by Beth Andrews
“It’s my own fault. I met her when she was passing right on through town, for cripes’s sake. I should have kept it on a business level.”
“Oh, Nick, you’re such a guy. Do you really think you can control who you’re attracted to? Dream on, buddy.”
He didn’t have much experience with this. Booze had chosen his girlfriends back in the bad old days. At least he now knew that didn’t work. “I came here for help, you know.”
“You’re right. Go on.”
“The other night we had an...issue.” He shook his head. “Anyway, she won’t talk to me. Not really.” He stirred the pudding with his spoon. God, he’d rather clean out the grease well with his bare hands than do this. But he had to know. “You’re her best friend. She talks to you. Is she looking to get rid of me?”
The corners of Jesse’s mouth lifted, but two lines appeared between her eyebrows. “I don’t think Sam has let herself realize yet that she wants the same things you do. I don’t know what’s going to happen when she does.” Jesse relaxed, her face going dreamy. “But Sam is special. Isn’t she worth taking a chance on?”
“I already have.” He looked down at his coffee. “That’s what scares me.”
* * *
“ANA, I NEED HELP choosing bulbs for my yard. I have no idea what to buy. Won’t you come to town with me?” Sam sat on Ana’s porch, at her feet.
“I will not.”
“Well, I’m going to keep asking. Maybe one day you’ll say yes.”
“You are a stubborn, pigheaded girl.”
“Takes one to know one, Ana.” She smiled. “I don’t suppose you know anything about making jelly, do you?”
“Of course I do. Where did you grow up that you never learned this?” She frowned over her glasses.
“Hey, I’m a suburban girl. My idea of plant maintenance is pushing a mower in my yard.”
“You need to grow the grapes first. You won’t even have enough grapes for jelly for a few years, anyway. You get grapes, you come see me. I’ll tell you then.”
At the sound of a dysfunctional engine laboring up the hill, Sam looked up from her notes. Tim Raven’s dilapidated truck pulled up, sputtered, wheezed then died in front of the cottage.
“Good morning, Ana,” he yelled through the open passenger window. “Hey, Sammie. How are you ladies this fine day?” The truck door squealed open.
Ana snapped to attention like a junkyard dog on patrol. Her bony fingers went white on the rocker’s arms, her mouth a thin, disapproving line. Tim slammed the truck door and stepped to Ana’s picket fence.
“You have no business here. What do you want?” She growled the warning.
“Just thought I’d stop.” Sam had never before heard wheedling in Tim’s voice. “I have an idea for your garden. I see you watering your yard every day. I got to thinking. I could lay in an automatic sprinkler system for you. You could even have a drip line set—” He opened the gate, gesturing toward the delicate new seedlings set closest to the fence.
“I did not ask for your help. I do not want it. Go away.” Ana stood and stomped into the house. The wooden door closed with a heavy thump.
Sam stood looking at the closed door for a moment, then ambled down the path to Tim’s truck.
Tim squinted at the porch. “I only want to help.”
“I know, Tim. I’m trying to get her to agree to come to town with me, but so far it’s a standoff. For whatever good it will do, I’ll put in a good word for you. Maybe if we tag team her, she’ll come around.”
“We can try.” Tim shook his head. “Come on, I’ll give you a lift up the hill.”
In two minutes, Tim pulled up the drive and turned off the truck. “Having the parquet inlay in front of the fireplace match the fleur-de-lis in the stairwell window was brilliant.”
“Hey, don’t look at me. That was all Beau. That kid is an artist with wood.”
“Well, that kind of detail will up the resale value of the house.” He chuckled. “Or, you could keep it, seeing how it’s about the perfect size for a couple.”
“You do know that discussing my love life makes yours fair game, right?” She got out, slammed the door and rounded the back of the truck.
