Pinch of Naughty

by Sivad, Gem

  “We wanted something unique. And you made it so.” Laura Carson, mother of the birthday girl, enthused over the day’s events.

  Though I wanted to count the money before I shoved it in my pocket, being relatively couth, I tried to concentrate on the parents instead.

  “It’s always hard to come up with something special for birthdays between Christmas and New Year’s Eve,” I agreed.

  “You are more than welcome to stay. The girls would love it.”

  I had to suppress a shudder. I’d just spent three hours entertaining a dozen ten-year-olds, many of whom had parents who’d elected to leave the kids for a sleepover rather than brave the storm.

  Staying was not an option.

  To get away from the pre-adolescent mania, I’d walk if I had to. But, hopefully that wouldn’t be necessary. I frowned down at new faux leather boots I’d worn when I’d not been expecting the balmy fifty-five degree weather to turn into a winter blizzard.

  Evidently, neither had the weather forecasters. The icy whiteout had caught everyone unprepared. I peered outside the window at the street that looked more like a sheet of glass every moment.

  “Thanks for the offer, but you won’t have to find a corner for me. I called an Uber driver and he’s on his way. He’ll get me to the T-Line.” I admit, I actually felt desperate as I watched for a glimpse of the car.

  “Well,” Laura offered hesitantly. “The forecasters are now calling for more wind and snow. I doubt if the train will be running much longer.”

  “Then I’d better hurry,” I muttered. I spotted a car valiantly laboring up the street and hurried away from the window.

  “Carlie and her friends will always remember today because of you. Thank you so much.” Laura walked me to the door still oozing praise. I hoped she’d tell all her friends.

  Inside my right glove, my fingers ached from three hours of non-stop pencil grasping. The envelope in my pocket made every moment worthwhile.

  Five hundred dollars, twenty-five sketches, one per girl, one each of Carlie and friend, and one group picture I’d transfer to canvas and paint when I arrived home.

  “You have a great New Year,” drifted after me as I stepped into the cold and heard the door click shut behind me. I immediately doubted my decision.

  “It is ffffreezing out here,” I complained to no one. Just as well I didn’t intend it for ears. The wind took that moment to shift directions, blast me with ice shards, and smack me in the face with my own words.

  Before I stepped from shelter, I pulled my phone out and called for backup.

  “Looks like I might be late getting home tonight, Kenny. Can I get you to do my chores?” Cell service faded in and out as I begged my neighbor for help and received confirmation my livestock would be tended.

  Even over the storm, I could hear the excited conversation in the background. Then the voice at the end changed.

  “Where are you? Gable’s downtown. He can come and get you.” Kenny’s mom offered help in the form of her brother.

  Cowboy Matthews to the rescue. Yippee ki-yay. “That’s not necessary,” I answered quickly. “Tell Kenny I said thanks, again.”

  Lifting my tote, I used it to shield myself as I left the porch, stepped ankle-deep into a drift, and waded through piles of wet yuck to get to the sidewalk.

  “Damn, damn, damn.” With every step the new boots made it clear they weren’t created for snow walking. Icy water seeped through fake leather, wetting my socks and feet. The view from the Carsons’ window hadn’t prepared me for this.

  After I disconnected, not thirty seconds later my phone pinged. I knew the caller without checking the ID. My voice was more than a little breathless when I fumbled to answer.

  “Hi, Gable. Beth said you were downtown. I’m already on my way home. I just needed Kenny’s help because I’m running laaate—”

  The wind chose that moment to whip around the corner and push me farther along the sidewalk. My voice wavered as I adjusted my stance, trying to find balance.

  “Doesn’t sound like you’re on your way home. Where are you?”

  “I’ll be at the T-Line and on the train before you can get here. Thanks for the offer.”

  “The address,” he growled, ignoring my refusal.

  “Mount Lebanon,” I answered, giving him the name of the suburb without specifics. I disconnected and faced a more immediate challenge than Gable Matthews—not freezing to death in the winter storm.

  Good thing I called for a car earlier. Before I had time to shove the phone into my pocket, it chimed again. I fumbled with it, ready to tell Gable again that I didn’t want a ride. He big-brother-bossed his sister around, and by extension, sometimes, me.

  “Stuck downtown. Can’t get up the hill to pick you up.” The Uber driver delivered the bad news and disconnected.

