by Wendy Vella
She got to him, always had and now that he was older, it was worse. She’d always put up so many barricades, it was a wonder anyone could get through them. Annabelle, Jake knew, had always been able to, but not him; she’d always kept him at a distance. He was like that now too; he didn’t let people in, wanted to be left alone to brood, but seeing that in another person made Jake wonder about the man he’d become. A man filled with anger for something that he’d had no power to change.
She took another swipe at her ice cream and he nearly groaned as heat filled his body. She was turned towards him, her long legs curled on the seat as she talked to Mikey about something. He wanted to stroke them, run his hands over the smooth skin and under the edge of her shorts. Instead, he ate and drove, listening to Branna question the boy. He felt at peace, which was something that had been in short supply lately, and again should scare him spitless.
“Can you spell pococurante, Branna?”
“Pfffft, give me something hard,” she said, spelling the word. “Pococurante, meaning indifferent, nonchalant.”
“Laodicean,” she fired back at Mikey, and as Jake didn’t know what the word even meant, he kept eating and thinking. What had happened in her life since they’d last met? Were there lovers, boyfriends? Where was her father?
“Laodicean,” Mikey spelled the word slowly. “But I don’t know the meaning,” he added.
“It means indifferent in religion or politics,” Branna said.
Jake was pretty smart himself. You didn’t go through as many years as he had studying medicine, then his army training for the medical corps and not know how to handle a textbook, but these two were out of his realm. He could hear the excitement in the boy’s voice as Branna questioned him, switching from math to English. Jake would have liked a few science questions, possibly could have held his own then, but it didn’t seem to be on the agenda.
The lake appeared again as he reached the end of Branna’s road and swung onto his own. Pulling the Mustang onto the grass under a tree, Jake wondered if she knew that they were neighbors.
“Ha, I got you there, Branna,” Mikey crowed.
“So did not,” she teased as they all got out of the car. “Three-fifths, plus one-fifth, plus four-fifths, equals one and three-fifths.”
Mikey’s face screwed up as he thought through what she’d said. “Okay, maybe you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.” The boy got out of the car and swaggered around in front of Branna, making her laugh again. He then ate the last of his cone in one mouthful. “I have to go now; I need to get home before Gran starts to worry.” Before either of them could say anything, he’d run away, his thin legs flying as he headed back up the road toward Branna’s house.
“Bye,” Branna called, but the boy didn’t stop.
Jake moved to the edge of the bank and sat on the warm grass. Branna, however, kept her distance, still standing a few feet away.
“I’ll be doing the same now, McBride. I have things to do.”
“It’s your car, Branna, seems odd that’d you walk home when I’ll be driving that way myself.” Tipping his head back, he watched her frown.
“Well then, drive me,” she added.
“Any chance I can finish my ice cream first?”
Her sigh was to tell him she wasn’t happy, but she sat seconds later, dropping down beside him, but making sure to leave a decent space between them. They sat in silence, finishing their cones. The water was cool, even in summer and he watched the wind skimming along the surface. This was his place, his home, even when he’d gone away to med school and then the army, he’d thought about it every day and wondered why he’d been so eager to leave. It was his bolt hole now, the place he’d come to heal.
“I never really looked when I was here before.” Jake turned to watch Branna as she gazed over the water to the mountains beyond. “I never took the time to see what was special about Howling. But it is special, Jake, magical almost.”
“You’ve only been back a few days, Rosebud.”
She curled her tongue around the cone and heat licked through Jake again.
“I know, and I could do without some of the Howlers, McBride, and I hate that everyone knows my business, but this place is nice. I love the hills that surround it, I love the trees and the lake, and I like that it’s slower than the big cities.”
“Washington, right?”
She nodded.
“What’s Mikey’s story, Jake?”
He finished his ice cream, then bent to wash his hands. He got the signal that personal questions were not allowed, which annoyed him, but he could hardly complain, as they were off limits with him too.
