The Cocktail Collection

by Alice Clayton

  “Oh, I’m a regular gal about town.” I grinned, scanning the menu. I needed something light today; I’d been eating like a truck driver. “Oh look, a Philly cheesesteak. On whole wheat? Blasphemous.”

  I shook my head. One thing you can’t get anywhere but back home was a cheesesteak. Or a good hoagie. When the waitress came by, I squelched my cheesesteak argument and ordered something healthy. A cheeseburger. The healthy? I didn’t add bacon.

  We kibitzed for a few moments about the house, the weather, the town.

  “So, you said you had some questions about the will? What can I help you with?” he asked, folding his hands across the table.

  “Yeah, a few. The car in the garage, any idea last time it’s been run?”

  “I’m pretty sure your aunt kept the Bel Air tuned up; she loved that car. Though she didn’t drive it the last few years, Mr. Higgins drove her into town in it a few times in the last year.”

  “Mr. Higgins?”

  “The man she hired to help out around the house and barn.”

  “Oh, Hank! Let’s talk about him. Who exactly is paying for the cowboy?”

  “The cowboy?”

  “Yeah, Fabio. Mr. Man. Whose payroll is he on?”

  “Ah, yes. Maude provided for him in the will as well, provided he stays on to tend to the animals. She did love her animals. Used to have more of them, you know, but now it’s just the two horses. And the chickens, of course.”

  “Yeah, about those chickens. Who owns them? Do I?”

  “Yes.”

  “And the horses? Paul and Paula? Are they mine?”

  “Yes.”

  “So, who does Hank work for?”

  “Well, technically Maude.”

  “So how exactly is that going to work out long term?” I asked, taking a slow draw on my cherry Coke.

  “That’s up to you and Mr. Higgins to figure out.”

  “Not helping me here. If they’re my chickens, can I use the eggs? He takes care of them, but they belong to me, so who gets the eggs?”

  “Interesting question. I didn’t expect to be debating the chicken versus the egg argument today.” He laughed, and I frowned.

  “Glad I could amuse. Do I get the eggs?”

  “In my professional opinion?”

  “Uh-huh,” I said, then bit into my burger. “Oh mah gaw.”

  “Are you all right, Ms. Franklin?”

  I nodded, unable to speak through the best burger I’d ever tasted.

  I caught John’s eye and waved him over. In the time it took him to get to the table, I ate three more bites.

  “What’s up, Viv? Hey, Mr. Montgomery, how are you?”

  “Good to see you, John. How’s business?” he asked.

  “This burger is so good, it’s stupid,” I burst out. “I thought California was supposed to be full of vegans sprinkling sprouts on everything.”

  “That’s at the restaurant across the street. You detox there, you come here when you want real food.”

  “I love you,” I said, stroking my burger like a kitten.

  “Me or the cheeseburger?”

  “I can no longer separate the two.”

  “I won’t tell Jessica.” He laughed.

  “You two chat about business. I’m eating,” I replied, gesturing between him and Mr. Montgomery. As the two men talked, I demolished my lunch. I could feel my pants stretching, I needed to run tomorrow. As I ate, I listened to the two men talk. Mr. Montgomery really seemed to have his finger on the pulse of everything that went on in this small town. I assumed he lived out of town; his firm was in San Francisco.

  When John went back to work, and the burger was nothing more than a memory, I looked at Mr. Montgomery. “How in the world do you know so much about this town?”

  “I was born here, and I lived here for years.”

  “But isn’t your firm in San Francisco?” I asked, confused.

  “It is. And I live there mostly. But I’ve got a house here just outside of town, and while it used to be for vacations, as I get closer to retirement I find myself back here more often.”

  “I can certainly see why. The people are great, and the landscape, it’s kind of awesome.”

  “The people are great, although I hear you had a run-in with Mr. Barrow?”

  “How in the hell did you hear about that?” I asked, incredulous. Seriously, how did word spread so fast?

  “I have ears, Ms. Franklin. And he can be a great help to you, setting up a new life here. No one knows more about this town than he does.”

