by Bree Cariad
A few things would work, but none of them looked right. Pulling out her box of recipes, she quickly ran through them, pleased to find one she hadn’t made in over a year. “Dad!” she called, walking out back where he was pulling weeds in the small garden he enjoyed working in.
“Yes?”
“I need to go to the store to get stuff for dessert.”
“Take the truck. Keys are in the living room.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
She could have gone to the small grocery in Hins Creak, but she felt they had a better chance in Hyacinth of having a superior selection of what she was looking for. It was a shame it wasn’t Friday because the farmer’s market would have probably had some amazing options.
Rosaurs was busy like normal for a Saturday and she ignored everything, heading over to the produce. It took a while to find strawberries that both looked and smelled right but finally she had two pounds worth buying. After grabbing a large tub of cool whip and a packet of gelatin, she headed to check out. There was only one lane open or she would have chosen another. The checker was none other than Wally Smyder, one of the boys from her graduating class, a total nerd who used to be her friend. That ended mid-year when he tried to kiss her and she punched him in the nose.
Taking a deep breath and hoping it would go by fast, she stood in line, moving forward slowly and keeping the person in front of her in between her and Wally, hoping he wouldn’t see her until the last moment. When the couple in front of her was through and had left, Wally turned and finally saw her. “Oh, hi, Deeka.”
“Hi, Wally,” she mumbled, fumbling in her purse for her wallet.
“Strawberries and cool whip?” he asked as he rang them up. “I didn’t think you were into that stuff.”
She stared at him blankly, confused. “What stuff? Doesn’t everyone like strawberry mousse?”
He gave her a strange glance before saying, “That’ll be seven-forty-seven, Deeka. A cheap price for a hot date.”
Now she was really confused. After handing him a ten, she tried to make sense of his words. “What are you talking about? I’m making dessert for tonight.”
Snickering, he shook his head. “Geez, Deeka. Come in to the twenty-first century. Are you frigid or what?”
As Deeka turned a deep red, realizing he must have been making some sort of sexual comment, a deep voice cleared behind her and she turned and glanced down at a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties seated in a wheelchair. He had light brown hair, a couple days’ worth of stubble on his chin, and he was staring at Wally with a frown on his face. “That was not very nice,” he said and his voice was softer than she expected. For some reason, she expected his voice to pour out like a bassoon. Her embarrassment deepened as she understood that he had heard and probably understood the underlying meaning of Wally’s words.
Grabbing her groceries, she ran out of the store. Someone yelled her name, but she ignored them, hopping into her father’s truck and getting out of the parking lot as quickly as she could. Deeka hated not understanding things and it happened all the time. She supposed a girl her age should understand whatever Wally had been talking about, but the fact was, she didn’t. And never had. It had never occurred to her that in the two years the two of them had been besties that he had considered them as more than friends. When he tried to kiss her and she hit him, he told everyone she had been leading him on.
For the rest of the year, the guys had looked at her oddly and the girls hadn’t been much better. Thankfully her friends Chrissa Carrol and DeLynn Straynar stood by her and told everyone else to bug off. Just thinking of the two made Deeka feel a little better. They would be at the picnic tomorrow. It would be fun just for that fact.
By the time she arrived home, the blush was gone and she felt much better. Of course, she also realized she hadn’t gotten her change. “Oh, well. It was only a couple bucks.”
Dessert took her about an hour to make and as she boiled the water and gelatin, put it in the mixer until it turned into a marshmallow consistency, and cut up the strawberries, she forgot all about the incident at the store. After adding the cool whip and strawberries to the marshmallow mixture, she poured it into a premade crust they already had and put it in the fridge to set up. By the time she was done, her father walked back in from taking care of his garden.
“All done?” he asked and she nodded. “Great. So, there’s something you should be aware about Curtis before he gets here.”
“What?” These kinds of warnings were something she was used to from her father. They came with words like “he swears a lot, ignore it” and “even though he won’t smoke here, you’ll smell it on him”; warnings so that she wouldn’t be surprised. Of course, she understood why. They started when she was a child because inquisitive girl that she was, she had looked at one of his friends and asked what was wrong with his face. Turned out the man had been burned in a fire. She had always been of the opinion that if you don’t understand what’s going on, ask, but there were some things as it turned out that you shouldn’t talk about.
“He’s partially paraplegic.”
“How can someone be partially paraplegic?” she asked in confusion. “Does he have use of only one of his legs?”
Grimacing, he shook his head. “No. Just sometimes his legs work better than others. It’s a condition that now has him in a wheelchair.” When he stopped talking, she knew that was all she would get out of him. Her father didn’t like to talk about other people’s secrets.
“Okay.” She looked around their house automatically. “We should push the coffee table over, Dad. If he’s in a wheelchair, he won’t get through.”
Placing a hand at the base of her skull, he gave her a quick kiss on her forehead, his thank-you gesture, and the two proceeded to try and make their home at least somewhat wheelchair friendly.
