Bear Creek Road

by L. C. Morgan

  Bear Creek Road

  Sometimes losing yourself leads right to the place you were looking for …

  By L. C. Morgan

  Copyright © 2014 by L. C. Morgan

  Edited by Rachel Lawrence

  Secluded and quiet is exactly what Laney Walker is looking for when she decides to pack up and move across the country. It’s what she wants, what she thinks she needs—until she meets Joe Boone.

  Contracted to replace the plumbing along the property, Joe is first to arrive and last to leave. And to Laney’s surprising disappointment, he never has much to say.

  But the more Joe comes around, the more she learns about him and soon finds the man is as flawed as the house he’s fixing.

  A fact that only seems to draw her closer to him.

  This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Warning: This novel contains scenes of an erotic, sexual nature. This story is intended for adults over the age of eighteen. All characters portrayed are eighteen or older.

  Cover art by Caitlin Beresford at Studio 22 Cover Designs

  Chapter One

  It was half past five when I finally found the place I was looking for, hidden behind the branches of an overgrown oak tree. It was pure luck that as I drove by the wind picked up, allowing the sun to break through and cast a glare off of an old rusted mailbox.

  Pure luck.

  Pulling off to the side of the road, I came to a bumpy stop to take a surveying glance around the property.

  The ad said secluded and quiet. At least that part was true, seeing as the closest neighbor was about three miles back. But looking at all the unexpected shrubbery, I had to wonder if the realtor’s reference to the grounds as quaint had actually meant condemned.

  Breathing in another good lungful of that fresh, California air, I slowly blew it out and rolled up the window before taking a chance and turning into the overgrown greens. I only relaxed once they parted, opening up to the tracks of a well-worn path. The farther I drove, the thicker the gravel, the louder it popped under the weight of my tires. It wasn’t all that far back before I was pulling up to park beside a misplaced Cadillac Coupe Deville. Beautifully restored, I noticed the chrome, smooth and shining against the powdery-pink paint before lifting my gaze to find the wide, toothy grin of its owner.

  This must have been Mona Boone-Trout, Big Bear’s trusty realtor.

  Opening the door, I held it tight against a careless gust of wind. I was already wasting her time; the last thing she needed was for me to put a dent in the side of that beauty. The last thing I needed was to deal with another insurance claim this soon.

  The house looked bigger from what pictures I’d seen. Quite a bit older, too. The wood siding was chipping green flakes, but that was fixable, easy—unlike the mess I’d left behind in Cincinnati. The house could be repainted. The grass could be mowed. It was the black tarp on the roof I was most worried about.

  “Hey, there. I’m Mona.” The tiny whip of a woman crept up on me, her cropped, bleached hair hardly moving in the wind. I smoothed mine back and out of my eyes, tucking the auburn strands behind an ear before taking her outstretched hand. “You must be Laney Walker. We’ve talked so many times on the phone, I feel as if we already know each other. Ya know?”

  Smiling, I nodded, knowing what she meant but not feeling that way at all. This woman could have talked circles around herself, which she had and would, I was sure. But we still wouldn’t know each other. Not really.

  “Well, you probably want to see the house, huh?” she asked. “Get settled in?” Letting go of my hand, she motioned for me to follow, her mouth yapping all the way across the muddy lawn and up the front porch stairs.

  “This was the Mick’s old place, John and Mary Mick.” Jiggling the keys, she pushed them into the lock. She glanced back, looking at me as if I should know them—which was ridiculous, seeing as how I’d just driven all the way across the country to a place I’d never been.

  At the questioning lift of my brow, she started up again. “Anyway, John Jr.’s been trying to sell this place for years, ever since moving to the city, poor kid.” Sighing, she shook her head before continuing. “Lost his parents so young, too young. He was only twelve when his mom passed, eighteen when he buried his dad. But he’s smart, really smart. Got himself a full scholarship to one of those big colleges up north.” She stepped through the threshold and led the way into the house.

  “He was a good kid, too. Came home every weekend, kept it up the best he could, until he met a girl. Reyna, I think it was.” Nodding, she hummed. “Yeah, Reyna. Nice girl, I hear.”

  Her voice drifted off as she pulled white sheets from the coffee tables, the worn leather chairs and then the brown and yellow plaid couch.

  “Furniture’s not the greatest, but it’s better than the floor, I guess.” Shrugging, she sounded as if she didn’t believe it either.

  “So, you got any kids?” Looking up, she threw aside the dusty fabric.

  “Uh, no.”

  “Us either, but we’ve been trying. Can’t wait to have ‘em, ya know?”

  I didn’t, and I was thankful when she just continued unmasking the horrid furniture, jumping from one question to the next without really waiting for an answer.

  “Any siblings?”

  “No.”

  “Husband?”

  “No.”

  “Boyfriend?”

  After fluffing the pillows, she straightened and placed her hands on her hips. She waited this time. Crossing my arms, I just stood there, having never been bombarded with so many personal questions in one afternoon.

  What did this woman care? It wasn’t as if we were friends. It wasn’t as if I was looking for any. That was the one major reason I had decided to move out here. I wouldn’t know anybody, and they wouldn’t know me. For the time being, I wanted to keep it that way.