“His mother travels with her job, so his grandmother cares for him. She’s in her eighties, so it’s hard on her, especially as two of her children live out of Howling and the one that does live here is pretty hopeless.”
“Connor?” Branna questioned.
“Yeah, he’s not a bad guy, but tries to play at it. Helps Buster out now and again when he’s busy, but he dropped out of school and hasn’t held down a job since then. I haven’t had that much to do with them, only what I hear through Buster and mom.”
“Mikey needs to be challenged, needs that stimulation, or he’ll grow bored and that’s when the trouble starts,” Branna said.
“Is that what happened to you?”
“No.”
“No, you didn’t get in trouble or you didn’t get the correct stimulation.” She threw him a suspicious glance to see if there was any double meaning in his words.
“Yes to the first and no to the second.”
“Buster told me that you and your dad were teachers and now you’re both writers,” Jake added.
“So, Belle told me you started out a doctor and now you’re a mechanic?”
“Come on, Rosebud, throw me a bone here; I’m just trying to be nice.”
“I thought you weren’t doing nice anymore?”
“I can still pull it out when required.”
“I hate that about small towns,” she added with a fierce frown.
“You don’t like it when people are nice?”
“I hate it when people appear nice, so that they can find out everything about you, right down to your shoe size,” she corrected.
“And yet you came back.”
She sighed again, and looked over the lake once more as Jake studied her profile. She was fine-boned, small ears, and nose, curved chin, high cheekbones. Her skin was beautiful, soft and smooth, a hint of color in the cheeks.
“I had to,” she said the words slowly.
“Why?”
She got back to her feet. “Because Georgie wanted me to. Now, can you drive me back, please?”
It was the please that did it. They were soon back in the car and traveled the short distance in silence. He reversed the Mustang into the shed, as the early afternoon sun warmed Georgie’s garden. They both got out and he covered the car, then shut and locked the doors.
“Thank you for letting me drive her; it’s been a dream for some time.” Jake stood close. “Reluctant as I am to hand them back, here are your keys.”
He dropped them into her palm and then closed his hand over it when she started to pull away. Her green eyes widened as she looked up at him.
“I’m sorry if I was rude or hurt you, Branna. Things have changed with me and it’s those things that make me mean.”
“I-I overreacted. My head was sore and my wrist hurt—”
“I did want to be your friend in school, Rosebud, no matter what you believed.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, so she tried to pull away instead.
“Let me go, McBride.”
“You scared of me, Rosebud?”
She tried to scoff, but it was a weak effort. Lifting one hand, he cupped her cheek, using his thumb to tilt her chin upwards.
“No!”
“Yes.” He touched her lips with his. Soft and sweet was Jake’s first thought. His
head filled with her scent as he deepened the kiss. Wrapping the other arm around her waist, he pulled her into his body. Jake knew it was a mistake, as neither of them wanted or needed this in their lives now, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
He took her mouth, and Branna could do nothing to stop him and after the first touch, she could do nothing to pull away. In seconds, her head was filled with this man who possessed her lips. Soft, it was a caress and with each kiss, the contact grew deeper, stronger. Branna heard a moan and knew it was hers, knew that it was she who was pressing her body into his. She was on fire, her skin consumed with hot primal heat and lust; the urge to rip his shirt open and touch his chest had her hands clenching. His tongue stroked hers, slow and steady, each touch designed to heighten her desire, pull her deeper into the vortex of passion she felt. It had to stop while she could still think; she had to pull away. Wrenching free, she stumbled back a step.
“Don’t.” The hand she held up as he closed the distance stopped him.
“I won’t apologize for something we both enjoyed, Branna.”
He looked sexy, hair tousled, eyes heated, body hard and ready to give her what hers ached for. One kiss and she was ready. Looking at his big hands, she knew they would take her to heaven if they ever touched her naked flesh. Branna knew that, but ultimately they could also send her straight to hell.
