“The basket hit the sandbar and dumped out three passengers,” he continued, “but this other girl got dumped out in the water, and the balloon dragged the basket right over her.”
“Eeee!” Valentina Locker exclaimed. “Was she okay?”
Rake shrugged. “I guess…but I think she broke her ankle. She couldn’t walk or nothing.”
Aspen grinned, delighted by the way Rake spontaneously slipped up with colloquialized bad grammar every once in a while.
“Eee! Were you freaking out, Aspen?” Marissa asked, sounding so much like her mother it was uncanny.
“It was just frustrating…not being able to help,” she said. “I just had to stand there and watch.” She was somewhat relieved, for although she had been mortified Rake had mentioned the fact they were kissing when the accident happened, none of the members of his captive audience seemed to have noticed.
“That’s why I always get nervous when I see the balloons down by the river,” Valentina sighed. “There are so many things that can go wrong down there.”
“Oh, they’re all okay, Mom,” Rake said, running his hands through his wet hair to comb it. “Nobody got killed or anything.”
“Well, thank goodness,” Valentina said. “I love to see the balloons, but it’s so dangerous. You’d have to really like it to take such risks.”
“You’d have to love it enough to die for it,” Rake said. “Remember that accident last year when that lady fell? It killed her.” He shook his head. “It’s amazing…but it ain’t worth dying for.”
“Not very many things are worth dying for, mi hijo,” Valentina said. “Still, they’re beautiful to watch.”
Aspen smiled. She gazed at Rake, consciously realizing in that moment he may have actually saved a woman’s life. He was such the perfect package of a real man that it hadn’t seemed strange to her at all—watching him ride out on a horse into the middle of a river to save a stranger. She couldn’t help but let her eyes travel the length of him where he stood in the kitchen, not a stitch of clothing on him—just the fluffy white towel wrapped around his waist. She decided then and there that Gina would drop dead at the perfection of his build—the strong definition of the muscles in his arms, shoulders, back, and chest. Rake just kept getting better!
“A mouse!”
Aspen looked over as Charlotte entered the kitchen shaking her head, her eyes wide and startled looking.
“What’s the matter, Gramma?” Mark asked.
“There’s another mouse in the basement!” Charlotte exclaimed. “I’ve told your grandpa if he doesn’t get some traps set, I’m going to wring his neck.”
“A mouse? Cool!” Aspen heard Marissa’s husband exclaim.
Aspen had never officially met Marissa’s husband. He hadn’t been at the barn party, and no one had thought to introduce him to her now. She had gathered his name was Clinton, and he was very tall—easily six foot four—handsome, with blond hair and blue, blue eyes. Aspen smiled, noting the perfect contrast between Marissa’s ebony-haired, dark-eyed beauty and average height and Clinton’s fairer hair, light eyes, and towering frame.
“Get the guns while I find some pants!” Rake ordered with excitement.
“Get the guns?” Aspen asked.
Valentina shook her head, and Marissa rolled her beautiful black eyes.
“Of course,” Rake answered, smiling down at her. “What else would you expect us to do?” To her great surprise, Rake leaned forward, kissing her cheek before he turned and hurried out of the room. She felt her cheeks go crimson as she turned to see Valentina and Marissa both smiling at her.
“Guns?” she managed to stammer, looking to the women as the other men in the room dashed away.
“Yep,” Marissa answered. “Guns…for a mouse.”
“Real guns?” Aspen asked. She couldn’t imagine anyone being a good enough shot to shoot a mouse—and in the house? They had to be joking.
“You can blame my husband for this family tradition,” Valentina said.
“Or mine,” Charlotte sighed.
Aspen shook her head, still unable to believe the Locker family used guns to get rid of a mouse—and in the house to boot.
“BB guns, Aspen,” Marissa explained. “Every time Gramma finds a mouse downstairs, my brothers—and now my husband—think they’re at a carnival shooting metal ducks or something.”
“Oh!” Aspen said as realization hit her. Yet in the next moment, she laughed. BB guns or not, it was still a very strange practice.
Aspen watched as a bowlegged Joseph Locker hurried through the kitchen toward the basement stairs, BB gun in hand.
“He’s mine!” the older man shouted as Clinton and Mark trailed behind him.
“Whoever nails him has to buy dinner!” Mark laughed.
Rake raced out of a nearby bedroom in nothing but a pair of Levi’s—zipped but still unbuttoned at the waist.
“Wait, wait, wait!” he laughed. “No one shoots until we’re all in position!” He cocked the BB gun he carried and headed downstairs after the others.
“Whatever happened to just setting a trap?” Charlotte sighed.
Aspen laughed, entirely delighted. She smiled when Valentina winked at her. The beautiful woman shook her head as shouting and laughter erupted from the basement.
“So,” Marissa asked, smiling at Aspen and tucking a strand of long ebony hair behind one ear, “you’re not planning on breaking my brother’s heart, are you?”
Aspen was so stunned by the question, she couldn’t immediately answer. She knew her mouth was gaping open in surprise, but she couldn’t think of anything to say at first.
“Marissa!” Valentina exclaimed. “Don’t be rude, mi hija!”
