Whirlwind Romance: 10 Short Love Stories

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  She really didn’t have time for this. Her lips twisted as she eyed the mess seeping out from under her car. And now she was probably stranded out here in the middle of nowhere until she could get a damn tow truck.

  Two dogs, a yellow Labrador retriever and some kind of terrier, came running toward her from the barn, barking excitedly, and tongues lolling. Ava moved in front of the green goo and squatted down to greet them. A giant of a man in a blue long-sleeved t-shirt, filthy jeans, and baseball cap followed them.

  One of the dogs pushed past her but her eyes tracked the progress of the man approaching. This couldn’t be the guy. There was no way Asher Lowe was friends with a guy who looked like he threw around hundred-pound hay bales.

  “Ray, no!” the man shouted from twenty yards away. “Stop him!”

  Ava stood and spun on her heel at the panic in the man’s voice. The yellow dog was licking at the green ooze on the road. She yanked the dog away by the scruff of its neck. The white dog came to investigate the neon slime and she tried to push it away with her boot. Unfortunately, her boots were soaked in the stuff and the dog started licking those too.

  “Damn it,” the man roared, pushing by to grab both dogs away by their scruff, since they weren’t wearing collars. Ava took a few steps away from him, toward the rear of the car. He picked up the little terrier and barked “heel” to the Lab, who obeyed instantly, then glared at Ava. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked.

  “Me?” She marched over, meeting him halfway. He was tall, really tall. She was five foot ten in stocking feet, but this guy had to be six-four or -five, and he was solid. She craned her neck, not so angry she didn’t notice the nearly perfect bone structure under the sweat and grime on his scruffy face. His hooded grass-green eyes were furious. The man was covered in filth, and smelled of dirt or dung or something, but to her horror, Ava’s body stirred to life.

  “Yes, you,” his voice was calmer now, well modulated, husky and deep. It sent a shiver through her that had nothing to do with fear. “That’s antifreeze coming from your car,” he gestured to the puddle.

  At her blank look he continued, “It’s a poison. It could kill them.”

  Ava’s stomach clenched. “Oh, no.” Shit. She hoped the dogs would be alright. At least they’d only got a couple licks in before they’d grabbed them. “What do we do?”

  He sighed. “I’m going in to get some hydrogen peroxide.” Then he spun around and jogged back down the road, vanishing into the barn with the dogs.

  Ava stood, nervously clenching her fists as she eyed the stuff. Still, he could’ve had them on leashes. Or paved his damn driveway. It’s not like she knew the stupid car would start leaking.

  She unzipped her boots and peeled off her socks trekking barefoot back to her car, careful to skirt the spreading fluid. She stowed her boots and purse in the car and shoved the key into the front pocket of her jeans. Then she scurried on tender feet, down the dirt road, after him.

  She entered the barn and found him talking to the dogs in a stall in the rear. Squeezing through the door, she knelt next to him. The terrier frolicked, licking her, jumping.

  “Molly,” he said authoritatively, and the dog instantly subsided, rolling over and presenting her belly. Ava stroked the pale pink flesh, her lips pressed together grimly.

  He looked over and caught her expression. “It’ll be okay,” he said gruffly, his tone begrudging. “It wasn’t much.” The Labrador, Ray, was big, nearly a hundred pounds from the looks of him, sitting patiently, his adoring brown eyes followed every move the man made.

  “Nate,” the man said, giving her a nod as he poured out some hydrogen peroxide.

  So this was Asher’s buddy. Taking in the flannel shirt and dirt-smeared jeans he wore, Ava wondered again about the guy’s connection to one of the world’s biggest rock stars.

  He fitted the dog between his knees and poured the substance into the dog’s mouth. The dog gagged and tried to fight free.

  “He really doesn’t like it,” she said, watching the dog gag and cough.

  “Nope. They hate the stuff. The antifreeze is absorbed quickly, but I’m hoping they puke most of it out. I’ll still need the vet. You lost or a CSA pickup?”

