“Or, we can go with option B.”
Del crossed her arms and gave him a questioning look. “Why do I have a feeling that I’m not going to like option B?”
“Like it or not, Mom, it’s going to happen.”
“Fine. What is option B? Dare I even ask?” She rolled her eyes.
“Since Mister Harrington is catching a little downtime in room one, I think I’ll do the same right next door.”
Airborne barked, making his presence known. “See, even your dog thinks it’s a bad idea.”
“I beg to differ. Airborne here understands exactly what I said and he is simply agreeing with me.”
“Goodness gracious, Trace. If you’re worried about him staying so close to me why don’t you just stay with me tonight?”
“Simple. Strategy.”
“Strategy?”
“Yep. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”
“Oh for the love of…now he’s your enemy?”
“He’s a complete stranger that showed up today out of nowhere. He looks suspicious, I don’t trust him, and he’s staying in my mother’s hotel, so yeah, for all intents and purposes he is my enemy until he proves to me that he’s otherwise.”
“I swear you treat everything like it’s a war tactic, do you know that? Forget it. Don’t even answer that. It’ll probably just egg you on further. I love you, but you can be like a damn dog with a bone once you get an idea in your head sometimes.” Del blew out a frustrated breath and then looked at her wrist watch. “Oh, fine. Fine. Go get the room ready for you next door if it will make you feel better. I need to get going. I hate being late.”
“You’ll thank me for this later,” he yelled to her as she made her way out the door and back down the small hill to the diner.
“Come on, boy. Let’s see how bad this room is. We probably don’t even need to clean it. I bet we’ve both slept in worse.”
Airborne barked and got up from his lounging position in the doorway. His tail wagged excitedly as he followed Trace to the room next door.
Trace opened up the door with his master key and took a look at the musty room. There probably hadn’t been a guest in there in at least a couple of years, if not longer. Still, the place didn’t look half bad. Large oversized tarps laid over the furniture and bed to protect it from dust. Other than opening the window in the main room and bathroom to get a cross breeze going, he didn’t think there was much left that needed to be done. Granted he had slept in foxholes in Iraq, muddy water in Afghanistan, and even worse conditions in his earlier years of boot camp and jump school.
After a few minutes he had a pretty good breeze rolling through the room, creating good cross ventilation. Since he’d already turned on the main power switch in the back of the property for his mom a little while ago he was all set to go.
The Colorado Rockies were playing that night and he’d already planned to watch the game. He’d just head on over to the diner, pick up some dinner, maybe a couple of beers, and maybe a steak bone for Airborne to chew on. Then he’d be set for the night. He’d hole up in the room with the window open and watch to see if their town’s newest visitor decided to sneak out of his room. Trace would be strategically positioned between Mister Harrington and his mother’s home.
He heard his mother outside. She was talking to the Harrington character and giving her usual speech about the diner hours and where to find things in town. Granted he hadn’t heard it in years, but now that he listened to her, he was hearing it play back in his mind like a recording.
A few minutes later he listened as the two of them exchanged pleasantries before she went back to the diner. True to her nature, she had apologized for needing to leave in such a rush, explaining the lunch rush would be coming soon.
Trace waited until he was sure his mother was far enough away before he opened his door and stepped out onto the wooden boardwalk connecting the rooms.
“Oh, hi there,” Harrington said. “I didn’t realize anyone else was here.”
“I’ll bet.” Trace crossed his arms.
“I’m Brad, Brad Harrington.” He extended out his hand.
Trace cocked his right brow and slowly shook Harrington’s hand. “Trace Jennings.” When Airborne barked he added, “And this here is Airborne. He’s a loyal guard dog. Don’t be fooled by his gentle demeanor.”
“Umm…okay.”
“I’m Del’s son. Her very protective son.”
“Ahh…I understand.”
“Do you? Because I’m going to be right next door, Harrington. So whoever you are, and whatever you’re doing here, I won’t be far away. Remember that.”
“Look, like I told your mother, I don’t want any trouble and I certainly didn’t come looking for any. So, while I can respect your protective nature I’m just going to go in my room and relax. It was a pleasure…err…meeting you.”
Trace watched as the man went in his room and shut the door. The telltale sound of the dead bolt clicking shut told him that Harrington wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon so Trace made his way back inside with Airborne.
If he had to sit in front of the window all night long and watch for movement then he would. He would do whatever he had to do in order to protect his family. There was something about this Harrington character that set him on edge, made him feel uneasy. Normally his instincts could pinpoint whatever it was, but this time he was drawing a blank.
So he would wait and watch until Harrington made his move, because one thing was for certain, something was going to happen with this man. He just didn’t know what it was yet.
Chapter Five
Trace opened his eyes, blinking against his heavy lids. He was a bit surprised that he had managed to fall asleep as he’d sat propped up against the headboard watching television. He used to be able to stay awake for hours, days even, while he was on a mission. Now with nothing much to do but exist, he found boredom always made him feel a little more tired than usual.
The sun was no longer as bright and blinding. There was a soft orange-colored hue illuminating the outside of the small eight-room hotel. Airborne was lying beside him in the bed, his tired eyes looking up at him in an almost wishful request that Trace let them both sleep a bit longer.
