Roots and Wings (City Limits #1)

by M. Mabie

  At that moment, what needed improvement most was my understanding of why the whole town called this gorgeous woman Mutt.

  “I don’t think my grandpa thought it would stick like it did, to tell you the truth. I think he was just calling me that to dig at my mom, who then left my dad and me. I was a kid and didn’t know what a mutt was at first. I remember him saying, ‘You’re the sweetest Mutt I know.’ I don’t think he was trying to be mean to me. Then everyone else started calling me Mutt, and the meaning of it kind of wore off. I don’t think anyone even thinks about it anymore. It’s just my name.”

  I didn’t like it. It wasn’t a thoughtful or flattering nickname; it was cruel, even if it wasn’t meant to be. I had to respect the way she dealt with it, though. Even if her grandfather hadn’t meant for it to be mean, I thought it was sad. Here she’d been abandoned by her mother and then everyone called her a dog.

  Admittedly, I hated it.

  I’d never call her that.

  “What’s your real name?”

  O’Fallon looked at me like I was nuts, like she didn’t want to tell me. She sat back and crossed her arms over her chest, looking at me defiantly.

  “Tell me,” I urged, then nudged her leg.

  “No.”

  “Want me to guess?”

  She rolled her eyes and then opened the cooler to get another beer, silently offering it to me first. I took it and she retrieved another for herself.

  “You can try, but I doubt you’ll guess.”

  “Will you tell me if I’m right?” I’d be able to tell by her face, I thought. She didn’t seem like a very good liar. Then again, I was just getting to know her. I didn’t even know her real name. Yet.

  “Suzanne?”

  She laughed. I committed the sound to memory as it echoed off the nearby water.

  “Do I look like a Suzie?” Then she laughed some more but leaned in, enjoying the game.

  “No. I’m just warming up. Samantha?” I asked and leaned in a little myself.

  “No.”

  “Vivian?”

  She shook her head, forehead scrunched.

  “Natalie? Ashley? Danielle?”

  “No. No. No.” Each no punctuated with a flip of her wrist and her finger checking them off.

  I stretched my legs out in front of me, and admitted, “This might take a while.”

  “That’s okay. I’ve nothing better going on. Besides you look cute when you guess.”

  “Cute?”

  “Yeah, after you say a name your face does this I’m waiting thing, like you actually might be right. You’re nowhere close, though.”

  “Men don’t like to be called cute, O’Fallon.”

  “Oh, sorry. What do you prefer? Handsome?”

  “Do you think I’m handsome?”

  She shrugged noncommittally.

  “Come on. You think I’m handsome. That’s fine. I’ll keep guessing. Lydia?”

  She giggled, actually giggled. “No.”

  “Judy?”

  “I’m twenty-six, not eighty! No.”

  “Carmen?”

  “No.”

  “Can you tell me what it starts with?”

  “I can,” she said with a shit-eating grin on her pretty lips. “But not yet. This is entertaining.”

  I needed leverage.

  “I’ll keep guessing, but I’ll just say this, I don’t kiss women if I don’t know their name.” It was a stretch, but it might get me a little clue.

  Her eyes flared wide, like I’d challenged her.

  “Oh, Vaughn, Vaughn, Vaughn,” she tsked.

  “Oh, you, you, you,” I mocked.

  “You’re flirting with me.”

  By then we were both leaning over the cooler that separated our chairs.

  “Maybe.”

  “No, you are. I like it, but sweet-talking me isn’t going to get it out of me. I’ve been months and months without a kiss. I can hold out. I’m patient.” She leaned forward and licked her bottom lip.

  Shit. She fought dirty.

  “You better get to guessing.”

  I guessed every name under the sun. She never relented and gave me a clue, and even though the conversation would veer off when I’d mention a name that struck a memory with one of us, we laughed and enjoyed each other until it started getting late.

  I didn’t want to leave.

  Correction. I didn’t want to leave without a kiss. Something. Anything.

