Wingman: Just a Guy and His Dog

by Tess Oliver

  His brows twitched as his dad radar kicked in, just like it did when I was a slightly wild teen. Like my mom, he, too, had a hard time absorbing the fact that I was twenty-three and not ten.

  "Ella, are you meeting that man with the tattoos? We don't know anything about him."

  "I do. He grew up on a farm where his grandfather taught him how to fix things. He plays guitar like a rock star and he has an adorable dog. Any of those traits make him sound unsavory? Because we are no longer living in the twentieth century so ink doesn't count."

  His cheek crinkled up with a wry smile. "You should have been a lawyer. Hey, are you sure you'll be all right here all alone next week? I could stay home."

  "Dad, are you using me to get out of a visit to Aunt Cherise's house?"

  He shrugged. "Maybe. But you know I don't like leaving you here alone."

  "In the middle of a town where everyone knows when I got my first training bra and when I learned to ride a bicycle? I think I'll be fine. It's like having the biggest damn extended family around me at all times. Some of them are the kind of family members that you can't wait to see head out the door on Thanksgiving." I patted his chest as I kissed him. "And don't take this the wrong way, Dad, but I'm looking sooo forward to having the house to myself."

  "The wrong way? I think there's really only one way to take it. You're tired of us. Have fun today."

  "I plan to." I sidled past him in the narrow hallway and headed out the back door to the garage. I had learned to drive in high school. My dad insisted that teaching me how to turn right had given him every gray hair on his head. After finally getting my license, I discovered that I hated driving. I hated being in control of a big moving vehicle. I had no idea where the profound dislike had come from. I considered the possibility that it was because of the crash. For months after the accident, I woke up in a sweat and sick from bad dreams. As hard as I tried not to think about it, I couldn't stop imagining the horror that Ethan had faced as the bus rolled down the embankment. I hadn't been there, yet I could hear the screams of my classmates in my nightmares, and they always sounded so real. On that fateful day, I had been so sick, I slept through the whole day. I woke the next day from fevered dreams and realized something terrible had happened. My head was pounding, my throat was still sore and I couldn't focus. Nothing was clear. I was close to delirious. Mom had told me it was the fever. They didn't tell me the news until two days later.

  I climbed on my bike, pedaled down the road and turned onto Main Street. In the distance, I could see Fynn's dark head towering over Mayor Fran and her husband, Richard. My heart sank. Had Brent actually talked them into stopping Fynn's progress on the fountain?

  I stood over my pedals and picked up the pace. I was going to add in my own side of the argument to let him finish. But a block before I reached the park, I noticed everyone was smiling. Fynn's was brightest of all. Richard Carson was helping him pull a hose up to the fountain. They weren't telling him to leave. They were helping him.

  Boone trotted over to greet me as I reached the park. I pulled the chew bone I'd bought him out of my pocket. He took it and ran over to the shade to enjoy it.

  The wide brim of Fran's hat lifted as she waved at me. "Morning, Ella. Isn't it your day off? Shouldn't you still be in bed?" she quipped, adding weight to the earlier argument I'd made to my dad.

  I climbed off my bike and caught a secret wink from Fynn as he unraveled the hose. How could anyone make a simple wink look that good.

  "I get up early on my days off, Fran," I insisted, even knowing it was utter baloney. "I'm here to help with the fountain."

  "That's wonderful. Fynn is doing a great job," Fran said in her polished politician's tone.

  Richard led Fynn over to the secret panel that was hidden in the base of the pavilion and that everyone in town knew about making it the least secretive secret panel in the world. The panel held the switches for the sprinklers, the lights and the pump for the fountain.

  Fran took the opportunity to sidle up next to me. She dropped the polished tone and skittered into more of a giddy girl talk tone. "Oh my, what a charming man. Just look at Richard. He's smiling and being unusually gracious. I mean Fynn is a virtual stranger, and Richard is showing him where the secret panel is located. Richard never trusts anyone. He still thinks Everett, the mailman is keeping our coupons for himself, and he's known Everett his whole life."

