Crushed, I sagged against the pillar.
Seven
Lara
To reach the house we had driven nearly half an hour out of the town.
“Well, son of a biscuit,” Elaine exclaimed suddenly and stopped the car. We had just left the smooth paved road and turned down a dirt road filled with pot holes.
“What? What’s wrong?” I asked worriedly.
“The house just came into view.”
“And?”
She turned towards me. “I think this might have been a really bad idea, Lara.”
“Why?”
“It looks like a fricking haunted house.”
Calmly, I wound down the glass and inhaled the air. It was full of the fresh scent of pine trees, snow, and something else. Something that called to me.
“Describe the house to me,” I said.
“Look, Lara. I know I talked you into taking this job, but I honestly don’t think you should go inside that house. It’s giving me the creeps.”
“Please, Elaine. Just describe it to me.”
“Okay. It’s an old turn of the century two story. It’s nestled in a bunch of trees and it backs onto a proper forest.”
“Does it have a wide porch?”
“How the hell do you do that?”
I smiled. “I told you before it’s like a shape in my mind. Scientists say that I’m actually accessing the same area of the brain that you are when you are looking at something with your eyes.”
“I don’t know what you’re looking at in your brain, but I’m looking at a haunted house.”
“It’s not haunted. It’s just very lonely. I want to keep my appointment.”
“I think you’re making a big mistake,” she warned.
“I’m not,” I said firmly, and wound the glass back up.
Elaine started the car. “Just so you know, I’m not coming in. I’ll wait for you outside.”
The car jolted over rough gravel and pot holes in the road. “That’ll be fine.”
“If anything happens you scream as loud as you can and I’ll drive back to town as fast as I can, and tell everybody, all right?”
I laughed. “Thanks, Elaine. That’s real comforting to know.”
“Don’t be taking that tone with me, girl. You’re going in against my better judgement.”
“Is he standing on the porch?”
For a while there was silence as she peered through the windscreen. “Oh, my God! Yes. He is. Did you see that in that brain of yours too?”
“Nah. It was just a guess.”
Eight
Kit
The old car moved closer, jolting crazily over the holes in the road. My body tightened. It wasn’t nerves – it was my survival instinct kicking in. Military training never died, and any new situation put me right back into the defensive zone.
I’m sure my therapists would have something to say about that, but my blind reader was here and my body was preparing to meet her. The car skidded dangerously to a stop.
A woman wearing dark glasses stepped out of the car, half-turned toward the house, and … the peace of the morning air shattered. Blood slammed into my brain, and alarm bells flared as I stared in shock.
I knew she was young, I could tell by her voice, but I never counted on her being drop-dead gorgeous. Fucking hell. She looked like she had stepped out of the pages of a fancy magazine. My breathing was ragged. I didn’t really think about what I was expecting, but not this. Not this. This girl was special. Too special for me … but fuck me, if I didn’t want her the way I wanted nothing else in my life. I wanted to make her mine and never let her go.
I gripped the railing and watched her come up the drive, her cane making even swipes on the ground, her steps purposeful and unfaltering. Her long honey curls bounced with every step. She was wearing a knit cap and blue coat, but it was unbuttoned and boy, did she have curves. Her cat-like face was filled with concentration, and her nose was a cute little button dotted with freckles, but I knew that when she smiled she would be lethal.
I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. It was one of the younger wolves, Thomas. I found him in the forest eighteen months ago caught in a trap yelping and crying in agony. His poor leg was broken. I tranquilized him, carried him back here, and nursed him back to health. He didn’t need to be persuaded to join my pack. Now he was stalking the girl up the driveway, pausing every time she did, taking his time to get a closer look.
Hell, I understood that.
I wanted a closer look too!
Amazingly, she knew the wolf was following her. She stopped and turned her head ever-so-slightly. Her attitude and motion hardly changed, but she was totally attuned to the sounds the wolf was making. I’ve been out there among the wolves, and believe me, when they want to be silent, they certainly know how to be. But no matter how quiet Thomas was, she could hear him.
Huh. Interesting.
And then she was at the bottom of the steps. I wasn’t sure what to do. Go down and help her? Just stand there? Say something?
“I can hear you breathing,” she said, and smiled at me.
And damned if that smile didn’t light up her face like a lightbulb and transform it into something even more beautiful than what it already was … if such a thing were even possible.
My stomach did a single, lazy somersault. “Hello,” I said stupidly. It was all that came to mind. My voice sounded husky and strange.
“Hello, Mr. Carson. I’m Lara.” She held out her hand, her smile growing larger.
I quickly stepped forwards and clattered down the steps as clumsy as bigfoot himself. She didn’t wear gloves even though the air was frigid. I grasped her hand inside mine. It was small and delicate. I don’t think I had ever held such a fine hand before. Her skin was so lovely and warm it made my insides turn to mush.
I wanted to hold her hand forever. What the fuck! I yanked my hand away.
Her smile faltered, and there was a part of me that was happy I didn’t linger and let her know how much I wanted to hold onto her soft skin, but another part of me felt bad about making her doubt herself. I glanced at the woman still sitting in the car. She had her neck craned forward and was staring at us through the windscreen with bug eyes. “Is your friend going to wait in the car?”
