Bear Creek Road

by L. C. Morgan

  Maybe that was it. Maybe I wanted it so much because I couldn’t have it. Maybe it wasn’t him, but the idea of him and how he was so mysterious and so standoffish that I had to work for it. Only, I knew that wasn’t true, not even close. I knew what I felt when he touched me. I knew what I felt. It was different. It was more than nice. More than chemistry. It was energy and intensity—the strongest form of static electricity, the kind that made the tiniest hairs on your skin stand on end. I could still feel the charge coursing through my body.

  “Ah, fuck.” Craning my neck to look behind me, I found Mona on her knees, studying the fingers on her left hand. “I broke a nail.” She protruded her lip in a childish pout, leaning back on her heels with a defeated sigh.

  Aw, poor baby.

  “See, this is why I hire people to do all the dirty work. By the time the job’s finished I would have actually saved money by saving my nails.”

  Ignoring her reasoning, I turned back to pulling the overgrown weeds that had weaseled their way into the bordering shrubbery. At least, I hoped they were weeds as I ripped them from their roots a little more forcefully than necessary. I had to keep myself distracted or else I was going to go crazy, reading too much into why Joe didn’t show up to help out Phil and his crew today.

  “So, what do you think about Patrick? He’s sweet, right?”

  Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I sat back on my heels, looking around in search of the hand shovel. I needed to stab something.

  “He seems nice,” I said instead of what I wanted to, which was that he was boring and bland, blond with blue eyes and so far from my type that the idea of us together was kind of nauseating.

  Unfortunately, my gran’s gall was just another useful trait I hadn’t inherited.

  “Yeah, he likes you too.” Mona sighed, twisting and contorting those three simple words into some kind of connection.

  I was going to let it go, take out my frustrations on the hardened soil, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t let this situation seed itself and grow, root this delusional idea of hers that Patrick and I would end up together. It just wasn’t going to happen.

  “Yeah, just too bad I don’t date, remember?” I said. Her huff was drowned out by a set of tires barreling down the gravel drive. I knew it was him before I even saw his truck. Bending forward, I kept my head down, lifting my eyes discreetly to watch as he pulled up to the far side of the house, jumped out and gathered some supplies.

  He’d showered, I could tell, his limp hair looking fuller and shining as bright as the midday sun. The jeans he wore were light and faded, clinging close in all the right places. I noticed this along with his muscles as he lifted the equipment from the open bed of the truck, the hem of his oil-stained T-shirt rising with his arms. The wrap on his hand almost feigned a fashion statement as he hauled two handfuls across the lawn, giving no indication of any discomfort or pain.

  Leaning back on my heels again, I wiped more sweat from my forehead, looking up and meeting his eyes just before he took the stairs and disappeared inside the house. That one look made my chest go numb. I wanted to follow after him to see what he was up to, or maybe just look at him some more, but I knew Mona wouldn’t be too far behind. Damn her and my need for running water.

  She hadn’t acknowledged what may or may not have happened up against the wall at Brenda’s the other night, but I could tell she wanted to ask. I could see the wheels turning inside her head, bursting at the cogs to tell me what a bad idea this was and that her brother was no good for me. That he’d only break my heart and leave me hanging somewhere down the line. But what she hadn’t yet come to realize was my heart was already broken, and there wasn’t much he could or couldn’t do to hinder or even heal it.

  “I was thinking that maybe we could go out as a group, ya know, go to dinner or just hang out sometime.”

  Dropping the shovel to the ground, I turned to gape at her.

  “It wouldn’t be a date or anything,” she defended her suggestion, showing me the dirty palms of her hands. “You could just get to know one another, be friends … at the very least.”

  With a subtle shake of my head, I turned my back to her and her relentless nagging. I didn’t need her pushing or her input on how I should live my life and who I should let into it. I was grown. I could decide that for myself. All I needed from her was running water, because that was exactly what she was—a goddamn water source.

