Ty’s body was rigid, strung tight like a bow, but he didn’t shout or rant his anger. Like I would have if my car had been smooshed. When he turned to face me, he’d bottled it up tightly.
“Are you hurt?” He took my shoulders and looked me up and down, probably checking for any broken bones, bowel evisceration or hangnails. His voice had rough edges, his grip strong. I’d never seen such intensity in his eyes before. This must’ve been the look he had in battle in the Middle East. No doubt he’d seen worse in war.
My sunglasses were no longer on my face. I’d scraped my knees and hands where I’d skidded in the dirt. It stung, but I felt lucky with just that. He pulled a weed from my hair. Dirt covered my shirt and there was a small rip at the shoulder.
I shook my head. Stunned. “The house just blew up.” Duh.
Ty pulled me into his arms in a fierce hug, my face pressed against his chest. His rock hard chest. He smelled like soap, dirt and fire. I could feel his heartbeat pound against his ribs. At least the explosion affected him on a cardiovascular level.
One of the black shutters fell from the second floor and landed in a juniper.
“I know you’ve seen lots of crazy things with the fire department and stuff I can’t even imagine with the army. But in my little world houses don’t just blow up.”
“In everybody’s world houses don’t just blow up. Not from a propane tank. This house had help.”
***
An hour later I sat in a vintage lawn chair—the kind with the colored woven plastic from 1974—supplied by the elderly couple who lived across the street. I positioned myself in their driveway, a mug of coffee in hand (I told you Montanan’s are friendly), and watched the action across the street. The sun was warm and my shirt stuck to my body, damp with perspiration. The scalding hot coffee wasn’t very refreshing, but no one could see my hands still shaking while I held the cup. Mr. and Mrs. Huffman sat on either side of me, running a constant chatter about their suspicions.
“Those propane tanks are such a danger. I lay in bed thinking we’ll be blown up any minute,” Mrs. Huffman said. She had long white hair pulled up into a bun at the back of her head in a style reminiscent of Little House on the Prairie. She had a sweet disposition and was a Nervous Nelly.
Mr. Huffman was the complete opposite. Short and round, he’d be a great Santa Claus at the mall. Except for his carrot red hair and lack of beard. Even somewhere in his seventies, his hair was still red. “For Pete’s sake, Helen. You snore through this ridiculous worry of yours every night. Propane tanks don’t just blow up. There has to be some kind of ignition, a spark. I think we’re safer with our propane tank than on the city’s natural gas lines.” Mr. Huffman humphed and settled into his lawn chair, arms folded across his ample belly.
I actually couldn’t blame Mrs. Huffman her worries, or Mr. Huffman and his grievance with public works. The whole town had been on edge about gas explosions since 2009 when one morning, a block of
Main Street
blew up. No warnings, just boom. Sadly, a woman was killed and an entire city block blown to smithereens when, by accounts, she’d done nothing more than flip a light switch. The gas lines that ran to the downtown buildings were ancient, 1930’s old. And cracked. Gas had seeped into the ground and up into the building. I’d been just down the street at the time taking Bobby to preschool when it happened. I had been a bit too close for comfort on Main that morning, and now once again.
I never really thought about how I got my furnace to work before the downtown explosion and realized I took quite a bit for granted. I lived in the city linked up to the public gas lines where, by all accounts, I shouldn’t be concerned. As my house was built in the fifties, my gas lines couldn’t be more than fifty-some years old. No problems. Or so I made myself believe.
Out here, the garage sale house—the entire neighborhood—used propane. Propane heat and stove and water heater. There weren’t any old underground pipes, just a separate tank behind each house. So, what caused this explosion?
A county sheriff patrol car and one fire truck remained. It, of course, was from the volunteer fire department that hosted the lovely pancake breakfast the weekend before. Outside of city boundaries, the home was serviced by the volunteers, not the paid city fire department.
Once they remembered me from Zach’s horn incident, they quickly looked me over and I was deemed unharmed by the paramedics, then kindly removed to the Huffman’s yard. Across the street. Ample distance away from the fire truck and its horn. Obviously they didn’t want a repeat performance from a member of the West family. As if.
