Dirty

by Gina Watson

  “Clara! I’m sitting here whining about where to meet men and you don’t think to tell me you’ve got the hottest man I’ve ever seen in your kitchen?”

  “Well . . . he’s . . . kind of troubled.” Clara frowned.

  “Troubled? Well, maybe he needs to be unburdened.”

  “I don’t know.” Her little mouth twisted in thought.

  “I know!” Courtney sipped her wine to cool the fire he’d awakened within her. “What’s his name?”

  “Sawyer Murphy.” Clara went to check on her other customer. Normally standing room only, the shop was sparsely populated due to the rain.

  “Sawyer Murphy,” Courtney echoed in delight—a masculine name too. It’s like his parents knew he was destined for hotness.

  Sawyer returned a while later and ducked behind the bar to wash his hands. His hair was chestnut, long and thick, and almost reached his collar. Courtney imagined running her fingers through it during sex. She watched as his hands massaged the towel during the drying process. She’d love to have those hands on her. He turned, now facing her, and took a glass from the rack. He poured water from the tap.

  As he lowered the glass their eyes met, only briefly. He nodded, “How do you do?”

  “Fine, thank you. It’s quite wet out there, isn’t it?”

  He nodded and drank from the glass, his Adam’s apple bobbing on each swallow. A bead of water trailed from the corner of his mouth, down to his chin and neck. Courtney gasped quickly at the sight of his thick lips rimming the glass. Pulling the empty glass away from his mouth, he used his free hand to wipe his mouth and chin.

  “Have you worked here long?” Courtney’s voice was breathy. She was so interested in the answer she had to focus on her knee to keep it from bouncing in anticipation.

  “No.”

  No? That’s it? “Know a lot about cheese?” She smiled.

  “Excuse me.” He set the glass down and walked away.

  Courtney was stunned. Men usually fell all over themselves to get to her. In fact, she couldn’t remember a time one hadn’t. She cocked her head in thought as she watched his fine derrière walk away. Courtney David was intrigued.

  Clara appeared, offering more wine.

  “Hit me.” Courtney demanded.

  “I’d like to invite you to a game night party.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You bring your favorite board game and a bottle of wine. Next Friday. One of Jackson’s colleagues will be there.”

  “A doctor?”

  Clara nodded, but Courtney shook her head. “I’ve not had much luck with doctors.”

  “You should come anyway. It would be a fun way to meet him without having to date him.”

  That was true and unlike his bride, Jackson was almost thirty and so were the Olivier’s friends. “Count me in.”

  Clara smiled. “Good, I think you’ll have fun.”

  Chapter 2

  “You have a collect call from an inmate at the Louisiana State Penitentiary. Press one to accept charges.”

  Sawyer Murphy pressed the godforsaken button.

  “Son?”

  “Don’t call me that.” Sawyer exhaled noisily into the phone. “What do you want?”

  “When will you come?”

  “I don’t know. I’m kind of busy. I don’t think I’ll find the time.”

  “I know.” Marshall’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry I let you down.”

  It was the same thing every time. Only thing was, I’m sorry was easy. It was simple to offer. What Sawyer was doing was hard.

  “I could use some money if you can spare it.”

  “Fine.”

  “Thank you, son.”

  “I asked you not to call me that.”

  “But you are my son. Like it or not.”

  “Look, I gotta go. I’m managing three jobs. Don’t have time for this shit.”

  “Just tell me one thing about the girls. How’s school?”

  “Jess is playing volleyball. Riley is good at math.”

  “Thank you.” He cried into the phone before the line went dead.

  Leaning against the wall outside of the cheese shop where he reported for job number three, Sawyer scrubbed at his face, mentally adding up how much money he’d need to come up with to make it through the end of the month. Heels clicking on rain-soaked cement stole his attention. The blond from earlier was walking toward him from her car. He didn’t remember a time when he’d ever seen hair so light—almost the color of snow. There was a lot of it, but not a single hair dared defy its owner by falling out of line.