  I started to turn, intending to go back to the Carson house. Without warning, blizzard winds billowed around me, catching the canvas tote and pushing. Relentlessly, I slid down the hill, away from the birthday party and toward the train station. I managed to stop, but literally could not get back up the sidewalk. I contemplated crawling, but my feet started another downward slide before I decided.

  After sleet had fallen earlier, it had coated the sidewalks and turned the streets to ice. Then, icy rain had changed to snow, covering the slippery mess with a thick, wet blanket. The wind cleared some spots, revealing the treacherous base. In other areas, snow varied from thin crusts to drifts.

  “This is not good, this is not good at all,” I whimpered, trying to maintain my balance on the slick surface under my feet.

  A Stop sign marking the spot where two streets intersected loomed in front of me. I slammed into it, clinging to the metal pole as I tried to get my bearings. I’d never visited this gentrified suburb before today.

  I’d walked from the T-Line up the street, but the houses looked a lot different under snow and ice than they had earlier in the day with their elegant holiday decorations displayed under a warm sun.

  I squinted through the snow, identifying a group of people on the other side of the street. Lights suddenly cut through the storm as a taxi fishtailed its way to the curb and the huddled group lunged for the handle.

  I lunged too. But before I could reach the spot, they’d all climbed inside. Whether they saw me or not was a moot point. The last one inside slammed the door and the cab took off.

  “Damn, damn, damn,” I muttered as the vehicle surged out of a rut and dirty snow hit me in the face.

  Halfway down the block, another taxi idled in the middle of the street. Maybe my luck had changed.

  “Mine,” I vowed and plunged through the storm, moving in the direction of the blurry beacon on top of the car.

  I slid to a halt on one side of the vehicle at the same time two figures, one man leaning heavily on another, loomed out of the storm’s fury and reached for the same cab from the far side.

  I attempted to jerk open the back door but a gale force wind threatened to knock me off my feet. Nevertheless, I clung to the handle, determined to get inside and stake my claim.

  “I’ll share,” I gasped when I finally won my struggle and wrenched it open.

  “No you won’t.” One of the men on the other side shoved his companion into the seat before I could slide inside.

  I glared at both men clearly outlined by the dome light in the cab, ready to fight for space in the cab.

  But the first man sprawled drunkenly all over the seat. I was ready to climb in and make room for myself anyway when the driver chimed in. “Cab’s taken.”

  Ready to argue, I leaned in farther, but the driver accelerated, rocking his tires enough to threaten me.

  I gave up, backed away, and let the force of the blizzard rip the door from my hand. Instead of climbing into his stolen ride, the second man closed his door, and rapped on the top of the taxi.

  “Take off.” Spinning tires and lurching heavily, the vehicle moved away, leaving me staring across the open
space at the cab thief. The next gust of wind whipped the hem of his trench coat and he slid on the ice-covered pavement.

  I peered through the swirling snow, uncharitably glad to see him fall on his ass. He gave me such a dark look, I had no desire to offer assistance as he began to rise.

  The wind took away the decision to help him when it slammed me with enough force to send me sliding down the sloping road.

  Hope there’s no traffic at the bottom of the hill. I slowed my descent down the twisty, narrow road by grabbing cars that residents had parked in the street. In more than one, the security alarm blared and lights flashed, warning the homeowners that a demented artist skidded down their hill.

  Once, the wind shifted and carried the sound of a man’s curse. I realized that someone, probably the cab thief, followed in my tracks. That freaked me out, and instead of concentrating on keeping my balance, I tried to increase my speed, which turned out to be a mistake.

  I fell, landing on the canvas tote, which acted like a sled, shooting me downward at an alarming speed until I collided with a garbage can covered in snow. I’d rounded the bend in the road before I crashed, and as I leaned on my elbows, catching my breath, I could see the lights from the T-Line in the distance.

  I could also see the F-150 idling in the middle of the cross-section between streets. The door opened and a size thirteen set of boots, followed by a sinewy length of hardened steel, stepped down.

  I silently willed the wind to catch Gable Matthews’ trademark Stetson. But it didn’t. He pulled it lower, stepped closer, and peered down at me.

  “Need some help?”

  “How’d you know where to find me?” I croaked, reaching up a hand so he could pry me out of the drift.

  “Lights flashing and horns blaring. Knew it was you.” He pulled me up and sheltered my body with his as he walked me to his truck.

  I ignored his oblique reference to the time he’d deactivated my car alarm after it had blared loud enough and long enough to wake my neighbor—one of those six degrees of separation things—his sister, Beth.

