by Freya Barker
Just weeks later I was flown home, injured in an ambush that left my best friend, Tom Jackson, blown to pieces on a dusty road near the Arghandab Dam, north of Kandahar. Jenny was waiting for me at home. She was a mess, and during what was an emotional reunion for a lot of reasons, she confessed to having slept with Kyle.
That had been a hard blow for me, especially on top of the horrors I’d just left behind. We tried. For the better part of a year, we tried. Until I finally lost it on Kyle one day when Jenny and I were out for dinner in town. I’d been successful in mostly avoiding him when he came in, walked past our table, and winked at my wife with a shit-eating grin on his face. Yeah, I lost it. Saw red. I can’t remember much beyond kicking my chair back and tackling him from behind, but the end result was an assault charge for me, and Jenny packing her bags and moving out. I didn’t stop her. I wasn’t the same guy she fell in love with, and the emotional baggage we each toted around was poison to our marriage.
Kyle’s taunting never stopped, though. Not even after Jenny was long gone, living in North Bay with her new husband and kids. He seems to have made it his mission to mess with me at every opportunity. Harassing my new neighbour is simply another way of doing that.
He’s right, though. Leelo is better off not associating with me, because he could make her life very difficult, if he put his mind to it. He’s built a lot of pull in Wawa, and if she wants to make a go of it here, she’ll need the goodwill of the town.
-
I toss my toolbox in the back of my truck and go in search of Leelo to let her know I’m done.
She’s not hard to find, all I have to do is follow my nose right into the large kitchen behind the bar.
“What are you cooking?” I ask her, walking up to where she’s standing at the industrial stove. She throws a glance at me over her shoulder, before focusing her attention back on the pan she’s stirring.
“Risotto. My son’s coming to stay for a few days, and I want to make sure he has something to eat,” she says.
She has a son.
“Is he bringing a bunch of friends?” I ask, looking at the various food containers sitting on the counter. She chuckles, following my gaze.
“Nah. Matt likes his food, though. Growing boy and all that, although I probably shouldn’t say that anymore—he’s almost twenty-one. I just haven’t cooked for him in a while. I guess I missed it.”
I lean my hip against the counter and watch her do her thing. I realize I know nothing about her other than that she’s funny, she rambles when she’s nervous or upset, she’s a nurturer at heart, and she’s got balls bigger than most men I know. Oh, and she has a fucking great smile.
“Only child?” She turns at the sound of my voice and flashes me a small one, shaking her head.
“No. I have a daughter too, Gwen. She’s a few years older and works as an IT consultant for a large firm in Toronto.” I don’t miss the sad look that briefly replaces her earlier smile.
There’s a story there. One I’m surprised to find myself curious about, but that would mean spending more time with her, and I just made up my mind that would not be in her best interest.
“You?” she wants to know, drawing me from my thoughts.
“No kids,” I answer, feeling the brief pang of loss that seems to surface whenever that topic is broached. “Why are you in here and not the house?” I change the subject, looking around the industrial-sized space. “Something wrong with your kitchen?”
“No. There’s just more room here and it gave me a chance to test out the equipment. See if everything is still working, as it should. I actually like cooking in here.”
“You should then,” I suggest, an idea taking form. “In fact, I don’t know what your plans for the bar were, but there’s enough space to turn it into a small restaurant instead. Keep the bar, but focus on food.”
She pulls the pan she was stirring from the burner and turns around to face me.
“You think that’ll work? I mean, I’ve thought about it, but there are quite a few restaurants in...”
“Absolutely,” I interrupt her. “There’s quite a bit of traffic along this road. Not all folks want to go into town for a decent meal. You’d have your own guests and then there’s the folks staying up at the lodge. I’ll do an occasional fish fry, but I don’t offer regular meals.”
She silently walks past me into the bar and stops, looking around. I follow her and step up beside her, noting how the top of her head barely reaches my chin.
“It could work,” she mumbles under her breath as she takes in the space. “A good cleaning, a bit of paint, a few repairs.” She points out a table with a crooked leg. “It wouldn’t take much.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” I agree quietly, looking down at her. The smile she beams up at me is fucking stunning, and it’s all I can do not to take that beautiful mouth with mine.
Instead I take a step away and start moving to the door.
“I’ve gotta head out. Unit two is ready to go. Catch you later.” I quickly pull the door open; intent on escaping before I do something stupid, when she calls after me.
“Wait! How much do I owe you?”
I try waving her off as I walk to my truck, but I can hear the slap of her flip-flops as she follows me.
“Hold on.” She breathes heavy when she catches me, just as I’m getting behind the wheel. “At least let me pay for materials,” she argues. I’m tempted to dismiss her again, when I see the plea in her eyes. This is important to her.
“Okay,” I concede grudgingly. “I’ll total it up and let you know.”
It goes entirely against my grain, but seeing that smile break through on her face again makes it worth it.
“You’re something else, Leelo Talbot,” I mutter as I drive off.
SEVEN
Oh, to go where one knows one shouldn’t.
Leelo
“Is he a contractor?”
