by Gina Watson
She attempted to swallow the cotton in her mouth, but couldn’t. The sight of his manhood between his bulging thigh muscles made her dizzy all over again, but this time she refused to sit. She watched with dropped jaw as he bent, his backside facing her, and turned on the faucet attached to the back of the house. Using a water hose he rinsed himself thoroughly of the blood and muck. The water poured over him from the top of his head and set his muscles glistening. His impressive backside was on full display for her and she felt her fingers tingle at their desire to touch.
He turned off the water and stood naked, looking up into the sky. Given her dizziness she started to tilt, but righted her footing, breaking a dry twig in the process. His eyes and body went on full alert as his focus drilled into the places where she hid.
Looking down she tiptoed away, stepping where only dirt-covered ground existed. When she was out of earshot she ran for it, her heart pounding in her chest from the exertion of her run and the shock of all she’d seen today.
Chapter 3
By the time her dissertation had been defended at Berkeley, the summer was in full swing in Southern Louisiana. She wasn’t used to the heat, given the almost ten years she’d spent in California. She hadn’t recalled her boobs breaking a sweat, but the last time she’d been home during the intense heat of the summer, her boobs hadn’t fully grown in.
Now she was back, with three degrees and a nice job to begin in the fall. St. Mary’s Catholic School principal had a nice ring to it. She just hoped her story wouldn’t end like those of some of the nuns. At that she recalled a perfectly-shaped bronzed buttocks and massive bulging thighs, corded and sinewy muscle that ran the length of him. Speaking of length, his—
“Harmony, I don’t know what to do with these odds and ends of yours so I’ve placed them all in this box for you to go through at your leisure.”
“Thanks, mom.”
“I’m so glad your home. I worried about you out in California, living along that fault line. It’s active you know.”
Hmm, so is the Gulf of Mexico, but Harmony wouldn’t talk back to her mother whose only flaw was worrying too much about her children when they weren’t in Baton Rouge.
Harmony put on old jeans and a tank top. She finished the look with a pair of old boots. She’d purchased some flowers that she wanted to put in the ground over at the old cottage, but first she’d need to build up the beds.
In the garage she attached a trailer to the Kawasaki Mule. She loaded it with the bags of soil she’d purchased, a few gardening tools, and topped it off with the delicate flowers—hydrangeas. The front of the cabin would be in the shade for most of the day and she hoped the oppressive heat wouldn’t take its toll on the beauties. She also had some marigolds, which she considered to be the happiest flower, especially yellow and orange, and a few grasses that would build up the turf.
With her assortment on board she set out to drive across the diverse landscape, hopeful she wouldn’t have a jackknife mishap on her hands. Pausing at the forest she bit her lip as she thought through the twists and turns. With her haul, it would be more prudent to skirt the woods than try to navigate through them. However, were she to run into Ashton her little dream of fixing up the cottage would come to a screeching halt.
She’d have to chance it, for if she lost her load she’d be exceedingly disappointed. She slowly advanced, skirting the forest, wishing the flowers weren’t so bright yellow, but hopefully he wouldn’t be way out by the cottage. Although she happened to know that the cows were in the path of the little house. She grimaced as she recalled his barbaric performance when she’d been home for spring break. His torment had broken what was left of her heart. She’d wanted to help him then, but was at a loss as to how to do it. When he’d set eyes on her for the first time in almost ten years he’d seethed in anger and thrown a glass ashtray through one of the floor-to-ceiling windows in his den. It had been clear what he’d thought about seeing her again.
He needed help. Something to get him to live through the pain instead of living for it. The time she’d spent in California tying up loose ends had helped her clear her head of the haze that was Ashton David. She’d just received a Ph.D. in behavioral neuroscience, and so she’d signed up for a painful summer of trying to reach Ashton. After all, if she couldn’t help him, no one could. As Ashton confronted his demons the beast would rage at her. The thought of renewing the cottage would give her the hope to get through the long road ahead.
Grateful she’d made it to the cottage with her load, she pulled the rake from the trailer and started on the beds, tilling up the roots. She spread fresh topsoil around, distributing it evenly among the flowerbeds lining the cottage. She arranged the plants, moving them around until she was satisfied with their placement. By eleven o’clock the sun was high in the sky and she hadn’t thought to bring a hat or any sunscreen. Her body felt hot. Touching her skin she realized she’d exposed herself too much to UV rays. She cleaned up after herself, placing the empty containers in the trailer.
After she’d sufficiently cleaned up the yard she stood back and admired her work. The yellow, orange, and blue flowers created a nice backdrop for the rich pine cabin. The hobbit door that she’d loved so much used to be shamrock green. Now it was weathered and gray. She knew her next project would consist of sanding and painting of the door.
She heard the thunk of metal meeting wood and decided to follow the sound, but she had an idea of where it would lead.
At the front line of trees she hid behind a large oak, watching a shirtless Ashton use an axe to chop firewood. Corded muscle flowed in streams across his shoulders and chest.
Wood was stacked neatly along the back porch that ran the length of the massive plantation. He’d chopped so much wood she wondered what in God’s name he planned on doing with it all, and yet he continued to chop, picking up speed. Sweat poured from his body. As his muscles screamed for relief he howled through the discomfort, depleting his energy down to nothing.