  I didn’t miss his drawled sarcasm. But, I didn’t have the breath for a snappy response left in me. Being not much more than five feet tall, it was always a struggle for me to reach the running board on the giant’s truck.

  This time I lost my battle to climb up. Cold had settled in my knees and I thought they might never work again.

  Gable slid his arm under my legs, lifted me into the big Ford pickup, parked my fanny on his heated seat, tucked my canvas tote in the back, and shut the door before I knew what he’d planned.

  Ahh… I actually moaned out loud as he jogged around to his side.

  The door opened, the truck tilted toward the driver’s side, and a blast of cold air accompanied Gable as he swung up and inside. As soon as he settled under the steering wheel, he handed me a towel.

  I’d been melting. Water puddled around me on his leather seats. Embarrassed, I wiped my face, and tried to blot the ice from my hat. He pulled the hat off, unleashing the mess of brown hair that tumbled out and around my shoulders.

  “Great, now it’s wet, too,” I complained.

  Before I could protest, he gathered it in his hand, pulled it away from my face, and squinted down at me. “Mud, I think.” He brushed my cheek with his thumb. “You been playin’ in a dirt pile?”

  “I’ve been earning money for a new barn roof,” I muttered stiffly, reaching for my hat.

  “Your hair’s a mite damp. Best let it dry.” He laid my knit cap out of reach on the dashboard closer to the heat. “Mind telling me why you’re skating around up here in a blizzard?”

  Beth laughed at Gable’s tendency to micromanage anything he involved himself in. Sometimes he forgot I wasn’t his sister and tried to boss me as well. Apparently, this was one of those times.

  “Kids’ party. I was the entertainment. The mud’s from the tires of a taxi I tried to chase down.” I shut up, then thought of more explanation.

  “And if you’ll recall, it was fifty-five degrees this morning.” I decided I’d better tone down my indignation since he’d come out in the storm to find me. Plus, I remembered I had to get home. “You can just drop me at the train station,” I murmured.

  “Quit running a half hour ago.”

  “Oh.” That sounded dumb. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to ask him to drive to the country. The wind whistled and roared around the truck, sounding more like a locomotive than a storm. Home seemed farther away each moment.

  I shivered inside my wet coat. Gable muttered a curse, cranked up the heat, turned on some music, and put the truck in gear.

  I closed my eyes and enjoyed being out of the cold. There was no reason to ask where we were going. We’d go wherever Cowboy Matthews wanted to go. My eyes popped open again when I remembered the other stranded pedestrian.

  “There was a man behind me. We were both on foot.” I waved toward the street where snow already covered my skid marks.

  Gable honked his horn and backed the truck around enough to shine his lights up the narrow roadway. I couldn’t see anything.

  When nobody appeared, he sighed, put the engine back in park, took a flashlight with a megawatt beam from the back seat, and climbed out.

  My gaze followed the light as he walked away. Whether it was Gable disappearing into whiteout or the howl of the wind making me shudder, I waited tense and worried inside the truck. I thought about the cab thief and why he was on foot. We both could have been in the taxi and not on foot. I didn’t like the idea of Gable alone out there looking for a fool.

  I knew he was freezing his tail off since I’d just been out there. Darn it. I gnawed my lip, wondering what I should do. I just wanted to curl up on the leather seat and…

  I drifted, thawing into a muddle of thoughts, one of them wondering if I should climb out and join the hunt. The slam of the truck door jarred me awake.

  “Nobody up the first or second street. I yelled. Don’t know if they’d have heard, but they would have seen my light.”

  The heater inside the cab had steadily kicked out heat, making me toasty warm. I stared blearily up at him. Yep, still had his hat on. But, he used a moment to take it off and toss it in the back.

  He brushed his hand over his military-short burr and met my glance with his own obsidian gaze. I looked away first.

  “You all right?”

  Gable’s rumbled question vibrated through my body, sending warning signals along with something else to my brain. The console I’d been leaning against disappeared, leaving me propped against a hard body instead.

  “I’m okay.” I gave no notice to the arm curled around my shoulders and concentrated on the sweep of the wipers chasing ice across the glass.

  “I’ll watch,” I mumbled. I intended to stay alert and be a help to the driver.

  “Suit yourself. But first, rest a minute, let your body know you’re safe.” He hitched me closer, until I felt his heat from thigh to shoulder. Then he snapped my seatbelt in place and angled my head against his chest. I inhaled his scent and closed my eyes. Just for a moment…