  The more time I spent with her the more I wanted to touch her, and all night I found myself fighting the urge to reach out and put my arm on the back of her chair. Or put my hand on her leg. Anything. I was starving for her.

  For the most part she kept her cool, but there were these amazing little moments when I’d catch her with this dreamy look on her face as I spoke to her. And I kept catching her looking at my hands, so I played that to my advantage and used them animatedly when I spoke.

  “I hate to say this, because I could sit out here all night, but I need to get home.” My watch read a quarter to eleven. I wanted to be in the office at seven.

  “I know. I actually think I’m just going to sleep here tonight. I’ll just drive home in the morning.”

  Was that a hint?

  Was there something in the way she said that? The way she leaned her head to the side and the amber from the fast burning coals colored her hair, cheek, and neck might have played a trick on me.

  I had to adjust a little in my seat.

  Knowing I couldn’t, for it would be breaking some rule of the little game we’d created, made me want to kiss her all the more. I wanted to please her with my lips. I wanted my mouth on hers. I wanted to taste her warm skin, get in there and get a lungful of her scent—the same one I’d been teased with all night. I wanted her to moan a little and part her mouth open, and then I wanted her to sneak her tongue to meet mine when I took too long, just so I could see how long it would take her to want more. Then I’d give her more.

  Still, I didn’t know her name. And even though I’d made up that stupid rule about not kissing a woman when I didn’t know her name, I was going to stand by it.

  As much as I wanted her in that moment, I needed her to know where I stood when it came to giving my word.

  I wanted her to trust what I said, to know my words and actions had more value than my touch. Than my kiss.

  I’d believed in that kind of thing once.

  This time I was going to know the person I was with, and there was something so damn seductive about prying out all of the pieces that made her … her.

  “Can I help you with anything before I head back to town?” I asked, totally disappointed that I hadn’t guessed her name.

  “Nope, I’m good.” She sighed, looking disappointed too. I liked that.

  “So,” I began as we stood at the same time, “do you think you’ll let me guess your name again? Maybe Friday night?”

  She bit her lip and failed at hiding a smile. I couldn’t resist any longer, and my hand reached out and touched her arm as she was looking down, making up her mind.

  She sucked in a breath and said, “Sure.”

  “Good.”

  I moved my fingers over her arm and fought the urge to lean in, but failed. Near her ear I said, “And, Friday, if I guess, I’ll kiss you good night.”

  Her head leaned into mine and our cheeks touched. O’Fallon’s skin was warm and I wanted more, I’d wait. Then she’d know for sure if she liked me or not. No more, she thinks she likes me a little.

  Two could play her sexy little game.

  Where did he come up with that stuff? Who in their right mind says those things? I was literally hanging on his every word all night. Something about that voice. Something about the way he spoke. It was so sexy. The words he chose. The intention behind it when he told me he wasn’t going to kiss a girl until he knew her name.

  I liked it more than a little.

  I liked him.

  A lot.

  He was funny an
d sincere, which made me comfortable enough around him that I could be myself, the real me. Not just Mutt, Darrell O’Fallon’s daughter. He was easy to talk to and interesting to listen to.

  That was just skimming the top of his appeal.

  The way he walked. The way he sat, long legs out in front of him. I’m a pretty tall girl at five-nine, but he stood taller, even over me. His broad shoulders, slim waist.

  I wondered what he looked like naked.

  I wondered what he looked like during sex.

  Shit.

  I needed to fall asleep, but I was finding it rather difficult with all of these new thoughts swimming around in my head. Never before had a man had this effect on me.

  When he was around I was relaxed, yet I felt a pulsing tension. I told him things that I’d never told anyone. Not that they were secrets, but no one had ever bothered to ask. We’d talked about my dream of having a tackle shop. I’d never told anyone about that. Ever.

  I lay on my bed in the cabin, glad I’d washed the sheets and blankets a few weeks back. It was the first night I’d stayed there that spring and already I knew I’d be spending a lot of time there that year.

  How in the hell did he know where my cabin was? And Newcastle?

