by Cara Scott
Ava’s comments are so tempting and far too perceptive. How many times in the past two years have I looked over with longing at his handsome figure on that dock? And how often have I fantasized at the sight of him when he's out there for his ritual stroll? Imagining quickies and nights of long passion, and maybe even some of the tenderness I see him lavish on the people he cares about, is my secret vice.
Ava has followed me in and is sitting across from me on the couch. I know that expression. She gets it when she's on to a flaw in some poor shmuck’s testimony. Only tonight, the poor shmuck is me. What the hell, maybe it was time I confided in someone about my feelings for my fine looking neighbor?
I take a sip of my cocoa and then admit. “Alright, there is something between us. It’s been between us right from the start.”
Ava face lights up with her ‘I knew it’ look, but she keeps quiet so the silence will encourage me to speak. I smile allowing the past to embrace me. “Ava, I was eighteen, just arrived in America for college from years as a missionary kid. I just wanted to be so cool and, you know, maybe be part of the in crowd and have a real college romance. It had taken over a year, but my parents had finally given in to my entreaties to go to college in America. They agreed as long as it was here where my grandparents lived.”
I grin across at my city bred friend. “I know this town and Jade Creek College might be sleepy backwaters to you, but not for me after living in third world countries all my life. I remember, Ava, I was so excited and terrified and hell bent on making a good impression. I was starry-eyed, convinced I finally had my shot at my very own college crush, just like in those American teen dramas I couldn’t get enough of.”
I gaze ahead of me, wistfully indulging the naive eagerness of my younger self.
“Mason was in the last year of his criminology degree and was the college crush. I was making the rounds of the freshman events on my bike and was headed for the frat house. I admit, I was in a hurry and probably building too much speed on a downward incline. He and all the senior frat guys were drinking and hanging around that bike of his. It wasn’t long since he’d finished restoring it.”
I pause for breath and then plow on with my tale.
“I couldn’t stop. I ended up hitting the fender. Picture it Ava. Here I am, shy as hell, and I go careening down the path and fall off my bike all arms and legs. I was so embarrassed I just lay there for a while with my eyes closed. Then I open them and I'm looking up at the most gorgeous guy, ever. It was like right out of my fantasies. He was a hot guy with a hot Harley and he was looking at me intently. Really looking at me. Like I mattered. As if my welfare was his number one concern. I wasn’t used to that. I was used to considering myself way down the line on anyone’s agenda. Especially my parents, who were too busy saving other people’s children to wonder if their own daughter might need some loving.”
Ava reaches out and pats my hand, but says nothing. I know she wants to keep me talking. She was right, I needed to get this out. “You’ve seen that molten look of his. That hot chocolate gaze was doing weird things to me. I was terrified I was looking at him with my mouth open and maybe even some drool.”
Ava can’t hold back a laugh and I relax. Somehow this is a lot easier to talk about than I thought. “I was determined to look like any cool, born and bred American college girl. So I adopted the bratty shrug and look I’d seen one of the heroines in my latest teen drama throw at the cocky, varsity captain. I swung my hair back exuding all of the sassy confidence I was actually lacking and I told him to get over it, the dent was just an insignificant ding.”
Ava’s laugh breaks through my memories. “Oh, Maura, that’s so typically you. So, what happened?” She leans forward, eyes alight, eager to hear. “Did he give a cool comeback? Did he make a move?”
I turn away, my stomach flipping with the emotions of the memory. “I guess… maybe he would have. He laughed kinda like he admired my guts, you know. But well…” I look away from her, out the window at the dark surface of the creek, my throat constricted.
“Maura, you’re driving me crazy, here. Well what? What the hell happened?”
I look back at her feeling stupid and hollow inside. “I was too embarrassed, too overcome. Teen dramas were one thing. A real guy, especially that gorgeous, was just too much for me. I was too sheltered to handle it. I walked away, like I didn’t care. He asked me to dance later, but I said no.”