“You tired, boy?”
Airborne’s whimper was all the answer he needed. The loyal pooch was always by his side, but he wasn’t a young pup anymore. He needed his rest now that he was an adult dog.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll go get us some dinner and you stay here and get some sleep.” Airborne’s wag of tail told Trace the dog was onboard with his idea.
Trace scratched at his head and walked over to turn off the television. He heard a door close just as he switched it off and peeked out the window. Harrington was already heading over to the diner by the time Trace had gotten a look at him.
He watched him as he walked down the small hill to the backside of the restaurant. His faded and worn jeans fit him snugly, a little too snugly for Trace’s liking. In fact, it wasn’t until then that Trace even realized he was staring at his ass more than he probably should be.
A familiar and unwelcome twinge in his jeans reminded him of how long it had been since he’d had the pleasure of fucking a tight ass, such as the one seen swaying off into the distance.
As quickly as the thought entered his mind, Trace quickly shook it free. He had a strange feeling about this guy, and he couldn’t become distracted by any physical urges.
He sat on the edge of the bed and slipped on his shoes. Then he gave Airborne one final little scratch on the head and left the room. By the time he got out the door, he could see Harrington walking around the side of the diner. He wished he hadn’t fallen asleep, but at least their new hotel guest had given him the courtesy of staying put until he’d woken up.
A couple of minutes later Trace was walking into the diner. True to his mother’s routine, she was setting out fresh pies in the dessert cases just as she did every day at four o’clock.
He didn’t even have to check the time. He knew just by seeing her place the warm apple pie in the case that it was that time of day.
“Trace, how you doing? Civilian life treating you well?”
He turned to see old man Wilkinson. The Vietnam veteran was one of the few people in Purgatoire Valley who truly understood what it was like to take part in a conflict of war. His days were served as a Marine, but the branch of service made no difference amongst fellow veterans. They were brothers in arms first and foremost, who had sworn in and taken a pledge to protect the Constitution of the United States of America. That type of kinship couldn’t be understood by most. Especially not by those who hadn’t seen firsthand the horrors of war. Wilkinson understood though, he understood quite well.
Trace held out his hand and shook the old Major’s hand. “Indeed it is, sir. Indeed it is. And how about yourself? You and the missus doing well, I hope?”
“Now how many times have I told you to stop calling me ‘sir’? You’re not a little boy anymore. You can call me Tex just like everyone else around here.”
“He’s a stubborn bird, hardly ever listens, even to his mama,” Del piped in from behind the counter.
Mister Wilkinson let out a boisterous laugh. “Oh, I suppose so. Must be the Army in ya, huh, boy?”
“Something like that,” Trace said jokingly, though he knew his mother was talking about something entirely different than what old man Wilkinson was.
“You know what they say about those Airborne boys, don’t ya?”
“What’s that?” Trace asked with a grin, knowing full well exactly what was coming. He’d heard the joke from Wilkinson a thousand times before, but he wasn’t one to rain on anyone’s parade. The old guy got a kick out of telling it, so far be it for him to steal the guy’s thunder.
“Gotta be some serious crazy going on when grown men jump out of a perfectly good airplane.”
Trace laughed, just as his mother did. The joke was old and tired, but it brought a smile to the Marine’s face so it was no harm, no foul as far as he was concerned.
“Boy do I love that joke.” Tex chuckled a bit more before composing himself. “Anyway, Clarice is just fine. She’s back at home fixing up some dinner. I’m just here to pick up a fresh pie. We’ve got the great-grandkids staying with us, and little Petey proved to be a little piggy. That boy is a rail and is slowly eating us out of hand and home.”
“Oh you just wait,” Del said. “Before you know it he’s going to hit a growth spurt and catch up with you. Then you’ll see how he can really eat. He’s only practicing right now. I ought to know. My Janet ate like a bird. This one here”—she pointed to Trace—“he came out of the womb with a steak knife and fork in hand and hasn’t stopped eating since.”
“Oh geez, Mom. Really? I’m here for dinner, for God’s sake. Do I really need to hear about your womb right before I freaking eat?”
“You mind your manners, young man,” she told him before turning her attention back to Wilkinson. “Wait right here, Tex. I know you came in for apple, but I just baked some fresh strawberry ones out back. That little angel of yours will love it, and besides I know it’s Clarice’s favorite.”
“Sure thing, Del,” Tex answered her. Then added, while turning back toward Trace, “I tell you, young man, your mother is one hell of a lady. It’s a shame she hadn’t remarried and found herself a good man to take care of her.”
“I agree. She won’t leave this place though and you know out here there are some slim pickins.”
Tex offered an understanding nod. Trace had finally confessed to him a year earlier that he was gay. It wasn’t anything that he wanted or even needed to do, but after months of Tex and his sweet wife, Clarice, trying to set him up with their granddaughter, Trace had the sneaking suspicion that he was beginning to hurt their feelings.
What made matters all the worse was that she was a sweet gal, but a little plain, so she didn’t have a lot of boyfriends or dates for that matter. They’d meant well by trying to set the two of them up, but finally he decided to come clean and spare their feelings as well as their friendship.