  Must have been Donnie at the gas station, I figured.

  Who better to tell him how to get out here? I’d bought the cabin from him. I should have known. I could have teased Vaughn about poaching information at the gas station.

  I rolled over to look at the time on my phone. One-thirty.

  I was going to be tired the next day.

  Wednesday dragged by slowly.

  Thursday did the same.

  I didn’t go back out to the cabin, and I didn’t stop at Vaughn’s house every night as I passed, even though I really wanted to.

  I was waiting for him to call. Then again, he’d asked me out. I didn’t know what the rules for dating were. Should I have called him? Was the ball in my court? Was I already messing this up? Maybe it wasn’t even a date-date. He didn’t have many friends in town yet, and it’s possible all city guys flirted like that.

  How in the fuck was I to know any of this shit? It was Thursday night, and all I could think about while I was in my shop working on a lures I’d promised to finish before the weekend.

  My earbuds were in and I was lost in my thoughts, the pieces I was working on, and the music.

  Then my phone rang—not that I’d been waiting for it to the past few days or anything.

  Vaughn.

  I took a deep breath and squeezed my hands tight with excitement before answering the call.

  “Hi, Vaughn,” I said, using the mic on my earbuds, not bothering to pull them out.

  “Hi, you.” Was it weird that I liked that he wouldn’t call me Mutt? And that him calling me “you” was really kind of hot. It was weird, but I was weird and I liked it. A shitload.

  “What’s up?” I asked, trying to be casual and praying he wasn’t calling to cancel.

  “Not a lot. It’s been a busy week at the office and I haven’t seen you, even though I heard you drive by every night. So I thought I’d call and make sure we were still on for tomorrow.”

  Relief. I was alone and my balled up hands shot up in the air like I’d just scored a touchdown.

  “Yeah, I’m still good for tomorrow. I hope you made a list of names to go through.”

  I hope you’ll finally kiss me.

  “I have done nothing else but think of names to try.”

  I laughed because he actually sounded a little desperate. Desperate for me? For my name? For a kiss? I was getting a little desperate myself.

  I played with the lure I’d been working on and held it up to inspect. Things were looking up. Lots of things were looking up.

  “Good for you. I hope you crack the code. You know, I suppose you could always ask Donnie.”

  The line was silent.

  “The gas station guy?”

  “You know who I’m talking about.”

  He chuckled, having been caught. “I’ve never asked him anything. In fact, I was a little nervous that the hints he was dropping were leading me to some sort of community hazing thing or something. It was strange.”

  “Yeah, right.” Although, Donnie was strange as hell.

  “I wouldn’t lie to you. I went in, and we talked a little bit. He suggested Newcastle. Then I asked him how to get to Johnston’s Chute, and he gave me directions to your place.”

  I shook my head, all along picturing Donnie doing it.

  “What a shithead. I knew you didn’t know where my cabin was.” I laughed despite myself. It totally sounded like something that old fart would do. He was always telling me I needed a man, but I thought he was just teasing me since I never had one.

  “He might have a thing for you. If you want to see what he’s doing tomorrow I think you’ve got a good shot.”

  “Nope, I’ve got plans.” I sat up a little straighter, proud.

  “Plans, huh? Anyone I know?”

  “Just some guy. I’m not sure it’s a date, but I do have plans.”

  His voice grew lower and the sound of it gave me goose bumps on my arms. “O’Fallon, it’s definitely a date.”

  I smiled to myself.

  “So tell me what we’re doing.”

  “Well, I have a few things in mind. I thought I’d pick you up and maybe make you dinner, and then I was going to see if you could show me around town a little. I can get from work to the store, but I’d like to see the back roads. You know, get the scenic Wynne tour.”

  I loved the sound of that.

  Often I’d drive around for hours by myself. I could get lost for hours on end on those old roads, but they always led me home. I had to admit, it sounded so much better having someone with me.

  “That sounds great, but you don’t have to pick me up. We can take my truck.”