  She reached for the door to the shop next door, but stopped abruptly when she spotted him. Shit! He’d been made.

  “Oh, it’s you.”

  “Yes. And it’s you.”

  She took up the spot beside him, leaning against the wall.

  “Is everything okay?”

  He frowned at her question. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

  She popped her hand on her waist, spunky with her wavy hair and perpetual smile. “I’m Courtney, by the way.”

  “Sawyer.”

  “I haven’t seen you around before.”

  “I haven’t been around.”

  She regarded him with a knit brow, “So you just started at the cheese shop.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I work right over there”—she pointed at the realty shop—“so if you need anything let me know.” She pushed off the wall intent on walking away.

  “I doubt you’ll have the things I have need of.”

  “What?” Her head whipped around, her crystal blue eyes forcefully meeting his.

  “I just said, thanks.”

  “Huh. I don’t think that’s what you said. I think you were being rude.”

  “Well you were being nosey, so we’re even.”

  Suddenly her plucky energy was gone and he felt her cheerfulness leave with it.

  “Whatever.” She turned and left him standing next to the wall. He immediately regretted being such a dick. The thing of it was . . . he couldn’t afford to be friendly. Literally, he couldn’t afford it.

  Time passed swiftly for the next few days. He saw her, she saw him. Now that they were aware of one another they couldn’t not cross paths.

  One particular day had him scrubbing the floor with bleach to lift mold from the grout in the kitchen at Clara’s shop. His phone rang and he rested the mop against his shoulder and answered.

  “This is Sawyer.”

  “Six hundred dollars for you if you can get to Ida Barker’s house within the next hour and capture a boar.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  He needed that damn money. Now that Jess was playing volleyball she needed things. Tennis shoes, sports bra, hair ties, face wash. There was no end.

  He found his boss out front, updating specials on a freestanding chalkboard. “Clara, I’ve gotta take off for a bit, but I’ll be back to finish the kitchen.”

  “No problem.”

  He raced toward the back delivery door. Approaching his ten-year-old Chevrolet four door truck, he pulled the keys from his pocket. He’d need to stop for gas if he was going to make it all the way out to Ida’s place on the edge of town.

  At the station, he pumped in five gallons, calculating he could get seventy miles out of it if he didn’t use the air conditioner. Seventy miles would need to last through the end of the week when he’d be paid in cash by Clara. Truth told he’d taken the little job just to provide gas money.

  As he climbed into the driver’s seat his cell phone rang.

  “Hello?”

  “Mr. Murphy, this is coach Harris. I want to speak with you about Jessica.”

  “Okay.”

  “She’s made the volleyball team, don’t you know?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “She has not submitted the money for her uniform and the orders go out today.”

  “Today?”

  “That’s right.”

  M
an, he needed that six hundred dollars. “Can I bring the money to you after school?”

  “That would be fine. It’s forty dollars for each uniform you purchase. I’d recommend at least two.”

  “Two. Got it.”

  “She’ll also need a pair of tennis shoes that are not Converse.”

  “I’ll take her tonight for shoes.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Murphy.”

  He hung up the phone and massaged his brow. He was barely holding on by a thread. As soon as he got a little ahead the money would trickle away bit by bit. Last month Riley had to get a tooth filled and that had eaten into his emergency fund. Now that he’d put a twenty in the tank he had zero dollars to his name.

  Please God, let me catch this boar. I need this. We need this.

  ***

  Courtney really needed to start packing a lunch. Luckily, Clara had added some things to the menu other than cheese. Not that Courtney didn’t love cheese, but eating a lunch of cheese more than once per week wouldn’t be good for her waistline. Today she wore her favorite five-button royal-blue soft wool blend jacket and a black skirt. She liked food, but she liked fashion a little bit more. On her feet she wore classic black Jimmy Choo pumps.

  Walking into the little shop she inhaled deeply taking the scent of rich ripe cheese into her lungs. “Mmm.” She smiled.