In her bedroom running a brush through her hair, Deeka wondered at the oddity of seeing two men in wheelchairs in one day. Of course, when they lived back east, it wouldn’t have even made her think, but in their tiny community, that did seem a bit of an odd coincidence. Before she could think any more on it, she heard her father’s voice. “Curt! It’s been awhile. Come in.”
A quieter voice answered, too low for her to hear and she quickly slipped her feet into a pair of sandals and trotted out to meet the newcomer. As her eyes landed on him, her heart dropped at the same time heat infused her cheeks. His dark green eyes met hers and she grimaced a smile.
It was the man from the grocery store.
Chapter 2
“Curt, this is my daughter, Deeka. Deeka, this is Curtis Brenten, friend and business associate.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Deeka,” Curtis said, offering her a warm smile. “Your father has nothing but wonderful things to say about you.” His voice was smoother than honey and if it weren’t for the fact Deeka was embarrassed as all get out from the incident earlier, she would have been entranced.
“Nice to meet you, too. Excuse me,” she whispered, darting into the kitchen on the pretext of doing…well, anything actually.
The two male voices continued in the living room for some time before she heard her father’s footsteps heading her way. “Of course I am,” he laughed. “Gardening keeps me sane. Come check it out. I’ll start the grill as well.” He opened the backdoor, stood aside, and Curtis moved smoothly around him, his wheelchair sliding quickly through the door. Looking over his shoulder, Barrett raised an eyebrow. “You okay, kiddo?”
“Mmhmm,” she said, nodding, even though she was leaning against a counter with her arms folded and her chin tucked against her chest.
“I’ll be right out, Curt,” he called, before walking over to her. “Honey,” he said gently, putting a hand on each shoulder. “There’s nothing to worry about or be freaked out about. Plenty of people are in wheelchairs. Curtis is still a man with a sharp mind and an even sharper wit. Don’t let the chair deter you.”
Looking up, she blinked as his words sunk in. “Dad,
I’m not freaked out by the chair.” How could he even think that of her? Deeka never cared about physical infirmities. People were people no matter what they looked like. It was what was inside that counted. Her father had taught her that and she lived by it.
“Then, what’s wrong? I’ve never seen you like this. Usually you want to get to know anyone who comes over.”
Wincing, she nodded. “He, um, was at the grocery store when I was there.”
“And?” he prodded when she didn’t continue.
“Wally said something that embarrassed me and he overheard it. I just…I just wasn’t expecting him to appear in our home, that’s all.”
Pulling her close, he kissed the top of her head. “Ah, Deeka, come out and get to know him. He’s a good guy.”
“You said that about Tempest,” she teased, making him groan.
“I’ll never live that down, will I?”
“Nope!” Tempest was one of the stranger of her father’s acquaintances. He came to visit once and was odder than odd. And rather gross. Her father had never invited him over after that.
Chuckling, he gave her a quick hug. “Why don’t you grab some glasses? I’ll take the lemonade outside.”
“All right.” She gathered three glasses and some napkins, following her father out the backdoor onto their cedar deck. Deeka really liked their deck. The two of them had built it themselves, replacing the old, rotting wood that had been there when they moved in. Curtis was looking at the garden. At a glance, she could see his wheelchair was smaller than she expected. Not as big as the ones at a hospital.
“Well, you’ve definitely got a green thumb,” he said, turning his chair around and coming back to the deck. Watching him quickly move his chair up the small ramp her father had built into it, she was kind of impressed. The chair acted like an extension of his arms. Looking over at her, he offered her a warm smile. “Lemonade?”
“Yep,” she said, putting the glasses down on the small table they had so that her father could fill them. “Nice and tart.”
“Perfect. So…Barrett says you just graduated high school. Are you going to college in the fall?” he asked, picking up his glass and taking a sip. That he didn’t make an awkward face impressed her. Deeka and her dad really liked their lemonade on the sour side.
“Not yet,” she hedged. “Maybe next year.” Courting year for a Hyacinth girl was too important. As much as she might try and convince herself that she wanted to explore the world, and she did, she also wanted what every other girl in town wanted. A great guy to fall in love with her. The two different desires just had a hard time coalescing, especially with the unimpressive selection of single men who were looking for a wife.
“No rush,” he said easily. “I think sometimes we push kids into college too early and they go, not so much to learn, as for something to do. Take your time.”
“So what do you do?” she inquired, after taking a big gulp of lemonade.
“I’m a writer.”
“Really? Like novels and stuff? Or journalism?” she asked with interest. Both she and her dad were avid readers. Not only did they have a book collection that would rival the best libraries in the world on their computer, but her father subscribed to all the major newspapers in every English-speaking country.
He grinned. “Mystery/suspense writer.”
“What are your book titles?” Her mind began to go over her favorite mysteries, wondering if she would have read one or two.
A few titles spilled from his lips and she didn’t recognize them. Turning to her father, she was confused by the amused expression on his face. “We have them,” he said, answering her unspoken question. “I just hadn’t given you access until your birthday.”
“Why?”
Curtis chuckled even as her father tried to hide a smile. “They have content not suitable for a young girl,” he filled in, saving Barrett who seemed to be looking for the right words.
“What he said,” her dad said with a grin.