  Then I felt a tap on my shoulder and it startled me. I spun around to see Vaughn, in a black V-neck T-shirt and jeans, standing right there.

  In my shed.

  At my workbench.

  I swallowed the holler that almost flew out of my mouth and pulled the earbuds out of my head.

  “You scared the shit out of me.” I quickly tucked my hair behind my ear and cringed thinking about what I looked like. Was he ever going to catch me on a good day? Did I have good days?

  “Sorry about that. Well, kind of. You looked happy it was me on the phone.” His wicked grin earned him forgiveness, but I didn’t want him to know I’d been swayed so easily in his favor.

  “I was. But you should be sorry—if I had screamed bloody murder, my dad probably would have shot you and asked questions later.”

  His eyes grew wide when the realization hit him.

  “I didn’t think about that.” He turned around and looked toward the house, then back, satisfied we were alone.

  “I’m surprised he didn’t come out when you pulled in anyway. He must have fallen asleep in the chair.”

  “So back to tomorrow. I’d like to pick you up. Dean called and said my SUV will finally be ready tomorrow. I’ll take you home whenever you want, but I want to drive.”

  I didn’t see what the big deal was. I knew the roads, and, if given the choice, I’d rather be the driver. He might be a maniac, but, then again, his eyes were so trusting. Big, blue, and honest.

  “I don’t know,” I answered hesitantly. “I know the roads; you don’t.”

  “I’ll have to learn sometime—besides, who better to be my first road trip co-pilot?”

  He had a point. His co-pilot had a ring to it. Plus, I knew the roads like the back of my hand.

  “Does your fancy ride have an input jack for music? I love the radio and Sunny does a great job, but I can’t listen to that station all night.”

  “It does. And I have lots of CDs.”

  This date was sounding better and better all the time.

  “What are you going to cook?” I asked.

  “That�
��s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. Any allergies I need to know about? Any dislikes?”

  Had I ever had dinner with a guy? Then again, had I ever been out on an actual date?

  This was a little disconcerting. I was almost twenty-seven, and up until that moment, I hadn’t realized I’d been missing anything. Aside from a few adolescent group dates, I’d never actually been out with a guy.

  All of a sudden, I felt inadequate. I didn’t know how to act.

  Was I supposed to tell him I hated pizza?

  Would he try to make pizza?

  Should I tell him I hated broccoli?

  Was it too soon for that?

  Shit. What was I thinking? Too soon for broccoli?

  There were too many things I was trying to work through at the same time. Best-case scenario, he was strangely attracted to me and we’d mess around. I was undeniably attracted to him. He was gorgeous and fun, sincere and flirty.

  What the hell did he see in me?

  I was the daughter of a grease monkey who liked to fish. My hair was always a mess. I barely wore makeup, mostly because I wasn’t sure how to use half of the shit. I wore boots, not heels. Jeans, not skirts. I drove a beat-up old Dodge truck.

  I wouldn’t even fuck me.

  Messing around wasn’t the best-case scenario; it would have been a miracle.

  I bet he’s a damn good kisser.

  “I don’t like pizza,” I blurted.

  He’d been looking around, but when I spoke, his attention returned to me. “What? Who doesn’t like pizza?”

  “Me. And I don’t like broccoli either.”

  “So, no broccoli pizza? Got it.” Then he winked. A full-on, movie star wink. I think I heard a little bell ding off in the distance somewhere. You know, the sound a wink makes in a Disney movie.

  He was the beauty; I was the beast.

  “Well, I’m a guy and I can make about seven different things. So it’s burgers, spaghetti, tacos, stir-fry, sloppy joes … I can grill just about anything, or I can make breakfast.”

  My heart was still thumping to the beat of the William Tell Overture after being startled, but the mention of breakfast made the beating twice as fast. And a little more south.

  “Breakfast sounds good.” Where had that come from? My mouth was working much faster than my brain. A beaming smile broke across his face and his eyes lit up. I clarified, “I mean, I love eating breakfast for supper.”