She grinned. “She’ll come in when she gets too cold … or too curious.”
I nodded and realized that she could not see my nod. “Right. There are four steps up to the porch.”
She made no move to go up the steps. Was she waiting for me to move? Or was I supposed to take her hand and lead her up? I rubbed my cheek uncertainly. How the hell did one deal with a blind woman? I sure as hell didn’t want to insult her.
“You go ahead of me, and I’ll follow. I’m very good at tracing sounds and getting to where I need to be,” she said into the awkward silence.
That settled that. I went up the steps and walked to the front door. Glancing behind to make sure she was following, I opened it, stepped in, and held it for her so she could come through. She moved confidently, barely hesitating at the threshold. I watched as she moved through and stood in the hallway, listening … and like the wolves smelling the air.
“Uh, there’s a fire in the living room. Would you prefer to sit in there? Or we can sit at the kitchen table,” I offered.
“By the fire sounds lovely,” she said softly.
“Would you like me to take your coat?” I asked, going closer to her. She smelled of fruit. Some sort of berry. It was coming from her lips. Man, I was so fucked.
“Thank you, but I think I’ll keep it on for a little while,” she replied.
“This way,” I said, and passed her in the narrow space. Almost touching, there was only an inch between her round breasts and my midriff. My cock twitched and hardened. Jesus! I haven’t had sex for too fucking long.
I led the way into the living room. It felt too warm, or maybe it was just me. I fingered my collar. A trickle of sweat ran down my back
. I was dying to take my sweater off. I walked to a chair that stood between her and my most comfortable armchair by the fire and yanked it out of her way. It made a scraping sound on the wood. I stood next to the armchair and called, “Over here.”
I watched her work her way over to me, her cane moving in small half-circles. When it caught on the rug she paused then continued once she had figured out it was the edge of the rug. She reached the chair and felt it with her hands, before lowering herself with an almost regal air.
“Thank you,” she said, and there was that smile again.
My stomach did another slow somersault. That was when I started to think that maybe this was all a big mistake. Until now my life was without complication. Me and my wolves.
No one had penetrated my walls ever, tried to psychoanalyze me, or peer into the dark depths of my melting pot of loathing, self-hate, pain, guilt and shame.
Now all of a sudden the walls that I thought were impenetrable to other human beings were looking like they were made of ice and someone had just taken an icepick to them.
Nine
Lara
When I got out of the car, I didn’t know what I would find at the house, but something magnetic and mysterious that simply would not be denied called to me. So I did what I always do.
I jumped in with both feet.
As I walked towards him, I smelled the animal that was shadowing me and I knew it was not a dog, so I guessed it must be one of his wolves. He meant me no harm. That much was obvious. I carried on walking. There was ice on the ground and I concentrated on not landing on my butt on the snow. His wolves must have lain on the porch only minutes ago because their scent hung strong in the air. Then he came down the step, his gait was that of a prowling animal, full of coiled energy and fluid. I scented the leather of his footwear, the heat rising from his freshly washed skin, and the odors that lay underneath his skin.
Good god, he was more animal than man!
Kit Carson was definitely … intriguing.
I could gauge that he was more than a foot taller than me. And he was broad. Very broad. And strong. Powerful vibes came off him. This was a man who knew how to use an axe. He took my hand in his and it was as big as my face. And full of strength. One swipe …
He showed me to his living room. It was small, hot as a furnace, and smelled of wax polish and burning wood. He called me to sit in the best armchair in the room, but it had a broken spring. It jagged my butt, and I shifted slightly. I didn’t think he would notice, but he must have because he shuffled uncomfortably, then moved to the other end of the room. I heard a creak as his weight settled down in a chair. I heard his clothes rustle as he leaned forward.
Well … this should be interesting.
I started to peel off my coat, and heard a sharp intake of breath.
“Is everything all right?” I asked, frowning, my senses heightened. Suddenly, there was no sound in the room except the fire crackling. I breathed in the smell of wood smoke and waited.
“Yes,” he said harshly. “Fine.”
That bitter voice might have frightened a lesser woman. Not me. I believed in him implicitly. The tense muscles in my body relaxed. I knew I had nothing to fear from him. I was wearing my good black trousers so I crossed my legs confidently.
“You’ve built quite a fire. Not many people know how to get a proper one going,” I said conversationally.
He grunted.
Undaunted by his lack of response, I persisted at polite conversation. “So you’d like me to read to you?”
“Yes,” he said gruffly.
“Why did you particularly want a blind reader?”
“I don’t like people looking at me,” he muttered, his voice so low it was almost inaudible. His foot tapped restlessly on the ground. He was wearing heavy duty boots. I imagined them to be badly scuffed.
He was tough and rugged and gruff and annoyed, but underneath all that bluster was a lot of anxiety. This was a man who for whatever reason had chosen to hide away from the world, but now that the world had come to his doorstep – in the form of a woman he himself had conjured up with an ad, of all things. Some part of him stood amazed by what he had done.