  Clearing my throat, I decided not to answer, taking it upon myself to look around the rest of the house on my own. The clicking of Mona’s heels followed behind.

  “Well, the house was treated for termites last summer, so you have a good four years before you may have to treat it again. My husband Phil is a contractor, so he can handle that if you’d like. And if you’re needing any help with the rest of the restoration, his crew’s always available. Twenty-four seven. I’ll make sure of that.”

  The way she went on made me wonder if it was necessary for her to breathe. In all my twenty-eight years, I’d never heard someone talk so much. Never. It was exhausting.

  “And, oh shit, here …” Pushing her way around me, she turned on the kitchen sink. We both watched as brown water spewed from the faucet, spitting and sputtering onto the dingy white porcelain. “I don’t think I mentioned before. You need all new piping.” Reading the look on my face, she held out her hand.

  “I know, I know, just hear me out,” she pleaded. Turning off the water, she made her way over to stand in front of me. “I didn’t realize there was a problem with the pipes until after we closed. And since you signed the inspection waiver …” She crinkled her nose. “But don’t worry. Phil can fix that too, no problem. Nothing but top of the line material at the lowest price, may God strike me dead.” Raising her right hand, her eyes went wide with a look of desperation.

  It must have been a miracle for her I was even here. The only one stupid enough to put a down payment on property they hadn’t toured or, at the very least, had inspected. This was a mistake, much like many of the other choices that had led me here.

  Sighing, I shook my head, knowing full-wel
l this was going to happen. But then again, it was kind of what I needed. I needed a different kind of mess. One I could fix. I needed a distraction, so it was pretty pointless to complain when she was offering me a big one.

  “All right, so when can Phil and his crew come over and how long will this take?” I asked, wondering how long it would be before I could enjoy a nice warm shower, something I did almost daily.

  “First thing tomorrow, as soon as the sun rises, three days, tops,” she promised.

  Uh huh.

  Even with the honest spark beaming out of those bright blue eyes, I still trusted the woman about as much as I trusted that contractor husband of hers.

  Three days, my ass.

  But I agreed, nonetheless. “Okay, tomorrow as soon as the sun rises,” I said, and she nodded.

  “Yes, absolutely, and I want you to come over for breakfast while they’re working. You can shower and eat and we can get to know each other better.” She pulled me in for a hug, and I went stiff. “You won’t regret this, Laney, I promise you that. You won’t regret anything about this—nothing.”

  Standing there in the center of the dilapidated old house, I wasn’t so sure I wouldn’t. And after walking Mona back out to her car, I was positive I would—regret this, that was.

  “I left you at least a week’s supply of bottled water, a few under the sink and a couple in the refrigerator. Oh, that reminds me …” Holding up a finger, she twisted to dig around in her backseat before handing me a pile of directions and a lantern with a tight smile. “A power line went down earlier today and there’s no electric.”

  ***

  It was comforting that Mona, the woman who left me stranded, told me she would have offered up her home if it weren’t already filled with a load of out of state guests. Who needed electricity and plumbing to survive one night, all alone, in a dark, dilapidated house anyway?

  I had been camping before. I had peed outside and without such luxury as a roll of two-ply toilet paper. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was that I was alone. I was alone, and it was dark and creepy how the walls creaked and cried, straining under the weight of the whining wind.

  But that was normal, right?

  Right.

  Totally normal, I told myself, gritting my teeth and blowing out a soothing breath through the flare of my nostrils.

  I was a grown woman; I was not scared, just concerned for the structure. How sturdy was it really, given that supposedly-taken-care-of termite infestation? One fallen branch from the hollowed tree out back and the roof was a goner.

  Placing my palm on the torn flowered wallpaper, I followed it, testing every step to the first door on the right. I was thankful when I found a bed to crash on.

  I set the lantern on the bedside table, not bothering to turn down the sheets before crawling onto the springy mattress and collapsing onto my stomach.

  I flipped to my back.

  If it wasn’t for the sporty layout of the room, I would have wondered whose bed I was in. But given the strip of bubbled-up balls, gloves and wooden baseball bats, I ventured to guess it was John Jr.’s. I imagined this and all the rooms had once been filled with love—a fact proven by the thoughtful decoration and how he left it unchanged after all these years. That or it was just a result of adolescent laziness. Either way, lying wide awake, I forgot my own troubles and actually felt my heart ache for someone other than myself for a change.

  Closing my eyes, I felt them sting, filling with tears I refused to shed. These walls, they’d suffered too, absorbing the stress and sadness of a boy who was lost and without a mother, a father—no remaining family.

  I knew that sob story all too well, having lost my mother at childbirth, my grandmother a few short years ago and just recently, my father.

  While I couldn’t do anything to fix that little boy’s or my own unfortunate past, I could fix this house. And given a little bit of time, I would.

  ***

  The sun was what woke me, beaming brightly onto the lids of my eyes. I turned my head, but couldn’t go back to sleep after a light sweat broke out all over every surface of my body.

  It was a miracle I got any sleep at all since I didn’t have a fan or air conditioning to help me along. I usually couldn’t sleep without them. Not only did they keep you cool, but they produced a soothing sound—one that lulled you to dreamland with a constant calming hum.

