Feeling It

by Scarlet Wilder

  I returned the truck and, instead of going to my apartment; I went back to the house. There, I climbed into my old bed in my old room. I wanted to make sure I could be near Cheyenne in case she needed me.

  Sleep didn’t come easy and, as I lay in the darkness, I couldn’t help but think about Caitlyn, and the way she’d challenged me earlier. I was intrigued, for sure, and wanted to see whether that fiery passion was only skin deep or whether there was more to that polished exterior of hers.

  I groaned as the thought of her made me hard again. What was it about her this time around that made my mind and body react in this way? Fuck, I couldn’t remember her being this sexy before.

  I just wished she hadn’t mentioned Willa.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CAITLYN

  †

  I HADN’T EXPECTED THE night to turn out so bad but, at least, I knew Cheyenne was safe.

  When I got home, I quickly checked on my Dad before I headed upstairs. I undressed and brushed my teeth before collapsing onto the bed, still reeling from my argument with Logan.

  The following morning, I got up at around eight. I had to go to the store to pick up the groceries on the list I made the previous day. I called out to my dad who was sitting on the couch.

  “Do you need anything I didn’t list yesterday?” I asked. “I’m leaving to go to the store.”

  He called out to me but I couldn’t hear him, so I went into the lounge. He was trying to get to his feet, but he kept holding his back. “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Trying to come with you,” he said. “But it’s too painful. I don’t think I can get up.”

  “Sit down, Dad. You’ll only hurt yourself,” I said. “I’m perfectly capable of going on my own. Don’t worry.”

  “Only if you’re sure,” he said and sat down, leaning back against the cushions.

  I grabbed the car keys and left, closing the door behind me. I was still worried as to why Dad couldn’t move properly and how he was going to cope when I went back to Montpelier.

  I squinted against the harsh morning sun as I turned into the main road. I reached over to where my purse usually rested on the seat next to me, only to find that it wasn’t there. Like an idiot, I’d left it back home with my wallet inside. I wasn’t about to get free groceries at the store, so I swung the car around and headed back home.

  Opening the front door, Dad wasn’t on the couch where I’d left him moments ago.

  I went into the kitchen only to find him crouching down, his head stuck underneath the sink between the two open cabinet doors as he scrounged around inside, looking for God knows what.

  I was gob-smacked.

  “Dad?” I asked. “What the hell?”

  He withdrew his head from the cupboard and turned around red-faced. Then he stood up as easily as he ever had.

  “Shit,” he cursed as he stood in front of me while scratching the back of his head.

  “You’re not really in pain, are you?” I said. “You’ve been lying to me all this time. For what? Sympathy?” I didn’t wait to hear the answer. Instead, I turned and walked out of the kitchen, grabbing my purse on the way. Dad came after me and took hold of my arm.

  “Please, Cate,” he said. He hadn’t called me Cate for years. “Don’t leave. Please let me explain.”

  “I don’t know that I want to hear it, Dad,” I said. “I’m just really confused right now and I’ve got things to do.”

  But he held onto my arm. “Please, just give me a second to explain,” he said. I relented.

  We sat on the couch and he began to explain. “Look, I’m sorry I lied to you. I made you think the injury was worse than it is.” He took my hand in his and gently stroked it. I felt cold and I stared back at him, anger and confusion churned inside my chest making me feel sick. I could only muster a stunned ‘Why?’

  He sighed heavily and his shoulder drooped a bit. “I didn’t lie about the accident,” he said. “Really. It was bad. The car’s a write-off. She’ll never see the road again so I guess I’ll just sell her for parts.” He paused and frowned before he spoke again.

  “While I was in the hospital I kept thinking: what if I’d hit that tree any harder; what if I’d swerved just a little bit more to the right, then I wouldn’t be here, now. It made me realize just how short life is and, God knows, I wasted enough of it.”