Tim stepped out of the truck, lifted the driver’s door and pushed it until the catch clicked. He glanced down the hill at the cottage, then cleared his throat. “Let’s go over the plans for the bathroom under the stairs again. I think the inspector is going to have a problem with the sink placement.”
“You’re a coward, Tim Raven, you surely are.”
“You just worry about your love life, missy, and let me worry about mine.”
She winced. I don’t have a love life. “Touché, my friend.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SAM PARKED IN FRONT of Coast Lumber, got out and lifted Bugs from the Jeep. The sidewalk was crowded; the cute Danish village of Solvang was as much a tourist magnet as Widow’s Grove. She waited for a break in the flow of people, then crossed the sidewalk, Bugs straining at the leash.
She stopped at a bike rack and tied the leash to it. Hand on the door, she heard Bugs whine. She looked over her shoulder. He sat, drooling on the pavement. Head cocked, he whined again. He lifted a paw, stretching it to her.
Man, he was cute.
She glanced at the people passing by within a foot of him. Her heartbeat stumbled for a few syncopated beats, then sped up. What was to keep one of them from untying the leash and walking off with him? Bugs was a friendly sort; he’d go willingly. She’d tied him up outside stores dozens of times. Why had this never occurred to her?
Bugs sat grinning.
She snorted a laugh. You’re losing it, Crozier. Here she stood, worried about someone stealing a dog that she planned to take to the pound.
She called out to Bugs, “If you be good, maybe we’ll stop and get ice cream before we go home.” She pulled the door open and walked in, still uneasy with leaving him there. After all, at least the pound would see to it that he got a good home. Probably. Well, she’d just shop fast.
She waved to Oscar, the manager, on her way to the hardware aisle. She stood sorting through boxes of pipe fittings, looking for the size Tim needed. A feeling of being watched crawled over her skin, and the hair on the back of her neck lifted. She jerked her head up.
The pervert, Brad Sexton stood at the end of the aisle, watching her. He held a can of paint in one hand, the other in the pocket of his expensive slacks.
The singsong voice of her childhood whispered. You didn’t think he was just going to go away, did you? The edge of the brass fitting sliced into her hand.
He broke into a broad smile and winked. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, raised it to his lips and blew her a kiss.
It hit her with the force of a slap, that kiss. But it broke her inertia. Anger exploded like boiling water in a microwave. How dare he gloat, seeing her fear? Just mad enough to hurl the fitting in her hand, she forced her fingers to relax. The fitting clunked to the floor and rolled.
They just know. The little girl’s voice trembled.
Well, screw you, mutant. She straightened her arm. Lifting it slowly, she mimed a handgun, holding her thumb and forefinger out. She sighted down her thumb, squinted and dropped the hammer.
That wiped the smirk off his face.
She lifted her index finger to her lips and blew. She bared her teeth and dropped him a wink.
He frowned and, looking down, scuttled away.
“Not so fun when a cornered animal bites back, huh, asshole?” she muttered under her breath as she bent to pick up the fitting.
He’s going to catch us. When you relax. You know what happens.
She dropped the fitting back into the box and left the aisle, heading for the exit door. Brad was nowhere to be seen.
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What had she been thinking? Something about Widow’s Grove had made her forget what she knew.
Stopping too long led to wanting.
And wanting led to hope.
And hope was the only thing that could blast through every wall she’d ever built to protect her soft core. Even bricks made from memories and her own blood, fired in the blast furnace of her fear, had never been any match for hope.
Hope was more dangerous than Brad Sexton, or any of that brotherhood.
Hope was the enemy.
She pushed the door open, walking fast. Seeing her, Bugs barked, and lunged against the leash. She untied him, fumbling in her haste. “You and I are overdue for an appointment, dog.” She led him to the Jeep, and lifted him into the open window on the passenger side.
When she got to her side and hopped in, she crammed the keys in the ignition and started it, already checking the mirror for traffic. Bugs must have sensed her mood, because he sat quiet in the foot well, not looking at her.
