Looking over the printed, enlarged picture of my wife the day I had painted her body I felt like the luckiest man alive. That small seductive smile on her face—she wasn’t even trying to look sexy, she just was—her dark hair, flowing over her shoulders. The tan line faded, her beautiful skin back to its creamy white.
I would capture that moment forever. With my paint and my brush. And I would give it to her, to hide away in the closet. To remember that day. Her and her newlywed husband, laying on a drop cloth over the grassy backyard of their first home, decorating one another’s bodies with the caress of their fingertips.
I pulled the easel out to the center of the room; the light was best there. Taping the picture to the top of the easel I propped one of my smaller, 8x10 canvases portrait style.
My mind slowed, my focus only on my work. It’s like that, with woodworking and art. As if time stands still or slows. But the opposite is the reality. You think you’ve only been working twenty minutes and you look up and four hours have gone by.
Buttercup says it’s the same way for her with the EMT gig. Once the blood starts flowing, the patients face paling, the clock stops ticking. It’s like a movie when its set to slow motion.
As always, when I lifted my eyes to the clock, it felt like minutes, but two hours had passed. Wanting the painting to be a surprise, I quickly cleaned up behind me. Buttercup would surely be home any minute.
Opening the fridge, I saw we had the makings for the only food I really could cook besides pancakes—omelets. Pulling out the ingredients one by one, my mouth began to water. I was starving.
First, I cracked the eggs into a bowl. Then I whisked in a splash of heavy cream and salt and pepper. Leaving the mixture to sit, I chopped up peppers and onions, but no mushrooms, Buttercup thought they were too slimy, and grated a quarter of a block of Colby-Jack cheese.
Voila! My famous Western omelet. Add avocado and bacon, and it was my California omelet. A little ham and I called it my Southern Special.
My fingers drummed on the countertop, the noise keeping me company in the quiet house. Buttercup was not home. Pacing to the front of the house, I pulled the curtain back from the window, hoping to see the headlights of her car. No dice.
She must be visiting Jessica, or Carrie. Shoving the thought of Thomas lurking around Poke—the one vampire brother I still didn’t trust—I sat down to partake in the dinner I had cooked. I took a bite, the food melting in my mouth. Not too bad.
Polishing off the last bite on my plate, I reached over picking up Buttercup’s. I’d make her a fresh one when she finally got home. No use letting this one go to waste. Everyone knows eggs are only good hot and fresh, right after they are cooked.
Finishing her meal as well, I pushed my chair back, patting my full stomach. “That hit the spot,” I said out loud to no one.
My hunger subsided, my thoughts turned back to worry. Where the heck was she? Standing, I went back into the kitchen, hunting around on the counter top for a note. Surely, she left one if she wasn’t expecting to be back. I had told her that I would be home tonight.
No note. I checked the fridge. There were paintings, drawings, coloring pages messily scribbled—all for my Buttercup from her fan club of little nephews. A drawing of a heart, with the words, ‘i luv butercup’ written in messy handwriting from one of the boys’ pudgy little hands.
“You and me both, kid,” I breathed, disappointed to not find Buttercup’s neat handwriting, explaining her absence, on one of the pieces of paper.
Pushing a creeping panic away, I began to clean the kitchen. After putting the food away and washing all the dishes by hand—a trick Mama Love taught me to ease a worried mind, I began to calm though she wasn’t home. She was probably just out with Cherry and forgot to tell me. I would give her another hour before I called her.
Settling down on the couch, I picked up the remote, flipping to ESPN. It was a great chance to catch up on my sports news. Buttercup could tolerate my obsession with professional baseball, but I tried not to hog the television with it when she was home.
Minutes were inching by like hours. Glancing once more at the time on my phone, my stomach sank. The hour I had allotted was up. Buttercup still wasn’t home.
Clicking off the baseball, I hit my recent calls, the list read, ‘Butterbaby, Butterbaby, Ray, Butterbaby,’ and so on. My wife receiving the majority of my calls.