Clouds rolled in and she watched as he collapsed to the ground after twenty solid minutes of abuse to his body. His body convulsed as he cried. Cupping his hands over his face he wailed. She started to walk toward him from the bank of trees, but then he sat up and was still. She managed to duck behind a tree before he looked in her direction. As it started to pour down rain he lifted his face to the heavens, letting the water wash away his agony.
Beneath the heavy canopy of trees as she was, she’d managed to stay dry for a few minutes. However, once the water started, it poured as if from a spout, soothing her sun-burned skin. She was drenched as she watched him mount a horse and take off toward the stables.
She ran toward the back of the house, taking the steps up the porch two at a time. Her hand closed around the distantly familiar feel of the ornate knob as it twisted and she pushed on the door. Inside she was stunned to see the dilapidated condition of the home. She walked with caution through the house. It needed a thorough cleaning and major paint and stain on the floors. She recalled how when his folks were alive something was always being repaired on the home. Her fingers traced along the ornate wooden dowels that made up the staircase, several of which lay broken.
Recalling that Mr. David, Ashton’s father, had purchased the plantation when she was a small child she became saddened. He’d purchased it when the previous owners could no longer afford to care for it. His hope was to one day bequeath the home to the River Road Plantation Historical Society. Looking at it now, however, Harmony didn’t think the society would have the funds to restore it to all of its former glory.
As her clothes dripped on the faded and scarred wooden slats that made up the floor, Harmony moved to the kitchen and found a towel with which to dry her hair and wet arms. She removed her boots and socks. A dry shirt would be heaven. Knowing her way around the house she walked to the laundry area where she found a pair of athletic shorts and one of Ashton’s white undershirts. She dressed in the clothes and placed her clothes in the dryer.
>
In the hallway she mopped up the water that had dripped from her wet form. The water had mixed with the fine dirt and formed nasty clay. Back in the kitchen she filled a bucket with water and soap and gathered the mop. Harmony estimated it would take an entire day to collect all of the dirt and leaves.
Humming, she went to visit the utility closet one more time to retrieve a broom, dustpan, and garbage sack.
By twelve-thirty she’d filled the sack with dirt and leaves, and the entry sparkled like she used to remember as a kid. The mop water was black and she wondered why Ashton hadn’t utilized some of his energy inside the home. Her armpits were sweaty and her shoulders sore.
Hungry she assumed Ashton would be also. Digging around in the kitchen she found eggs, milk, butter, and steak and hoped that wasn’t all his diet consisted of. Cooking would be something nice she could do for him, and it would serve as therapy for herself after having witnessed the torture as loss and grief worked its way through his body.
In one of the cupboards she found cornmeal and decided to make her grandmother’s chess pie. As she recalled, it had been one of his favorites. She wished she’d picked a Meyer lemon from the tree in her yard this morning so she’d have it now, but of course she hadn’t anticipated any of this.
She set the oven preheating at three-fifty, and mixed the ingredients for the crust from memory, having made countless pies with her grandmother. She dusted the marble countertop with flower and rolled the dough roughly into shape. She loved working in this kitchen because all of the windows afforded grand views of the vast alley of oaks that formed the front and side yards of the house.
Once the crust was prepared she started in on the pie. She tasted the milk to ensure it’s freshness and realized that he was drinking fresh cow’s milk. The stuff didn’t last long, but her experienced palate confirmed the pitcher of milk on the counter was in fact fresh.
“Was he completely self sufficient now?” The eggs were from the yard and she’d watched him slaughter a cow by hand, so she thought maybe he was.
With the pie baking away in the oven she slathered a huge rib eye steak with butter and sprinkled it with salt and pepper. Then she placed the pan under the broiler.
“This is no Mediterranean diet he’s following.”
She shook her head, hoping that she’d be able to turn his diet around before she started her new job in the fall.
The buzzer from the dryer went off and she was able to put her own clothes back on. Now that the day had turned cloudy, her feet had grown cold, but the thick socks felt blissfully warm. Not wanting her boots to dry all catawampus, she slid her feet into them with a grimace.
“Wet feet are not fun,” she pouted.
The scents in the kitchen were glorious. Checking on the pie she inserted a toothpick into the golden center. The resulting pick came out clean so she removed the pie and set it on the stove to cool. From the smell of things the steak was also done.
Donning a large oven mit she retrieved the steak from beneath the broiler. It popped and sizzled in the butter. The caramelization of the fat made her mouth water. The slogan “be heart smart” drifted across her mind and again she pondered what the coronary consequences might be if this menu was typical of his diet.
A door slammed in the distance followed by his loud bellow, “Goddammit, Courtney! I told you to get lost! What the fuck do you think you’re doing!?”
Harmony’s heart fluttered in her chest at his gruff voice and expletives she’d never before heard him utter. She didn’t want to be a coward, but at the pounding of heavy feet down the hallway her body responded with the flight reflex. She ran as fast as her feet would take her from the house and to the precious cover of the woods.
