to stare back at her.

  He studied her grace
ful, seductive neck…a neck that, if he had to guess, was still warm from her bed. A neck that he’d like to nuzzle all the way up to her earlobe and across to her nape, discovering which spots would make her moan.

  He admonished himself. This is totally inappropriate.

  Then something unexpected happened. She started to laugh.

  First it was a devilish smile, then an incredulous laugh, then a guffaw, and in the next few seconds, she was tossing her head back and howling. Before long she was dabbing tears from her eyes.

  Matthew hated to ask, but he did. “What’s so funny?”

  She replied, “Dr. Matthew Brendan, everybody within a fifty-mile radius of here lives exactly where they work.”

  3

  Gretchen

  Gretchen was full to bursting with nervousness around this strange man, and pretty soon she had given herself a case of the giggles.

  It was supposed to be a release valve, but in reality, it was opening the flood gate.

  All night, she had been wondering if this guy was for real. And here he was, writing out a check for ten thousand dollars and talking about how he can’t live in the same place he works.

  What planet did he think he was on?

  She didn’t know, but if she had to guess, she would say he came from a planet of clueless men. Very tall, broad, ruggedly handsome men with unreasonably inviting shoulders and eyes so serious they could make an angry northern pike fish debone itself and cast itself into a hot skillet.

  Dr. Matthew Brendan may not know anything about life in these parts, but he could clearly carry firewood. Ten thousand smackers or not, he was going to be helping her stock the woodshed.

  Then she sighed. “You’re a funny one, Dr. Brendan. I’ll get your keys and show you to your cabins.”

  Later, she watched as he unloaded his Jeep.

  He had one suitcase, and another case that looked I like it could carry a laptop, and yet another strange, vintage-looking box that she didn’t recognize.

  That’s it. For a month? Was he going to be wearing the same clothes every day?

  There was a sudden commotion on the dock, and when Gretchen turned, she realized she had forgotten to cancel everyone’s help in taking down the dock that morning.

  Old George was there, singing to himself and making a clatter of removing his tool box from his boat. He had already dropped anchor.

  “George!” she called, running over.

  He looked up, curiously, volleying his glance between Gretchen and the man bringing his cases into the cabin.

  She was out of breath when she caught up with George. She really needed to work out more.

  “I’m sorry, I should have called you last night. We’re going to postpone the pier disassembling for a month.”

  George growled, “What the hell for? Too early in the day for being drunk, even for you.”

  She looked back at Dr. Brendan and back at George. “I had a last-minute renter and he wants the cabins for a month.”

  “And you’re gonna let him?”

  She half-whispered, “He’s paying me a lot of money. A lot-a lot. He’s got a book, or something, to finish, apparently.”

  “What kind a writer is he? Have I heard of him?”

  “No, he’s a professor, I think. He’s on sabbatical.”

  George puffed on his pipe. “Professor, eh? Probably doesn’t even know how to chop wood. Doesn’t look like much of a fisherman.”

  “I don’t think he is.”

  “Well, I can see why you said yes,” George said with a wink.

  “George!” Gretchen exclaimed, swatting at the old man, who cackled.

  He continued, “While I’m here wasting my time, I might as well bring you this,” George said, reaching into the boat. He brought out an ax.

  “Your father had this made for you and I’ve been hanging on to it. Seems like now you might need it.”

  Gretchen was thrown for a loop. She held her breath. Her mouth went dry, but her eyes did the opposite. It was a lovely maple handle with her name burned into it. The blade glinted in the sunlight and it was razor sharp when she ran her thumb across it. She looked up at George in shock. “Thank you, George.”

  “How are you doing…with everything?”

  He seemed genuinely concerned about her.

  ‘I’m fine, why do you ask?” Gretchen asked, curious.

  “Just making sure.”

  “I’m really fine, thank you for asking.”

  George paused, clearly relieved she wasn’t about to share her feelings. “OK, holler at me if you need anything,” he finally said.

  As he pulled up anchor and started his outboard motor, he called out to her the same thing he always did since the time he had rescued her when she was ten years old. “And stay away from the goddamn channel!”