  “Hi, Courtney. Will you be joining us for lunch?”

  “Yes, I do believe I will.”

  “Great, today I’ve got minestrone soup.”

  “Sounds delicious.” She set her phone on the counter and climbed onto the black lacquered bar chair.

  “Would you like a grilled gruyere sandwich to accompany?”

  “Oh I would, but let me take the pear and walnut salad instead.”

  “Coming right up.”

  Clara was busy—there wasn’t an empty chair to be had. Courtney counted ten filled chairs at the counter where she sat and another ten customers were accommodated by the five tables along the wall—for couples.

  Courtney wondered where Clara’s little helper was.

  A loud buzzer sounded from the back kitchen area and Clara’s demeanor went from pleasant to frazzled.

  Courtney stood and slipped behind the counter with ease. She daintily went up to Clara’s side and whispered, “Anything I can do to help?”

  Clara’s big blue puppy dog eyes pleaded with Courtney. “There’s a delivery at the back door.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Courtney walked through the kitchen and to the back door, opening it. “Hello,” she greeted.

  “Howdy. I’ve got a cheese delivery,” the efficient man dressed in slacks and a tailored shirt said. He passed her a clipboard and walked behind his air-conditioned truck. It was small and reminded Courtney of an old Schwan’s delivery truck.

  She walked into the kitchen and waited. Reading over the invoice on the clipboard she gleaned his name: Ron Wheeler. Carrying the prized product by hand required him to make a few trips. On one trip he carried a large round uncut cheese. The wax rind was still in place.

  “Mmm, what’s that?” She pointed at the nutty smelling cheese.

  “A full wheel of parmigiano reggiano.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot of parmesan.”

  “She orders one every week.”

  “Oh?” Courtney knew Clara had a steady flow of customers throughout the day. Now that she was serving dinner, Courtney guessed the young woman was doing quite a business. Selfishly, she couldn’t be happier because that meant she’d be around a long time and Courtney’s belly would be happy, and at least that was something. Happy belly, unhappy heart.

  “Here’s the info sheet. It details how to care for all of the cheeses: best storage temperature, best eating temperature, wine pairings.”

  Courtney took the paper. “That will be most helpful.”

  “If I may have your signature.”

  Courtney signed the invoice and thanked Mr. Wheeler. Once he’d left she started reading about the ideal properties at which to store Stilton cheese. She found it a lot like wine. Cheese, as it turned out, was very fussy.

  She’d left the back door open and now heard squealing. What the hell? She walked outside and spotted Sawyer on his cell phone. Squealing continued—the perpetrator was one fat, ugly and wild pig.

  “I’ve got the boar in a trap in the back of my truck. Can you come get it? I’m at work—two one two Main Street.”

  “You caught a boar?”

  His eyes squinted at her. “I did.”

  Heavy breathing and whining drew her attention to the inside of the truck. “Oh, what a pretty dog. Is he yours?”

  “He is.”

  Courtney scratched the head of a stately looking, liver colored lab sitting in the cab of Sawyer’s truck. “You bring him to work with you?”

  “Not usually. I needed him to hunt.”

  “What are you going to do with it?” She pointed at the caged beast.

  The creature squealed again, his large teeth visible when he opened his mouth. His eyes penetrated her, pleading to be set free. Why would he not answer her? She watched as he set up a shade tarp over the cage.

  “I asked what you were going to do with it.”

  “I heard you.”

  “You’re not very nice.”

  “And you’re not very respectful of my privacy.”

  “If you wanted privacy you should have been here to accept the delivery.”

  He stopped fiddling with the rope and canvas to glare at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Clara needed help so I accepted a delivery.”

  He resumed tying knots, jerking the rope forcefully through his fingers. “I guess it’s too much to ask you to do something without expecting anything in return. What do you want? If it’s money, I don’t have any.”

  “I want you to treat me like a human being and not like your dog. Hell, you’re probably nicer to your dog.”

  “Dog doesn’t expect anything from me.”

