Tucked Away

by Jennie Marts

  “Hmmm. Don’t you have a job that you have to get back to?” He raised his eyebrows as he looked her over again, his eyes lingering on her bare legs. Her skirt had ridden up as she now rested her feet on the spindle of the chair, instead of the floor. “Don’t you have somebody who’s gonna be missing you, if you don’t hurry back to the city?”

  Charlie pulled at her skirt, heat creeping up her neck. How could this man go from a look of amusement to a look of desire in two seconds flat? She suddenly felt like Little Red Riding Hood and wondered if, by coming into her grandmother’s house, she had just discovered the log cutter who would help her or the big, bad wolf who wanted to eat her for dessert.

  She cleared her throat. “First of all, I am a writer, (not that I’ve been doing much writing lately), so I can work from pretty much anywhere. And, not that it’s any of your business, but no, no one is missing me in the city.”

  It seemed he had the good sense to leave that one alone. Instead of answering, he took a washcloth from the drawer next to the sink and crossed to the freezer.

  She felt herself relax. Even though he was flirting shamelessly with her, she got the sense that he was harmless. His easy charm told her that he most likely flirted with anything in a skirt, even a wrinkled one. She still liked his manners and the way he’d welcomed her into his home. Wait, her home.

  She couldn’t help but notice his easy movements and the way his muscles tensed as he opened the freezer door and reached for some ice. She’d never seen anyone wear a western shirt with no sleeves, and by the looks of the frayed edges, the sleeves had been torn off instead of being made that way. The blue cotton was faded from wear, lined with white pearly snaps up the front.

  He walked toward her, holding out the makeshift ice pack. “Let’s get some ice on that blister. Here, give me your foot.”

  What? Are you crazy? I don’t even know you, her brain said. But her traitorous slut of a foot popped right out toward Cash.

  She took another sip of water as he knelt down and took her foot gingerly in his hands. He pressed the ice, now wrapped in the washcloth, against her blistered heel.

  “Well, if you are stickin’ around, I’d suggest you get some better footwear. Some boots would be good, or even some sneakers. There’s not much call for fancy high heels around these parts.”

  The ice felt good against her sore heel, and she had to hold in a groan of pleasure as he massaged the arch of her foot.

  Her pleasure didn’t escape Cash’s notice, and a slow, shameless grin spread across his face. His hands slowly moved up her leg to her lower calf.

  She reached for the makeshift ice pack and pulled her leg free from his grasp. “Thanks, I think I’ve got it. I’ll take that shoe idea into consideration. Maybe I can find some cross trainers at the mall tomorrow.”

  His grin turned into an all-out laugh as he pushed himself to his feet. “You’d have to find a mall first. Closest one is in Great Falls and that’s over two hours from here.” He opened the fridge and grabbed a can of pop. “Your best bet is to try Tate’s Western Shop in town and see if they can find you some boots.”

  No mall? Is that why he had to rip the sleeves off his shirt himself? Because there was no place to buy decent clothes around here? She was temporarily distracted from her shopping mall thoughts by the sight of the stocked refrigerator. A dawning realization hit her as she questioned why an empty house had a stocked fridge. “Did you say you ran this place?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “So, do you live here, in this house? With me? I mean, with Gigi? I mean…”

  He chuckled again. Why did it feel like he was always laughing at her?

  “Simmer down,” he said. “I’m not your new roommate. I live on the property, though. There’s a small bunkhouse on the other side of the barn. You can see it from the kitchen window. So I’m close enough if you need me.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “You disappointed I won’t be staying in the house with you?”

  “What? No, of course not. I just noticed the full refrigerator and thought maybe someone else was living here, too.”

  “Oh, that’s Sophie’s doing.” He gestured toward the living room. “She’s been in the last few days cleaning everything up and layin’ in groceries for you. I think she said she put some fresh sheets on the bed, as well.”