  We both watched as the two men stood over the open panel, deep in a serious conversation, as if they were looking at the nuclear launch buttons.

  Fran laughed. "I'm sure Richard is giving the poor boy the entire list of directions for operating the panel, even though on and off is all you need to know. Still, it's nice to see Richard take an interest in the fountain." Fran tilted her head and reached back to hold her wide brim hat on her head in the morning breeze. "It would be nice, wouldn't it? To see this old thing up and running again. I've been wanting to add it to the town agenda for a long time, but I wasn't sure if . . ." Her words trailed off. Fran was always worried about hurting the feelings of first degree townsfolk like me.

  I placed my hand on her arm. "I'm with you, Fran. I'd love to see those stone horses spitting water again."

  Fran smiled weakly and patted the top of my hand. "By the way, Patty is having such a hard time. Poor thing. I keep telling her she should consider those anxiety pills the doctor gave her, but she seems to think that she'll get past her problem without medication."

  "I've told her the same thing, but she's going to have to decide that on her own."

  Richard and Fynn walked back toward the fountain.

  "Well, we've got to get going. Richard is driving me into Langston for a new pair of shoes. The man spoils me like a princess."

  "And you love it, just like a princess."

  "So true."

  Richard and Fran headed to their car.

  I glanced over at Fynn. "You do realize now that you can't leave this town until that fountain is spurting water like a geyser?"

  "Yep, I think I just figured that out. I guess we should get started." Fynn's eyes dropped down to my jean cut-offs and sandals.

  "Am I dressed all right for the task?" I asked, as it seemed his attention had stayed there longer than necessary.

  "Dressed? Oh, yeah sure."

  "You were checking out my legs, weren't you?"

  He nodded. "Sure as hell was, and let me just say, I approve."

  "That's good because I don't really have a spare pair. What do you need me to do?"

  Fynn walked over to a bucket and pulled out a scrub brush. "If you want to start tackling some of the algae, I can get to work unclogging the spouts."

  I took hold of the brush. "I guess I can start with Chip, Igor and Prancer."

  "Chip, Igor and Prancer?" His smile widened, and I was sure I would never again in my whole life see a smile to rival Fynn's.

  "That's what I said. Named them myself." I sat on the edge of the fountain and made a show of swinging my legs over the side. I climbed into the base and walked over to the first horse. I pointed to its damaged ear. "Chip lost a chunk of his ear when Troy Howe threw a baseball and it hit the fountain and poor Chip. Although, he wasn't Chip before the baseball. He was just Horse Facing Jackson Road, which is sort of a long name."

  "Why didn't you just name him Jackson?"

  I tilted my head back and forth in consideration. "Never thought of that, but now Chip works better." I walked to the second horse. "Igor has kind of a bulgy eye on this side, so Igor . . . of course." I patted the stone horse's head. "Poor guy." I stepped to the third horse. "This was Horse Facing Pond, but during one winter carnival, a massive piece of silver tinsel flew off the pavilion and landed on its neck so, naturally, Prancer."

  "Naturally, except Rudolph maybe?"

  "Huh, never thought of that. But I think the red nose is a requirement for Rudolph."

  Fynn walked up to the edge of the fountain and peered up at me, proving my prediction that the man would look g
ood from any angle. "Have I mentioned that you are fucking adorable?"

  I tapped my chin. "Hmm, nope, you haven't. You mentioned the blue eyes and the legs but I don't think I've heard the phrase fucking adorable yet. So please feel free."

  "O.K.." He climbed into the fountain. He stood just inches from me, and I hoped this was that kiss I'd been waiting for. He lifted my chin with the side of his finger, and he brought his mouth so close to mine, I could feel his warm breath on my skin. His dark lashes draped over his eyes as he took a moment to gaze appreciatively at my lips. Then his gaze lifted to mine and he held my eyes with his for a long, hot moment.

  "Ella, you are fucking adorable. And very soon, I'm going to kiss these perfect pink lips. When it happens, I promise it's going to be an amazing, blown off your feet, fireworks in the fucking sky kind of kiss because that is the only kind of kiss you deserve."