“It won’t happen again,” she vowed.
He tilted his head slightly, as if to read what was in her eyes, so she lowered them, and waited for him to leave.
“It will.”
She didn’t answer, just watched as Jake turned and walked towards his pickup. Branna had just filled her lungs with a deep calming breath when he retraced his steps.
“Wh-what are you doing?” Digging her toes into the soles of her sandals, Branna braced herself as he stopped before her. He lifted the hand that wore the brace and fitted it back in the sling gently.
“You don’t do anything that strains this until my mother tells you to, Rosebud. Same goes with that thick Irish head of yours. No running until you get cleared to do so. Use some of that superior intelligence and rest until you’re well enough to do otherwise.”
“Don’t look after me, Jake; I don’t need you to.”
“I can’t even look after myself these days, so I think you’re safe there, O’Donnell.”
“What happened?” She hadn’t meant to pry, hated it when people did it to her, but suddenly the pain inside him made her hurt too. His eyes traveled over her face briefly.
“They’re my nightmares, Rosebud, and I don’t share.”
He never spoke again, simply got into his pickup and drove away, and Branna wondered how her life had become more complicated in the past few days, when coming here should have resulted in the opposite happening.
***
“You gonna play a card, Newman, or knit something?”
“Don’t get your panties in a twist now, Tex.”
Jake sat back on the legs of his chair. Cards night in his parents’ basement was a monthly event. There were five of them, three school friends, one of Jake’s army buddies, and his father.
“I tried your latest dressing yesterday, Newman, on my ribs, you know the one with your pretty face on it. Have to say, it’s your best yet,” Ethan Gelderman the 5th said. Big and dark, he was a Texan down to his handmade gator cowboy boots.
“It’s the saffron, adds the punch,” Newman said, having had plenty of practice answering these comments. He was born Paul Theodore Newman to parents who’d idolized their only child from day one, and to a mother who loved his namesake just as much. He’d put up with his fair share of ridicule, it had to be said, but was easygoing enough to handle it. The ladies liked his blond curls, and the fact he was a successful businessman helped.
Buster snorted, then tugged his visor lower to hide his eyes, which was a sign to all of them that he had a good hand. “You wouldn’t know the difference between a cinnamon pod and saffron, Newman.”
“They grow that stuff on trees? Ha, who knew?”
“You girls gonna lay a card while I’m still breathing?” Patrick McBride glared at the players then tweaked his faded, lucky cap. Once red, but now pink, it had the words, Number One Dad, embroidered on the front; Jake and his sister had given it to him for his birthday one year. Which one is a little hazy right now, as Jake had lost count of the beers he’d consumed.
Ethan hummed a couple of bars of Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head, but the taunt rolled off Newman’s large shoulders, as he placed a card on the table that made them all groan.
“Well now, son, you just about ruined my next mouthful of beer.”
“Never my intention, as you know, Mr. McBride. Your son, however, now annoying him should be a national pastime,” Ethan added.
“So, I’ve been back in town a day before mom tells me you’ve been seen driving Geraldine with Branna O’Donnell seated beside you, McBride,” Newman stated.
Jake hadn’t seen Branna for a week, but the hell of it was, he’d wanted to. It was fair to say he’d shared a few kisses in his lifetime, some of them pretty good too, but that one with Branna had made him lose reason.
“We had sex five times, Newman,” he drawled. “Once on Geraldine’s hood.” Jake thought about Branna’s legs and the way they looked coming out of those cut-offs she wore. Long and lean, they’d wrap around his waist perfectly.
“Like she’d touch you, McBride,” Newman scoffed. I call BS.”
“Aww, shucks,” Jake added. “And there I was, thinking I was totally convincing.”
“I hear she’s quite a looker?” Newman took a mouthful of his beer.
“Who is Branna O’Donnell?” Tex rolled the cigar he never lit from side to side in his mouth.