“I see,” I said softly.
“I have a book for you to start reading.” He paused, fidgeted nervously, then rushed on, endearingly, I thought. “Assuming you want the job, that is.”
I thought of him as a bear. A big grizzly. Dangerous, but somehow I knew I was safe with him. “Before I begin, we should discuss terms, shouldn’t we?” I asked gently.
“Terms?” he repeated. He seemed unprepared and startled.
“Of course. For instance, how often would you like me to read to you? I run a small business.” I re-arranged my coat on my knees. “I’m a sculptor, but my hours are quite flexible.”
“Uh … twice a week?”
“Okay.” I waited, but he remained silent. “And for how long? How long do you expect each session to be?”
I heard him scratch his face, or his head. “Oh! Umm. Maybe one hour each time?”
I nodded. “How much do you pay?”
“Oh.” He seemed genuinely dumbfounded. “How much would you like?”
I grinned cheekily. “I can name my price?”
“Within reason,” he said slowly. I was surprised to hear almost nothing more than his even breathing. He was adjusting to my approach and now he was calmly thinking things over. I was impressed with how quickly he could change and adapt. That spoke volumes about who he might be underneath all that gruff and grumble.
I crinkled my brow. I never thought I’d be deciding my own wage. He couldn’t have much money living here by himself, and I didn’t want to leave him out of pocket. My art paid for my expenses so I didn’t really need this job.
“Would $25.00 an hour work for you?” I asked.
As a sculptor who worked long hours without a single sound beyond the motion of my hands on the material, I had come to recognize the value in silence, but he stayed silent for so long I was about to reduce my wages to $20.00. Though it would not even have been worth my time, for some weird reason it felt important that I secure this job.
Just as I was about to open my mouth, he spoke again. “I’ll give you $50.00 an hour.”
My eyebrows rose with surprise. “I’m quite happy with $25.00.”
“$50.00 is a fair wage,” he insisted.
“All right. Thank you. There is one more problem. My friend drove me here, but I’m not sure that she will be willing to do it twice a week on a regular basis as it is thirty minutes each way to get here …”
“I will pick you up,” he said immediately. I knew he was staring at me. I could feel his intense scrutiny as it moved over my body and face.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Where should I pick you up from?” he asked.
“How about meeting up at the Dairy Queen or in the library?”
“Library,” he said promptly. I should have known he wouldn’t want to hang around the Dairy Queen.
“What days would work for you?” I asked.
“I have no preference.”
“Tuesdays and Fridays?”
“Sure.”
I nodded. “How about two in the afternoon?”
“Yep.”
“Oh, and I nearly forgot.”
“What?” His voice was suddenly wary. This was a man who didn’t trust easy.
Ten
Lara
“Do you have any tea in your house?”
“Tea?” he echoed incredulously, as if I had said, poison.
I swallowed a smile. “Yes. Tea. You know, tea bags.”
“I know what tea is.” He sounded indignant. “No, I don’t have any.”
My smile broke through, anyway. Didn’t surprise me in the least. He struck me as the type of man who would broker nothing less than coffee, black as night, and hot enough to burn.
“I love tea,” I said conversationally.
“I don’t
have any tea,” he repeated.
“Not yet you don’t,” I said, enjoying this little experiment in socializing a cross bear of a man who obviously hadn’t dealt with another person in years. “But I hope you’ll change that because I’d love to be offered a cup of tea each time I come to read to you. Perhaps you can consider it as part payment of our agreed fee. $49.00 plus a cup of tea.”
He was entirely silent. Even his breath was gone. I waited – anyone who wants to play a game of words must understand the value of silence.
“You’re not going to be easy because you’re blind, are you?” he exhaled.
I gave him my broadest smile. “Honey, you have no idea.”
“I’ll get you the tea,” he said, a mocking edge to his voice. “Although, you might need something stronger to soothe your nerves when you read the book I’ve got for you.”
My stomach tightened. He was flirting with me! Who flirts with a blind girl? I had never flirted with anyone in my life. I didn’t know how to. And yet with him, I felt bold and daring. I wanted to touch his face.
“Why?” I asked with a laugh. “Have you got naughty reading for the visually impaired?”
“Would you have minded if I did?”
“No. I’ve never read one so it’ll be a new experience for me.”
The fire crackled and spat. He didn’t know what to say. It would seem I had turned him speechless.
One day, I promised myself I would unravel him, the way a playful kitten unravels a ball of wool. I listened to my heart beating in my chest.
“What kind of tea?” he asked quietly.
At that moment, a loud thump came from the back of the house. Kit immediately pushed his chair back and stood. His heavy footfalls went straight toward the sound. He walked out into the back of the house, where I presumed the kitchen was, and opened the back door. There was another thump, this one louder, as well as a high-pitched whine.
“Stop that,” he scolded, his voice pitched so low it was almost a primitive growl.
Yes, he was definitely more animal than man. And sure enough, the thumps stopped. There was one more whine, this one almost resentful, and then the sound of rustling as whatever made the noise made a hasty retreat.
Blind Reader Wanted Page 3