Ty remained with them, recapping what had happened. As he wasn’t a member of the department and the city hadn’t been called in for support, he only acted as witness to the incident. The sheriff took notes while the firemen poked with their tools through the rubble to make sure there were no hot spots. Often Ty would point to different parts of what remained of the house or his maimed truck. I was either too far away to hear what he said or my ears hadn’t recovered full function yet. On occasion he pointed at me and they all had a good chuckle. Who knew what they were talking about, but I could only guess. They seemed to be enjoying themselves at my expense. I grumbled from my spectator seat as I imagined their words.
“Do you know the people who live in that house?” I asked. Mrs. Huffman took my coffee cup and refilled it from a Thermos.
“Cookie, dear?” she asked, holding out a plate.
Of course I took one. You never turned down a cookie from an old lady. And I was in shock. Sugar was good for shock. I contemplated adopting her as my grandma as I sipped my coffee.
“The Moore’s live there. Alma and Ted.”
I had a terrible thought and tried to swallow the bit of homemade chocolate chip cookie past the lump in my throat. “You don’t think they were home, do you?”
Firefighters had been in and out of the house. If they’d discovered someone—dead or alive—they’d have been brought out by now. Hopefully.
“They moved to Arizona last fall. Had enough of the winters. Ted retired last year from the post office, Alma the year before,” Mr. Huffman told me. He too, ate a cookie. A few crumbs landed on his tummy that jiggled like a bowlful of jelly.
“Alma was a school teacher. High school English,” added Mrs. Huffman, taking a sip of coffee.
“Then who lives there? I came to a garage sale over the weekend, so someone has to be taking care of the place.” Although not that well. Unmowed grass, gas explosions.
“Right, that was a good sale. Got myself one of those new-fangled quesadilla makers,” Mrs. Huffman said. She’d murdered the word quesadilla so the end sounded a lot like armadillo. “They have a son that stays there. Morty. Works at the Rocking Double D ranch.”
“That boy’s always been a little…odd,” said Mr. Huffman.
I wasn’t sure if odd meant strange or gay. Even at the forty-fifth parallel this was still the Bible belt. Gay didn’t go over super well around here, especially with the older set. Gay didn’t bother me a bit. I met more weird, kinky and sometimes perverted straight people at Goldilocks than I really ever wanted to. Gay had nothing on some of Goldie’s customers.
“Odd?” I wondered, hoping he’d clarify.
“He’s twenty-four and lives in his parent’s basement. Never had a lot of motivation in life. Even as a little kid. Watched TV. Played those shoot-em-up video games all the time.”
Did this Morty Moore have enough motivation as a grown up to steal a vial of sperm off my stoop? Was he in over his head with something? Someone? Did he have enough smarts to take the sperm from where he worked? If he did, why did he put it in a garden gnome? The gnome part really was odd. Maybe he did do it, after all.
I’d had enough of being pampered by the Huffmans. I thanked them for the refreshments and headed back across the street.
My phone rang from my pocket and I stopped in the middle of the blocked-off road. I read the display.
“Hi, Mom,�
� I said brightly.
“I just came from a sale at the mall. I was fixin’ to get some new lipstick at the Lancome counter but picked up some jammies for the boys and some sun hats instead.” My mom sounded as pleased with a sale at the mall as I did by a good find at a garage sale. I’d learned it from her. Her malls were just better—and cooler. No sense sweating outside at garage sales in the summer in Savannah. No find was worth heat stroke.
I caught Ty’s eye and he headed my way.
His shorts had a pocket ripped at the seam. Dirt smeared his T-shirt on one shoulder. He still looked pretty grim.
“That’s great, Mom! I…um…can’t really talk now. I’ll call you later.” Before she could get in a goodbye, I ended the call. Didn’t want her to learn anything about the little mishap with the house. There was a time and place to tell your mother you were almost exploded and it wasn’t now.
“Thankfully no one was inside, no one was hurt.” Ty’s eyes grazed over every part of me that he could see. New nerves fluttered up and rattled me.