  “That’s all nice, Dad,” I said. “But I still don’t understand why you felt you had to lie to me. You know how worried I was seeing you like that, seeing you in pain. Why would you do this?”

  His hands started to tremble slightly and tears glistened in his eyes. I’d never seen my Dad so vulnerable before.

  “I’m scared,” he said, and I paused, looking up at him, waiting for him to continue. “I just kept thinking about the Steeles. How Willa was taken from them in a second. They didn’t get to say their goodbyes.”

  “Willa died in a boating accident, Dad,” I said. “She wasn’t a drunk driver, running the risk of killing someone else, either.”

  “I know. You’re right, my girl,” he said. “But, that’s just it. Thinking about everything that was, what could have been, what should have been. We can talk about that for days on end.”

  He shook his head and swallowed hard before continuing.

  “Look, all I know is that if I’d died in that crash, I would have left without saying some things that needed saying. Things between you and me.” I shifted uncomfortably and turned my gaze down to stare at the carpet. I couldn’t say anything although he probably wanted me to respond.

  “I thought that if I just asked you to come and stay with me, you wouldn’t want to. I felt like the only way to get you here was to pretend that things were more serious than they were, and it worked. I know that setting things right between us is going to take more than this conversation, but Cate, at least it’s a start.”

  It was a lot to take in; I have to admit. Hearing those words spoken by my Dad, words that I never thought I would ever hear him say, touched something so raw inside of me it stirred me to anger.

  “Why would you want me here, though? Just for a chat? Gosh, Dad, all through my life, whatever I’ve done or said, I’ve felt more like an inconvenience to you than a daughter. It’s like nothing I could ever do was good enough for you!”

  He was quiet for a few moments, choosing each of his words carefully. “You’ve never been an inconvenience,” he said, his voice almost brittle with emotion. “I promise you that, and I’m so sorry to hear that’s the way you felt. But, know this, that I’m so proud of you and I love you. God knows, there have been so many times that I’ve looked at you and, sweetheart, I swear I could see your mother looking right back at me and it broke my heart. It still does. It’s been fourteen years, and it feels like fourteen days.”

  I felt the warmth of his wrinkled hand beneath mine and could hear the sorrow in his voice. My anger subsided.

  “Daddy,” I whispered, “seeing mom in me should have made you love me more, not less.”

  Then he broke. A sob escaped his lips as his shoulders shook; salty tears ran down his face washing away his defenses. He pressed my hands against his wet cheeks and kept muttering, over and over, “I know and I’m so sorry… I’m so sorry.”

  We sat together on that couch for over two hours, talking about the past, about Mom, and about how much we both missed her. We cried, we laughed, we hugged, we got angry, then cried some more.

  But, most importantly, we forgave.

  †

  Back in the car on the way to the store, thoughts of Logan percolated my mind. I felt bad for mentioning Willa as a way to hurt him when he was mad at me, but then, I was mad at him, too, blaming me for Cheyenne being so drunk last night.

  I’d never seen her drink so much. I guess the whole family was hurting, but none of them was dealing with it in the right way, it seemed. Not that I could really say anything about that. It had taken fourteen years for my dad and me to get to have the conversation we j
ust had.

  I shopped for the things we needed and, once I’d taken everything home and put it away, I needed to clear my head, so I decided to go for a run. I pulled on a pair of running shorts and a t-shirt. This time, though, I deliberately left my purse and phone at home.

  The woods at the back of the house have always been like one huge backyard for me and for years Cheyenne and I played there, sometimes with other friends from school and sometimes alone. We would camp out underneath the trees in the summer, trying to avoid poison ivy as we built shelters and made fires so that we could roast some marshmallows to make chocolate s’mores. Sometimes we’d go down to the creek and take a dinghy out as far as we could before turning back. We knew exactly where to turn around before hitting the falls.