  “He sure likes to remind me of that. But don’t worry, I’ve got some help of my own on the way.”

  “That sounds mysterious.” He chuckled. “I do think perhaps you should talk with him again. He really is only concerned with maintaining the integrity of the house—a concern I’m sure you share.”

  “I do, of course I do. But does he have to be so . . . so . . . I don’t know . . . librariany about it?”

  “Ms. Franklin, are there any other questions you have about the will?” he asked patiently, not without some amusement in his expression.

  “Well, yes, actually. There are some issues with the house, issues that Clark seems to think are no big deal. But when there’s rain falling on your head in the middle of the night, they tend to be a big deal to the one with the wet face, you know?”

  “I can imagine.” He smiled. “And you’re wanting to get the roof fixed, I’m sure.”

  “Well, that’s the thing. If I stay, the house needs a lot of work. And he—”

  “You’re concerned that Clark doesn’t want you making any changes to the house, yes?”

  “His exact words were, ‘You can’t change a thing in this house without going through me. Go ahead and check with Mr. Montgomery, he’ll tell you the same thing. Not one thing, Vivian,’ and he even pointed at me. So tell me the truth, is he right?”

  “It’s complicated, Ms. Franklin,” he began, clasping his hands across the table from me. “Your aunt was a bit eccentric, as I’m sure you are aware.”

  I thought of the dolls, the Mathis records, and the tube socks. Eccentric was an interesting choice of words.

  “She wasn’t always wise about money, and some years she had trouble keeping up some of the maintenance on the house, as you’ve no doubt noticed. She applied for and was given a grant from the historical society for some basic upkeep. She was able to continue to pay for some things on her own, her basic needs and keeping on some of the animals. She was able to continue to employ Mr. Higgins. But some of the money wasn’t spent in the wisest of ways.”

  I thought of the dolls, the Mathis albums, the tube socks. Not to mention the suit of armor. Wow.

  “There are updates that need to be made to the house, Ms. Franklin, and I’m sure if you decide to stay, you and Mr. Barrow will be able to come to some kind of agreement to ensure that not only are your great-aunt’s wishes carried out, and the integrity of the house preserved, but that you also don’t have to endure a leaky roof.”

  I thought for a moment. “So, the bottom line is if I decide to make some changes, the librarian is involved. Yes?”

  “Yes, up to a point.”

  I leaned across the table. “I’m going to need to know exactly where that line is.”

  chapter six

  I pushed myself harder, lungs burning and legs quivering, up the last crest of the hill. I laser locked on the top, only yards away, using my last burst of energy to crash through the trees and reach the top. Letting my feet slow down, I stood with my hands on my hips, breathing in the sweet air this high up and gazing down at the mountain. What a view.

  I’d used the map Jessica had made me of some of the running trails nearby, selecting a doozy this morning. I hadn’t run since I left Philadelphia, and my muscles weren’t happy about it.
Matter of fact, they were livid, and they chanted as I ran up the trail:

  Pizza

  Cheeseburger

  Pizza

  Pizza

  Beer

  Cheeseburger

  Worth it?

  Worth it?

  “Totally,” I muttered, kicking my leg back and giving it a good stretch, leaning against a tree trunk for balance. I’d run in the state park, up into the headlands. The Pacific spanned the entirety of my field of vision, mixing with the Big River as it emptied into the ocean. Named for the redwoods that stood along its banks when this part of California was being settled, the Big River played a role not only in the development of the land, but in the gold rush and the timber rush, the majestic giants being cut down for the great building expansion. Now protected, it was a beautiful river, popular with canoers and kayakers.

  Not a bad idea, I thought, wondering if there was a canoe hidden away somewhere in the house. It was certainly possible. After my meeting with Mr. Montgomery, I spent the rest of the afternoon and evening finishing up in the second bedroom, and beginning to tackle the third. There were items of a more personal nature in that room, letters and postcards that Maude had accumulated over a lifetime. I also found tax records and old bills of sale in an ancient accordion file, amazingly orderly. These would come in handy if I ended up staying and—

  Of course you’re staying. Was there really ever any doubt?