I turn to Matt stepping off the ladder propped against the side of the motel. He just spent the last twenty minutes inspecting every inch of the roof, insisting he make sure the work was all done properly. And that was after checking out the plumbing in the three units Roar had worked on.
“Roar? No. Just a helpful neighbour.”
The derisive snort is hard to ignore. An irritating habit both kids seem to have inherited from their father, who was the master of derision.
“Helpful,” Matt repeats, his eyes flashing something I can’t quite pin down. “I bet. And what kind of name is Roar?” Without another word, he picks up the ladder and takes it back around the side of the house.
I bite off the grin at my son’s protective instincts on display and his apparent instant dislike to my neighbour. It’d be interesting to see how the two would react to each other.
Matt arrived late last night and rolled straight into bed, but after he finished breakfast this morning, he announced he was giving the place a good once over, and nothing I said could stop him. Overbearing men seems to be a theme in my life. By merit of his Y-chromosome, even my son in all of his twenty years, feels the need to impart his expertise and wisdom on me.
As if by divine intervention, the well-timed crunch of tires on gravel draws attention to the familiar truck rolling up the drive. Before it even comes to a stop, my son is marching up to it. I lean my shoulder against one of the pillars of the overhang and observe the scene play out. I’m not even trying to hide the amusement on my face as the much larger Roar unfolds himself from the cab of the truck. Even at this distance I can see the firm set of Matt’s shoulders slump a little, and the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows hard. His five foot eleven youthful frame doesn’t quite measure against Roar’s six foot three bulky mass. Still, I watch my son lift his chin and square his shoulders as he offers a hand in greeting. Roar clasps the proffered hand with a serious face, but the hazel eyes that flick in my direction over Matt’s shoulder, show a spark of amusement.
“Coffee?” I call out, pushing off the pos
t and walking toward the men. “I have cinnamon rolls,” I add and both heads swing my way as I walk into the bar, straight into the kitchen beyond. I’m not surprised when two sets of heavy footsteps follow.
Half an hour later, I head back outside, in desperate need of some air before I do serious physical harm. I leave the two guys, more animated than I’ve seen either of them before, leaning against the kitchen counter, eating the last of my pastries while making detailed plans for the renovations. No one bothers to run anything by me. Two men, who in my experience manage little more than two word sentences when communicating with me, appear to have no such restrictions when conversing with each other.
Well, the assholes can jabber and plan all they want, but in the end, nothing will happen unless I say so.
Last time I checked, it was still my fucking name on the deed.
-
I’m staining quarter round to finish off the flooring in unit six when I hear the slam of a car door. I half expected Roar taking off again, but instead it’s Kyle walking toward me. Wonderful.
“What are you doing next Friday?” he wants to know when he’s close enough. I straighten up and try to wipe the stain off my hands with a rag.
“Why? What’s next Friday?”
“The opening ceremonies for the Wawa Music Festival. As one of the festival’s largest sponsors, I’m expected to give the welcoming speech.” I take a step back when he leans in close enough that I can smell him, and it’s not a pleasant experience. “It would be a great opportunity for you to network. I’ll pick you up at six for a bite to eat before.”
More than a little irritated with the presumptuous way he lays claim to my time, I open my mouth to object, but someone beats me to it.
“Out of luck, Thompson,” Roar’s voice sounds from right behind me, as a heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “The lady is coming with me.”
I shrug the hand off and swing around. I need to tilt my head back to meet his eyes burning down into mine.
“Really?” I spit out. “I have news for the lot of you.” I swing my arm demonstratively through the air, narrowly missing a direct connection with the middle of my neighbour’s face. Roar deftly dodges impact as he grabs my flailing limb in his large fist. That doesn’t stop the tirade I feel bubbling up, though. “Last I checked, I was a grown-ass woman, more than capable of looking after myself—” I accompany this declaration with a glare in my son Matt’s direction. “Fully qualified to make my own decisions—” This with a scowl at Roar, who is grinning widely but still hanging onto my wrist. “And a woman of my word,” I say this turning my attention to Kyle. “So when I turn down an offer of dinner, you can bet your shiny designer loafers that I’m not interested. In the least!” I add for good measure when I see shock hit Kyle’s features. Better to hammer that shit home, because I don’t feel like having to make the same damn point over and over again.
I can feel the low chuckle vibrate through the warm palm of Roar’s hand around my wrist, as he makes no effort to hide his amusement at my outburst. It doesn’t help when my son’s distinct snicker joins, and not even the sharp bang of a car door slamming shut can stem my hot irritation. I twist my arm from Roar’s hold and stomp off to where another fourteen feet of quarter round is waiting for stain.
All men can collectively kiss my ass.
Roar
I want to kiss that smart mouth.
If not for her son, and that fucking Kyle Thompson; I’d have swallowed that sharp tongue whole. Instead, I watch her decimate my old nemesis and stomp off in her pink Converse sneakers, while he tears out of the parking lot.
“Wow,” Matt says behind me, and I turn to face him. He’s staring after his mother with surprise on his face. “I’ve never—not ever—heard that side of my mom. I honestly didn’t think she had it in her.”