  “I’m Ava Bennett, a friend of Asher’s. What’s a CSA?”

  His eyebrows shot up at Asher’s name and he stilled. Then he closed his eyes and when he opened them, his lips quirked. “Ah. I’ve been incommunicado, and he’s worried?” At her nod, he continued. “A CSA is community-supported agriculture. People pick up boxes of whatever seasonal fruits and veggies I have,” he gestured outside the barn, “and I deliver to farmers markets and stores. Miss Molly,” he said, holding out an arm.

  “Oh,” she said, absently, watching as he repeated the process this time pouring hydrogen peroxide into the terrier. Molly tried desperately to free herself and he released her too. The Labrador gagged a few times and collapsed a few feet from her, tail thumping.

  Molly finished coughing and returned for more belly rubs after her treatment.

  “It’s an emetic,” he said.

  “Uh-huh.” She had no clue what that was—some farmer terminology. Or maybe it was the breed? She didn’t know a lot about dogs, but it looked like a terrier to her.

  Three minutes later the little dog stood and vomited next to her pants leg.

  Ava made a face. “Emetic?” she gestured to the puddle and he nodded, obviously struggling against a grin. He lost his battle and the smile he gave her lifted the gloomy expression from his face. Her heart skipped two beats then resumed at double time.

  This guy couldn’t be more different than the metrosexual guys she was plagued with in L.A. There was something appealing about a man who didn’t get his muscles from the gym, wore a ball cap instead of hair product, and dressed like he didn’t give a good goddamn how he looked. Judging by the tanned, calloused fingers holding the dog, this guy did real work. Her eyes narrowed. What was that webbing of fine white lines on the back of his left hand? Old scars? Farming must be more dangerous than she’d realized.

  She watched those enormous capable hands stroke through the fur of the terrier, enviously. She imagined them stroking her skin, almost feeling their rough texture, the heat of those broad palms traversing the sensitive flesh of her stomach. Her breath stuttered as heat rose in her cheeks.

  Thirty seconds later, the other dog, Ray, expelled the contents of his stomach in the corner, repeatedly, breaking her reverie.

  “Can you watch them while I clean up outside?” he asked. “I’ve got to take care of the antifreeze before a cat or some other animal gets into it.”

  “Of course,” Ava responded, sitting cross-legged on the floor, alternately stroking white fur and yellow. “I’m so sorry. Are they going to be okay?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, not meeting her eyes.

  It wasn’t exactly the most convincing of answers. Ava’s stomach churned. Not only had she driven all morning out here to East Bumfuck, ruined one of her favorite pairs of boots, and majorly messed up her car, but now she might be a dog poisoner on top of it all.

  That was it. She was never leaving L.A again.

  Chapter Two

  Nate needed to call the vet, but first things first. He grabbed a plastic garbage bag, threw a bag of kitty litter and a few other supplies into it. Taking a shovel from next to the door, he took a final look at her, sitting on the floor of his barn, a young, gorgeous, clueless, blue-eyed blonde, with what was obviously a deep if not-quite-abiding love for his dogs.

  He shook his head. Lusting after her, he slathered another coating of guilt onto his conscience. He couldn’t believe he’d cursed her out and revealed shades of the old Nate in the process.

  The combination of working the land, being with the animals, and the medication these last few years had smoothed out the highs and lows, leaving him content if a little flat. He hadn’t experienced rage or raging desire in so long, he’d almost forgotten what it felt like. To have both emo
tions surface in the past hour was troubling.

  He tried the door of her car, relieved to find it unlocked. Pulling the lever, he walked around and lifted the hood. From the amount of antifreeze on the driveway, her radiator was shot. A glance around at the innards of the car confirmed his assumption. Luckily, most of the fluid had drained. He pushed the car to and fro, hoping to get the remainder of the liquid out. Then he knelt down and put kitty litter under the engine block and where it had trickled onto the road to absorb the poison.