  I chewed at my thumbnail, contemplating. I was staying.

  A bubble of laughter made its way up my throat and out of my mouth before I could even stop it, one after another, until I sounded like a hyena on top of this mountain.

  “I’m staying!” I said out loud, listening to the words fill the space. “Cool!”

  I fist pumped, whirled about to run back down the mountain, and crashed into a sweaty chest.

  My fist flew out again by instinct, right into the nose of Mr. Clark Barrow.

  He staggered backward with a moan, his hands flying up to his face. “Good lord, Vivian!” he yelled, blood beginning to appear.

  “Fuck! Clark! What the hell!” I yelled back, grabbing his arms and trying to peel his hands back from his nose so I could take a look. “Are you crazy? Sneaking up behind someone like that? Here, sit down so I can check your nose,” I said, taking him by the elbow and pushing him down onto a boulder.

  “Are you crazy? You were talking to yourself on top of a mountain. Don’t do that—ow!” he said as I pried his fingers apart. I’d seen several broken noses in my time—softball, field hockey, you name it.

  Fuck, I was talking to myself on top of a mountain. Dammit. “Okay, I was, but—oh hold still, will you?” I finally succeeded in pulling his hands back and getting a good look at what I’d done. Yup. I’d socked him a good one. Shit. “We need to get you to a doctor; I think it’s broken.”

  “Oh, you think so?” he asked angrily, glaring at me.

  He started to get up, and I leaned in. “Let me help you.”

  “You’d help me right off a cliff,” he snapped, pulling away from me.

  “Oh, would you settle down, just let me help you,” I snapped back, turning him back down the trail, instead of higher up like he was heading. I pulled off my T-shirt and folded it into a square pad. “Here, hold this on your nose.”

  He looked at me, bare on top except for my sports bra, and his eyes widened. Raising an eyebrow, I looked back at him. As he held the T-shirt to his nose, I checked him out fully. Long and lean, he’d been running in just shorts. By the looks of it, he’d been a runner for a long time. And maybe doing some crunches and push-ups too. His body was strong, defined but not overly so. He had a small patch of hair on his chest, that led down a bit to his, ahem, shorts area. He had runner’s legs, powerful and tanned. In fact, his whole body was tanned now that I looked at it. And I was looking at it.

  Damn, Clark. I’d had no idea a tweed jacket could conceal so much awesome. But this awesome was also the same guy trying to stop me at every turn, so I squelched the staring after getting just one more good eyeful.

  “Impossible woman,” he muttered, his voice muffled by the wadded-up T-shirt.

  “This impossible woman is going to help you now, okay, Clark? Why don’t you put your arm around me and just—and that was my boob. Let’s try this again?” I grimaced as I gripped him around the waist. His skin was so warm.

  As we hiked back down the trail, he grumbled the entire time. I grumbled back, my face red from the exertion. Clark was a tall guy, and he was heavier than he looked.

  My face heated more.

  At the bottom of the trail he pronounced himself capable of driving to the doctor’s on his own, and that if it was broken, I would be paying any medical bills.

  I followed him to the urgent-care clinic in town. Once I’d deposited an in-pain-and-getting-crabbier-by-the-minute Clark there, I headed for my house. Now that I’d decided I was indeed staying, the logistics set in.

  How to do this? Could I afford it? And when the hell could I get rid of this stupid putt-putt rental car and start driving a real one?

  The first thing I needed to do was to tell my parents and see if my father was still interested in buying me out. Which he would be, so it was time to make his day.

  I was glad Simon and Caroline would arrive today. I needed to know where I stood with the house and what they, and specifically Caroline, thought I would need to do to it. And of course, run everything by Clark.