Ava’s voice doesn’t hide the frustration she feels with me. “You mean you turned him down all haughty and pissed! Just like you did tonight! No wonder things never go anywhere. You need to give him some encouragement.”
Ava’s words and the memory of the power of that first meeting triggers an unexpected response. For some inexplicable reason, I can’t stop the slow tears rolling down my face.
Ava is immediately at my side on the couch, arm around me. “Hey, baby. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be harsh. I didn’t get how much this means to you” She hugs me and offers some tissues. “Well this sure explains a lot. No wonder you haven’t given other guys a chance.”
I look at her sideways, sniffing loudly. “What’d you mean?”
She turns me to look at her. “Face it, Maura. You’re in love with your college crush.”
I scoff at her, sniffing and blowing my nose. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just a bit drunk and worn out. I’ll be fine.”
Ava shakes her head. “Uh uh, Maura. I'm sure you’ve strong feelings for this guy. And he may not act on it, but he definitely has the hots for you and then some. It’s not just lust either, he seems genuinely concerned for you. Really protective. I think he might be in love with you too, Maura.”
For a moment, I let Ava’s words give me hope, then I shake my head. He may have been ready to make a move when we first met, but that was before he knew who I was. Who my family were. Once he did, he never tried again. I know the reason he doesn’t act on his feelings.
I just hate to look at it.
Time to remind myself and wise up my friend to the politics of living in a small town.
I sit back and give Ava a shrewd look. “You don’t get it, Ava. He's a Johnson and I'm a Michaels. His family own most of this town. Hell most of Johnson County, in fact. The clue’s in the name. You’ve seen his house. Look at this place.” I gesticulate encompassing the tiny ranch house and all the work it needs done, as well as the overgrown tiny patch of land. The waterfront is its one redeeming feature. “I'm from the wrong side of the creek. No way am I good enough for either him or this community.”
“That’s crazy. Your grandfather was a lawyer, your parents are missionaries and you’re one of the town prosecutors. In what universe is that the wrong side? And anyway, you live right next door to him!”
I look at Ava in exasperation. Trust her logical mind to take everything literally. “The creek house is the old Johnson homestead. It was abandoned for years before Mason took it over and fixed it up. The rest of his family all live on the Johnson ranchlands or the posh side of the resort near the hot springs. Besides it’s a metaphor!”
I take a deep breath and try to explain. “It has to do with status and opinion. The Michaels have always been considered loose cannon. My grandfather supported controversial causes, my parents devote their lives to working in third world countries, and I'm prosecuting the town’s main employer. The weird Michaels girl is not good enough for the perfect Mason Johnson. You saw how everyone looked disapproving and conversation buzzed when he asked me to dance.”
Ava give me a pointed look. “Exactly, he asked. Even if the community disapproves.”
I snort. “Get real. It was his token offering. He feels it's his duty to ask every woman to dance at these functions. He didn’t really want to dance with me.”
“Bullshit. He sure as hell did. And you turned him down embarrassing him in front of ‘the community’. He's popular and a nice guy. You treat him mean, Maura. Watching you turn him down like that was what got me asking Cord about the
dynamic between you two. You’re usually more considerate of a guy’s feelings.”
I sit up feeling betrayed. “Ava, you discussed this with Cord! How could you?”
“It was easy. I just asked, “What’s the deal with Maura and Mason?” He was real forthcoming.”
You know that’s not what I mean. What about girlfriend solidarity?”
“This doesn’t breech that. I didn’t tell him anything about you. I don’t think I'd be much of a girlfriend to ignore this, Maura.” She looks at me with narrowed eyes. “To quote the bard, baby. Methinks too much protesting. Why are you so against him? It can’t be that ‘wrong side of the creek’ crap. That’s just your excuse. What’re you really afraid of?”
Maura
Friday, Six Days Later – Country Lane, Jade Creek, Wyoming
Too late, I see the patrol car. Sirens sound in the crisp afternoon and the red light sweeps in circles bathing me in its intimidating glow.