  Thankfully she seemed to get a clue for once, keeping quiet for the remainder of the afternoon, only huffing or sighing when something particularly annoyed her—which was just about everything. I didn’t understand why she wouldn’t just leave. One thing I prided myself on was my sense of self-awareness and what was happening around me. I knew when I wasn’t wanted. I knew when I’d worn out my welcome. I wasn’t oblivious … much.

  The more glances I snuck at the house, the more uneasy I became. I knew Mona was watching me; I could feel it. I could feel her stare shifting from the house to the back of my head. And maybe I gave her less credit than she deserved. Maybe she knew him better than I ever would, or ever could. But she didn’t know me. She didn’t know what I could handle or what I was willing to put up with when it came to what I wanted. Huge mistake or not, I wanted him. Was pretty sure I needed him. Whatever he was willing to give.

  Our goodbyes were strained at best, since I didn’t even turn to face her, only acknowledging her departure with one curt wave over my shoulder. I waited until everyone had packed up and gone before throwing all the tools in the wheelbarrow, pulling off my gloves and making my way into the cool house.

  Stepping inside, I threw the dirty gloves on the door side table, wiping some more sweat from my forehead and off the back of my neck, the crease of my brow deepening in puzzlement. Something felt different, looked different, I thought, walking farther into the room. Turning in a slow, unsure circle, I stood in the center of the foyer, and that was when it hit me.

  The wallpaper was gone. Every last bit of the wallpaper was gone, not a piece seen on the wall, not a strip found on the floor.

  Heart pounding, I clenched my fists, a sudden blur burning my eyes. He’d come in and done more in one afternoon than I had in two days, and I didn’t know whether to be thankful or furious.

  Stopping by the kitchen first, I noticed he’d stripped it along with both spare rooms and the small bathroom, which left my bedroom.

  Standing outside the cracked door, I listened while he worked, the only sound coming from the steamer as it hissed and hummed. I watched him through the crack of the door, seeing the sheen of sweat rolling off his arms, glistening in the setting sun that glared through the shadeless window. My eyes landed on his hand, the white wrapping that had since been stained with a shadow of blood, and in that moment I realized I felt thankful, not furious. How could I be?

  Pushing the door open, I stepped inside, knocking on the frame in hopes of not startling him.

  “Hey,” I said, watching all the muscles in his back go rigid. “I was gonna make some dinner. Would you want some?”

  He leaned against the ladder for the longest time, just staring at a spot on the wall before finally nodding his head.

  I watched him work for a moment longer before leaving him to finish and making my way back to the kitchen, where I pulled out two cans of vegetable soup to heat up in the microwave.

  Joe came out just as I was setting the bowls on the table. He took the seat I pointed to, digging right in like he’d been starving. Stirring mine, I watched as he ate, his slurps no less of a turn-on than the sweat still rolling off his skin.

  If he noticed my ogling, he gave no indication, leaning back and letting out a loud belch in the opposite direction. I took it as a compliment, remembering one of my father’s old sayings. Not bad manners, just good food.

  This was the most relaxed I’d ever seen him, lifting his wounded hand and scratching the underside of his beard. I smiled at his profile before pushing out my chair, reminding him of where h
e was and who he was with. His chair scraped across the wood floor after mine. He stood to help me, picking up his bowl and then taking mine to place them both in the sink.

  “Can I see?” I asked.

  Leaning against the counter, he held out his hand and I stepped forward to unwrap the bandage and inspect the wound, happy when I saw there were no signs of infection, just some healthy bleeding.

  My eyes flitted up to his before I pulled the first aid kit from the drawer to repeat the process, same as yesterday. Only this time, he kept his fingers to himself, clenching them into a tight fist at his side.

  Focusing on the task at hand, I hid my disappointment by attempting to make small talk.

  “The weather was nice today. Not too hot.”

  Joe made a noise between a grunt and a hum, and I glanced up to find him looking out the window.

  “Sorry you missed it.”

  When he looked down at me, I looked back down at his hand.