“Sorry about your truck,” I said as I watched a small clump of firemen stand around it, probably contemplating how to get the fridge detached. A few bags of frozen vegetables were strewn on the ground by a front tire.
He grimaced, rubbed his thumb over my forehead. Must’ve had some dirt smeared there. “It’s just a truck.”
Why was he so nonchalant about it? I’d be super upset if my car just got leveled by a fridge. It reminded me a little of the Wicked Witch of the West. “I did offer to drive.”
Ty glared at me and his jaw clenched tight. I realized I might have just poked a bear with a stick. He looked left and right, grabbed my upper arm, gently this time. “Come with me.”
I followed him around to the back side of the fire truck, away from all the action, the people. He leaned in close so his eyes were level with mine.
“It’s just a fucking car. I can get another one.” His blue eyes dropped to my mouth and back up again. “Shit.” He shook his head. “I’m having thoughts about kissing you.”
My breath lodged in my throat and I felt my blood pressure soar.
“But it’s the wrong thing to do,” he continued. “Hell, I don’t kiss women who are demented.”
Huh? Now I gave him a funny look.
“Demented?” I asked. I was stuck on the word ‘kiss’ which made my brain slow.
“If you’d come out here by yourself like you’d wanted the men would be picking up pieces of you along with the house.”
I jabbed my finger into his chest. “If I’d come by myself I would have parked in the street!” What a lame comeback. I wasn’t very good at confrontation. I’d hated when Nate had gotten in my face, told me how everything was my fault. Maybe I was demented.
“What the hell does that mean?” He had the look of a man who was talking to a woman who really was demented. I couldn’t blame him.
I felt tears burn the back of my eyes. “I have no idea!” I swallowed the lump of frustration and old fear trying to escape. “Nate used to yell at me and I don’t like it.” I looked down at the ground. Anywhere but at Ty.
“I bet he never yelled at you about a house exploding.”
“No. Just sex,” I replied, nonchalantly. I looked up at him surprised. Crap, I hadn’t meant to let that slip out. Too much information.
Ty pulled his head back a bit and looked at me strangely. “Sweetheart, I can guarantee I’ll never yell at you about sex.” He leaned back in, this time so close he whispered in my ear. I felt his breath hot on my neck. His knuckles ran up and down my bare arm. “You, however, can yell all you want. Hell, I bet I can make you scream.”
He was right. I was demented. Demented enough to turn my face into his and kiss him. Not just a little peck on the cheek, but the kind where you grab the hair at the back of his neck and settle in for awhile.
He wasn’t gentle. His kiss was a little rough, his tongue moved quickly to find mine. I was equally desperate to lose myself in the kiss. What an insane morning! I went hot all over, and weak. I felt alive, and after the death-defying experience, it was wonderful. My back pressed up against something hard and cold. The fire truck. Ty’s chest was equally hard against my breasts. His knee nudged my legs apart and he was even closer. I was so totally lost, so in over my head. So…forgetful. I pulled back as best I could, remembering where we were.
“We…um…need to stop.” I breathed as if I’d run a mile.
Ty grinned, his eyes dark with lust. “I’ve got that box of condoms if you want to start back up.” He kissed the tip of my nose and walked away, leaving me leaning against the fire truck.
***
I got a ride home with a sheriff around lunchtime. Ty had to stay behind and wait for the insurance adjuster and complete the paperwork about his flattened truck. Kelly had been kind enough to drive Bobby and Zach into town in her Econoline van. That’s the smallest vehicle that would hold her brood. The decibel level in the back was close to rock concert proportions.
I met them at Bogert Pool, in time for the start of free swim. Everyone piled out, pool noodles, goggles and towels flying every which way, ready for an afternoon of swimming. Bogert was the city’s outdoor pool which had swim lessons in the morning—which Zach and Bobby went to—and open pool hours all afternoon. It was noisy and chock full of kids, but usually the boys ran into someone they knew and played the afternoon away. I was content with the sun and cool water.