He’d been met with so much bias in the past over his sexual orientation that he was more than a little nervous once he’d sat the two down to tell them. When he was in the military, times were much different than they were in present times.
The “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell Policy” was held up strictly back when he was in, and no commanding officer wanted or needed to know that he held preferential treatment toward the penis instead of the vagina.
Throughout his career, he’d told a few of his friends, but even then it was only the closest ones that he considered to be true friends. They were the guys who he thought above anyone else would understand. Surprisingly he was wrong. More often than not they ended up drifting away from him and treating him differently.
To his surprise, both of the Wilkinsons had taken it well. In fact, Clarice said she was thankful that he had trusted them enough with such intimate and private matters. While she was just as kind and compassionate as his own mother and took on a maternal demeanor regarding the subject of his sexual orientation, Tex handled it a bit differently. He’d simply stood up, offered his hand, and shook it. Then he told Trace that he’d be honored to go into battle with him anytime.
The memory of that exchange still left Trace feeling proud and a bit sentimental. It had restored his faith in humanity a bit. Here he was a permanently disabled veteran, at least by the Veteran Administration’s standards anyway. He’d ceased to have any contact with his former brothers of the 82nd Division, and he had a hard-ass Marine who had fought two years in Vietnam, who had survived the war and the trauma after coming home and who had lived a great life to tell all who were willing to listen about his stories, telling him that he was still a good man and soldier. That moment meant more to him than most he had with his superiors all the years he was active.
“How about you?” Tex asked. “You been dating much?”
“Like I said, slim pickins.”
“Well, you’re still young. You can’t always wait around for opportunity to knock on your door, sometimes you have to go looking for the right door and start pounding on it until you get an answer.”
Just as Tex had offered the advice, Trace’s mother came out of the kitchen with a freshly boxed up pie. It was tied together with twine, knotted into a bow just like every other she sold. It was her signature, the way anyone could tell that particular pie had come from Del Jennings’s kitchen.
“Here you go, Tex. Now you take this to Clarice and the kids on me.”
“Oh, I can’t do that. Now you just gave us a pie for my birthday.”
“That was three months ago. Now you hush and just take it. My boy’s stubbornness comes from somewhere you know. Do you really want to pick an argument with me?”
Trace muttered under his breath. “Take the pie and run. You don’t want any part of her when she argues.”
Del winked at her son. “See there, I raised myself a very smart young man. You go on and tell Clarice to stop on by this week. I miss chatting with her.”
“Will do, Del.” Tex kissed her on the cheek and waved to Trace. “I’ll see you all later. I better get back before those two little monsters run her ragged.”
“See you around.” Trace waved before giving his mom a kiss.
“I thought I’d see you back for dinner. After all, you’re stubbornly choosing to not trust my better judgment and staying at the hotel.”
“You say stubborn, I say cautious.” Trace sat down on one of the barstools at the counter. “Speaking of which, where is our mysterious guest? I don’t see him anywhere and I followed…err…I mean, I saw him walk over this way.”
“Trace Jennings, don’t go scaring our new tenant by following him all over town now. Goodness gracious, he’s liable to think you’re a stalker for crying out loud.”
“Please, he’d be damn lucky to have someone like me stalking his ass.”
Trace quieted as soon as the words spilled from his mouth. His mother gave him her usual unhappy glare, the one that told him she was not in the mood for his foul mouth. That wasn’t the only thing that unsettled his nerves though. The memory of watching Harrington’s ass, as he’d walked down the small hill brought that unfamiliar feeling back to his jeans. He shimmied on the barstool in an attempt to regain his comfort and composure.
He asked again. “Anyway, so where is he? Like I said, I did see him coming down this way.”
“Well, my formerly sweet son turned nosy one, he just so happens to be over in the shop. He came in to eat, but asked if he could take a look around.”
“What’s he looking at over there? He doesn’t look like the antique or froufrou type.”
Del slid a glass of Mr. Pibb across the counter at her son and answered. “I’m not sure what froufrou stands for, but it sounds like one of your typical, male words used to make fun of the delicate and eccentric merchandise I sell.”
“You can call it delicate and eccentric all you want, but I’ll call it what it is, froufrou.”
Del raised her brows at her son and offered him an amused smile. “Really? Is that so? Well, I’ll have you know that Mister Harrington happened to mention to me that he was particularly interested in some of those froufrou little figurines and scale models that were in the back glass case.”
Trace had been about to take a drink when her announcement caught him off guard. “What?”
“That’s right. You heard me. While you’re over here judging a man you don’t even know, he is over there looking at your craftsmanship work, admiring it, and telling me what a great job the artist did in recreating all the details of the pieces.”
“He really said that?” Trace asked.
She nodded. “In fact, judging from the way he was talking, I would almost guess that he knows quite a bit about art. He kept mentioning things, like, today’s artists don’t have the passion it takes to create something with such attention to detail. Then he said something about art not being what it once was, how it’s all mass-produced and its popularity determined by big hitters who don’t have a clue what real beauty truly is.”
The Philanthropist and the Paratrooper (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) Page 4