  4

  Matthew

  Removing the televisions from the cabins didn’t seem like that much of a request.

  “It’s not that I dislike television. It’s that I like it a bit too much and I need absolutely no distractions while I’m trying to finish my work.”

  Gretchen was chopping wood behind her cabin while he stood there in front of her, holding the two flat screen televisions that he had removed from the outlet and cable hookup.

  She was ignoring him. It was infuriating, in a way that turned him on. Her bare shoulders shone with light perspiration in the mid-morning sunshine, her white tank top hugged her damp curves. Her cut-off denim shorts put Daisy Duke to shame.

  “Will you please stop to take the televisions?”

  She set down her ax and looked at him, annoyed, her blue eyes flashing. “How about you just don’t turn the TV on and get to work. Looks to me like you’re procrastinating.”

  He puffed out his chest. “If the TVs are on the premises, I’ll be too tempted to stare at them instead of write.”

  Gretchen hauled back and gave the ax a mighty swing, lodging it in place in the block she was using.

  She pointed a finger at him. “You said you would stay out of my way and keep to yourself. I do not have any place to store those TVs for you. So maybe you will just have to man up and put them in the closet or something while you’re here. And then, before you leave, you can hook them back up for me, because that’s another thing I don’t want to deal with. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to get back to chopping.”

  She was 100 percent correct about all of it.

  Matthew was procrastinating. He was supposed to be writing.

  It was half true: He did not want to be tempted to turn on the television. He knew what kind of news would start appearing, now that it was hurricane season. And it just made dark memories flood back.

  But the other half of the truth was, the TVs were just an excuse to talk to her again.

  And seeing her riled up at him gave him a jolt he needed to get back to work writing his book.

  He went back to the cabin where he had designated his living space and put both TV sets in the small cedar closet. He poured himself a large cup of coffee and made his way to the second cabin to sit down to write.

  Trouble was, all he could think about as he stared at the blank white screen was Gretchen, and the tempting little drop of sweat that he had spotted in the dip between her collarbones.

  Matthew could not force himself to focus. Instead, he poured every observation, every lustful thought about Gretchen, onto his screen.

  5

  Gretchen

  The first week went by, and she hadn’t seen much of Dr. Matthew Brendan.

  Every morning when she went for a swim, he would wave and give her a curt nod as he set out for a run.

  That was it. They waved hello like courteous neighbors.

  And then one morning, he showed up at her door and knocked while she was still in the middle of her coffee.

  “Come in!” she called. She should be more careful, but out here, a person gets good at distinguishing between different people’s footfalls and knocks.

>   Matthew entered her cabin carrying a small mail-order package.

  “What’s that?” she asked. She was sitting on her sofa, watching Good Morning America, debating whether she should take a swim or paint Cabin Six first.

  Matthew handed her the rectangular, flat, white box. She set down her coffee and opened it, and in the next moment, an iPad fell out into her lap.

  “What the?” Along with the device was a little square doohickey and a bunch of wires.

  “Dr. Brendan, what is this?”

  He laughed. “Please call me Matthew. It’s an iPad, and accessories so you can take reservations and orders on the internet, and also run credit cards on site with this little app, which I’ll explain later. And that way you won’t have to run checks to the bank in the city…”

  She didn’t know what to say. “Matthew. This is too much.”

  “It’s the least I could do. I’m forcing you to stay here when you’d rather be in Detroit. And I guess I was out of line complaining about the televisions. I’m a moody S.O.B., and this is my way of apologizing. I want to help.”

  Gretchen looked up at him and blinked. Then she said, “First of all, this is way over the top. And also, the internet here is fairly sketchy. The landline is much more reliable for taking reservations. It’s a lovely gift, but I can’t accept it.”

  If Matthew was hurt, he hid it well. He shrugged. “OK, well, then use it to play Candy Crush.”

  She watched him help himself to some of her coffee. He seemed unbothered and unaware of her discomfort. “Does money mean that little to you?”

  He shrugged. “I’m not gonna lie. I have a lot of it. I don’t like to worry about it and I like to share it.”