Any Man of Mine (Holmes Crossing Book 5)

by Carolyne Aarsen

  "I'd like to see you again," he said, his fingers lingering in my fair tresses.

  And I wanted to see him again, even though he intimidated me a little with his culture.

  "Hey. Hemstead. Don't move. We gotta talk."

  The nasal voice of Steve Stinson coming up behind me made me want to scream.

  How did he find me? Had he been following me? The thought sent a chill through me.

  I braced myself, and turned to face him, glad that I had James beside me. The liquor fumes wafting from Steve's direction made my eyes water.

  I hadn't returned Steve's call and the next message I got from him via Bobby was that he was ticked at me and going to find me if it took him all day, and here he was. Incredibly focused for a borderline psychopath.

  "What do you want, Steve?"

  Steve's bleary eyes flicked from me to James. "It's my boy. Kent. You can't keep him away from me."

  "As long as you continue to violate the terms of your parole, you have no right to see him."

  Steve's eyes narrowed and he leaned closer. I would not move and show weakness, but my insides were quaking. Steve was the kind of guy that could so easily jump either way.

  "And you tell your brother to stay away from my Juanita," he added.

  "What brother?" Steve's sudden change of topic confused me.

  "That Chip dude. He's been seeing my girl, Juanita. The mother of my son." Steve sneered at me. "And you know I'm gonna see my kid. You shouldn't stop me if you know what's good for you." He pressed his finger against my chest and then I did take a step back, angry at how easily he could intimidate me.

  Steve glanced from me to James, who stood beside me. James easily had six inches and twenty pounds on Steve, but he said and did nothing. I felt a frisson of disappointment. Of course, who was I to complain? My brothers had raised me to take care of myself and I usually did, just to prove to them I could. Still, at the risk of sounding all damsel-like, I wouldn't have minded some intervention.

  "I think you better leave," James said, finally stepping forward. Okay, not exactly a hero-making move, but at least he made an attempt.

  Steve's noxious grin showcased his crooked and missing teeth. He glanced at James again, seemingly satisfied that nothing was going to happen in that quarter.

  "Yeah," he said. "Maybe I will." Then he turned and strode away, still weaving, but clearly feeling in charge of his world.

  I drew in a long, slow breath, trying to assimilate what Steve had told me. Chip should have let me know he was seeing Juanita.

  "That was close," James said, patting me on my shoulder. "Do you have to deal with guys like this all the time?"

  "Once every two weeks." I felt another flicker of disappointment. I wished he would have let me lean against him--get support for my wobbly legs.

  "He's pretty intimidating." He put his hands on my shoulders. "You didn't seem the least bit scared of him."

  "And the Oscar goes to..." I quipped. "I've learned that to show fear around these characters is to give them an edge. They're bullies, is all. I have to stand up to them. I'm glad you were here though."

  "I wish I could have done more, but I sensed that provoking him was not a good idea."

  "You're right," I said. He had done the right thing. Who knows what would have happened if Steve, drunk and probably stoned, had taken up a challenge from James?

  Yet, why did I feel vaguely disappointed that James hadn't been more forceful? Like my brothers would have been.

  James smiled down at me. "You're quite a woman, Danielle Hemstead," he said, sounding impressed.

  "Just doing my job," I quipped.

  "I admire you for that." He squeezed my shoulders once again, then looked back over his shoulder. "Do you want to keep walking, or should I bring you back to your car? We don't want to run into that Steve guy again."

  Steve was a bully. He had made his point so wouldn't be around for a while, but it would be a good idea not to take any chances. "Better walk me back to my car," I said with a look of regret.

  As we strode back to our cars, we were both quiet. I wondered if James, who was enamoured with Schubert's brusque and leisurely melodies, was put off by the seamier side of my job.

  We got to my car without incident. I pulled my keys out of my purse, disappointed to see that my hands were shaking. "Are you sure you don't want a ride home?" he asked gently.

  "No. I'll be fine."

