by June Gray
“Says the person who couldn’t bear the thought of letting a complete stranger die on the side of the road.”
“Letting you die and killing you are two different things.” I don’t know why I felt the need to assert myself, but I pulled the gun out of my waistband and pointed it at his chest. The rational part of my brain was screaming that this wasn’t how normal people behaved in civilized society, but the bigger, wilder part of me just plain didn’t care. This man might be physiologically stronger than me, but under this roof, I was king.
He held his hands up, but just when I thought I had him, he took a slow step forward and pressed his chest onto the barrel of the gun. His eyes bore into mine when he said, “So do it.”
A strange tingle went through my body, a reaction to the recklessness that mirrored my own. My heart stuttered when he came even closer, trying to force my hand. I held my arm steady, thrusting the gun deeper into his flesh.
“Never point a gun at someone you don’t intend to kill,” he said.
I held fast. “Never stand in front of a gun unless you intend to die.”
“I can die right now. I have no identity, no sense of self. What have I got to lose?” His words sounded more like a confession than a dare.
“Your life,” I said, growing irate. “That I worked hard to save.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you just threaten to kill me?”
We stared at each other for a long, charged moment.
I blinked first. I could have allowed the farce to go on, but his nearness was making me nervous. “I wasn’t serious about that,” I said, taking a step back and lowering the gun.
He grinned and a hint of a dimple showed on his cheek. “Neither was I.” He resumed dressing in the snow clothes, acting as if he hadn’t just asked me to end him.
I realized then, as I tucked my gun in my waistband, that I didn’t find him familiar because he was lost. No, it was a little simpler than that.
It was because we were both just a little bit fucked up.
The stranger was ready a few minutes later, all decked in winter gear that was a tad too tight across the shoulders but too large in the waist. At least the thermal hat and gloves fit. He turned around at the front door and opened his mouth to probably say thank you for the millionth time.
“If you say thank you again, I will stab you, Kenny,” I said with a snort.
“Kenny?”
“You look like Kenny from South—oh, never mind.” I waved him away. “Go before the sun starts to set. Just go south until you hit the town. You won’t miss the police station.”
He held out a gloved hand. “It was nice meeting you, Kat.”
“You too, Bart.”
“I owe you my life.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic.”
His grey eyes held mine, making my stomach do an odd little lurch that I dismissed as indigestion. “Goodbye, Kat,” he said, and with one last gentlemanly nod, waded out into the deep snow. He was a shock of dark against the white landscape, an outsider in my little town.
“Bye, Stranger,” I said, watching from the front door. He was halfway down the driveway when an idea struck me. I couldn’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner. “Wait!”
His head whipped around.
“Hold on.” I ran inside, took a pair of snowshoes—the old school kind made of rope and wood— off the wall in my bedroom and came back out.
His face lit up as he made his way back through the trench he’d made.
“They might be a little small on you but they should still fit.” I’d bought the shoes on a whim a few years ago during a craft fair in Cormack but had never really used them, had only used hung them up as decoration.
He came back inside momentarily as he figured out how to tie the harness around his boots. Then he stepped out onto the snow and, when he didn’t sink, turned to me and said, “Thank you. You’re amazing."
The compliment, thrown so carelessly my way, struck me straight in the chest. I couldn’t even remember the last time anyone had given me praise. “Just get going.”
The snowshoes worked like a charm, allowing him to travel on top of the snow so that he moved faster and gained more ground. He twisted around and threw one more meaningful look my way before heading back down the driveway.
When he was out of sight, I closed the door and turned to find Josie licking melted snow off the linoleum floor. “Guess it’s just you and me again.” I walked to the living room and it was as if the entire house seemed suddenly larger, emptier. It was an unsettling feeling that I didn’t want to think about, so I changed into some workout clothes, grabbed the package from the post office that contained my new weightlifting gloves, and went out to the shed to sweat my worries away.
Despite the lack of good insulation in the shed, I was overheating by the time I’d completed my self-designed Workout of the Day: fifty reps of lunges, double unders, kettlebell swings, pistol squats, push-ups, and box jumps.
Even though I was out of breath, with my heart ready to burst out of my chest, I still felt restless. I just pretended I didn’t know the reason why.
I jumped up and took hold of my horizontal hanging bar and performed as many pull-ups as I could manage, getting to nineteen before my arms gave out.
“Impressive.”
I spun around and found the stranger standing at the doorway, looking no worse for wear. My skin broke out in goosebumps, but I’d like to think that was because of the cold air that got in when the door opened and not because of the man who had just breezed back into my life.
He was so tall, so immense, that he blocked nearly the entire doorway. He held up one snowshoe; its crossbar was broken in half. “I’m sorry about this. I guess I was a little too heavy for it.”
“No big deal,” I said, turning around and slipping my sweatshirt back on, hoping he hadn’t seen too much of my bare torso. “How did it go? Did you find Sheriff Drew?”
“The town was empty.”
“As in completely?”