“I’m not being rude,” Marissa said, winking at Aspen. “I just figured I’d ask…since I’ve been wondering.” She smiled, and Aspen could sense she didn’t mean to be cruel or accusing—just curious.
“Marissa is very protective of Rake, Aspen,” Valentina explained. “Especially since—”
“Well?” Charlotte interrupted. “Are you…going to break Rake’s heart?”
Aspen blushed, entirely uncomfortable.
“I-I don’t think there’s the slightest possibility of that happening,” she managed. “I-I mean…I haven’t really known him that long. And anyway, if someone’s heart was going to be broken here…I’m sure it wouldn’t be his.”
“He likes you,” Marissa said, smiling. “I can tell.”
More shouting erupted from the basement, and Aspen saw her chance—her chance to change the subject.
“Won’t they ruin the basement?” she asked. “BB guns? And if they can really hit a mouse…won’t the blood and stuff spray all over?”
The women giggled, shaking their heads, amused by the antics of the men downstairs as laughter erupted in the basement.
Charlotte explained, “There are some rules…and I enforce them militarily!” She held up a thumb and said, “Number one: no shooting at the walls. They can only shoot at the mouse if it’s somewhere on the carpet.” She held up an index finger in addition to the thumb. “Number two: I can never see the poor little thing…ever. They have to dispose of it…in a sanitary fashion.”
“But what about the mess?” Aspen asked.
Charlotte shrugged. “With the BB guns, for some reason they don’t make a big mess. I’ve never seen any evidence at all.”
Aspen shivered. “Ooo! I hate mice,” she mumbled.
“Me too! That’s why I let the men take care of them. However they do it, I don’t care! I just don’t want them in my house spreading disease.” Charlotte sighed and waved a hand in a gesture of letting the men downstairs continue to act like boys.
There was a burst of cheering, followed by low, masculine conversation.
“I guess they got it,” Valentina sighed.
In the next moment, Rake bounded up the stairs and into the kitchen.
“It’s all taken care of, Gramma,” he said, smiling and proppi
ng the BB gun on one shoulder. “I got him for you.”
“Thank you, sweetie…but who’s cleaning it up?” Charlotte asked.
“Clinton,” Rake said. “He was talking trash, so he gets to clean it up. Besides,” he added, putting an arm around Aspen’s shoulders, “we’re going up to Santa Fe to pick piñons.”
“Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?” Rake’s grandpa said, appearing at the top of the basement stairs.
“Yep!” Rake said. “That’s what they’re calling it these days, Grampa.”
Aspen wondered if she’d ever quit blushing. She wished Rake would simply cover up his well-sculpted torso so they could be on their way.
As if he read her thoughts, he said, “I’ll grab a shirt, and we can go.”
He sauntered off toward one of the back rooms, leaving Aspen at the mercy of his family yet again.
“Did you find any time for some necking down there by the river?” Joseph teased.
“Joseph!” Charlotte scolded. “She’s had enough of the Locker family for one day.”
Valentina put an arm around Aspen’s shoulders and said, “You just ignore the men, mi hija. You and Rake have fun picking piñons.”
“You just be sure to remind Rake to stop alongside the road and buy some piñons from a vendor so his mama will think that’s what you kids were really doing,” Joseph teased.
“Dad!” Valentina exclaimed. “Silencio! She won’t want to come here anymore.”
Joseph winked at Aspen. “Make sure he buys raw piñons. If they’re already roasted, it’ll only prove you were out there necking!”
“Híjole!” Valentina and Marissa exclaimed in unison.
Aspen smiled at last. He was such a tease, just like his grandson. “Okay, Mr. Locker,” she said. “I’ll make sure he buys raw piñons.”
Everyone laughed, and Marissa nodded her approval. “You’re learning fast, Aspen,” she said.
“Let’s go, arachnophobia girl,” Rake said, entering the room as he plopped his Nike cap back on his head. He wore another flannel shirt—red and black.
Aspen smiled as he took her hand and hurried toward the front door.
“Thank you for everything, Mrs. Locker,” Aspen called, waving to everyone as they nodded.
“You come back anytime, honey!” Charlotte called, tossing a wave in return.
Everyone offered their individual good-byes, and Aspen smiled as Rake closed the door behind them.
“Sorry about all that,” he said once they were in the pickup.
“That’s okay,” she said. And it was.
Picking piñons was fun! More than fun—it was wonderful. And not just the actual piñon hunting. Oh sure, Aspen loved hunting through the leaf, needle, and pinecone litter on the high desert floor to find the small brown piñon seeds, but it was the time spent with Rake that was so wonderful. They talked, about everything it seemed. He’d wanted to know more about her family, her job—her! She answered his questions without pause too, feeling unusually comfortable and at ease. At one point, he’d even gathered her in his arms, kissing her mouth with a delicious, ravenous thirst, nearly melting her spine altogether. He’d said they’d never gotten to finish what they’d started that morning by the riverbank, having been interrupted by the balloon accident. So he kissed her! Kissed her and kissed her and kissed her some more—driven, moist, heated kisses, administered under the beautiful blue of October’s sky, amid the quiet grove of piñon trees. Her mouth still watered at the thought and want of his kiss!
