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It was a perfect night to get smashed. With no urgent work demanding his attention, complete privacy, and a funk he couldn’t control, he could wallow in the emptiness he felt. "Damn her." He flinched when he realized he’d spoken out loud after not doing it for a spell. Mitch gulped several swills of beer. His life had been so busy lately, he’d not had time to restock his groceries. The sandwich, made with week old bread, tasted stale and had the composition of sandpaper, but he made do with it anyway and swallowed a big bite.
It was more than past the time he should be rounding up another place to stay. The end of his undercover duties had come more quickly than expected, all due to the neighbor that at times he’d referred to as a bitch. He grinned at the image of her in his mind, then munched again on his sandwich. As he washed the snack down, his mind centered on the intricacies of Jen’s body and abruptly switched to her peppery personality. He hoped getting her help wouldn’t alter that aspect. He hoped... hell, he didn’t want to hope. Mitch opened the second bottle and drank--all of it.
The loon called again, this time closer. The echoing sound skipped across the water shining bright in the moonlight’s path. He waited. The lack of the mate’s response struck a deep chord and called for guzzling more beer to drown the anguish that claimed him. The chill in the air forced him back inside.
Mitch lumbered to the kitchen and snatched another bottle from the fridge. More booze would soothe his despair, make him happy. He checked his computer and saw to his surprise that Pixie had registered in the chat room. His dialogue box was blank. She’d not sent a message through; he wondered why. Surely she’d need more consultation from Nightspook. He pondered whether he should end that relationship as well. He shook his head. He’d always keep it open because it was a way of keeping tabs on Jen’s life. She’d never know.
He glared at the screen. The longer the dialogue box stayed clear, the more pressure he felt. What was she doing... chatting with some other jerk? That guy hadn’t saved her hide, hadn’t sought help for her back and her mind, and hadn’t held her in his arms to coax out her inhibitions. But that guy would reap the benefits if she chose to meet him. Lots of matches were made through the Internet, and he’d heard some were successful. It wasn’t his style to develop a relationship based on such an artificial venue. He downed the beer. "No harm in saying hi, I guess."
Hellooooooooo, Pix.
He underhanded the last bottle to the wastebasket. It missed by a country mile and broke. "Shit!"
When he looked back at the screen, one tiny word leaped out:
Hi!
Mitch shuffled his feet and bolted upright from his slouch. His vision blurred. His dizziness made the right keys hard to locate; he struggled and pecked out:
H o w... are... youuuuuu?
I’m fine. What have you been doing?
He blinked, took a deep breath and concentrated.
Unimportant things like rescuing women, and locking up crooks. Things a prissy social worker wouldn’t know anything about.
There, he’d managed to get a bead on his typing. He sat back and for a moment dwelled on how his thirst for action no longer overpowered him. Her presence--real or imaginary--did. She alone met his desire for challenge. Somehow that witch had changed his priorities. He scowled and looked back at the screen.
Mitch studied her typed words:
I beg your pardon? What happened? You’re day ruined because a shoelace broke?
He squinted his eyes to focus and read what he’d typed. "Aw, damn! I slipped up. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to get plastered." He stood and dragged his chair closer.
Sor... ry. I’m a bit under... the weather. I meant to say a pretty sociable person like you wouldn’t know about rough stuff.
You’re heavily into the sauce aren’t you? You’re drunk?
Nope, ma’am, I am not--just heading that way.
Why is that?
I’m feeling glum.
He burped.
Do Drow elves suffer affairs of the heart?
He scratched his forehead and reluctantly typed:
Yesssss.
Perhaps I can help.
No. It’s over.
~ * ~
With Nightspook’s words, Jen’s bare feet pressed hard on Spooky’s body as he lay peacefully on the floor. He yelped. "Oh, sorry, Spooks. Are you okay?"
"Yip-yip-grr!"
"I’ll be more careful, I promise. I think your hero is on his way to getting loaded. Do you suppose we might be the cause?" She pulled her attention back to the screen and typed:
What’s the problem?
My life.
You’re in love with another elf, aren’t you?
No answer.
Jen flexed her fingers and tried again.
Females recognize those symptoms. What’s wrong with being in love?