  This was not exactly how he’d expected to spend his day. Then again, Nate supposed it was a good thing she’d arrived today instead of two weeks from today, when he’d be hosting all and sundry for the Valentine’s Day dinner in his field. People were so odd. He couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to eat off china and white tablecloths in the dirt, let alone pay two hundred dollars a couple for the privilege. Yet, tickets for the dinner had sold out the day they’d gone on sale.

  The event raised money for the local charter school, and Yancy, the town vet and his good friend, had insisted it would also give him a chance to talk to people about the land, his efforts to revitalize the estuary on his property, and to showcase not only his farm but other local farmers and chefs. He’d donate his produce, a local meat provider would donate the main course, and a well-known restaurant chef would do the rest. Nate figured it wouldn’t kill him to talk for two minutes about his stewardship of the California-protected wetland area and the CSA. Maybe he might even get some more customers out of it, he thought, as he shoveled the now toxic kitty litter into the plastic then carried it around to the side of the barn to the trash can.

  Even back in his music days, Nate had never exactly been what you’d call “a people person.” Hell, he’d made a career of hiding out: first behind the fortress of his guitar with a series of rock bands, then as a producer in the sound studio. But there was no hiding from the conflict with band mates, then clients, sound engineers, and record companies—and trying to balance the artists’ demands and the pressure from the record company overloaded his already unstable psyche and pitched it into the morass. It had been an ugly, public descent.

  His life had fallen into a comfortable rhythm with only the dogs and books for company. He wasn’t completely isolated, thanks to the CSA, though Nate didn’t have internet or cable, and he only kept the phone line for emergencies. His customers knew about his honor system: pick up box of produce and leave cash or a check. He might wave or say hello, but he didn’t go out of his way to engage anyone. And he didn’t even listen to music anymore. He couldn’t play it, certainly couldn’t produce it—he’d traded in those gifts for a shot at normalcy.

  In the past music had consumed him, leaving little time for anything else. Well… almost anything else. His libido had raged nearly as out of control as his temper back then. But relationships with women didn’t last. He had no ability or interest in managing them, and when things got really bad, he was incapable of it.

  He hadn’t sought out companionship in his small farming community either. Relationships were fraught with drama, and drama was something he’d had enough of to last a lifetime. After so many years of being out of control, he valued the stability, emotional and otherwise, he enjoyed on the farm—and he’d never had any luck mixing business with pleasure. He headed into the house to phone the vet, Yancy. The dogs needed a house call.

  • • •

  Nate came back into the barn and entered the stall where Ava sat, back against the wall, Ray’s head on her leg, her hand stroking Molly’s pink belly.

  “Any more vomiting?”

  “No. But Ray’s still panting pretty heavily,” she said, pressing her lips together pinning him with a look from those brilliant eyes that dared him to lie to her.

  “Well, they’re going to be sick for a while. It’s a poison. Vet’s on his way.”

  “Maybe I should go.” She shifted uncomfortably.

  “Your car radiator’s busted.” He crouched down and laid a loving hand on Ray’s head and got a lick from the long pink tongue. The dogs had wormed their way into his affections in the four short years he’d had them. It would break his damn heart if Ray died—if either of them died.

  • • •

  Twenty minutes of worrying later, Ava saw a truck pull up next to the barn. It was obvious by his labored breaths that Ray had gotten worse. Nate had said nothing while they’d waited for the vet, just wore that same stark expression. Heartsick and nauseous, Ava clenched her hands into fists.

  The vet walked in briskly and introduced himself as Dr. Yancy. He asked how much poison the dogs had consumed as he began his exam. “Ray had more than Miss Molly,” Ava said, her voice hoarse. “Molly only licked my boot.”

  “Nate, I don’t have to tell you that even a little of that stuff can be fatal,” he said, gently. Nate nodded, Ray’s panting, drooling muzzle in his lap. “But he’s a big, tough guy and I think he’ll pull through. Keep an eye on him though. If it’s bad, his kidneys will shut down, but before that happens—”

  “If it’s going that direction, put him down,” he interrupted flatly.