“As in its engulfed in snow and there are no tire tracks to be seen anywhere,” he said. “So what now?”
“I don’t know.” I shivered as my damp body cooled down. “Let’s regroup inside the house.”
We went in and he took off the snow gear, hanging each piece on the back of the dining chairs to dry out. I noticed the back of his shirt was soaked with sweat, so I retrieved another shirt from my dad’s dresser and threw it at him.
“Thank you,” he said and turned around as he reached behind his head and pulled off his shirt. The socially acceptable behavior was to avert my eyes, but I couldn’t help but openly gawk, allowing my gaze to caress the muscles on his wide back. A black tattoo traveling down the length of his spine caught my attention, and I took a step closer to read the inscription.
He looked over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing?”
“You have a tattoo,” I said, tracing the simple serif lettering with my finger, surprised to find his skin so warm. “Veni, Vidi, Vici.”
He twisted around, trying to see the tattoo with no success. “Hang on,” he said and ran to the bathroom, giving me an unsettling view of jeans hanging low on his hips, showing the top of his ass.
The view during his return was even better. To say he had a nice body was an understatement. He had wide, flat pecs with dime-sized nipples, abdominals that contracted with each step, and deep indentations at his hips. And then there was the dark hair that covered his chest and traveled lightly down his stomach until it grew darker below the bellybutton, carpeting the way to whatever it was he packing under there. And damn it if I didn’t want to find out.
The throbbing between my legs jolted me back to reality and I looked away with warm cheeks. He was a stranger and he wasn’t staying; why the hell was I checking him out this way?
“So you like the view?” he asked with a half-smile.
I shrugged, wanting nothing more than to wipe that
cocksure smile off his face. “I’ve seen better.”
He tilted his head forward and gave a meaningful, ominous smile. “My guess is that you haven’t,” he said. “Seen very many, that is.”
“That’s fucking presumptuous of you,” I said, folding my arms across my chest.
There it was again, that overconfident smile that I wanted to wipe off his bearded face. “I could be the town harlot for all you know.”
“But you’re not,” he said matter-of-fact. “If you were, you wouldn’t be using the word harlot.”
“What happened to you?” I asked, refusing to admit defeat. “You were more tolerable earlier. Less of an arrogant asshole.”
That finally got to him. He blinked, not saying anything.
One point to Kat. Zero to Jimmy.
4
STRANGER
Kat was right. Sometime during the day, perhaps during my long and painful walk into town, I became a different person. I found a sense of purpose, and then later, a glimpse of my true character. I was unsure of myself as I tried to make sense of what was happening, but I finally stopped fighting the inner voice and just let him have his say.
Turns out he—or rather, I—was a bit of an arrogant prick. A part of me was afraid that Kat would take offense and kick me out, but a larger part just wanted to see how far I could push her. And judging from the way she pushed right back, I’d say it was pretty far.
I had to admit: I liked her. She had some guts. And to find her working out in the metal shed, performing moves that most men would have trouble with, while her body was on display in little more than a sports bra made me all the more glad the town had been deserted.
I’d fully intended on leaving, but as I walked towards the police station I realized I didn’t want to say goodbye to her just yet. I wanted to get to know the prickly woman who lived alone, who tried to pass herself off as androgynous but failed miserably, who saved strangers from certain death, lent them her father’s clothes, then held them at gunpoint just for kicks.
I wanted to get to know her, to figure out what made her tick. So it came as a great relief when I had to turn around and trudge back the way I’d come.
And now here she was, face dewy with exertion, calling me an arrogant asshole because she got caught ogling my body. She was reckless and daring and just a little bit crazy. I wanted nothing more than to crack her mind wide open.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I said, leaning against the back of the couch casually.
“Yes to what?”
“To whether or not you like my body.” I chuckled when she pursed her lips and ground her teeth. I almost expected her to snarl. Instead she said, “I’m going to take a shower.” She walked to her bedroom and came back out a minute later with a stack of folded clothes and a gun on top.
I strolled into the kitchen, standing behind the counter to make her feel more comfortable and leaving my hands flat out on the laminate surface. “I’ll be right here the entire time. You have my word,” I said. “Better yet, I can make some dinner. What would you like?”
She crooked one eyebrow. “You remember how to cook?”
I shrugged. “How hard can it be?”
“Well, there’s a frozen pizza in the freezer. If all else fails, there’s a can opener in that drawer and Spaghetti-O’s in the pantry.”
I looked through the pantry after she left. As the shower started running I studied her groceries, scratching my head at her unusual food choices. Here was a grown woman with a pantry full of premade food—mainly of the Chef Boyardee kind—and canned vegetables. And just when I thought she ate like a child, I found jars of truffles and other exotic kinds of food. In her fridge she had fresh vegetables and leftovers in plastic containers. In the freezer she had the frozen pizza and burritos alongside a rack of ribs, a side of chuck roast, and ground beef divided into neat little bagged packages.