She’s got too much baggage.
Her mouth dropped. "Isn’t that just like a male, Spooks? Make asinine assumptions like he accused me of doing."
Sir Drow Elf, in our conversations you encouraged me to look beyond what I saw. You’d better take your own advice. Goodnight.
She disconnected. "Spooky, I think this time Mitch needs me and is too pigheaded to see it. I’ll go over and help him see the light. You stay here."
"Yip-yip-yip-yip-yip."
"Oh, be quiet."
The crisp evening air stimulated her body as well as her mind. A slight breeze wafting in from the water carried the faint scent of a campfire. On the other side, distant cottage lights lent a fairyland shimmer to the lake. Her light sleeveless blouse gave little warmth. At least her jeans protected her legs from the branches as she stumbled along the rough path their cross-travel had formed. Her dark surroundings didn’t bother her until a huge shape lurched in front of her halfway through her walk She jumped and shrieked.
"Jen? Is that you?"
"Damn it, Mitch, you scared the hell out of me!"
"Sorry. Where are you going at this hour anyway? Coming over to snoop again, or were you planning on letting the air out of my Harley’s tire?"
"I wasn’t planning either. I might ask you the same thing. I bet you’ve scurried around outside here a few times in the past. I saw you through the trees one night, didn’t I?"
"Well, maybe, but you ought to be inside. You could get hurt out here in the dark. Where were you going?"
"Smarten up, it’s obvious. My question is: were you coming over to see me?"
"Yes."
"Why? Because you’re drunk?"
"How do you know I’ve been drinking? And for your information I’m not drunk--yet."
Jen paused. "Ah... I can smell beer on your breath."
"Oh. Well I’m in full control of my faculties and I want you to know before I lose the courage to tell you that I want us to see more of each other, not less. This business at the shelter will be cleared up, and there’s no reason to pursue the matter in court, the prosecutor told me. That puts you in the clear. We can focus on resolving your other issues."
"I can deal with them myself, Mitch. I don’t need a crutch."
"Oh." He stepped back. "You’re saying you don’t need me then." He half-turned. "I don’t feel so good. I’m going home."
"Mitch?"
"What?"
"I said, I didn’t need a crutch, not that I didn’t need you." Jen moved closer and standing on tiptoes stretched her arms round his neck. He responded in the way she loved, wrapping her in his arms in a protective shield that precluded all outside interference. She was safe in his clutches. Their lips met in a passionate union of energy and hope. The call of the loon rose up from the lake and in the distance a shrill response set Jen’s heart to pounding. Peace and contentment filled her soul. The flapping of large wings drew their attention, and they watched another inhabitant land on a branch nearby. His big eyes rolled and the hoot that flowed punctuated the serenity.
"I’m sure going to miss the cottage," he whispered. "Would you mind if we made a deal to add a
loft and a skylight to yours?"
In the moonlight she saw that twinkle in his eyes again, but misread it. "Ah... what sort of deal?" She leaned back from his arms and stared at his face, trying not to register her disappointment that his main interest was in a reason to still come to the lake.
"Kind of a permanent joint ownership--one that involves a contract."
She frowned, unsure what her reply should be. She hated legal entanglements.
Mitch coughed and cleared his throat, "A marriage contract."
Jen’s eyes misted over. "You’ve just made the deal of your life."
His arms pulled her deeper into their fold. Since meeting him her life had changed and was on a brighter path. They were forever bound with their love, and she was no longer afraid of what lay ahead--even of Bull, who would someday be released. Mitch had given her trust in herself and in him, but more important, he’d given her strength. No longer would she settle for the easy way out, but instead, face her problems. Her heart smiled. She now had one last secret: an the inside track to Mitch’s heart--her computer. She vowed never to divulge, either Mitch or Nightspook, that she knew who they were!
Meet Carol McPhee
Carol lives in Nova Scotia with her own special hero. Their four children now gone from the nest leaves Carol plenty of time to let her mind roam. Whether writing on her computer at home or on a laptop in a motel or with pen and paper while camping, Carol starts her adventures at 4 a.m.
You may reach her at:
R.R.#2 Truro
Nova Scotia
Canada, B2N 5B1
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