  “Neither do I, believe me.”

  “Courtney?”

  At the sound of Clara’s voice she turned and left Sawyer-mercurial-Murphy outside. “Thank you for doing this.” Clara pointed toward the elaborate array of cheeses from around the world.

  “Invoice is on the counter.”

  “I’ve got your lunch, it’s on the house.”

  “Thanks.” Courtney looked back through the opened door. “If you don’t mind, I’d like it to-go.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Oh yeah, it’s fine. I just need to be getting back.”

  “Of course.”

  Back at her desk Courtney let out a sigh. What was with all the men? Did she seem like a woman who expected things? What things would they be? He’d said if she expected money he didn’t have any. Did she appear money hungry? God, what would he say if he knew who she was? He’d despise her for the money she had and he didn’t. She was no longer hungry so she decided to refrigerate her lunch until her appetite returned.

  Returning from the break room she watched from the window as the rains started to pick up. It was going to be a wet winter, but at least the weather matched her somber mood. As she prepared the closing documents for the sale of the Renaud house, she heard the sickening sounds of crunching metal. Turning she saw the collision of two cars, and it looked like a bad one.

  ***

  A flash of blue beat Sawyer to the scene of the accident. In her suit, Courtney splashed through the dirty water and was inside of the car in mere seconds.

  “Ma’am, it’s all right. Your baby is unharmed. I’m just going to get her.” The baby screamed. Kneeling on the back seat Courtney lifted the baby from the car seat.

  “You’re okay. Oh, you’re okay. What’s your baby’s name?”

  “Anna.”

  “Anna’s fine.” Courtney kissed her head while Sawyer watched in awe at her coolness during emergencies. She and little Anna were sopping wet and filthy from the mud on th
e outside of the car. Courtney’s hair was a little darker when it was wet. For some reason his brain wanted to make note of that.

  “Ma’am, are you hurt?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sawyer?”

  His eyes met hers and he understood her head tilting gesture. She wanted him to check on the woman. He’d already sort of done that. He didn’t want to say it out loud, but the woman was not okay. She’s bleeding, he mouthed.

  Courtney’s frown indicated she’d understood him.

  “I called for an ambulance.” Clara said as she rushed from her shop.

  Courtney passed the baby off to Sawyer and boarded the car. Sitting next to the woman she searched for the source of the bleeding. “It’s your thigh.”

  “It hurts.” The mom winced.

  “That’s because there’s a piece of metal in your leg. It’s not very big though—the size of a dime in diameter. You should be fine once you get stitched up.” Courtney nodded assuredly.

  “Take it out.”

  Courtney turned to Sawyer. “Where’s the fire department?”

  He pulled his phone from his pocket with his free hand—a difficult task given the drenched denim he wore and the baby in his arms. When he was about to call he heard the strains of the sirens, indicating an engine was heading their way.

  “Here they come.”

  Courtney moved to exit the car but the woman pleaded, “Don’t leave.”

  “I’m not!”

  “My baby’s okay, isn’t she?”

  “Your baby’s fine.” Courtney pointed to the baby in Sawyer’s arms. “What’s your name?”

  “Caroline.”

  “Oh? Do you know the Neil Diamond song?”

  “Sweet Caroline.”

  “Yeah, I had that song stuck in my head the other day.”

  “I was named after it.”

  “Were you? It’s a great song. I love Neil Diamond.”

  As he watched Courtney ease the injured woman’s worries he felt bad for the way she must have perceived him earlier—terse and angry. He’d been worried about money is all and it was hard for him to see her strutting around in clothes that probably cost more than his rent. They were from two different worlds. Weren’t they? She probably drove a fancy little sports car and lived in a nice neighborhood. He noticed the cut in her stockings and then the little bit of blood that had collected. She’d been cut, though not severely. Her clothes would be ruined, but she didn’t seem to care. Nor did she care about her hair and makeup. The way she strutted around he thought that was all she was about, but looks could be deceiving and hers sure were.