  He lowered his arm and climbed back out of the fountain.

  It took me a few seconds to recover and then I turned to Chip with my scrub brush in hand and a slight wobble in my knees.

  Chapter Eleven

  Fynn

  Throughout the morning, townspeople meandered through town, some curious enough to stop by and ask what we were up to and others content just to watch from a distance, either with suspicion or enthusiasm. Ella always took time to introduce me to those curious enough to stop by and talk, but there were too many faces and names to remember. Nobody asked to pitch in a helping hand, which was fine with me. I much preferred to spend the time alone with Ella.

  Two hours in the hot sun hadn't slowed our progress. The only thing that got in the way of my focus was getting sidetracked watching Ella scrub the fountain. Unintentionally and with complete innocence, she managed to make the task look so erotic, I had to stop what I was doing a few times and take a deep breath to slow my pulse.

  I was finished chiseling the hard water deposits off the spouts and Ella was putting the finishing spit shine on Prancer. Boone had finished the bone Ella gave him, and he was sleeping soundly under the rocket slide.

  "Tell me more about your life out on the farm," Ella piped up from the other side of the fountain. She leaned to the side to see me as she asked the next question. "You said you lived there with your mom and grandpa. What about your dad?" She sucked in her bottom lip. "Oh, never mind, none of my business."

  "No, that's all right." I walked around to her side and leaned under the shade of the top bowl on the fountain. "He died when I was fourteen." It was a subject I usually took pains to avoid, but I found it incredibly easy to talk to Ella.

  "I'm sorry to hear that, Fynn. Were you two close?"

  "Very. My dad was my hero. He was a pilot in the Air Force until he started having problems with his blood pressure. They grounded him. He took it really hard. We always spent a lot of time together going fishing, building go-karts and body surfing at the beach. So many of my friends had dads they could hardly talk to, let alone hang out with, so I considered myself lucky."

  "He sounded like a great guy."

  "He was the best." I looked around the town and pushed down the anger that sometimes swelled in my chest when I thought too hard about my dad. Ella's blue eyes and tender smile made that feat much easier.

  "So your mom decided the farm life would help you both heal?"

  "Yes that and because I was—let's see how to put it nicely—a pain in the ass teenager and my mom didn't think she could handle me alone. She dragged me out to my grandpa's farm. At first I hated every minute of it. But eventually, I grew to love the whole damn thing, working hard, always having blisters on my palms, knowing that I earned my keep at the end of each day. I liked the feeling of getting things accomplished."

  Ella looked around at the fountain. "That explains a lot. What about school?"

  "I still had to go to school. Although I would have gladly skipped it. The bus came around every day to scoop us farm dwellers up and cart us into the next town for school. Don't get me wrong. There were good things about school, like cute girls, playing football, hanging with friends and cute girls."

  "Yeah, you said that. Twice."

  "Did I? Guess that's because cute girls were twice as important as everything else."

  Ella dipped her hand in her bucket and tossed a palm full of water at me. I stared down at the water splat on my shirt. "That actually feels good."

  Ella went back to her task of scrubbing the green slime from Prancer's wide nostrils. "I'm still envious of your farm life. I can't imagine how cool it would be to wake up and walk out to the soft snorts and smells of the barn animals."

  "Soft snorts, yes. Soft smells, not so much. What about you? What other hobbies do you have besides stacking snack food boxes and cleaning green snot out of horse noses?"

  She stopped and looked at the green on her scrub brush and crinkled her nose. "Ooh, yuck. Anyhow, when I'm not doing those glamorous chores, I'm painting."

  "Really? You mean like houses or something?"

  She laughed and swept her hand around along the town. "Does it look like anyone in this town owns a gallon of paint and a paintbrush? I paint pictures. My hobby is art. Some of my teachers even claimed that I had a lot of talent but then the school I went to only had a total of two hundred kids. Something tells me, in the real world my talent would be average at best. But I love drawing and painting. It's my escape."

  "I would love to see your work sometime."

