Love in Due Time

by Smartypants Romance

  When I finally see Dwight on the construction site the next day, I corner him.

  “What’s your deal with Naomi Winters?”

  “I ain’t got no deal with that bitch.”

  “Excuse me.” My palm finds his throat, and in an instant, he’s pressed up against the two-by-four studs framing out a wall at the Bickerton’s project.

  “Witch, I meant witch.”

  I squeeze. “Try again.”

  “I don’t have anything against her.” He speaks through gritted teeth.

  “What did you do to her?”

  “Why’s it got to be I did something to her?” His face flushes bright red. Loosening my hold only enough so he can breathe, I’m not stepping back until I hear his explanation.

  “Well?”

  “She’s the one who cursed me, telling me she hoped my penis would shrivel up and fall off.”

  My eyes narrow. What the fuck? Is he suggesting she put a spell on him? I’m cursing him myself, thinking the same thing about his limp body part. That doesn’t mean I’m a witch. “Why?”

  “She was jealous. She wanted me.” He smirks and now I know he’s lying.

  “What. Did. You. Do?” My hand tightens again, pressing him back into the wood beams.

  “Nothing. We only scared her a little. It was a joke. Jesus, it happened years ago.” His voice squeaks like a pre-pubescent teen.

  “You’re leaving something out,” I demand, knowing he isn’t telling me everything.

  “Capture the witch.” He’s smugly proud for someone pinned to a beam. I’d like to peg him to a stake and see how he likes it. How’d he feel, if unfairly judged? I release him and take half a step back. Then I wind up, haul my arm back, and belt him in the jaw. His head bobbles into the boards behind him before he straightens.

  “Son of a bitch,” he mutters, cupping his face with one hand while covering the back of his head with the other.

  “I ever hear you speak ill of her again, you’ll suffer more than a clocked jaw and a headache.”

  Dwight doesn’t look up at me as he spits blood onto the plywood floorboard. “I think you loosened a tooth.”

  “I’d like to loosen a few other things, but you obviously have a few screws missing already. And a shriveled-up penis.”

  “My dick functions just fine,” he snaps, standing taller even as he winces from the effort of speaking.

  “Yeah. That’s what she didn’t say.” It’s childish, but I don’t care. “Too bad you fell on your own face, tripping over false accusations.” I point in the direction of his jaw, emphasizing what I’m not saying. Don’t even think of mentioning this to Bill, our boss. Dwight’s a tattletale, and a chronic complainer looking to get out of hard work. Bill will more than likely take my side although he might question my timing. He wouldn’t mind Dwight getting knocked down a peg or two, but he also wouldn’t be proud of me for socking someone, especially on the job. “Understood?”

  Dwight looks away. I don’t trust him to behave but I’ve said my piece for the moment. His idiocy changes everything for my Friday night plans. I need to do more than make a statement at the local doughnut shop. I need a grand gesture, declaring who Naomi is to me. Hell, I’m not even sure who she is to me, but I’m pulling her under my protection.

  Speaking of grand gestures, the lady who owns the property next to the Bickerton project has declared her own war on the construction site. Signs on small wooden stakes line the outer edge of her property. I’ve yet to go exploring as I’m not concerned with who lives next door, but I am upset about the latest signage:

  There’s two Ps in property. Keep both of yours on your own.

  I don’t get it at first until one of the younger guys, obviously lacking maturity, explained how someone pissed in her yard. “He peed on her property. Get it? Two Ps. Penis and Pee.” What the hell? We have port-o-cans for the crew’s business and the behavior doesn’t sit well with me. Whoever she is, she is rather creative, though. My favorite sign is: How did the roofer end up doing such a bad job? He was always eavesdropping. Construction humor. The thought makes me think of Naomi. Kind of reminds me of some of the signs I’ve seen hanging around … oh shit. The library.