Tapping her number, her sweet face popped up on the screen above the word, ‘Dialing.’ My heart was stuck in my throat, having stopped beating at the sound of the third unanswered ring.
One more dull trilling noise, then a click, and “This is Buttercup. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
Hiding the panic from my voice, I said, “Hey, babe. Give me a call when you get this. I made you a pretty mean omelet, but I ate it. Just wondering where you are.”
The clock ticked away, another hour passed. Dialing her number once more, I waited to hear her voice. The high, quiet lilt of her voice. No answer. “Buttercup. You need to call me as soon as you get this. I’m worried about you.”
Baseball no longer a solace to me, I paced the floors, hoping to see the glare of headlights in the driveway.
Picking up my phone, I dialed Ray.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Ray. How are you?”
“Hey, Jake. I’m well. Just getting these young whippersnappers to bed. They usually are down by eight, but you know baseball was on and what’s a dad to do?” I could hear his boys being rowdy in the background. Despite my worry, a smile crossed my face.
I chuckled. “Good luck. Sounds like you have an impossible task ahead of you. I won’t keep you. I was just checking to see if Buttercup was over there.”
Ray’s jovial laugh died at the mention of Buttercup’s name. I wasn’t the only protective man in the town of Poke. “She’s not here. She’s not with you?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing but I expected her home around six—”
“It’s nine o’clock.”
“I know.”
“She didn’t leave a note? Answer her phone?”
“Nope.” I stacked the quarters that lay on the kitchen counter into neat little piles as Ray spoke.
“Jessica did that to me once. The boys were sleeping over with Carrie and an old friend of hers from high school came into town. Jessica was so delighted by the surprise, when she left to go out to dinner with her friend, she forgot to leave a note. They got to gabbing over tacos and her phone battery died while in her purse. She didn’t realize it was gone till she was grabbing it to text me she was on her way home—at eleven o’clock at night.”
“Sounds like what could have happened tonight,” I said, hoping for the best.
“I had been calling her like crazy. By the time she got home, I was so worked up… well let’s just say, Miss Jessica hasn’t made the same mistake since.”
“I’ll text you as soon as I hear from her. Thanks, Ray.”
“You do that. You’re a good man, Jake. I’m glad she’s got you.”
“You too, Ray.”
Flipping my finger over the screen, I got back to Buttercup’s face. She was so pretty—it almost hurt to look at her sometimes. It wasn’t the kind of pretty that stopped cars or turned men’s heads as she walked by, more of a slow, steady breathtaking, natural beauty that just washed over you as you looked at her. I’d give her one more call, then wait it out on the chair by the door.
Voicemail. “Buttercup—you’re in trouble.”
She had been quiet on the drive home from the building—distant almost. I figured she was thinking about what we had just witnessed between Ryder and Cherry or was nervous about her upcoming punishment. I had dropped her off in the driveway when we had gotten home from the EMS building. I called out, “See you tonight,” but she had not said anything, just waved and run into the house. She hadn’t even mentioned going somewhere tonight.
Giving a huge sigh, I went to the far side of the kitchen t
o plug my phone into the charger. My stomach sank. There on the counter was Buttercup’s bright pink phone, I assumed set to silent.
She hadn’t even taken it with her.
She always took it with her.
My imagination ran wild. Visions of Buttercup, forcefully removed from our home by the dark-haired, pale man who had tormented her years earlier. Tom dragging her through our front door, Buttercup’s hand reaching out towards the pink phone.
Or a car accident. Should I call the police? Surely, Poke Rescue would have called me if they had heard something.
Walking over to the front window I slumped down in my worn brown leather chair. Head in my hands I gave a half mad chuckle. I was losing it. Buttercup was safe. She’d be home soon. And she would have some serious explaining to do.
Laying my head back on the cushion, I closed my eyes, drifting off in the chair.