  It wasn’t easy to jog on the uneven paths in the woods, so instead, I ran on the road with the trees to my left, my feet pounding the tarmac. It felt good to run again. I could hear the low sound of streaming water coming through the trees. It had been so long since I’d seen it, so I decided to cut through to Otter Creek, making my way amid the trees.

  It was getting warmer and the forest offered some welcome shade from the heat. Light streaked through the boughs in both bright and shadowy beams. The air was fresh and the smell of wet soil filled my nostrils. I could hear twigs crackle beneath my feet as I ran.

  It didn’t take me long to reach the edge of the water. I crouched down to run my hands through its coolness. It made me think of Willa, but it wasn’t a sad memory. Instead, I thought about the times I’d piled in a boat with her and Cheyenne and floated down the river on lazy summer afternoons. She had an inner happiness that radiated from within drawing people to her as if by an invisible force. Yes, ‘happy’ was the word that came to mind when I thought of Willa.

  I turned around and started to walk back the way I came but as I did, I saw something I didn’t recognize. A path led up to a large wooden shed and next to it, stood a car. Now the car, I did recognize. It was my father’s and, as I walked closer, I could see that he’d been telling the truth about the extent of the damage it suffered.

  Even before I reached it, I could see that the driver’s airbag had been deployed. There was a huge crack in the windshield and the front of the car was crushed with the fender completely twisted. He’d been lucky to get out of there alive. I felt grateful, letting out a sigh of relief as I could so easily have needed to come back to Vergennes to attend another funeral.

  I couldn’t understand why the car stood here, though, or who’s shed this was. I walked a little closer and noticed that the door was somewhat ajar, so I went to investigate. Pushing it open slightly, I stepped into the dark building. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing objects that were at first veiled by the dim light, my jaw dropped in amazement.

  The place was filled with wooden furniture. Each piece had been hand-carved, exquisite items ranging from rocking chairs to babies’ cribs. Some of them were half-finished; others were standing on a dust sheet as a fresh coat of varnish slowly dried on the wood. There were tools strewn all over the place with a large workbench and some power machines pushed up to one side of the wall.

  I walked around slowly, forgetting that I was trespassing because I was so captivated by what I saw. The smell of sawdust and wood polish hung in the air.

  There was one larger item at the far end of the building, but a tarpaulin covered it. I could see why. There was a bucket beside it, half filled with water. I imagined the roof had sprung a leak sometime during the bad storm.

  After my run, one of the ornately carved rocking chairs seemed inviting, and I walked over to one and ran my hand over the smooth, sanded wood. I was about to sit down when I heard the door open with a thud as a man’s voice tore through the silence.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  LOGAN

  †

  I KNEW THERE WAS someone there, prowling around the shed but whoever it was, they had no business being there. I’d been working on my motorcycle, repairing the headlight after a truck had kicked up a stone on my late-night ride back from the bar, which shattered the glass.

  As I was working, I heard the snap of twigs and the rustle of leaves, so I went to investigate.

  Nobody really knew about the shed. When Dad opened the local hardware store, he wanted to sell both tools and some heavier agricultural machinery, so he bought this small plot of land out by the river and erected a storage unit. However, the hardware business took off so fast that he never had the time to worry about the machinery side, so the shed stayed dormant for quite some time. When I started to overtake his garage with my woodwork, he offered me the shed. Nowadays, I seemed to be spending more time here than back at my own apartment.

  But, the thing about living in a small town and knowing everybody means, sometimes you forget to lock things. As I heard someone entering the shed, I knew there was only one way out of there, and that was the way they had gone in.

  As I peeked inside the shed from behind the door, I was surprised to see Caitlyn there, walking around. I watched her for a few seconds as she looked over the pieces I’d made. She wandered through the workshop, her fingers trailing lightly over the wood as she made her way to the corner, going too close to the largest item in the shed to my liking, but then turned away again.