  "Really? Maybe. I don't show my art to many people, but I might make an exception for you." She smiled shyly and went back to work.

  I used the bottom ring of stone that connected all the horses together as a step stool. I pressed my body against the carved pillar in the center of the fountain and lifted off the top bowl. It was heavy as hell as I lowered it down to the base.

  "This is the last piece to clean. If you want to tackle it, I'll climb up there and chisel off the hard water deposits."

  "Okie dokie," Ella chimed, "but I need some more water in my bucket."

  I shoved the hammer and chisel into my back pocket and climbed onto the narrow ledge afforded me at the base of the center column. It was a bit like rock climbing, with little space between my body and the carved stone, but I'd always had good balance. My heels hung halfway off the ledge as I lifted my tools out of my pocket and began chipping away at the hard white minerals that had coagulated at the mouth of the top spout.

  I heard Ella turn the hose on. She screamed as the force of the water pulled the end from her hand. The hose danced around like an angry snake, spraying everything in its path with cold water, including me.

  Ella laughed hysterically as she tried to catch the rubber hose. I hopped off the ledge and grabbed the rogue end out of the air. I flicked the lever to close the nozzle and the water stopped. I was drenched head to toe.

  Ella pushed the back of her hand against her mouth to stifle the laugh. "Oops," she muttered against her knuckles.

  I raised a brow at her and nodded. "Oops indeed. But you know what? It feels pretty damn nice. Maybe you should try it."

  Her big eyes rounded like saucers and she backed up, but before she could get away, I flicked the water back on. She covered her head and squealed as she turned around to avoid the direct spray of water. I doused her from behind. She reached down, grabbed her bucket and tossed the water directly at my face. Then she used the bucket as a shield and scooted toward me to grab the hose. Boone had woken from his long summer nap and was barking wildly below at the water fight in the fountain. I aimed the hose at him and gave him a squirt. He tucked his tail under his butt and ran back for his shade spot.

  I pulled the nozzle around again.

  Ella waved the yellow bucket like a white flag. "I surrender. You win."

  I turned off the hose. We stood a foot apart staring at each other. She held her stomach from laughter. Her dark hair was dripping wet. If it was at all possible, her blue eyes looked even bigger framed by clumps of wet lashes.

  I tossed the hose aside. "Who
knew you'd look so hot soaking wet?" I shook my head once. "Scratch that. I knew. I fucking knew." I closed the gap between us, took her face between my hands and kissed her.

  Ella leaned into me and her lips parted as my tongue drew along them. As her arms curled around my neck and her body pressed against mine, my hands slid down and I wrapped my arms around her. Whoever thought cold water was the definitive cure for a hard on was dead wrong.

  We stood in the fountain, with sunburned shoulders and soaked to the bone, kissing like it was the last day on earth until a horn blast snapped us out of it.

  Ella glanced over her shoulder and back to me again with a head shake. "It's Fran and Richard coming back from Langston."

  I rubbed my thumb along her cheek. "Sorry, I know I promised a more earth shattering kiss, but I couldn't wait."

  Her blue eyes lifted to me and my heart melted a little more. "What's that? I couldn't hear you over those darn fireworks."

  I smiled down at her. "Damn, Ella, I never expected this when I rolled into Butterfield."

  She reached up and pushed a long, wet strand of hair off my forehead. I closed my eyes for a second to feel every bit of her touch on my skin.

  "Why did you come to Butterfield? I know it wasn't because of Twinkies because even with my stunning display, you didn't buy any."

  I used my thumb to wipe water off her cheek. "You know something, Starshine, I'm beginning to think that I came to Butterfield to find you."

  Chapter Twelve

  Ella

  Ethan had an odd grin on his face as he lifted the long stick and shoved a Twinkie on the end of it. "You sat there, wingman. It's all on you." He shoved the snack cake into the fire and it sizzled into a roasted marshmallow. A snort brought my eyes to the other side of the blue and purple flames. Prancer, the fountain horse, was holding a paintbrush between his teeth. It fell into the flames as the horse opened his mouth and laughed. Ella, you're number thirteen, it whinnied.