Buttercup
My stomach clenched in knots. I had to pass this exam—I had worked so hard.
And then I had to go home to face Jake.
I had directly disobeyed him. Putting myself—in his mind—in danger.
Even though I knew Ryder held no threat, it didn’t matter. Jake had made it clear—beyond a shadow of a doubt—I was to tell him if I saw Ryder.
I steeled my nerves. Facing my husband could wait. First, I had to get through this exam. But before all that—I had to pick up Cherry.
Cherry and I giggled like children on the drive to the exam. She was over the moon with excitement and just couldn’t believe that Ryder had come to Poke Town for her.
“I mean. I had no idea. I would stare at him all through class and sometimes I would catch him staring at me, but I always thought he was just staring at me because he had caught me staring at him. You know what I mean?”
My head was spinning with Cherry’s fast talking as we feasted on fajitas at Fiesta Mexicana. I would have thought nerves would have stopped me from eating, but I packed away more than my share of the delicious food.
By the time we reached the classroom, I was glad she had distracted me with her complete word for word rendition of their cupcake date because when I saw the papers sitting on the desk, nausea hit my stomach. I felt faint and I wanted to throw up, my dinner heavy in my stomach. The packet of paper was so thick.
Giving my arm a squeeze, Cherry whispered, “Good luck, Buttercup. You’ll do great.”
She went off and sat at a desk by the window. I took a deep breath, then took my own seat at a desk nearest the door—just in case my nerves got the best of me and I needed to get to the bathroom and spew. I guess I had not only not outgrown my fear of heights, but also my test taking anxiety.
Glancing over the papers before me, I took up the advice from my tenth grade English teacher—the one who had finally got me diagnosed with dyslexia. Go through and answer the easy ones first—the ones you are sure to get right. From there pick and choose the ones you are fairly certain of and answer as they get harder. I went through the questions, stumbling only over the words, ‘second stage of heat exposure is heat exhaustion’.
When I got to the last little bubble that wasn’t filled in, I racked my brain, chewing on the end of my pencil. Which of the following is not an indicator of diabetic ketoacidosis? Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I searched the deepest pockets of my memory.
I couldn’t find the answer. I left the bubbles empty.
“Time’s up.” A big smile from our moderator. She made her way around the room collecting the tests.
Cherry gave me a thumbs up. She had aced hers and was sure of it. I had always struggled in school. I had no problem with the hands-on training, knowing what to do almost as if from muscle memory once someone had showed me something one time.
But the questions, the terminology. The big words. They had left my brain feeling fried.
“You may stay for your scores, or I can email them to you tomorrow.”
Cherry turned to me, smiling, “Let’s go, Buttercup. I’m sure we did just fine.”
“I want to stay.” I knew it wasn’t just that I was stalling not ready to face Jake. I needed to know if I had passed. If all my arduous work had paid off. I had to know.
She shrugged. “Suit yourself. Want me to stay behind with you?”
“That’s okay, Cherry. You go on ahead. I’ll stay here and wait.”
“You don’t mind?”
“Not a bit. Hey, but don’t you need a ride home since I drove you here?”
“I’ve got a hot date with Ryder tonight. He just texted me. He’s waiting outside.”
“Already? Two dates in one day?”
“Yep. I’m gonna be missus Doctor Ryder Cherry one day. I just know it.”
“That’s not how the titles work.”
“Whatever. That boy is sweeter on me than a bee on honey.”
“And do you feel the same?”
The shine in her eyes and pink on her cheeks answered before her words could. “Yep, and I have ever since I walked in that class and his blue eyes looked up into mine. Bye, Buttercup.” She drew me in for a tight hug.
“Bye, Cherry.”
Watching her curly blonde head bob out the door, I sat back down in my seat. There were three others with me, waiting for their scores as well.