“I’m becoming very familiar with that sharp side of her tongue,” I snort, and Matt swings his eyes to me. “Not sure what your mom was like before she moved up here, but this woman doesn’t take prisoners.”
“No shit. Wish she’d have had a little of this when my dad used to wipe the floor with her.”
His tone is wistful and I wrestle to keep my face impassive and my mouth shut. The thought of someone, anyone, wiping the floor with Leelo has the hair on my neck stand on end. With one last look at where Leelo is slapping stain on wood, I turn on my heels and head into unit one.
“What are you up to?”
I look over my shoulder and find the kid has followed me in.
“Last bathroom to finish,” I tell him.
“Cool. I’ll help.”
-
“So what is your interest in my mom?”
I’m leaning against the bed of my truck, grabbing a minute to watch a sweaty Leelo shoveling gravel into the massive pothole in the drive, when Matt walks up behind me. He’d given me plenty of looks all morning, but this is the first time he questions me about his mother.
The kid impresses me. He knows his way around tools and made the job a lot easier. He told me a little about the kind of work he does with his father, which is mostly home and small business renovations. From the sound of it, his dad’s a prick. Matt made some remark about hoping to venture out on his own in time, but my impression was that time couldn’t come soon enough. He had some neat ideas for the motel. Simple upgrades to the rooms and exterior that would give the place some visual interest, without breaking the bank. Stuff I suggested he bring up to his mom.
Then he mentioned something about fishing and asked for the best places to do that. I told him a little about the lodge and Whitefish Lake, suggested he follow me later and I’d show him some spots.
He talked plenty but this is the first time he puts me on the spot.
I watch the subject of discussion carry another load of gravel in the wheelbarrow, as I weigh my answer. I notice her colourful arms, straining with the weight, and decide to tell Matt the truth.
“I don’t know,” I say honestly, turning in his direction. “I could tell you I’m being a good neighbour, and perhaps it started out that way, but it’s not just that anymore. Your mom is different. She stands out.” That gets a loud snort from Matt, and I chuckle myself when I follow his gaze to where Leelo wipes her face with the bottom of her shirt. I try not to notice the exposed wedge of lily-white stomach and quickly avert my eyes. “She’s got balls, coming out here to try and build a life. It’s hard enough for those of us who’ve lived here all our lives. She’s got every damn odd stacked against her, but I’d really like to see her succeed.”
Matt raises his eyebrow. “That’s it?”
I shake my head, pull the rag from my back pocket, and wipe my face to hide the grin on my face.
“Why don’t you grab your gear, I’m gonna let your mom know we’re off,” I instruct him.
The moment he starts moving, I head over to the side of the storage shed, where Leelo has been hauling gravel from the pile. I find her shovelling another load in the wheelbarrow. Probably not the best time for her to be doing this, in the midday heat of the sun, but it shows her determination. Besides, she makes a mighty nice picture. The way her sticky shirt is plastered against her body shows off every damn curve and believe me, there are plenty.
Tempting. So fucking tempting, but I resolutely tuck my hands in my pockets, where they’re safe, and clear my throat.
“I just—”
I barely get a word out and Leelo jumps and swings around, almost knocking me off balance.
“Jesus, you scared me...” she hisses, slapping a hand to her chest.
Of course, that just draws my attention to some of those curves I mentioned. When a second later she plants both palms against my chest and gives me a good shove, I feel I have no option but to wrap her in my arms.
Then my brain takes a complete detour. I can’t tell you exactly what it is, whether the soft press of her warm body against me, or the mix of confusion and heat in those sky blue eyes, but I instinctively lower my head and cover
her slightly opened mouth with mine.
The mistake is clear the moment I taste her lips. Soft, pliant, and with a hint of coffee and salt, her mouth is instantly addictive and already I crave more.
Big fucking mistake.
“Heading off to the dump and showing the kid around for a bit,” I mutter, keeping a firm grip on her shoulders as I create some much needed distance, all but flinging her aside. “Stay hydrated, you’re sweating like a racehorse,” I add stupidly, as I try to ignore the look of shock on Leelo’s face.
I turn on my heels and aim for the safety of my truck, hoping for a clear getaway, when the sharp sting of a handful of gravel hits me square between the shoulders.
“Asshole!” I hear, just as I climb in and pull the door shut. Matt is already sitting in the passenger seat, a big grin on his face.
“What are you laughing at?” I snap, jabbing my keys in the ignition.
“I’m really liking this new side of Mom,” the little smartass replies.
Leelo
What, the ever-loving fuck, was that?
Don’t get me wrong; I know exactly what that was. I can still feel the strength of his body, smell the scent of clean sweat and man, and taste the raw heat of his mouth on my lips.
But what the fuck was that?
I’m still fuming when I stomp down the last load of gravel in the pothole that is no longer visible. Nothing like some good old-fashioned physical labour to get rid of anger. Or is it frustration? All I know is it feels like the ground, that started to feel a bit more stable under my feet, is suddenly shifting again.