“Uh oh. Ava, gotta go. Damn! Should have watched my speed. Thanks for listening to my rants. I’ll call you later.”
Closing my cell, I brake. It takes far too long to slow down to the speed limit. Guilt grips me. I know I was dangerously over an okay speed. Not good. I pull into the shoulder and hope it's one of the town deputies. Maybe he'll cut me a break.
“Hey, Maura. Where’s the fire?”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Deputy Wes Johnson is a senior officer, next in line for sheriff. He’s second cousin to Mason. After I changed a court date for him to fit around his nephew’s baseball game, he was grateful and says he ‘owes’ me. I hope he'll remember that now. I strive to look suitably ashamed. It's not that hard, I'm a bit appalled at my reckless conduct.
Thank God, it's Wes who stopped me and not one of the state troopers. If charged on this count, I could lose my status as an officer of the court. Technically my speed and cell phone use could add up to reckless endangerment.
“You need to take it easy, Maura. We don’t want to lose you. Or have you dealing with the guilt of hurting someone.”
Wes gives me a piercing look of disappointment. He's a few years older than me. His protective, big brother attitude has kicked in and I feel even guiltier. Happily, it's not his cop status he's asserting, so I'm anticipating a scolding and a warning rather than a citation.
“Sorry, Wes. This case is getting to me.” Everyone in the sheriff’s office knows the crap they're throwing at me with this case and he looks sympathetic. “I was working off steam over their latest stalling tactics, but I know that’s no excuse.”
He nods. “No it’s not. You gonna take it easy from now on? Can I trust you?”
“Absolutely. Appreciate you cutting me some slack, Wes.” I look up, adopting a chastened appearance. I know he intends to read the riot act for a bit then let me go. He's entitled to see me duly humble. He's just about to go for it when he sees something I don’t that changes his whole approach. His face falls and he throws me an apologetic look and a shrug.
“Sorry, Maura.”
I look over my shoulder and follow his gaze.
Jeez, this is not my day!
Pulling up behind me is Mason’s unmarked vehicle. The sight of him brings to mind my confidences about him to Ava when she visited, last weekend. I swallow and my vitals really start to go into overdrive. I hope he doesn’t know why I'm pulled over. The slam of his car door soon wrecks that idea. So much for getting out of this with only a ticking off.
My stomach starts to somersault. Everyone knows Mason is a stickler for the rules. He might even insist on charging me just to scare me, but that’s not the reason for my reaction. Ava’s question has been pounding in my brain ever since she uttered it early Sunday morning.
What are you really afraid of?
The distractions of my screwed up life don’t give me much time to agonize, but I've still managed to spend a large chunk of the past six days examining my feelings and interaction with Detective-Sex-on-Legs. This examination has been salutary. It’s brought me face-to-face with the reality that my feelings are deeply entangled with this man. And to the reality that I fight those feelings.
Why?
Because I know he fights those feelings too.
Because I don’t measure up. That he finds me lacking.
A loose cannon. Too true to my family tree. Too reckless.
I watch his approach in the rear view mirror. He reaches my door and Wes backs off a bit and gives a deferential nod. Mason’s tone is even, at odds with his expression and stance. “Deputy Johnson.” He greets him officially and my heart sinks. “I’ll take this from here. Can you write it up and leave it for me at the desk?”
“Sure thing, Detective Johnson.” Wes acknowledges the official nature of the request and goes back to his car with a sidelong, apologetic look at me.
I want to call them both on being so damn officious, but my position is too precarious. I turn towards Mason. The look on his face shows he clocked my speed. Judging by the authoritative way he takes my cell from me through the opened window, he knows I was on it while driving far, far too fast.
I gulp. I know he's pissed at me, but is he really going to do this?
Apparently so.
He yanks open the car door and orders me out. I listen with a mixture of astonished fear and outrage as he reads me my rights on the charge of reckless endangerment. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. I figured a speeding ticket to make his point, but the whole hog.