She hopped on the mule and started it up, taking off with a start and not caring what gardening items fell from the trailer. By the time she was back on Clark land she realized there wasn’t a beast named Ashton barreling down the field behind her. She slowed her speed and inhaled long and deep. Clutching her chest she willed her heart to slow. She was glad to be meeting her friends and brother at a local winery tonight to get her mind off of the dilemma that was Ashton Benjamin David. While she wouldn’t divulge his secrets to her friends, mingling with them would provide some much needed distraction.
Chapter 4
Ashton walked through the archway to the large industrial kitchen expecting to see his blond cousin nosing into his cabinets and freezer, but she wasn’t there. Turning to walk out he spied a large steak and a freshly baked pie on the stovetop.
The butter was still popping in the pan the steak had broiled in.
“Dammit to hell!” It was the prized perfectly-marbled rib eye that he’d been saving for his birthday, or some such occasion when he’d need something positive to lift his spirits. On the other hand, he was hungry as hell and as the scent of broiled meat hit his nostrils his stomach panged.
He placed potholders in his hands and carried the food to the counter. Ready to eat, he retrieved a knife and fork, and then filled a glass with tap water before taking a seat on a stool. He sliced through the steak and forked a good-sized bite. The first chew released the heavenly juices into his mouth. To his taste buds, David cattle was better than any other he’d ever eaten. Given that it took up the entire plate, Ashton was sure the steak weighed over four pounds.
Despite his best efforts, he’d only managed to eat a quarter of the steak—he foresaw steak and eggs in his future. At least she’d flawlessly prepared it. He’d have been livid if she’d overcooked it. He downed the glass of water and cleaned up, wrapping the steak and placing it in the fridge for later.
With his stomach no longer growling he was prepared to leave the kitchen, except that the pie on the counter called to him. Standing he placed his elbows on the counter and pulled the pie under his nose. It smelled like warmed sugar. He reached for a fork, and then scooped up a bite of pie.
Immediately he was catapulted into the past to a butter-yellow kitchen made slightly warm by the baking oven. A sweet older woman with honeyed eyes stared down on him as he sat at her kitchen table. She always smelled of lemons because she had a citrus grove and was forever adding lemon to any and everything. He’d seen her rub a cut lemon across her white tile counters, stating the acid in the fruits cleaned better than any solution she could buy.
“Care for another slice?”
“Yes ma’am. I love your chess pie.”
“You should get Harmony to make it for you sometime, she’s capable.”
He turned his attention toward his girlfriend as her grandmother filled his plate. “Been holding out on me, I see.”
She giggled and her dimples deepened, her slightly crooked smile only adding to her allure. He’d loved her like no man had ever loved a woman. He stopped the fork full of golden pie in mid air as his mind turned to another memory, one not nearly as sweet—the image of Deputy Clark arresting his father. He dropped the fork and slid the entire pie, pan and all, into the trash.
He walked to the den and turned the playlist to Lucinda Williams. Settling into the couch he read from the file he’d been sent by the firm he’d hired to prepare the required documents for crude oil extraction. As he read he realized his neighboring relatives were relinquishing their mineral rights to him.
He wondered why they would do such a thing. His uncle, Britton David, was a good man and he assumed he just wasn’t interested in oil production. Still, Ashton resolved to send him a fair market percentage for the extracted product. Neither of the David estates needed the money, however. Ashton had been pleased with the discovery because the legality and education surrounding the entire process had filled his days and nights.
As he read from the document his eyelids grew heavy. When he realized they were trying to close he redoubled his efforts to read the record. He didn’t sleep much, just napped here and there. As a result whenever his body stopped for any time at all, it tried to shut down and take its much-needed sleep.
He couldn
’t afford to fall into a deep sleep these days, for every time he did he woke in the middle of a night terror so crippling with fear that sometimes he didn’t even know where he was. He shuddered recalling how bad the last one had been—his eyes had lost their ability to focus, leaving him blind as he plunged into the depths of despair.
Reading the document he realized he could begin pumping now that all the legal parameters had been secured. A twinge of excitement curled in his belly. He’d had the rig set up for weeks and had been dying to test it out. Everything was ready to go and the tanks were waiting to be filled. He’d start on it first thing tomorrow. He prided himself on independently handling all aspects of the project. His brothers certainly didn’t care how he handled the estate. He suspected he’d only hear from them in the event the monthly deposits to their accounts stopped. Of course the money wouldn’t stop flowing since he’d just solidified the mineral rights to the crude running beneath David land.
Chapter 5
“Hey Dad, why don’t I take the wheel, huh?”
“I’m perfectly fine to drive this rig.” He gestured to the suburban. “Everybody pile in.”
“It’s just me and Mom. The others are going to stay with aunt Frances for the weekend.”
“You didn’t want to stay?” His mother asked as she brushed a rogue section of hair from his forehead.
“I have practice.”
“They called a practice on the holiday weekend?” His mom felt his pain like only she could.
“Coach got mad because we were unorganized at the last game.”
“Oh well how about we go through the line at Dairy Queen and get you a cookie dough blizzard?” She placed her arm around his waist and whispered in his ear. “Secretly, I really need an Oreo blizzard.”