  “I remember the attorney saying something about sending someone in to get the place ready. I called him when I left the city to tell him that I was headed this way. I thought that meant someone would run the vacuum. I wasn’t expecting anyone to get groceries for me. That was nice of her.”

  “Well, she loved Gigi. We all did.” He opened the fridge again and pulled out a Saran-wrapped plate holding a piece of lasagna approximately the size of Colorado. “Looks like Sophie made her lasagna for us. There’s a plate in there for you, too. I think I’ll take mine back to the bunkhouse. You want me to help you bring your suitcases in from the car before I go?”

  She thought of the small, sad pile of boxes that, along with two suitcases of clothes, made up her entire existence. She didn’t really want this cowboy to witness the pathetic state of her current life.

  “No, thanks. I’ll get it later.” She held up the washcloth of ice. “I appreciate the help, though, and thanks for saving me from the bull.”

  He smiled again as he headed for the front door. “No problem.”

  “Hey, did I hear you call that bull Tommy Lee?”

  He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Yeah, he’s named after Tommy Lee Jones. He’s kind of crotchety, but he’s a big hit with the ladies.” He gave her a wink, then he was gone, the sound of the screen door slamming behind him.

  …

  A groan escaped Charlie’s lips as she put the last bite of lasagna in her mouth.

  She’d originally cut the Frisbee-sized piece in half, intending to save the other piece for lunch the next day. But after finishing one half, she took a few more bites. After all, it was still warm, the cheese melted and gooey around the noodles and garlicky sauce.

  After that, there really wasn’t enough to be considered a meal for lunch, so she’d just finished it. Curse that Sophie and her amazing cooking.

  She hadn’t left the security of the kitchen table except to heat up the lasagna. The long car drive combined with her pasta-filled belly caught up to her, and she was suddenly bone tired. The walk to the sink seemed miles away, but she couldn’t stay in that chair all night.

  The hardwood floors were surprisingly smooth on her bare feet. The ice must have helped, because the pain in her blistered heel had subsided.

  It took opening three cabinets filled with pans and bowls for her to realize there was no dishwasher, so she gingerly set her plate in the large white porcelain sink. Next to the sink, a netted scrubby poked out of a porcelain frog’s open mouth. Deciding it would take entirely too much energy to scrub it, she filled the plate with water and left it to soak.

  Night had fallen, and as Charlie looked out the window above the sink, she was astonished by how dark the farm was. With no street lamps or city buildings to light up the night, she could only see the circle of Tucked Away’s main buildings, illuminated by the tall yard light. It was as if the rest of the world disappeared into the inky blackness, leaving her alone in a new world filled with tobacco-chewing cowboys, cantankerous bovine, and possibly a small pile of baby cats.

  Beyond the barn, she could see the outline of the bunkhouse, and a warm glow radiated from the front windows. She took a small comfort in knowing Cash was out there, and for a moment, considered taking over a piece of the pie she’d seen covered in Saran-wrap when she had taken her lasagna from the refrigerator.

  He did, after all, save her from being skewered by a bull today, and even though her predicament had seemed to clearly amuse him, he’d brought her an ice pack for her foot.

  As she bit the hangnail on the inside of her thumb, the light blinked out in Cash’s window, saving her from her indecision.

  Th
ank goodness. That was a door she did not need to open right now. She knew his type. Charming. Flirted with anything in a skirt. And if they were going to be working together on the farm, a casual fling was not the way to start this relationship. She had a feeling she was going to need Cash in her corner.

  Could she still enjoy the attention and maybe a little harmless flirting? Sure. But that’s where it had to stop. Mentally sticking Cash into the friend-zone, she turned away from the sink.

  She wandered to the front door, lightly touching the odds and ends of Gigi’s home as she went. A lace doily on the end of a table, a colored glass vase filled with faded yellow silk roses, a framed picture of the farm obviously taken many years earlier, as evidenced by the fresh shine of red paint on the barn. An array of someone else’s memories that somehow held a history for her. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to explore or ignore that history yet.