  Besides, my brothers were probably hanging around and I didn't want them to meet James. Yet.

  "I had a wonderful time," he said as I got into the car. "I'd like to see you again." He held the door open, watching me.

  Relief lifted my heart. I could do this again. "That would be nice."

  "I'll call you tomorrow," he said. He bent over and for a moment I thought maybe he would kiss me. Instead he touched my hair with his hand, then straightened, and pushed the door closed. I started the car, feeling breathless, then pulled away.

  As I drove I could see him watching me. Then I turned a corner and he was gone.

  He wants to see me again, I thought, as the memory of his good looks and his nice smile sang through me on the drive home. I wished our evening could have been longer. I wished he could have driven me home.

  It was raining by the time I pulled up behind Neil's truck. Thankfully, Chip and Carter were gone or I would have had to also maneuver past their trucks in my mad dash to the house. I stepped inside the house, shivering. The house was quiet. Dad was most likely in bed.

  The papers that had been strewn all over the living room floor were gone and the furniture was all in its proper

  place. I frowned. It looked way tidier than it had before I left.

  Had someone come here to visit? Before I left, Neil and Carter had decided to oil their tack. Of course this had to be done in the living room so they could multitask--watch television and apply leather conditioner oil at the same time. The playoffs, after all.

  Out of curiosity, I checked the kitchen. Their plates from supper were nowhere to be seen. And was the stove cleaned?

  Curiouser and curiouser

  I was immediately suspicious. The boys had never, ever, in all the years I have known them, bothered to so much as move plates from the table to the counter, let alone put them into the dishwasher.

  Those boys were up to something. Had to be. But what?

  "My work schedule has me busy all day today and this evening--" James's deep voice was telling me over my office phone. It was Friday. I was on my lunch break so I didn't need to feel guilty about taking his call, "--however, Saturday would work into my agenda."

  I winced at his last word. Agenda.

  There was no way I was letting my brothers meet James until I knew exactly where I stood with him. My mind skipped back to Rodney, a previous boyfriend whom I had dated for a month before my brothers caught wind of the relationship and insisted that they meet him.

  He had come for supper and afterward my brothers had taken him around the yard and gotten his new leather loafers dirty. When he'd come back, he was a changed man.

  We'd gone out on one more date after that, but the poor guy was kind of jumpy. Then, he stopped calling. I found out from Chip afterward what had happened.

  After the tour, my brothers had sat him down on a straw bale in the old hip-roof barn and told him I had taken tae kwon do and knew how to handle a pistol, both of which were wrong. They had also told him that they had taught me to take care of myself, and that I was a tough girl. They made me sound like a cross between Thelma and Louise in a bad mood.

  So sweet my brothers were. So considerate. They told me they wanted to make sure Rodney knew I was tough and independent.

  When I dated Anthony I had kept him away from my brothers. Made things difficult, but it was for the best. However, Anthony had not been worth the trouble. But James, he was...different.

  I glanced at my own...agenda...and while I never knew what was coming up, I could see that Saturday was without plans.


  "Saturday works very well for me," I said, curling the phone cord around my finger, planning how I would keep my brothers out of the loop. I liked James, and I wasn't letting my brothers mess this up.

  I gave him my cell phone number and hung up, sighing with satisfaction. He seemed considerate. I loved his voice. And he was very, very easy on the eyes. Potential. Definite potential.

  Before James called, I had been filling out my resumé for the job in Edmonton. Now, as I leaned my elbows on my desk, I wondered if I was being too hasty.

  It was too early to judge him, but I wondered about his comment when he saw me praying. I so hoped he was a Christian so that I wouldn't have to make a hard decision there.

  From the time my relationship with the Lord had become real and personal I had made myself a promise. I would never date a man who didn't share my faith.

  In a town like Holmes Crossing, it wasn't too hard to separate the sheep from the wolves. If I had a file on them, stay away. Any others, I had either gone to school with or were related to.