  Hours later, Catfish arrives at the construction site with Dirty Dave. Curtis Hickson is two years younger than me, but it didn’t stop us from becoming friends in high school. We were both a little lost back then. He lived a questionable life with the Iron Wraiths, and at one point, I wanted to join him. I prospected for the Wraiths. Dirty Dave, on the other hand, is both dirty in appearance and in action. He’s an older man who’s been around a bit, dating back to the originals in the MC like Razor, Repo, and Darrell Winston.

  While Catfish could be here for any number of reasons, instinctively, I know they are here to see me.

  “How’s it going, Wolf?” The name drags up the distant past—my stealth getting in and out of a situation. There’s also the matter of my skill on a bike, especially down one particular road. And then, there’s the fact I didn’t patch-in. Presently, the road nickname has a negative connotation with Catfish. Alphas travel alone.

  “Same old, same old,” I say ignoring them both as I load my tools into the back of my truck. Our foreman is Bill’s son, Garrett, and he would have a heart attack to see Iron Wraiths at this project. We don’t need any trouble. We have enough with the owner changing his mind every five seconds. Move the front to the back and the back to the front, and while you’re at it let’s just reconfigure the staircase and redesign the second floor.

  “Haven’t seen you at the Canyon lately,” Catfish states, watching me as I close the tailgate with a loud snap.

  “Not much of a gambling man,” I say, although I’ve made my share of bets in the past. Taken too many unnecessary risks—the biggest one probably coming back to Green Valley. The dirt racetrack in an abandoned mine is where I ran into Catfish about six months back. It’s where he asked me to consider patching in again. Rumor has it the Iron Wraiths are living in chaos and looking for new recruits.

  You’re a smart man, Wolf. I remember that about you. Not to mention, you owe me.

  The Wraiths active recruitment is one reason Dwight Henderson stepped forward, but he’ll never fit in with these guys. He’s too much of a weasel.

  “Consider my offer yet?” Catfish questions, although it wasn’t really an offer. It was more a warning. Join and we’re even. I don’t consider that I owe him anything, but I know under the bylaws of the club, I do. Catfish took responsibility for me stepping away from the club. It was a big risk letting me leave—putting his faith in me and his life in danger with them.

  I pause with my hands on the tailgate. “I ride alone,” I remind him.

  “I remember that about you. Like to go off on your own,” Catfish speaks, and Dirty Dave smirks as if he knows a secret. “We can use a wolf like you again.”

  “Nope,” I say quickly.

  “You’ll change your mind,” Dirty Dave mutters. “Heard you’re fickle like that.” Here’s where Dave’s wrong and showing his ignorance. Does he even know what a word like fickle means? I changed my perspective—for the positive. Accidents tend to do that to a person. So does having an irate big brother and a bawling hungry baby.

  “You can’t be rogue forever,” Catfish chimes in. Wrong again. I can, because I am. At times, I ride collectively with Todd and Big Poppy because we find safety in numbers. Sometimes, we ride out for a good cause, like toys for kids. But we belong to no one but ourselves and any open road willing to take us. We’re just a group of guys who like to ride bikes, drink at the Fugitive, and get laid, but not with each other, of course. We’re independents.

  “Seems I can,” I respond before turning back to them. “We good here? I got to pick up my kid.” I don’t want any trouble, so I try to be respectful, but also keep my distance. It’s a miracle I avoided Catfish for as long as I did. We said our piece to each other upon my return when he warned me he’d be watching me, but I didn’t worry
as I don’t have anything to hide. At least, nothing he doesn’t already know. The Wraiths have bigger concerns than me.

  “Until next time,” Dirty Dave mutters, and an idea strikes me. It isn’t one of my finer ones, but something I believe needs to be done.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dewey Decimal Classification: 580 Botany

  [Naomi]

  * * *

  Some nights, I enjoy a little walk through the wooded area located to the side of the library. It’s a short distance to the edge of the property and then a mile-stretch southeast to my home. Moonlight. Deep quiet. Just me and the trees. Each tree holds meaning and it’s one reason I love Samhain bonfires so much. The burning of sacred wood restores energy to the spirit.

  After the day I’ve had I’m in need of some restoration and peace.