“Oh.” She wondered if he was referring to sex stuff. The most she’d found in any of the romances her father let her read was a lot of rather gross, tongue-filled kissing.
“Mostly gore,” Curtis continued. “Some pretty intense murder scenes.”
“Sick man,” Barrett said with a chuckle.
“Some people have nightmares that keep them awake. I write out all the disturbing stuff while I’m awake and sleep like a baby.”
“What book would you suggest first?” she asked, wanting to read his works now that she had met him.
“Morts-Vivants,” he said immediately. “My first book in the Detective Avrahm series. It was my third novel, but definitely one of my best. Plus if you enjoy it, this will give you a good background on Avrahm and Jessa his assistant for the other nine in the series.”
“Cool.”
“Speaking of which,” Barrett said as he poured charcoal into their grill. “When’s the next one coming out?”
“Avrahm’s on hold right now,” Curtis admitted, grinning when her father groaned. “I have a new novel completely set in Paris coming out next month.”
“Paris? Have you been there?” Deeka asked with interest.
“Yep. Spent a year there during my research and writing phase.”
“Curt likes to understand the people he’s writing about,” Barrett explained, walking back to the table. “He lived underground for three months when he was writing his book, Cave Dwellers.”
“Never going to do that again,” Curtis grunted. “Cold. Damp. Depressing. But it was needed to feel what my characters felt, trapped down there unable to return to the surface. Paris was much better. Of course, that might have been because my main character was a wealthy Frenchman. Now, that’s the life.”
Barking out a laugh, Barrett slapped his shoulder. “Rogue.”
“Of course.”
“Where’s the most exciting place you’ve been?” she asked, interested, though more in listening to him talk than in his actual words. Deeka found him fascinating.
“Before I had to start using the chair, I spent eight months with an unnamed group—and I won’t tell you, Barrett,” he said in a warning tone. “You being a fed’s a dangerous thing.” Both men grinned at what Deeka assumed was a common argument between them. Her father hadn’t been in law enforcement since they moved to Hins Creek. When her mother left, he wanted to leave everything behind and had quit his job at the FBI.
“Not with the feds anymore,” Barrett said.
“Uh-huh. I’m sure you still have contacts you could drop a word or two in their ear.” After taking another swig of lemonade, Curtis turned back to her. “They’re what the U.S. government would call terrorists. They call themselves freedom fighters. I lived as they did and the hero, or anti-hero actually, in that particular book was based on several of those men.”
“I don’t think most people would agree that he was the hero,” Barrett remarked.
“People believe Avrahm is the hero,” Curtis said, shrugging. “Which is fine. It sells books. But I have respect for those men. Not for what they do, but for their fight.”
Deeka listened as the two talked, their discussion going from Curtis’s books, to people they both knew, to her mother.
“Heard from Pénélope lately?” Curtis asked, raising an eyebrow as they finished eating their cheeseburgers.
“Haven’t heard from her since a year after she left.” Barrett sent a look to him that Deeka felt she was probably not supposed to see, but recognized nonetheless. It was his protective look. The one that said, “Not in front of my little girl.”
His friend picked up on it. “That was a wonderful meal,” he said warmly. “I’ve been travelling a lot lately. Restaurant burgers just don’t cut it.”
“Does anyone want dessert?” she asked, looking between them. If he thought her father’s burgers were good—and they were—he was going to love her strawberry mousse.
“You have dessert too? Trying to spoil me? I’m in,”
he said with a smile as she jumped up and went into the kitchen.
She could hear their voices, though not the specific words as she plated up three pieces of mousse. Grabbing some spoons, she went back out to the deck.
“Oh,” he moaned after his first bite. “Barrett, how are you not five hundred pounds? This is absolutely fantastic. It’s like heaven on a plate.”
“Deeka knows her desserts,” her father agreed, eating his quickly. “So, how long are you in town for?”
“Kind of depends,” Curtis said, hedging.
“On?”
With a sigh, he gave her father a wry look. “One of the reasons I’ve been travelling is I’m looking for a new place to call home. Ever since Wren and I broke up, Idaho Falls doesn’t quite do it for me. Thought I would check out the Hyacinth area since you keep talking so highly of it.”
“Well, now, that’s the best information you’ve given me all night,” Barrett said, sounding pleased. “It’ll be great to have you here. Staying at Hyacinth Inn?”
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“Newest and best place around. And,” he added, “the only B&B in town that has rooms which are made for someone who cannot climb stairs. I just assumed.”
“You trying to become a character in my books?”
“There’s a character that’ll stick,” Barrett said wryly. “Oh, look, call in Detective Barrett. He can tell you where a person is staying within fifty meters.”
Throwing his head back, Curtis laughed. Whereas her own father’s laugh was loud and could boom through any room, his was softer and yet still robust. She found herself grinning widely just as the sound.
“Deeka.” Hearing her name, she instantly looked at her dad. “Why don’t you take everything in and get ready for bed? Read something for a while.”
She didn’t want to. For the first time, she really wanted to get to know one of her father’s friends, but she knew the words. “Read something for a while” meant “I want to talk to my friend easily without someone else listening in. Go keep yourself busy.”