by Jeff Shelby
“I'm Owen.” His smile grew wider, more boyish. “Dawn’s brother.”
THREE
I blinked. “Her brother?”
“Yes, my brother,” a voice said from behind me.
Dawn bustled toward the counter, a dishtowel thrown over her shoulder. Her strawberry blonde hair was clipped away from her face with bobby pins, and simple diamond stud earrings caught the light from above, making them twinkle. It was the only thing about Dawn that would actually twinkle, I thought.
“She ordered one of them crazy burgers,” Owen told Dawn, pointing a finger at the menu sign. “Can you believe it?”
Dawn ignored her brother, pushing past him to the soda machine to pour me the diet Coke she knew I’d want and that Owen hadn’t gotten for me.
“If you’re going to stand behind the counter, you might actually want to pretend like you’re working,” Dawn remarked, setting the full glass of soda down in front of me. She slapped a wrapped straw down next to it.
Owen just grinned. “You know me and work. I’m pretty sure I’m allergic to it.”
Dawn muttered something under her breath and Owen let out a little cackle. He clearly enjoyed antagonizing his sister.
She stationed herself behind the bar, planting her hands on her hips, and her brother took the hint. He slipped out and took an empty seat by his friend, just one over from me. I busied myself with unwrapping my straw, my ears tuned in to their conversation.
“So this is home, huh?” the friend asked.
Owen snorted. “The bar?” They both chuckled and then he said, “Yep, this is home. Good old sleepy Latney. Where nothing ever happens. Literally.”
I could make a strong case against that statement. In my short time living in the town, I’d encountered dead bodies, burned down buildings, a missing person, and stolen money, not to mention a cast of characters that had to be seen to be believed.
“A far cry from Chicago, don’t you think?” Owen asked.
His friend nodded.
“Is that where you’re visiting from?” I asked, inserting myself into their conversation.
Owen eyed me, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Why? You like the big city?”
“I was just curious. Dawn’s never mentioned a brother before.”
“Then you must not know her very well,” Owen said. He nodded his head at his friend. “Eric here grew up just outside of Chicago. He’s a big time city boy, aren’t you?”
His friend nodded again. He seemed a little uneasy, and I didn’t know if it was because he was the center of attention at the moment or if Owen’s disposition just made him uncomfortable, in general. I put him in his late twenties, but the beard and long dark hair made it hard to pinpoint a specific age. His eyes, dark brown, were free of wrinkles, though, and the skin not covered by facial hair was as smooth as a baby’s. Yes, he was definitely south of thirty.
Owen gave me a quick once-over, his eyes flickering with interest as they passed over my neckline and down my chest. I cringed at his blatant ogling, not just because it was sexist and gross, but because I was pretty sure I was old enough to be his (very young) mother.
“You new in town, sweetheart? I haven’t seen you around before.” He flashed me a smile, the one that looked so boyish and charming a few minutes earlier but that now reminded me of a used car salesman.
I didn’t get a chance to answer because my burger arrived and so did Martin Putnam.
Martin was as close to a teddy bear as I’d ever seen. He was tall and built like a linebacker, but I’d never seen him without a smile on his face. He had a kind word for everyone, even his prickly wife.
The Martin standing in front of me now looked like his evil twin brother.
“What are you doing here?” he practically growled.
Owen, to his credit, didn’t even flinch. He turned his greasy smile on his brother-in-law. “Hey, Marty. Is that any way to treat family?”
“You’re not my family,” Martin said.
“Sure I am,” Owen said. He grabbed Eric’s beer without asking and downed a mouthful. “You married my sister, you married me. Don’t you see?”
Martin’s frown deepened. “What are you doing here?”
Owen looked around, surprised. “It’s Thanksgiving, man.”
“And?”
“And,” Owen said, gulping down another mouthful of beer, “Thanksgiving is all about family. And being thankful. And turkey.” He glanced around the room. “Can’t believe I have to celebrate in this dump, but it is what it is, right?”
Eric ducked his head, grabbing his beer back from his friend.
Owen slapped Martin’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right, brother?”