I racked my brain, trying to remember a recipe—any would do—but couldn’t come up with a single one. Either my memory was worse than I thought or I was just not the cooking kind. Frozen pizza it was.
Figuring out her oven took a minute; I had a sneaking suspicion I’d never used one before in my previous life. After I slid the pizza into the oven I looked down at my hands, feeling the pads of my fingers and my palm. The skin was a little calloused but nothing that would indicate I was a man used to hard labor.
The picture that was starting to form of my past was not one I liked.
Kat’s shower took all of five minutes. She emerged from the bathroom looking fresh and wearing an oversize grey t-shirt and sweat pants, her long blond hair hanging wet down to the middle of her back. Even though she was hiding the curves I knew were there, my body reacted to hers with urgency. I was warm all over and there was a definite stirring in my crotch, which wasn’t helped by the fact that it was getting a denim fondling every time I moved.
“You clean up nice,” I said with a lack of finesse, and turned back to the oven to hide my growing erection. The last thing she needed to see was the strange man in her home sporting a huge woody.
Better than discovering I had a muscular body was finding out just how well-endowed I was. Monster python was a reach, but average was a huge understatement. Let’s just say I wouldn’t be ashamed to be caught having sex on film.
Kat walked around the counter separating us and crouched beside me, peering into the oven. I could smell her Irish Spring soap and something else, something more feminine and sweet, a scent my body was definitely responding to. I squatted beside her to get a better smell, feigning interest in the pizza.
“So you’re cooking me a gourmet pizza?” she asked with a hint of sarcasm in her raspy voice.
Our faces were so close I could see the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks. “It’ll be good, I promise,” I said, not really talking about the pizza. My head filled with thoughts of the X-rated kind, and I had to avert my eyes out of fear I’d be discovered.
I didn’t know how I knew, but somehow I sensed it would be electric with us, combustible.
She took her pizza to the couch and turned on the TV. I sat on the recliner, as far away from her as possible. This woman was helping me; the last thing she needed was a horny amnesiac who was sexually attracted to her. If I acted on my impulses, I’d find myself out in the snow faster than I could blink. And that’s if her dog didn’t tear me a new one first.
Said dog was sitting beside her owner on the couch, her eyes flicking to me every time I made a move. She didn’t trust me yet and with good reason. I could try to ply her with food, but something told me she was smarter than that. It would take time to earn her trust, just like her owner.
“Thank you for taking me in for another night,” I said after some time.
“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
“You do. I can sleep in the shed or the Jeep.”
“And then I get to take your popsicle of a body to the morgue in the morning?”
“Something like that.”
She shook her head. “You can take my dad’s room.” She set her empty plate down and took a swig of soda then held up two fingers. “But two things: one, I sleep with my gun under my pillow and won’t hesitate to use it should you try anything; and two, Josie will rip your nuts off before you even get close enough.”
“Duly noted.”
Her face was all seriousness when she said, “I’m not even kidding.”
I nodded, not knowing how else to show her that I had no ill intentions. “This is your home and I’m a guest,” I said. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“Then prove it.” The look in her eyes was a glittering challenge. I gave another nod in response.
After dinner, Kat washed the dishes. I stood nearby, leaning against the counter with my arms folded across my chest.
“I didn’t take you for a woman who washed dishes for a man,” I said, goading her.
She immediately rose to the challenge. “I’m not. I’m washing these be
cause you made dinner. Fair’s fair.”
I kept watching her, trying to figure out what was going on in that brain of hers.
“Can you please stop looking at me like that?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the sink.
“Like what? I’m just looking at you.”
“Why? Why would you need to look at me?”
Her question took me aback. “I didn’t know I needed a reason.”
She shook her head. “I have no idea what is so interesting to look at.”
It was, quite possibly, the first thing she’d revealed about her. Her blustering bravado was a shield for the insecurities that lay underneath. I wanted nothing more than to rip off that metal plate and get to the heart of her. “You have no idea, do you?” I asked.
She turned to me, her blue eyes narrowed. “What? Please tell me exactly what it is that I don’t know.”
“How beautiful you are.”
Her indignation seeped out, leaving her deflated, but I knew she wouldn’t take the compliment. Not this one. “You’re so full of shit,” she said, flicking me with water. “Grab a towel and dry some dishes, Don Juan.”
I picked up the dish towel, keeping my eyes trained on her. “What happened to you? Why can’t you take a compliment?”
“I have what you call a Bullshit Radar. I can see it coming a mile away.”
I snickered. “And you think I’m bullshitting you? You should turn that radar on yourself.”
“You calling me a liar?”
“I’m calling you an attractive woman who should just accept the compliment with grace and say thank you.”
“Screw you.”
“Close enough.” I laughed, shaking my head. She was a piece of work.
A few minutes of silence passed as we worked alongside each other. I put away the dishes with some direction, and she cleaned out the sink then fed the dog. It was so… domestic.
After I hung the dish towel on the oven handle, I turned to her and asked, “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”