“She’s Irish, came to Howling for three years during high school and is the only girl that I know of who never made a fool of herself over Jakey boy here,” Buster filled Tex in.
“I love the Irish accent. Rolls up and down your spine, leaving you feeling hot all over.”
Jake had to agree with the Texan about that, but he wasn’t sure just any Irish accent would do it for him.
“The total female population didn’t fall at his feet; there was Lydia Southby, she hated him too.”
“Newman, Lydia Southby was sixty at the age of fifteen; she didn’t like anyone.”
Jake raised his bottle to Buster in agreement.
“Branna’s father writes those crime novels,” Patrick said.
“Not D.J. O’Donnell?”
“The very man, Tex. You a fan too?”
Tex whistled around his cigar. “Patrick, I have every one of his books and headed down to a see him and get a couple signed, when his tour brought him through Dallas a few years ago.”
“She writes too.” Jake wasn’t sure why he’d said that. “Haven’t been able to find her name on anything when I searched, so must be writing under a pseudonym, I’m guessing.”
“Well, well, well, fancy our Jake doing a bit of research on his high school nemesis.”
“I like to read, and thought I’d support a local, so shoot me.” Jake flipped Buster the bird.
Of course, his mother would choose that moment to walk into the room, to the sound of his friends and father hooting with laughter.
“Son, if that gesture was the one I thought it was, I’d be disappointed.”
“Newman made me do it, Mom.”
Buster snickered.
“I brought pizza, but you have to share.” Doctor McBride dropped the boxes in the middle of the table, right on top of the cards, but no one complained too loudly.
“I love you, Nancy.” Jake rolled his eyes as Tex then leaped out of his seat so his mother could have it. She had that effect on people. Beautiful at fifty years, the woman would turn any man’s head, young or old, but after thirty years, she had eyes for only one man and he was pulling her down onto his lap.
“Find your own woman, son, this one’s mine.”
Dutifully, Jake made a gagging sound as they kissed, as was expected of him.
The pizza was good, probably due to the beer, the company the same and when he stumbled upstairs into his old bedroom a few hours later, Jake wondered what Branna was doing. Had she left behind friends in Washington who she’d collected over the years? Did they used to meet in bars or movies to talk, like he did with his friends? The ones who never turned away from him, even when he’d returned to Howling a different man from the one they’d known.
He doubted the existence of Branna’s friends; in fact, he doubted the serious, beautiful woman let anyone close, because she sure as hell hadn’t in high school. Closing his eyes, he let the buzz of beer lure him to sleep and decided that tomorrow he would see Branna O’Donnell again, just to make sure she was settling in.
***
After the craziness of her arrival in Howling, the next few weeks were relatively peaceful for Branna. She settled in, putting her things about Georgie’s house and turning it into Branna and Georgie’s house. She found memories everywhere, from photo albums to stories that Branna had written and Georgie had kept. Tears of sadness and joy crept up on her, so that at the end of each day she fell into bed exhausted to sleep long and dreamless. Since her mother’s death, she’d managed to avoid crying as best she could, but here, in this house that she’d once thought of as her haven, it was unavoidable; everywhere she looked she found her friend.
She cooked in the kitchen where she’d learned to bake, using the recipes Georgie had collected over the years. She slept in the room she’d stayed in the few times when her father had allowed her to sleep over. It was both harrowing and healing to Branna to be here, to look back into the past with its painful memories in order to find a way forward into the future.
Mikey and Belle had helped her to move a few things out to the shed, which allowed her to fit her writing desk into the back room that had glass doors that led outside to the garden. Belle had hung her mother’s picture in the lounge, so anyone who walked inside saw it immediately. “Because she is part of you, Branna, and deserves her place in your life.”
She’d given Mikey some things that she could tell meant a lot to him, and a few to Belle, who’d also been a constant in Georgie’s life. In time, she’d pack some of the knickknacks away and remove some of the doilies, but for now, she was happy with the blend.