Dawn reappeared and Martin glanced at his wife. Her mouth was drawn in a tight line, her arms folded across her chest like she was spoiling for a fight. She’d clearly heard what Owen had just said about the restaurant.
“You invite him for Thanksgiving?” Martin asked her.
Dawn sneered. “You think him showing up was my doing?”
“She says she didn’t invite you,” Martin said to Owen.
“Since when do I need an invite to come back home?” Owen asked.
I still hadn’t taken a bite of my burger. I sat perfectly still: the only part of me moving were my eyes as they darted back and forth between the three people arguing.
“I mean, I thought I was welcome here,” Owen said. He looked at his sister for a long time before turning his attention to Martin. “I thought we had an arrangement.” He narrowed his eyes. “We do, don’t we?”
An uneasy silence descended and I picked up my burger, suddenly anxious to not be a part of their interaction. Something had shifted in the conversation. I could sense it, and I was pretty sure Eric, the only other outsider sitting there with me, felt it too, because he busied himself with his beer glass, focusing on wiping the condensation off the sides.
Dawn let out a frustrated sigh and whirled away. Martin stared unblinking for a moment at Owen, who held his gaze, a triumphant smile on his face. Eventually he too turned away and I was left alone with the two men at the bar.
“So,” Owen said, swiveling so he was facing me. “How’s that weird burger you ordered?”
FOUR
I wolfed down my burger in record time. The mashed potatoes and gravy were surprisingly good as condiments, and the side order of stuffing in lieu of French fries made it feel like I’d just had a mini version of Thanksgiving dinner.
I just wished it were all sitting a little better in my stomach.
Dawn Putnam was not my favorite person, but the situation I’d just witnessed left me feeling a little uneasy. Owen was a jerk—this much was obvious—and if I had been in Dawn’s shoes, I probably would have ordered him right out of the restaurant. Family or not, no one deserved to be talked to or treated that way.
I wadded up my napkin and tossed it on my mostly empty plate. There was still a tiny bit of stuffing left, and even I couldn’t manage to finish off the last two bites of burger.
Owen and Eric were still sitting at the bar but Owen had turned his back to me. I replayed the conversation I’d been a part of and a party to. There was obviously some tension between Dawn and her brother, and Martin, too. And it sort of seemed like Owen had some power over them. I knew Dawn’s temper; it wasn’t like her to just sit there and take abuse from anyone, even a member of her family.
I didn’t know much about Dawn. She was the owner of the restaurant, and had been the primary cook before she’d hired Mikey. She was married to Martin, and she definitely had a jealous streak; I’d seen that side of her rear its ugly head a few months back when she thought I was chasing after her husband.
But her family? Her history?
I didn’t know squat.
I sipped my soda. Dawn had refilled it, and I didn’t want to leave a full glass on the counter.
I also didn’t want to think too much about what I’d just witnessed. Not because I wasn’t curiou
s, but because it wasn’t my business. Unfortunately, that had never stopped me before.
“Owen Nichols? Is that you?” a female voice squealed from the entrance.
I spun on my chair. A perky blonde streaked toward the bar, a surprised grin on her face. She skidded to a stop in front of Owen, who was eyeing her with amusement.
“Hey,” he drawled. His slimy grin was back. “How you doing?”
I tried not to overtly stare at the girl standing just to the left of me. She was a stranger to me: probably mid-twenties, with shoulder-length blonde hair and eyes that, in the meager light available, looked more brown than green. She was smiling at Owen, a mixture of both surprise and uncertainty on her face. A cleft dented her chin as her smile deepened.
“I didn’t think I’d be seeing you this time around,” she said. Her voice was soft, girlish, making her sound much younger than she probably was.
Owen shrugged. “It’s Thanksgiving. Where else am I gonna go?”
The girl tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Well, it’s good to see you. It’s been…a long time.”
He gave her the same once-over he gave to me, lingering on her chest before traveling down to take in her skintight leggings. He licked his upper lip. “It’s good to see you, too. Real good.”
I think I blushed right along with the girl he was undressing with his eyes.
“You gonna be here for a while?” she asked. “Through the weekend, at least?”
He leaned back against the bar. “I don’t know yet,” he said, smirking. “Depends on if there’s a good enough reason to stick around.”