  I watched her move. In the shadow of the dimly lit workshop, she almost looked ethereal, as if she was floating, pausing at times to run her long fingers over some of the pieces and even bending down to draw in the smell of the wood. She drifted toward the rocking chairs and, it might have been a little cruel, but I drew my hand back and hit it against the corrugated door just as she was about to sit down in one of them.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” I shouted.

  She whirled around, eyes wide opened and I could see that I frightened the hell out of her.

  “Logan!” she cried. “You startled me.”

  I grinned. “I know.”

  In the glow of the light streaming in through the open door, I could now see her clearly. She was wearing a tight t-shirt with shorts and trainers; the flush on her cheeks made it clear she’d been out for a run. Her hair was drawn up in a ponytail and she was fresh-faced. I liked what I saw.

  “I didn’t know anyone was here. I didn’t even know this place was here.”

  “Yeah, so now you know,” I said. “It’s my workshop.” I felt a strange sense of satisfaction at her surprised expression.

  “You mean, you made all these?”

  “Sure did,” I said. “I’ve been working on everything here for a while now. Trying to build up a good stock for when I open my own place.”

  She slowly walked toward me, still looking down at the furniture as she did. “Logan, they’re exquisite,” she said and smiled up at me. “I didn’t mean to pry, really, but once I came inside I just had to explore. I’m sorry.”

  Her sweet, innocent face looked lovely. It was hard to believe that this was the same woman who’d stood up to me so defiantly the previous night, and I was reminded of the heated argument we’d had in the parking lot.

  I put my hand on the back of my neck and looked at her. “Look, I’m sorry about last night,” I said. “I had one too many and was just worried about Cheyenne, that’s all.”

  She hesitated for a second, but then walked over to me. “No,” she said, in earnest. “It’s me who should be apologizing. I should have taken better care of her, and I shouldn’t have brought up, you know…”

  “Willa,” I said. “It’s okay, it’s not fair you feel you can’t mention her name.”

  I wasn’t expecting to say that, but somehow it wasn’t that difficult to mention Willa’s name with Caitlyn standing in front of me now. In fact, a feeling of relief washed over me.

  She smiled and, for a second, we stood there in silence, looking at each other. God, she was stunning. There was a wholesome innocence about her; a shyness I wanted to strip away. I wondere
d what would happen if I drew her against me and kissed that beautiful mouth of hers. Would she taste as good as she looked?

  My eyes trailed downward and rested on the fullness of her breasts. I could see her nipples pressing against the soft material of her t-shirt and my fingers itched to reach out and touch them, playing with them until they were hard before taking them into my mouth.

  My intense stare obviously made her uncomfortable and she folded her arms in front of her and turned away, walking away from me.

  Fuck, what was she doing to me?

  “What’s under there?” she asked, pointing to the tarpaulin covering the wooden frame at the back, something no-one had laid eyes on but me. That snapped me from my reverie and I quickly moved forward and grabbed hold of her hand, pulling her towards the door and away from what I wasn’t ready to show her, yet.

  “Come. I’m hot and, from the looks of it, so are you,” I said. “Let’s go for a swim.”

  She resisted slightly and tried to pull her hand free. I held on tighter. “Ehr, excuse me?” she stammered.

  “After your run. You’re hot,” I said, waiting for the penny to drop.

  “Oh,” she said as it did. “Right. Yes. Sure.”

  “Cool. Come on. I’ve been working on my bike all morning. Time to cool off.”

  We left the shed, and this time I took the keys from my pocket and locked the door, sliding the bolt into place. As we walked toward the creek, rounding the shed, Caitlyn pointed to her dad’s car.

  “Why do you have this here?” she asked. “That’s the reason I started to look around in the first place.”

  I told her about the night of the crash and how Mike had brought the car back with him after we’d called the paramedics. I didn’t mention that Bill had been so drunk he didn’t even know what day it was, let alone that he’d been in a serious accident.

  “Thank you for helping my dad, Logan,” Caitlyn said. “I really appreciate that.” She paused and looked up at me. “I guess you know he’d been drinking, right?”