  She stopped at the front door and peered out at the little red car sitting in front of the house. Finding neither the energy nor the courage to venture outside and drag her bags in, she pushed the front door shut to lock up for the night.

  However, the door seemed to be missing a few key ingredients used in the task. For instance, the locks. There was no deadbolt, no chains, and no sliding latch. The top half of the door was inlaid with a large piece of glass. The center of the glass was a clear oval surrounded by faded fleur-de-lis etchings.

  Thankfully, the doorknob itself had a lock, and she depressed the button. She considered dragging a chair over to wedge under the knob, but again found even thinking about the effort it would take to pull the chair over took more energy than she was willing to spend.

  A large bedroom sat to the right of the living room. Through the open door, Charlie could see a dresser and the end of a bed covered in a pink and white quilt. She grabbed her purse and headed for the room, not wanting to think too much about her decision to leave the kitchen light burning.

  The bedroom was a cozy, feminine mixture of pinks and whites, from the quilt on the bed to the floral print wallpaper covering the top half of the white wainscoted-walls. An oak rocking chair sat in the corner of the room, a cream-colored afghan folded over its tall back.

  On the floor, next to the rocker, a basket overflowed with cooking magazines, three balls of multi-colored yarn, some knitting needles, and, by the looks of the covers, several romance paperbacks. So apparently, Gigi liked to rock and look out the window while she knitted, planned her menus, and got her romance on.

  She tried to imagine growing up here and visiting her grandmother’s farm. Would she have sat on her grandmother’s lap in this very rocker as Gigi told her stories or showed her how to knit?

  Would Gigi have been the one to introduce her to romance novels, either by loaning her the tamer ones or turning a blind eye when a teenage Charlie snuck the steamier ones from the stack? The lump in her throat was back as she grieved for memories of time spent with a grandmother she never had and never would know.

  Shaking her head to clear the bittersweet thoughts, she continued her exploration of the house.

  A large bathroom was attached to the bedroom. Although tempted by the deep, claw foot tub sitting against the wall, she was too tired tonight to make the effort of filling the tub.

  Spying an outlet above the counter, she dug into her purse and extracted her dead phone and its wall charger. Plugging the phone in, she waited to see what calls and texts she’d missed, what important bits of gossip her friends had to share about the life she had left behind. Sighing, she noted no incoming texts, only three missed calls from her mother. Nice. She would deal with her mom tomorrow.

  She felt like she had stepped into someone else’s life as she opened the drawers next to the sink and found it full of common everyday bathroom items: combs, bobby pins, makeup remover pads, a compact, and one of those funny pick things that old ladies used to spruce up their perms.

  The drawer to the right held dental floss, an old toothbrush, and a half-used tube of toothpaste. Never having heard of toothpaste expiring, she squeezed a half an inch onto her finger and did a quick scrub of her teeth, scooping water into her hand to rinse her mouth.

  She reached for the towel to dry her hands and jumped as she heard something hit the floor in the living room. Heart hammering in her chest, she looked around the room for a weapon and spied a toilet plunger tucked in next to the sink.

  Peering cautiously into the living room, she held the plunger like a bat, thankful for her earlier decision to leave the kitchen light on.

  To her relief, the room was empty. A book lay on the floor in front of the bookshelf, and picking it up, she saw her own image staring up at her from the back of the book jacket. She looked at the empty space and saw all four of her books neatly lined in a row on the shelf.

  Whether she was a fan or not, Gigi had purchased all of her books and proudly displayed them in her front room. A feeling of warmth filled her, just as an actual feeling of warmth brushed against her legs.

  She swung wildly with the plunger, the book still in one hand giving her less of a grip on her weapon, and it flew from her hand and skidded across the coffee table. It took with it a decorative vase filled with silk flowers. The vase hit the floor with a loud crash, and the plunger rolled to a stop amidst the fabric flowers and shattered pieces of glass.

  A loud meow filled the room, and she looked down to see the warmth-causing offender was a rather fat gray cat rubbing its side against her leg.