Kelly and I sat on the edge of the shallow end and watched the younger ones splash and swim. I wore the green bikini I’d gotten two years before from mail order. It wasn’t super revealing, although my larger chest size provided ample cleavage no matter what I wore and made me feel a little self-conscious. Kelly wore a typical mom-kini. A brightly patterned, mostly pink tank and swim skirt. It, of course, looked cute on her. If I wore her suit, I’d be spilling out the top and the little ruffles on the skirt would look like bloomers on me.
“I don’t know if I should laugh at you or hug you. I’m so glad you’re all right, but I can’t believe it. The house blew up and Ty’s truck….” Kelly shook her head. There really wasn’t much else to say. The rest—the why, the who and how—were still mysteries. I had hoped to go to the garage sale house and get answers. Instead, I only had more questions. More problems.
And that was just the gnome mystery. That didn’t even include Ty and the mystery of the kiss. It really wasn’t that complicated. It was just a kiss. An extremely hot, steamy, frantic kiss. My bones had practically melted, my brain seeped out my ears. My nipples got rock hard just thinking about it. And lower….
“Explain to me again your problem with Ty?” Kelly asked. “It was a kiss.”
I’d told her about the incident behind the fire truck, and she fanned herself with her hand. I felt like I was in high school, talking through make-out sessions with a girlfriend, analyzing it in minute detail.
Hell, yeah. It was a kiss.
My cell rang from my bag and I dashed over to it. Goldie.
“What the holy hell happened?” She didn’t waste time on ‘hellos’.
I knew what she was asking about and I refused to enlighten her before I yelled at her first. “What the hell is right! Why on earth did you give Ty that box?”
“I didn’t think you’d do anything about the lack of sex in your life. Thought I might give him a little push.”
“A push?” I turned away from the other pool patrons and covered a hand over the phone. “Anal beads is not a push! Do you have any idea what he thinks of me now? I certainly don’t!”
“He’ll think you’re sexually adventurous and open to trying new things.”
“I’m not into trying anal beads on the first date!” I whispered.
“Fine, fine. I’ll come up with something a little tamer. Just save them for date three.” Chuckling came across the line loud and clear.
I tried counting to ten but made it to six. “You will not send him another box.” My voice was two st
eps below a shout. “If you do…I won’t tell you about the explosion.” A threat was all I had. And it was a weak one as she’d find out all about it from someone else anyway.
“All right. I won’t send him another box.” She sounded contrite, which meant she had something up her sleeve. Her fingers were probably crossed.
“Fine. I’m at the pool so I’ll explain it all later. Ten still?” I was supposed to work with her tonight as Veronica, another employee, was on vacation.
“Please.”
“How come you never torture Veronica with a box?” I wondered.
“One lonely vagina at a time.”
Goldie hung up without a goodbye.
My mouth fell open and I stared at the phone. Had she really just said that? Lonely vagina?
I mindlessly waved to Bobby who cannonballed off the side of the pool. I put the phone away, still stunned by Goldie’s words and rejoined Kelly.
“Hello? The kiss?” Kelly prompted.
“It wasn’t just a kiss.” I sighed. I couldn’t deny it. “It was way more. Whenever I see Ty I have that sick, nervous feeling in my stomach. There are cute guys out there that haven’t done a thing for me. Like Luke Newsom’s dad from second grade. He’s really attractive, but I feel nothing. But then Ty walks in the room and…zing. There’s a zing I can’t explain.”
Kelly waded through the shallow water to pick up Emmaline who cried because she got splashed by a big kid. Appeased by her mom’s attentions, the four year old wriggled down out of Kelly’s grasp and went back to her water toys.
“God, I love that zing,” Kelly said, looking dreamily up at the sky as if she remembered her own special zing. “So, what’s the problem?”
Exactly. What was the problem? I was chicken. Too chicken to be interested in someone again. Someone who might find me deficient. Unappealing. Like Nate. Life had been plugging along just fine until…zing. Once you get the zing you can’t go back.
“I need to figure out what’s going on with this ridiculous vial of sperm.” I whispered the last as we were in mixed company. Grown-ups and kids.
“What does that have to do with the kiss?”
Gnome On The Range Page 6