  “Thank you for stripping the rest of the wallpaper. The scraper was taking forever. I didn’t think I’d ever get done.”

  “S’no problem. You shouldn’t be scraping without a mask anyway.”

  I peeked up to find him looking out the window again. The setting sun reflected off of his narrowed eyes, turning deep pine into teal green.

  “Do you think I could use your shower?” I asked, and his eyes slightly widened. Clearing his throat, he recovered quickly, not looking nearly as nervous as I felt.

  “You’re not using Mona’s?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Uh, then yeah. Sure.”

  Silence fell over us like it always did. Once his hand was rewrapped, I grabbed the bag of clothes I’d been planning to take to Mona’s.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  I think.

  Joe stared at me a moment and then studied the wrap on his hand. Pushing off the counter, he grabbed the bag I was holding and threw it over his shoulder to lead the way.

  ***

  The sun had set by the time we pulled into a hidden drive that sat just passed Brenda and Tim’s place. If I’d realized Joe lived so close to them, I probably wouldn’t have asked. The last thing I needed was for Brenda to see my car, call Mona and have her show up on his doorstep.

  I pushed those thoughts and worries aside while I focused on the narrow road ahead, the large trees looming above, their branches billowing with the breeze to let the bright light of the moon shine through.

  The cabin was dark and gloomy in the moonlight, its stairs even squeakier than mine. I followed him up them, waiting until he flipped on the light before stepping inside.

  The decor was what I would have expected—nonexistent. A plain brown couch was pressed up against the bare wood wall, a boxed-out TV sitting on a makeshift stand on the opposite wall with a set of rabbit ears on top. There were no curtains or throw pillows. No rugs, no runner on the tiny dining room table. But it was clean, and it was cool, and it smelled like him.

  My eyes fluttered closed as I breathed him in, the scent so overwhelming I felt myself sway. When I opened them again, he was gone.

  Glancing from side to side, I stepped further inside and peeked down the hallway, finding a bright light shining from an open door. I hesitantly started for it, smiling when I saw it was the bathroom. A towel and washcloth had been left out on the counter by the sink. I moved inside and closed the door, feeling around and then reaching up to find no lock.

  “Okay …” I mumbled to myself, turning back to the tub and twisting the handles until the temperature was perfect. Glancing back at the door, I quickly stripped out of my clothes, jumped inside and pulled the curtain shut behind me.

  The water was searing in the best sort of way, steaming up the room and loosening my sore muscles from a day of angry weed pulling. I could have stood under the hot spray all night, just basking in the forceful water pressure. This shower was so much better than Mona’s.

  Dipping my head back, I closed my eyes to wet my hair, hurriedly wiping the water from my face when I felt a brush of cool air against my legs.

  My heart pounded, thinking it was Joe, but it was only the air from the furnace blowing the shower curtain. I couldn’t imagine what I would have done if it had been him. The fact that I wanted to find out had me washing off a little quicker. I didn’t know if I was ready for him to see me naked.

  I dried off and got dressed as close as I could to the door in order to avoid that accident waiting to happen. If he did ever end up seeing me naked, I wanted to be prepared and not look like a drowned cat if I could help it.

  When I emerged from the bathroom, he was coming down the hallway, shirtless and with the button of his pants undone. I swallowed, unable to take my eyes off his zipper until he reached out for my towel.

  “Mind if I use that?”

  “Uh, yeah.” I handed it over. “I mean, not unless you do.”

  “Nope.” He slid past me and into the bathroom, setting my bag out in the hallway before cracking the door. I stood outside of it while I listened to him adjust the curtain and turn on the shower, trying to decide if I should just take off or not. I was getting ready to knock and tell him I was leaving when the water suddenly shut off, the shower curtain screeched and the door opened to reveal a mess of towel-dried brown hair and a shiny, wet chest.

  I swallowed again, feeling a tightness in my own chest.

  “That was fast,” I said, a little embarrassed to have been found still standing outside the bathroom door. He didn’t seem bothered at all, running a hand along the front of his beard. My heart seized when he reached for the front of the towel and unfastened it from around his hips, just refraining from exposing himself.