It had been one of the best days of Aspen’s life. And now—nestled beside him in his pickup—she was astounded at how the simplest activities could be the most dramatic of a person’s life if they were experienced with the right and wonderful someone.
They’d stopped off for some dinner at Blake’s Lotaburger on their way back into town, and Aspen sipped the last bit of her chocolate shake through the straw in her cup.
“You don’t mind, do you?” Rake asked. “Grampa just wants me to pick up an old invoice for him.”
“Of course not,” Aspen answered. Why would she possibly mind spending more time with Rake? His grandpa had called on Rake’s cell, asking Rake to pick up an old invoice from the Clock Shop. Since the shop was on the way to Aspen’s apartment, Rake had asked her if it was okay if he stopped on their way.
“It’ll only take a minute,” he said, pulling the pickup into an empty parking space behind the shop. He took the key out of the ignition and said, “Do you wanna come in with me?”
“Sure!” Aspen said, smiling. She knew they were entering through the back of the shop—that she probably wouldn’t get to see all the beautiful clocks in the showroom this time—but she didn’t care. She just wanted to be with Rake.
She tossed her empty Blake’s Lotaburger cup into a garbage can at the back entrance of the shop as Rake shoved a key into the lock and turned the knob.
“Not many people have seen the workshop,” he said as he stood aside, gesturing she should precede him. “We have to keep our secrets closely guarded.”
Aspen smiled and stepped into the workshop of the Clock Shop. The familiar scent of thyme filled her nostrils, instantly soothing to her senses.
“Ooo!” Aspen breathed as she looked around the cluttered room. “I can’t believe you’re allowing me a glimpse of your lair.”
Rake smiled and chuckled. “Yeah…it’s pretty exciting,” he said with sarcasm. “I mean, there ain’t too many things that’ll grab a girl’s attention more than a work table littered with tiny gears and stuff.”
Aspen giggled as she studied the old table strewn with tiny tools and magnifying glasses, the old rolltop desk in one corner, piled high with aging paper. It was delightful!
Two walls of the work area were lined with clocks—every type of hanging wall clock imaginable. One wall was covered with photos, newspaper articles, and other paraphernalia relating to Rake’s career as a bull rider. The fourth wall was plastered ceiling to floor with purple and blue ribbons. The only thing breaking up the wallpaper of ribbons was a bookshelf stuffed full of trophies and belt buckles—more evidence of Rake’s bull-riding past.
“Wow!” Aspen breathed, going over to more closely inspect the trophy shelves. “You won all this?”
Rake shrugged and began rummaging around through a pile of papers littering the top of a nearby desk. “That’s part of it—all the stuff I won when I was really young…before I turned pro. Grampa keeps all the early stuff here and the pro stuff in his office at the house.”
Aspen glanced back at Rake. He was frowning, still shuffling through loose papers. She returned her attention then to a framed photo sitting on one of the trophy shelves. A mean-looking bull was in the air, caught mid-twist. The rider on his back was wearing a white hat and arching his own back—right arm extended high over his head, the legs of his chaps flying horizontally out from his knees. It was an almost frightening still photograph—an illustration of the danger of the event—and Aspen glanced back at Rake again, suddenly very thankful he’d given it up.
“So this is where you fixed my clock,” she sighed. She looked around the room again, adoring it somehow. It was such a delightful atmosphere—cluttered, unorganized. She smiled.
“Yep,” he said. She watched as he unearthed a particular sheet of paper, nodding with relief. He folded the paper, shoving it in his back pocket. “Yep,” he repeated, looking around the room. “This is where I work. I’m certain you’re very impressed.” Again his comments were laced with sarcasm.
“I am!” Aspen exclaimed. “Honestly, it’s like…the most interesting room I’ve ever been in.”
“Really?” he asked, smiling. He glanced around for a moment. “I suppose it’s just about as different from a bookstore as you can get. You’re probably used to things being really organized…but I’m too much like my grampa.”
Aspen studied one of the walls covered with clocks. “Are these special ones…or just ones wai
ting to be fixed?” she asked.
“They’re all part of my grampa’s personal collection,” he explained. “Most of them are very rare, very old…or both. I keep telling him they’re not safe here, but he insists no one would realize their monetary value…not the average person anyway. He says most people would think they were just a bunch of broken junk.”
“They’re beautiful!” Aspen sighed. “I love it in here.”
“Really?” he asked, eyebrows arched with doubt.
“Yes!” Aspen giggled. “It’s amazing.”
“Well…if you’re this impressed with my lair, as you put it,” he began, “wait until you see this!”
Aspen watched as he picked up a pair of glasses. The glasses had some sort of magnifying lens attached to them.
“What are those?” she asked.
“These glasses have a loupe attached to one lens…so I can see the really small stuff,” he explained as he put the glasses on. “I call these my sexy specs. Chicks can’t resist them.”
Aspen giggled, delighted by his teasing. He sauntered over to her, taking her waist between his hands.
“I dare you to try and resist me now, Miss Aspen Falls,” he said, smiling down at her. “With my sexy specs on…you’re putty in my hands.”
The Time of Aspen Falls Page 20