  I missed them.

  Yawning, I pushed up onto all fours, somehow having made it back onto my stomach sometime during the night. I crawled off the bed and placed my feet on the cool wood floor, wishing it and all the walls a mumbled good morning. I had a lot of making up to do for something I hadn’t even done. And what better way to start than with a simple introduction?

  To an outsider, it probably would have seemed crazy, walking the length of the hallway, roaming the structure to feel it beating under the pads of my fingers. But, it felt right to me—getting to know it, letting it get to know me.

  Walking out the back door, I left it open, allowing the fresh breeze to flow through the house and air out the stuffy smell of years and years of pent-up dust.

  I took the beaten path barefoot, winding my way through the weed-filled garden, all the way back to the creek just beyond the tree line. The hug of the mud felt good on my feet. I dipped my toes in the water, considering wading into it to help cool my over-heated skin. But the sound of approaching heavy machinery nixed all my ideas for a relaxing morning. Piping had to take priority, unless I wanted to bathe in the water of the shallow brook from now on.

  No, thank you.

  I climbed out of the bank and made my way across the overgrown field, ignoring the tickle of the grass as it clung to my feet. By the time I reached the back door, the crew had already started digging and wandering in and out of the open house like they owned the place. I just stood back and out of their way, contemplating going inside and hiding until they were done when a man approached.

  “Sorry for the intrusion. We knocked, but there was no answer. And the wife, well”—he smiled easy and light—“she insisted we get started straight away.” He held out his hand, and I shook it. “I’m Phil, Mona’s husband.”

  “Laney.”

  His smile grew even wider and I looked down, crossing my arms over my chest when I realized I wasn’t wearing a bra under my tank top.

  “Anyway, I know Mona told you three days, but it’s gonna take at least five. Thankfully the well pump is good, but there’s some corrosion from there to the house. I also need to dig and put in a new leach line for the septic tank, so there’s no way I can do it in less time.”

  His demeanor was regretful, the grimace conveying an unspoken apology. I had no idea what he was talking about. However, since I was already expecting it, the five days came as a little less of a blow. But it was still a blow, nonetheless. Nothing ever worked out the way it was supposed to. I found it easier to just shrug it off and leave the men to their work. Doing just that, I headed back into the house where I walked straight into a solid brick wall.

  “Oh!” I grunted. On instinct I uncrossed my arms, and a pair of warm hands replaced my own. Instead of letting me fall back, they pulled me forward, tightening their grip as the owner held me steady. His own grunt was low and feral, rumbling deep between the bones in our chests as they bumped together. I could feel his heartbeat. Mine sped because he felt nice. Smelled nice too. All soap and sawdust from a slab of freshly cut lumber.

  All man.

  Goose bumps flourished over the surface of my skin, mortifying me when the sensation pebbled my nipples. I prayed he couldn’t feel them while my gaze roamed up to stop on the straight line of his mouth and the full brown beard surrounding it. Squeezing my arms even tighter, he moved me aside to make his way back outside.

  Okay …

  “Don’t mind him.” Looking away from the open door, I found a man I hadn’t noticed standing there before. “He’s just shy,” he said, his easy smile matching that of his boss. His a
ppraising eyes lingered a little longer than Phil’s had, however. Noting the blond hair and blue eyes, I wondered if they were related.

  “Unlike you?” I asked, and his perfect smile grew even wider.

  He nodded. “Unlike me. Patrick.” He held out his hand and, with one arm securing the girls, I shook it.

  “Laney.”

  Giving me another once over, he propped his metal toolbox over one shoulder when someone called his name. “It’s nice to meet you, Laney,” he said and, with a wink, took off in the direction of the shy one.

  Unable to hide my astonished smile, I shook the morning haze from my head before grabbing a warm bottle of water and heading back outside to plop down on the front steps.

  The heat was more bearable lounging on the shaded porch while the sun shone down on my legs. The view wasn’t all that bad either. Better than that old flowered wallpaper any day. It was beautiful out, all lush and green and glowing, the lawn overflowing with so much masculinity.

  Not one of them was all that bad to look at, no potbellies or crack that could kill. However, the eyes wanted what the eyes wanted, and my gaze settled on the only one who couldn’t have given less of a shit if I were looking at him or not.

  I tried not to be too obvious as I watched the bearded anomaly strip off his shirt—the shine of his thick, brown hair competing with the glistening sweat that quickly covered his upper body—but the way it moved over his muscles caught the light of the sun and it cast a blinding glare off of his tanned skin.

  Glancing from side to side, I slyly kept him in my sight, admiring how he heaved and swung the pick-ax, the movement flexing and relaxing the solid muscles in his back.

  It was unfortunate Mona chose that moment to pull in, blocking the show with the boxed-out frame of her flashy refurbished car. It might have been something to look at, but he was prettier.

  Much prettier.

  So much prettier I had forgotten all about breakfast.

  “Morning, friend,” she greeted sweetly, following it up with a loud slam of her car door. “See something you like?” Her smile widened, all knowing, and I averted my eyes, squinting past her at the car.