  When I went to college, I stuck with the pick-them-up-at-church-functions method. That, overall, had worked to get a date. In terms of getting a boyfriend, not so great. I had met Rodney at a church in Edmonton, Anthony had moved to Freeman and while, not a fully committed Christian, was willing to come to church with me.

  It was one of the reasons I finally broke up with him.

  Wyatt had been the only Holmes Crossing boy I had dated for any length of time. The only other man who had held my heart.

  The phone rang rescuing me from my depressing analysis of my love life. I shook off the lingering thoughts, hoping I could get through the next few weeks. Every year, around spring, I went through this. Every year it became easier.

  The caller was Laurel Milligan, a single mother whom I had been working with for a couple of months now. She was innocently sweet and sweetly annoying. My kind of client.

  "Hey, Ms. Hemstead. Whaddya think? Should I be usin' cloth diapers on Hubie? My friend's stepmom told me they're better than the other ones."

  I couldn't help but laugh. Laurel thought I was an authority on the care and feeding of babies. I gave her what advice I could, which mainly consisted of referring her to the health nurse.

  I hung up, added a few more sentences to the resumé I had been putting together on my laptop. I pulled a face at the vast white space on the screen. After college, working at this office had been my one and only job, other than slinging hash in a diner in Edmonton to put myself through school--which was not going on the resumé. The phone rang and I stifled a sigh. I was tempted to let the machine answer it, but that would mean I would end up having to listen to the message, write down the number and then return the call. Easier to answer it and get it over and done with.

  "Child welfare. Danielle Hemstead speaking," I said, as I highlighted a section and hit the delete key.

  "And? How was the date?" Tracy asked in her blunt manner. "Where did you go? What did you do?"

  I smiled and leaned back in my chair, only too willing to indulge in the female pastime of rehashing a pleasant experience, analyzing it from all angles and getting a girlfriend's take on the night.

  "We went to a movie, which wasn't great, but still fun. Then we went for a walk to the river." I avoided any reference to Steve. I needed to block that particular scene from my short-term memory. "James is a considerate man. And he likes poetry and listens to Schubert."

  "Okay. And? Smooches?"

  "No. Perfect gentleman."

  "That doesn't sound too perfect. How could he resist your china blue eyes, your honey blond hair?"

  I doodled a letter J on my memo pad. "He was being considerate."

  "So when do I get to meet this guy or rather man?"

  "Hey, give me a bit more time before I bring in the big guns."

  "I'll be good. Guaranteed I'll be better than your brothers."

  I wanted Tracy and David to meet him. I wanted to receive my nearest and dearest friends' blessing. "Just let me get to know James more. I might be disappointed."

  "From the sound of your voice when you say his name, I think that might take a while."

  "He is a nice man. In many ways."

  "Well, keep me posted. Hey, the boss is here. I gotta run." I heard David's deep voice, then a light laugh as Tracy hung up.

  I clicked the phone. A few days ago I would have suffered pangs of jealousy. But now...

  Now I had the promise of another date and the hazy hope of a future relationship.

  I spun around and faced my desk, and the picture of my brothers I had clipped up on my inbox. Looking at their faces made me think of Steve's not-so-veiled threat against my brother Chip.

  I called the garage, but Neil told me Chip wasn't in and his cell phone said he was out of the service area. So, I left a message with Chip that I would call him at 5 p.m.

  I half-heartedly finished my resumé as I ate my lunch, and before my co-workers filed back into the office, my phone was ringing again and I was back to work. I didn't have a chance to think about James, our future date, my brothers, or my application until Bobby looked in on me and told me she was leaving for the day.

  I glanced at the clock on my computer. Five o-clock and still nothing from Chip.

  I tried calling his cell phone, but it was off. So I called Neil again.

  "I need to get hold of Chip," I told him. "Has he come around today at all?"

  "Um...no...he's busy...today. Making plans."

  "What plans?" Chip usually told me everything as opposed to Neil and Carter who just went their merry way through life figuring I only needed to know what might affect suppertime or their laundry. And even then...