  “You scared me to death,” she scolded the cat, who looked at Charlie as if she bored her, and then headed up the stairs. Charlie looked up the dark stairwell and decided she could wait to explore that until daylight tomorrow.

  Too tired to take care of it tonight, she left the shattered vase on the floor and the kitchen light burning.

  Back in the bedroom, she pushed aside a stack of pillows and ran her hand along the softest set of pink flannel sheets she’d ever felt in her life.

  Dropping her clothes in a heap on the floor, she climbed into the bed, relishing the soft fabric against her bare skin and inhaled the clean fresh scent of fabric softener. Forget thread count, she’d take flannel sheets that’d been washed a hundred times and layers of feathers any day.

  She snuggled into the bed and closed her eyes as she thought back on her day. She’d driven twelve hours, met her first real cowboy, and held her own against some farm animals, armed with only a high-heeled shoe and a toilet plunger.

  She’d survived the first day of her new life, scarred only by a blister on her heel and a run-in with a randy bull.

  She knew she had so much to learn about this place, this farm that her grandmother had entrusted to her. But she was determined to make this work. Her life in New York was over. A chapter closed, and a wish had been granted to start over and not make the same mistakes. She was smart and capable and wouldn’t let old hurts get in the way of her new life.

  As she drifted off to sleep, she thought of the cat’s bulging sides and was thankful that at least she wouldn’t be finding baby kittens tonight.

  Chapter Two

  Charlie woke to the smell of coffee and bacon in the air. She was afraid to open her eyes, in case she was dreaming. Rolling over, she snuggled deeper into the bed, imagining the last month had somehow disappeared, and she could start over. She was still in New York and still in love with Stuart. If she closed her eyes tight enough, she could almost imagine him, lying in bed next to her, his warm breath against her cheek.

  Wait. She really could feel warm breath against her cheek and the tickling sensation of a beard. Charlie opened her eyes and found herself being sniffed at by a black and white billy goat, the whiskers of his chin skimming her cheek with each sniff.

  “Ahhh. Get away from me.” She scooted backward, pushing against the headboard, then realizing she was naked, grabbed the sheets and pulled them up to her neck.

  The goat took one corner of the sheet into his mouth and calmly began to chew it, completely unfazed b
y the half-naked woman screaming at him.

  “Quit eating that. Get out of here.” She tried again, this time in a voice more stern than shrill. Neither voice seemed to have any effect as the goat pulled at the sheet, trying to get more of it into its mouth.

  “What’s going on in here?” a voice asked from the doorway.

  Charlie screamed again and grabbed at the sheets. “Who are you?” she asked the teenage girl standing in the doorway of her bedroom, a blue-and-white checked dishtowel in her hand. “Actually, I don’t even care. Can you just help me with this damn goat?”

  The goat seemed to be winning the tug of war as the sheets slipped farther down her chest.

  “Oh, that’s just Clyde. He tries to eat everything.” The girl walked across the room and swatted the goat with the towel. “Go on, Clyde.” She pulled the chewed up corner of sheet from the goat’s mouth and whacked it on its furry behind. It gave a short bleat, then wandered out the bedroom door and into the living room.

  “Sorry. That dang goat is always sneaking into the house.” The girl plunked down on the end of the bed. “I’m Sophie. I came over to make some breakfast for you.”

  Charlie pulled the sheets up tighter against her chest and studied the girl. Heavy bangs in desperate need of a trim hung in front of round-rimmed glasses. Her blond hair was pulled into two long braids and she wore jean shorts, low-top Converse with no socks, and a faded red tee shirt that looked two sizes too big. Charlie could count three mosquito bites across one knee, and she watched the girl absently pick at a small scab on the other.

  She blew her bangs out of her eyes. “So, you’re Sophie? The one who cleaned the house and left me that lasagna?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Did everything look all right? I tried to make it real homey so you would be comfortable when you got here.” She tugged at one of her braids and seemed to be studying a particular spot on the floor.