  Not to mention, I can’t stop thinking about Nathan and our kiss—or our date. Three dates, actually. I haven’t ever officially been on a date. I’ve led a life on the road less traveled for a woman, and it reminds me of a Robert Frost poem as I enter the space between the solid, dark trunks. No dates. No sex. No men. And I’m almost forty. I’m an anomaly among my religion which embraces the earthly nature of sex. The contradiction isn’t lost on me, but the guilt my parents wrapped around me at the death of my brother built my resolve to deny myself pleasure from others. Guilt and fear held me back from being myself. I was afraid of being hurt like I was when Nathan never called, when he disappeared. But the more I think of Nathan, the more I want to hand him wire-cutters and beg him to snip the fences around my heart, or at least, around other sacred body parts. I’d like to experiment, be curious, maybe adventurous—with him.

  But why him?

  A snap of wood echoes behind me. My heart skips a beat, but I remind myself, the woods are not mine alone. Creatures live here. I’ve entered the realm of Nature and I respect the habitat of those within.

  Another snap and then a hushed curse, and I realize the critters are not small and harmless, but human and potentially mean. I’d love to cast out a binding spell, but instead, I offer a prayer to Mother Nature to protect me, and I run.

  It isn’t a full moon but there’s enough moonlight to filter through the trees bare from the changing season. My heart races. My skin turns cold. My boots crack fallen sticks as I race through the trees, and then I hear my name. I stop, hoping I didn’t imagine the call. Hoping I am imagining someone following me.

  “Where is she?” A male voice grumbles. I’m thankful for the dark color of my long, black cape-like coat, and I slip between the trees, hoping to blend in and disappear from whoever is behind me. The snap of twigs and the crunch of leaves echoes through the forest under heaving feet another minute or two and then they stop.

  “Naomi.” A deep voice bellows, no doubt frightening some creepy crawling critters of the night. The sound is also scary enough to keep away mountain lions, or worse, bears. It isn’t unheard of for them to wander toward town as the season changes and food becomes scarce.

  “Nae, hold up.”

  Nathan?

  The woods fall silent around me. I no longer hear feet crushing the covered path and I still. Then a hesitant step or two ripples near me, and I peer around the tree where I’ve been hiding to see a large man in dark clothing stumbling slightly as he twists around to look behind him. Despite his broad shoulders and tall stature, his head cranks this way and that. He looks lost among the sparse trunks, dark space, and eerie quiet. The trees bring me comfort. For him, he looks … frightened.

  “What do you want with me?” My voice rings soft and feminine, and I watch as Nathan’s shoulders relax even as he spins away from me.

  “Naomi?” Quiet follows the soft echo through the black night. His voice rings with concern and a strange sense of peace washes over me after the exhilarating run and fear of being hunted. I shift out from behind the tree, but still stand in the shadows.

  “Nathan?”

  He spins toward me and freezes. I’ve stepped into a patch of moonlight, revealing part of myself and Nathan observes me, his eyes fixated on my hair.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he says as he exhales. His eyes roam down the length of my coat and I imagine most of me disappears with the dark outerwear. Then his eyes snap back up to my face. His expression morphs from a man on a mission to something softer, something puzzled. “You look otherworldly, Nae.”

  His voice is breathless, reverent even, and my body quivers under the seductive tone.

  “No one calls me that anymore,” I say, stiffening a little at the reminder of my brother.

  “What are you doing in the woods?” His feet remain in place although his hand curls and uncurls at his side, as if he’s fighting himself.

  “I was walking home.”

  “Where’s your car?”

  “Winston Brothers Auto Shop. Beau needed to keep my car overnight, waiting on the replacement lights.”

  “I came to pick you up. Didn’t you see me in the parking lot?”

  My thoughts were so preoccupied, I hadn’t even glanced up to the lot when I left, knowing my car wasn’t there. That wasn’t a safe decision, though.

  “So, you decided to walk home in the dark?” Irritation laces his voice mixing with frustration.

  I sigh. “It appears so.” I tip back my head, taking in the peaceful surroundings. I love the dark woods.