  "Umm. Well, you know, he wants to start his own business and, well, he's making plans, like I said."

  This was new. I'd have to ask him about that.

  "Okay. But I still need to talk to him."

  "Well...he's at the arena and I know you don't like going there." Chip and Neil competed in saddle bronc and team roping. The usual fun stuff, as they called it. Never fun. I hated seeing them compete and hadn't been to a rodeo for the past four years.

  The understanding in his voice created a tremor of sadness but I quashed it. I would be so glad when this anniversary passed. The only one of my brothers who edged the closest to that horrible day was Neil. And even he only referred to it obliquely. Some kind of guy code I guess.

  Since then I never went to watch the boys do their guy, bonding thing anymore. Part of it was Wyatt, the other was that I had spent enough of my youth hanging around ice rinks in the winter and roping and riding arenas in the summer that I had reached maximum guy absorption. He didn't need to warn me away from there.

  "What are they doing there?"

  "Nothing much. I think they were just fixing the arena boards."

  He sounded evasive but I could handle fixing. I just didn't want to watch them practicing.

  "Well, I really need to talk to him."

  "I can pass the message on. Maybe he'll call you. Just wait."

  "Okay. I'll give him some time yet." My phone buzzed against my ear. "I got a call coming in. It might be him." I said goodbye and checked my phone, but it was only a text from Carter to say they'd be late for supper and, again, that I didn't need to come by the arena. I thought the message was weird because Neil had just told me they were doing repairs.

  My guy radar spun. My brothers had been acting weird the past few days. Their combined encouragement to stay away from a place I seldom went to told me something was up, perversely, that made me want to see what was going on.

  When I finished the last of the paperwork, I called home. Dad was fine. He was watching television.

  So at six-thirty, instead of going home and instead of listening to my brothers’ warnings, I headed for the arena where the guys were.

  It had been drizzling when I left this morning, so driving down the road to the arena was almost a hazard. I fishtailed a coupl
e of times, mud and dirt spraying up over my car.

  When I got there, I parked by the row of trucks already lined up, noting which ones were here. Chip's, Carter's and Neil's. All accounted for.

  And a fourth one. A jacked-up white truck. Just like the one parked outside their shop when I stopped by there a few days ago. It had to belong to their buddy, Jigs.

  Maybe that's why they wanted me to stay away. They knew I didn't like this guy very much.

  Then I thought of the cleaned-up house last night. It had to be something else. My brothers were up to something.

  So I got out of the car and hurried, as best as I could in my high heels, through the dirt to the arena.

  As I came through the small side door, I heard the clanging of a gate. I hesitated. To me it sounded exactly like a horse hoof hitting a chute.

  But Neil had said they were only doing some fixing.

  Then I heard it again and as I stepped just inside the door I was disappointed at the sharp sense of loss resurrected by the smell, and the too-familiar sounds. For a moment, I wished I hadn't come.

  My mind slipped too easily back to that day--that horrible day four years ago--that none of my brothers ever talked about.

  I had just moved back to Holmes Crossing, convinced this was a temporary move. Then I met Wyatt. He had just moved to town as a hired hand for Gloria and Dayton Douglas, working on their dairy farm. He also rode saddle bronc on weekends. That's how he got to meet my brothers and that's how I met him. My brothers set me up with him and it was love at first sight.

  I caught myself there, pushing down the memories. Pushing down the pain.

  I stifled a picture that used to replay for months in my head. I reminded myself that I was here for Chip. I had to warn him about Steve Stinson, and my overactive imagination had probably caused me to assume what I had heard.

  Please, Lord, I prayed. Help me to stay focussed.

  I took a steadying breath and once my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I worked my way past the observation area--a small rise of benches where girlfriends and family members watched their guys do what they loved. As a young girl I spent hours right here, waiting for my brothers while my mom drank coffee with other mothers. Together they chatted and shared problems common to all farm wives.