  I looked down either end of the hallway before my eyes settled on what I could see of his thighs. They were lighter than the rest of his skin, the muscles jumping every so often as he wiped drops of water from his chest and stomach.

  I backed up a bit when he stepped forward, wrapping the towel back around his hips as he slid past and disappeared into what I imagined was his bedroom. I was still standing in the same spot when he came back out, a pair of red and black checkered flannels hanging low on his hips.

  I watched as he approached, my gaze following him as he passed by. Picking up my bag, I trailed behind to stand awkwardly in the living room while he clanked around in the kitchen.

  “You want something?” he asked as he reemerged from the other room, a full glass in hand. The second sighting of his damp hair and naked upper half zapped the lining of my stomach. I couldn’t eat or drink anything if I tried.

  “Uh, no thanks. I think I’m just gonna go. It’s getting pretty late and I’m sure you’ve got an early morning.” Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, I took in the movement of his stomach muscles as he walked across the floor and sat down on the couch.

  “Suit yourself,” he said, dismissing me once he flipped on the TV, letting the sound of a late night sitcom fill the silence.

  With my hand wrapped around the knob, I lingered a moment longer than I meant to before finally slipping out the front door.

  Chapter Six

  I woke up late, startled by the sound of those loud-ass diggers and Phil’s overbearing bark. The man was mellow, but boy could he belt out an order like a damn drill sergeant when the occasion called for it. I wondered if he secretly reeled Mona in with all that repressed aggression. If so, that was something I’d like to see. Smiling, I pictured her on her knees, much like she was yesterday, bowed down and pouting.

  Yeah, I was fairly certain Phil was the only one who could possibly rein in that level of crazy. And I had to hand it to him because he sure as hell had his hands full.

  Lifting myself on bones that were aging before their time, I crawled to the edge of the bed, stepping off and stumbling across the floor to squint out the window. My attention shifted from blond to burnished as another man came into view—a man who held just as much power, but hardly ever voiced it. Not to me, anyway, e
ven though I wanted him to.

  Desperately.

  Everything about this man made me desperate, from the sweat that rolled down his shiny tanned back, to the low-hanging waist of his dark-wash jeans.

  I liked how he worked his fingers to the bone from dawn to dusk. No complaints. No problems. He just did it and genuinely seemed to want to.

  He had the nature of a provider, a trait I held very near and dear to my heart. He reminded me of my father in that sense. Not that I was comparing him to my father. I didn’t have “daddy issues,” per se. I just knew he was a good man like my father—the only other man who ever truly took good care of me.

  There was no wrapping on his hand, I noticed, and I cringed. I realized he most likely didn’t have any supplies at his cabin, and there was no way it had healed overnight. He needed something covering it, or it was going to get infected from God-knew-what that was festering in all that turned-up soil. He raked at the dirt as if it were no big deal, bending over every so often to pick up and throw aside some foreign body that happened to be in his way.

  Glancing at the bedside table, I thought about pulling out one of the first aid kits, running out there and bandaging it up before he could do any real damage. But then I thought better of it. If memory served, males didn’t appreciate a woman making them look weak. I didn’t know how he’d take to being coddled and cared for in front of the other men. I didn’t really care to find out. The last thing I wanted was to alienate him and ruin what little progress we’d already made.

  I couldn’t help but admire his resilience, his strength, the fact that it never seemed to bother him—his hand. In fact, nothing ever seemed to bother him, except for having any part of me anywhere near any part of him. And that had me wondering …

  Was he, the mysterious man inside, as resilient and strong as his lithe and able body? Could he even possibly hope to overcome what tragedies he had seen, what damage he had endured while fighting overseas?

  My stomach dropped like a rock with the shrill ring of my cell phone. There were only two people who had my number, and I didn’t want to talk to either of them. The only person I wanted to talk to was standing right outside my window, working hard in the heat of the early morning sun.