“Nothing personal, mutt. Your hair has grown in. That was the deal. It’s time.”
Bugs glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.
She slammed her heart closed and drove to the animal shelter on the outskirts of Widow’s Grove.
The place was a zoo. Dogs barked, bayed or yipped in frantic, staccato bursts. Cats yowled as if they were being pulled to pieces. She stepped up, third in line at the window of a dingy adobe building. A teenage girl walked out of the chain link gate, a fuzz-ball kitten clasped to her chest.
Sam looked down at Bugs. “See? Someone will adopt you right away. I’m sure of it.”
Bugs wouldn’t look at her.
You’re out of here in four months, anyway. She had to salt the roots that were trying to dig into the soil of this damned town. She had to.
A man walked by, hand on the shoulder of a boy of around ten, who was trying hard not to cry. “He’ll turn up, son. We’ll check back in a few days.”
A breeze carried the tang of desperation and urine. She wrinkled her nose.
Jesse, Ana, Tim, the kids—Nick. It felt like she’d been sleeping the past months. A good dream but one that ended in the aisle of Coast Lumber. She shook her head. She’d been acting as if she were living in a Disney movie. What a fool.
The old lady ahead of her stood at the window, an ancient Chihuahua in her arms. Its muzzle was gray and its claws had on a death grip on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m moving in with my daughter, and she won’t have an animal. You have to promise me that you won’t put Pepe to sleep.” Her lips quivered.
The county worker in a forest green uniform patted her shoulder. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. We can’t promise.”
Sam looked at Bugs. He sat so close she could feel him shaking against her leg. Shaking like he had that first night she saw him. The cut was now just a squiggly pink scar, running the length of his back.
He looked up at her. His stump tail ticked a couple of times, then stopped.
“Grrrrine?”
“Shit.”
The man ahead of her in line turned, lips pursed, nostrils flaring.
Who would take a scarred-up bulldog who drooled like a waterfall, and farted like cannon fire?
“Son of a bitch,” she said, just to see the man’s distaste. Eyebrows raised, he took a step away.
She stomped back to the Jeep, Bugs bounding ahead at the end of the leash.
* * *
A HALF HOUR LATER, she slammed into the house, Bugs on her heels. She unhooked the leash, then walked to her bedroom and dug through her junk box. When she found her sewing kit, she snatched her leathers out of the closet and sank onto the bed.
The leather was supple, like skin under her hands. She raised them to her nose and inhaled the smell of sunshine and wind. And freedom.
She opened the sewing kit.
An hour later, she dropped the mess into her lap, not able to see through the film covering her eyes. Drops of blood from her fingers smeared the leather. The needle wasn’t made for heavy fabrics, and she poked herself almost every stitch.
Her leathers and her helmet were her cloak of invisibility. People saw an anonymous biker, and their eyes just slid over them, and away. Without them she was naked—exposed.
She rubbed the patch of messy stitches, a wad of something big and tight blocking her throat. The road pulled her. The haunting cadence of Springsteen’s “I’m On Fire” echoed through her mind. A strong wind of emotion swirled in the deep pit in her chest, moaning around the ragged edges.
Dropping her head in her leather-filled hands, she wailed, “I don’t even have my motorcycle!”
She wanted too much. She’d been fooling herself, the past months. She’d gotten wrapped up in this life, and a stray dog was only part of it.
Nick was the biggest part. She wanted him. And not just for now. If she couldn’t leave an ugly drooling dog, how was she ever going to ride away from the only man who’d ever cared to look beneath her pretty face to want who she really was?
She had to get out of here, before she couldn’t.
The wad in her throat let go. The bed jiggled, and a wet dog nose touched her hand. She wrapped her arms around Bugs and sobbed into his shoulder.
“I’m so tired.”
He whined.
“I’m so tired of being afraid.”