  Clark of the broken nose, angry eyes, and washboard abs. Who would have thunk it? Not me. And speaking of washboard abs, as I turned into the driveway of my house, I saw Hank’s big truck parked there. I looked down at myself, half naked, trail dirty, and a bit bloody, and realized that this guy had never seen me at my best. Ah, well, wasn’t going to be today either.

  Pulling myself out of the car, I headed toward the barn, where I could hear the faint rustling of hay. He must be feeding Paul and Paula. Internally wincing at how terrible those names were, I poked my head around the corner carefully, not wanting to get hit with a mouthful of hay again.

  I looked in, then up, and there he was. Once more, with the pitchfork and the awesome. Once more, with the no shirt and the hot. Once more, with the stunning curve of his spine as it dipped toward the small of his back, each vertebrae carefully selected and placed into position by the hand of God, or at least someone with a sense of divine proportion. Vertebrae. Mmm.

  “Hey,” I called out. He didn’t even turn, which was okay. I could indulge in some more back porn.

  “It is,” he answered in a bored voice.

  “No, I meant . . . oh boy.” I walked farther in, sunbeams pouring through the space between the old barn boards, illuminating the golden strands of hay, making the entire space glow. He was glowing to be sure, his skin tanned a deep and outdoorsy bronze, slick with sweat and promise. I wondered if my skin would slip against his, or would it create just enough friction to set fire to everything in between.

  I had a sudden vision of being thrown down on a cushiony pillow of hay, one strand in his mouth as he lazily drove into me, his jaw tight and clenched. Not only on the hayseed, but in order to contain his words of love and devotion, the honey-laced poems he’d undoubtedly been creating in his mind ever since I had the nerve to blow into his town, his world, and make him change his mind about anything and everything he’d ever believed in. He’d kept silent, keeping his devotion to himself, until this day, when the sight of my body overwhelmed his stoic nature, his steely constitution to resist me. Today, the ravaging would begin.

  I waited expectantly. And waited. And waited some more. He literally stood there with his back to me, shoveling hay, knowing I was there. This onion was going to be harder to peel than I thought. Just as I was about to turn around and head back to the house, he finally threw down his pitchfork and turned toward me.

  “What
happened to the other guy?” he asked, starting for the ladder. His top half disappeared for a moment, giving me the chance to admire his equally tantalizing bottom half.

  “Mmm?” I asked, my jaw falling open as my gaze caught on the deep indentation on either side of his heavenly carved abdominal muscles. He jumped the last few rungs, landing gracefully. He closed the distance between us, his eyes traveling over my smaller frame. A breeze blew in from one end of the barn, a kiss of sea air on my somewhat naked skin. T-shirt abandoned earlier for the cause of Clark, my skin now pebbled. Because of the wind? Or the proximity of the cowboy?

  I shifted my weight, leaning forward as he approached. His eyes lingered on my sports bra, and he let his fingertips follow. Dragging one across my collarbone, he touched my skin, then curled underneath the strap. “I assume this is someone else’s blood. Were you brawling before breakfast?” he asked, stringing more words than he’d uttered to me in our entire lifetimes together. He had an expression on his face that I could only classify as . . . amusement?

  “Brawling?” I asked, barely breathing.

  “I assume you won, right?”

  “I. Was. Running,” I stammered, his nearness scrambling my brain and turning me into Forrest Gump.

  Confusion crossed his face, and he stepped back a bit. I stepped forward, not wanting to widen the space between us. “I accidentally punched someone. On a mountain.”

  I cursed my brain and my inability to string together coherent sentences when this cowboy was near. Seriously, it was like I turned into a different person when alone with him.

  “Like I said, brawling before breakfast.” He winked (he winked!) and moseyed toward the barn door. And he was supremely qualified to bust out a mosey.

  “How’d you know I won?” I asked, testing out my own mosey as I followed him.

  He turned, leaning against the door, one arm over his head. Beef. To the motherfucking. Cake.

  “You look like you can take care of yourself. That’s why.”

  He moseyed away. I sneezed a dozen times.

  Had I peeled away a layer? Perhaps not, but I’d certainly scratched through that papery brown skin on the outside.