  Ava watched his expression—it didn’t change, but the tortured look in his eyes seized up her heart.

  The vet dosed them with an IV of grain alcohol, followed by some fluids and sat back on his heels. He went over what they should look for, then gathered his equipment and stood. “If it gets bad—if Ray’s struggling, or won’t stop vomiting, come get me. I can always take them with me.”

  “No. I’ll keep them here and keep a close eye.” Nate stood, carefully laying the dog’s head on the floor of the barn and following the vet out.

  Ava crouched down, gently stroking Ray’s flank, and her eyes filled. How could she have just stood there, watching while the dog drank poison? She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to Ray. Hell, she never should have come out here. Damn Asher Lowe. His buddy was fine, or at least he had been until she came along. And now she was stuck with a broken-down car and no shoes with some taciturn farmer who probably thought she was an idiot and a half.

  The weight of the day’s frustrations, the sleepless nights and frantic days leading up to last Thursday’s fundraising extravaganza, it all suddenly hit her in a wave, her body shuddering with a futile effort to hold back the tears. Ava covered her mouth with her hand, muffling the sobs that suddenly escaped. A minute later, Ava heard footsteps on the crisp hay and quickly straightened up, trying to pull herself together. But when she looked up the heartbreak on Nate’s face made her tears start anew. He grimaced and reached out, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to him.

  She gasped out an apology and he shushed her. As he held her trembling body against his chest, his hand stroked through her hair, gently lifting out bits of hay and grass. This was crazy. It was his dog who was sick and somehow he’d ended up comforting her.

  She pulled back finally and wiped at her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay,” he said and she could see that he meant it. Nate bent and picked up the hundred-pound dog while Molly hovered near his feet. “Let’s go into the house. They’ll be more comfortable and so will we.”

  Chapter Three

  From the outside the elegant white frame house looked like a B&B. Inside, there were ladders and sawhorses strewn about, clear signs of a restoration. The living room looked like it’d been completed though—a large brown suede sectional, three bookcases and what looked to be paintings of the area hanging on the Tiffany blue walls.

  “It’s a work in progress,” he said. “Can I make you something to eat?” he offered, laying Ray on the dog bed near the couch. The little white terrier walked herself over to a cushion near the fireplace and lay down with a quiet sigh.

  Squelching her embarrassment, Ava followed him into the kitchen. The room was a disaster—cabinets with no doors, speckled yellow linoleum floor and avocado green countertops—but it was well stocked. Clearly this was a man who made hi
s own meals. Unlike her fridge, loaded with convenience foods and old takeout, his was full of vegetables and fruits and a variety of cheeses from a local creamery. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything thawed. Looks like breakfast for dinner, is that okay?”

  “Great.”

  She set the big farm table while he cooked.

  “Sorry, I don’t have wine or beer to offer you. I don’t drink anymore.”

  Ah. Maybe that was why Asher was worried. There were a lot of musicians with substance abuse issues in her experience. Then again, this guy couldn’t be a musician. He had no electronics. No television and no stereo. She had yet to see a computer, and according to her nearly dead phone, the man had no Wi-Fi connection.

  Dinner was almost ready. She took another look at Ray, sacked out in his bed, and strolled over to the bookshelves. There were hundreds of books: classics, thrillers, horror and an entire wall of books on animals, agriculture and wetlands. She pulled out one of the books, Sloughs of California, flipped through it. Oh. It was pronounced slew and was fed by a stream on one end, and flowed into the Pacific at the other. She’d passed a few on her drive up Route 1. So that’s what that huge lake looking thing down the hill from the barn was. He was well read—that was for damn sure. She put the book back and continued searching for some clue as to how he knew Asher.

  She went back into the kitchen for their glasses of water and set them on the table. He brought the food in and she sat, staring at it. Finally, she picked up the fork and took a bite.

  It was the best veggie cheese omelet she’d ever had. “Good,” she managed.

  He shrugged. “Fresh.”