Reckless endangerment!
His solid form starts to veer in and out of focus. The soft brown of his button down linen shirt is almost the same color as his espresso, mocha brown eyes. I've seen his eyes in all different moods. Compassion for victims of crime. Fondness for his mother who raised him and his sister alone. Protectiveness for his sister and her kids. Solidarity with his buddies.
He hardly ever directs that gentler light at me these days.
When he did last weekend it made me realize how much I’ve missed it.
I don’t look up at his eyes. Instead, I focus on the buttons in the middle of his shirt. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him run an exasperated hand through his thick, tawny waves. He lets out a muffled curse and moves away from me. He circles the car and then paces rapidly backwards and forwards in the quiet country lane a number of times.
I tell myself he isn’t all that magnificent. That his long limbed, ripped body isn’t that great to look at. Not really. Especially not when he's moving in those lithe, quick, graceful strides.
After a few minutes, his movements begin to slow a little. His struggle with his temper pays off and gradually he brings it under restraint. I've mixed feelings about this. It's a good sign that he's not prepared to give his temper free reign. But if he has to walk it off this much, he must be pretty mad.
I swallow. I know I'm in the wrong, here.
Reckless endangerment could definitely apply. It can range from a misdemeanor to a felony. A felony means I could be disbarred. At the very least, no way will I stay in the prosecutor’s office. I shift in my stance against the car. He keeps up his pacing. Standing straight, I square up to do battle and fight my case. Mason notices and barks a low voiced order, without breaking stride.
“Don’t move.”
I ignore him, determined to seize my chance. I modulate my voice to the reasoned tone I usually present in the courtroom. Pushing away from my car, I move close to him to make my points. “Mason, this lane is completely deserted. It always is. Granted, I was driving too fast and shouldn’t have been on my cell, but we both know there's no-one around for me to recklessly endanger.”
This is a good argument. The lane is the access to my grandparents and now my property. The only other property on this stretch is Mason’s place further on, which is why he's a witness to this debacle. I was speeding before this lane. That’s why Wes clocked me, but Mason doesn’t need to know that.
He's not persuaded. He stops, turns and advances towards me, his eyes narrowed. I gulp.
I’ve never seen him like this. Right now, he’s an immovable force. I don’t have the nerve to stand my ground. I let him back me up in quick, calculated steps to the hard steel of my car. His voice is just barely restrained with a note of incredulity.
“I said don’t move.”
He moves close to me, too close, his hard, strong thighs and muscled upper body rigid against me, pressing my back against the hard metal, his height towering over me as I stand at 5’7” in my three-inch heels. He bends to me, his breath hot against the side of my neck, his voice low, thick with emotion.
“You don’t need anyone else around to endanger, Maura. You’re too damn good at putting yourself on the line. It’s a fucking miracle you’re not wrapped around a tree right now.”
There are no trees on this stretch of road. It's all tall, wild hedging, so that’s an unlikely scenario. I'm smart enough not to point this out. A sweet heat seeps through me at the fiery concern in his voice. Despite my tendency to actively resist his protectiveness, a huge part of me is thrilled by the emotion in his voice.
He hovers over me and I sense his indecision. The heat of his concern seems to melt into something warmer. I can’t tell as he pushes away from the car too quickly for me to detect the change accurately.
I swallow in disappointment. Most of the time I shrug off the yearning for him, but every so often, the yearning breaks through and I hate him for finding me lacking and denying us both.
I desperately struggle not to make this one of those times.
He turns his back and walks away from me throwing over his shoulder, almost under his breath. “You’re out of control. You need consequences.”
His tone lacks conviction and I push the advantage by countering his claim that I don’t need another person to endanger. I quote. “A person commits the crime of reckless endangerment if the person recklessly engages in conduct which creates a substantial risk of serious physical injury to another person. Under law, it doesn’t count if there isn’t substantial risk to another person. Besides do you really think I deserve that level of consequence, Mason?”