I wanted to bite my nails. I had broken the habit long ago. My fingers went towards my mouth. I reconsidered, tucking my fingers underneath me instead. As the moderator graded the papers, I had too much time on my hands. I couldn’t decide what I was more nervous about—the test results, or Jake waiting for me. I began to consider what waited for me at home. The others got their tests one by one, leaving me last, sweating it out.
“Mrs. Hargett?”
Jumping from my seat, I went to the front of the room.
“Congrats—you passed.”
My heart caught in my throat.
She handed me the test with a bright red “Pass,” written across the top. “I’ll file the necessary paperwork for you and the certificate will come to your home in the mail. Congratulations.”
Grinning ear to ear, I gave my thanks and bounced from the room. I had passed the test, and I got to go tell Jake.
Practically skipping from the room, I slowed to a shuffle, knowing what I had coming to me.
Jake
After what felt like hours but could only have been minutes I was awoken by bright head lights. Startled, I leapt from my seat, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. The light thud of a car door, then the turn of the knob—I never locked the door when I was home—and the opening of the door.
The cool night air breezed into the house with Buttercup. Her eyes went wide when she saw me. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello to you too.”
Pink cheeked, she shut the door behind her.
“Where were you?”
“It’s a secret—I wanted to surprise you.”
“But you didn’t leave a note. You didn’t take your phone. I was worried sick.”
“I thought you’d be at baseball.”
“I told you this afternoon—last week was the last game of the season.”
“Oh—I must have not heard you.”
“Why didn’t you have your phone?”
“I was in a rush. I forgot it. But I didn’t turn around to get it because I thought you’d be at baseball till eleven.”
“It’s on the counter. You may have needed it, if not for me, for a flat tire, a carjacking, anything. You’d think with all the trouble you are already in over the Ryder thing, you’d have been more careful.”
Giving me a wary look, she skittered around me, into the kitchen. Pressing the buttons on the side of the phone, she looked up at me sheepishly, “The ringer was off.”
“Buttercup, do you know what it feels like to wait for hours for the love of your life, not knowing where they are, if they are okay?” I paced the living room floor, running my hand agitatedly through my hair.
“No.”
“No—you don’t.
Because I would never be so thoughtless as to leave for the night with you having no idea of where I was or how to reach me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I came home. The door was unlocked. There was no note. No answer to my phone calls. Then I find your phone was on the counter. You were nowhere in sight. I honestly started to worry that you had been taken by Tom or been in an accident.”
“That’s ridiculous, Jake.”
“Wrong words, little girl.” My pacing stopped at the kitchen table. “Sit down.”
Buttercup scurried into the kitchen, sitting in the chair in front of me at the table. I rubbed at the burning on the back of my neck, trying to control my anger. “Ridiculous that I would worry that your crazy ex who we have a restraining order on came here and took you? Or am I ridiculous for thinking that you being gone for hours with no note, no phone… that you were hurt somewhere. Which one, Buttercup?”
“I didn’t mean you are ridiculous. I just meant, we haven’t seen Tom’s face since you ran him out of town—”
The rap of my knuckles against the oak table interrupted her sentence. “What is ridiculous, little lady, is your absolute disrespect for your personal safety.”
She sat silently, fully realizing what she had put me through this evening.
“You must have been worried sick,” she whispered.
Softening, I pulled out a chair and sat down beside her. “I was. And I want to be sure I will never have to worry like that again. Now, where the hell were you?”
She pulled a folded stack of papers from her purse. There was a red word across the top declaring, “Pass.”
I took the papers from her hands, reading the black print at the top of the page. “National Registry Exam. Buttercup—how did you take this class without me knowing? And you passed? Congratulations!” Pride swelled in my chest—momentarily making me forget my anger— knowing the unique challenges Buttercup had faced to achieve her dreams.
“The class lined up with baseball. I went with Cherry and was always back by ten. I stayed up late, studying, most nights after you fell asleep.”
“Why keep it a secret though, Buttercup?”
Mastering Her Will (Dirty Texas Love Book 2) Page 11