  “Is this witch humor?” The question cracks like a twig, and my head snaps back to face him.

  “Do you think I’m a witch?” I ask, my voice dropping as I step toward him. He steps back.

  Is he afraid of me?

  “I’ve heard a few things.”

  “And you always believe what you hear?”

  He hesitates by taking a deep breath before he speaks, as if he’s collecting his thoughts. “Actually, I don’t give two shits about rumors or gossip, but I am concerned about you. I don’t care what you are.”

  “So, you believe that I am.”

  “Are you?”

  Why are we playing this game? “Why do you want to go out with me?” It’s something I’ve been thinking about all day. Why does Nathan want three dates with me? Why now?

  “I feel like there’s something between us. A missing puzzle piece. I want to put us together.” He steps toward me with those words. I step back.

  “So, I’m a mystery to you.” Is that all I am? Some piece from his past, unresolved? Nathan’s unsolved to me as well. Why didn’t he call me like he promised he would after that night? Where did he disappear to and why is he back?

  “Maybe.” He pauses twisting to look left. Then he straightens and peers back at me, eyes full of wonder and awe and something more. “Definitely.”

  “You want to solve me.”

  “There’re many things I want to do with you, Naomi. Solve you isn’t one of them. I want to solve what you’re doing to me.” My breath hitches, and he takes another step closer to me, shortening the distance between us.

  “What do I do to you?” I whisper, holding my breath.

  Reaching for my cheek, he cups loose hair around my ear. “I’m all tangled up inside over you. I’m … I’m stuck on you,” he says, his smoky voice dropping. I don’t even know what that means but before I can ask, he says, “Your face is freezing.” The concern in his tone warms me from the inside out and I lean into the thick pad of his palm.

  Am I stuck on him, too? Would it be so bad to give into this man?

  “It’s cold outside.”

  “I came to the library to give you a ride home.”

  “That wasn’t necessary,” I say, heating under the deepness of his voice. His thumb strokes over my cheek, down my jaw, and across my lower lip. Then he leans forward and kisses me, soft, delicate, too quick.

  “Nothing’s necessary, Nae. I just really wanted to see you again.” His mouth finds mine again, brushing lightly over my lips. I reach for his wrist, craving more connection between us, but then I notice something about him.

  “
You’re trembling.”

  “Not a fan of the dark woods.” His ashen voice drifts and I don’t recognize the tone while his head twists side to side as if he’s searching for something. Is he afraid of the forest? Does being here trigger a memory? Did something happen to him? Sliding my fingers to his, I curl them together and step around him, not letting him go as I lead us back to the parking lot.

  “Then let’s get out of the dark.”

  Inside the heat of Nathan’s truck, I remain quiet while Nathan drives me home. The entrance to my driveway is tucked under overgrown branches, and it’s as if we enter an alternative universe as we pull into the drive. I am in another world as I don’t know what I’m doing with this man, but I don’t want to let him go.

  Why him?

  My house is detailed like a miniature French chalet—a white stucco structure with brown crossbeam accents—glowing brightly from lights within. It looks like something out of a fairy tale and it makes me smile to see it all lit up. As we pull to a stop, I notice Nathan focusing on the house, his brows pinching in question.

  “The lights are on a timer. It’s welcoming when I come home. It makes me feel like someone is waiting for me.” My voice falls small. It sounds a little lonely, which I am. Since the return of Nathan, I’ve taken note of how alone I really am.

  “I’m working on the Bickerton project next door. We’re enjoying your signs.”

  Ah, the monstrosity going up on the old Coppersmiths’ property.

  “You’re laughing at me.”

  “Not laughing,” he says, swallowing back a chuckle I know he wants to release. “But they are original.”

  “Well, some of your men are rude. I’m just channeling my inner Mrs. MacIntyre.” I say, smiling weakly, as I recall the man I caught with his hands in his pants, relieving himself on the edge of my land. They’re lucky staking up warning signs is all I’ve done. Mrs. MacIntyre would have all kinds of things to say about their public indecency and urination. “Library humor.”