* * *
A WEEK LATER, Sam sat at her kitchen card table, reviewing plans for Bina’s house. When her phone blatted the opening to the Stones’ “Satisfaction,” she pulled it from her pocket and hit the button to answer, without taking her eyes from the paper in front of her. “Crozier Construction.”
“Sam, you’d better get here and pick up your ‘project.’ I’m done with this kid.” Tim’s gruff voice shouted in her ear.
“Do you mean Beau? What’s going on?”
“Just get your behind down here, before I kill him.”
Click. A dial tone buzzed.
What the hell now? Beau had managed to graduate and stay out of trouble for two months. Since his parents had taken their car back when he moved out, Tim brought him to the site every day. She’d sensed a bond growing between the two, and had been glad of it. Beau needed a mentor, and Tim needed the companionship.
She was in the Jeep in less than five. If a black-and-white had been on the road to town, she’d have been hauled in rather than ticketed. The local cops held a dim view of forty miles over the limit.
She barely slowed at the turn in to Raven’s Rest. Tim and Beau stood outside the office, angry faces inches apart. She could hear them yelling at each other from the road.
Gravel spit from the tires as she hit the gas in the turn, and the Jeep’s rear slid, looking for traction. Tim’s broad hand shot out and slapped Beau, hard enough to whip his head back. She slammed on the brakes, shut down the engine and was out and running.
She threw herself between them before the boy could use his shaking fists.
“What in holy hell is going on here?” She faced Tim, her arms outstretched to keep them separated. Tim’s face was purple. Jesus, I may need to call the paramedics.
“Goddamn kid. I should have known not to take in a wild animal. It’ll bite you every time.” He glared over her shoulder. “I come back from fetching groceries and spy a car, almost out of sight behind his cabin.” Tim poked a finger in Beau’s direction. “He knew I don’t allow women. I told him that the first day!”
“He’s just sticking his nose in—”
Beau quit when she held up a hand, thank God. “How do you know he had a girl here?”
“Cuz I went up and knocked on the door, that’s how!” He refocused on her face. “He comes to the door, and behind him there’s a naked girl, sitting up in bed, holding a sheet around her! Go on. Ask your rich boy.
”
Sam spun to face Beau. His eyes were wild, the angry red handprint shocking against his pallid cheek. She’d seen Beau’s “fuck you” look before, and knew that nothing would be resolved until she pulled the old and young bulls apart.
“Beau, let’s talk for a minute.” She looked over her shoulder. “Tim, it’s hot out here. Why don’t you go in and have an iced tea. I’ll be in to see you in just a bit.”
Tim made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat and stalked to the office, grumbling the whole way. She looked to Beau. “Let’s go.” She walked toward the road, hoping he’d follow. When he did, she threw silent thanks skyward.
“I’m so done with this shit.” He spit on the ground. “I thought when I left my parents’ house, I’d be treated like an adult. Instead, I just traded one prison for another.” He kept his eyes on his holey tennis shoes and motored on. “I owe you, Sam, but when we’re done talking, I’m outta here. Just so you know.”
She knew lecturing would just drive him away faster. She searched her knowledge base for some bit of wisdom to help her handle this.
Why do you care? You’re out of here in like four months.
She stopped still. This wasn’t her problem. This wasn’t even like her. She was the observer—not the negotiator. At Beau’s sound of annoyance, she raised a hand. “Give me a minute here, will you? I’m trying to absorb all this.”
Why are you making this your problem?
The answer followed right on the heels of the question. Because Beau’s situation reminded her of her own. She understood being thrust too soon into adulthood, and not having the skills to deal with it.
She couldn’t go back to make different decisions in her own past. Why did she think that helping Beau with his would solve hers?
They won’t. But it feels good to try to help someone else not fall into the holes that I did.
Except, by doing so, she again launched herself into a situation where she had no skills. She had no idea what to tell the teen. She started walking again, keeping her voice neutral. “I thought you and Tim got along. That you liked living here.”