I rolled my eyes. This guy was a complete tool. And there was clearly some type of history between the two of them. I looked at the girl again. She looked vaguely familiar, and I had this feeling that I should know who she was. Staring at her was giving me a strange sense of déjà vu and I thought through all of the people I’d met over the past several months, trying to place her at a location or an event. The church? The Dorothy Days festival? A cashier at Toby’s?
Nothing was ringing a bell.
The two of them had continued chatting while I was trying to nudge my memory. Eric, the friend, had joined in the conversation, and they were talking about some bar in Winslow, and maybe meeting up later.
I didn’t know there was a bar in Winslow.
Owen must have sensed I was watching them because he turned to look at me. The greasy grin was back on his face. “You wanna tag along?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
He looked me up and down again, and I suddenly wished I were wearing a turtleneck. No, a muumuu. A muumuu with a turtleneck.
“You heard me,” he said, winking. “We’re headin’ to the Wolf’s Den tonight. You can come with, make it a foursome.”
The innuendo in his voice made me shudder. It would definitely be a wolf’s den, and I was pretty sure the girl and I would be the lambs.
I stood up, almost knocking my barstool over. I reached into my purse and yanked a twenty out of my wallet. Dawn would be getting a hefty tip because there was no way I was sticking around for the change.
“Where you goin’?” Owen winked. “You’re not scared now, are you?”
I hoped my expression held as much disgust as my voice. “I’m old enough to be your mother.”
He laughed. “I’ve never been one to discriminate when it comes to the ladies.” He paused. “And with age comes wisdom. Maybe you can teach me a few things.”
I’d had enough. I gave the girl standing next to Owen a quick glance, torn between feeling sorry for her and wanting to throttle her. I didn’t know a single thing about her, but no woman deserved to suffer through time spent with a guy like Owen.
But she didn’t look upset at all. In fact, she was smiling and giggling, and even Eric was nodding and chuckling, as if Owen were in the middle of some kind of stand-up routine.
Was I overreacting? Being a prude? Maybe this was just how this generation talked and joked around?
I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to stick around to find out.
The bottom line was, Dawn’s brother made me uncomfortable.
And if that made me an old-fashioned stick in the mud, then so be it.
FIVE
I wasn’t a stick in the mud.
But my house was.
It was Wednesday morning and Laura and Connor were standing in my living room, their coats drenched, their hair plastered to their faces, and their shoes coated in mud.
Mud that was now all over my wooden floors.
Laura ran a hand over her wet head, sending water droplets to the floor. “I am soaked.”
I held out my hands. “Give me your coats, both of you. I can go stick them in the dryer.”
“No, I mean I’m totally soaked. All the way through,” Laura said, unzipping her jacket to show me.
She really did look like she’d just gotten out of the shower. Her brown hair looked almost black, and the long-sleeved gray t-shirt she had on under her jacket was probably more of a heather gray…when it was dry.
“I’ll take everything,” I said. “I can throw everything in the dryer.”
She frowned. “I’m not going to strip naked in your living room, Mom.”
“Well, of course not,” I said.
She shimmied out of her coat and handed it to me. Connor smiled apologetically and dropped his jacket on top of it. With the added water weight, I was probably holding ten pounds of fabric and moisture.
“How was the drive?” I asked.
Connor shrugged. He was taller than me by at least six inches, and he was built like a tennis player, long and lean. “Wet,” he said simply.
Laura sighed and stared down at her shoes. Her white Converse were now an alarming shade of brown. “It was awful. We hydroplaned a couple of times on the highway. And the roads here in town…oh my God. Is anyone in this city in charge of filling potholes? Or is that one of those do-it-yourself projects you country folk have to take care of yourselves?”
I bristled at her comment. There were a few potholes on the road to my house, but I knew where they were and I knew to avoid them. I’d asked about them once upon a time, and was told by several people that they would get filled…eventually. Life moved at a slower pace in Latney, and I had slowly started to acclimate to that.
“I’m sorry the drive was hard,” I said, ignoring her question. I didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot. After all, they’d been in the house all of five minutes. “But I’m glad you made it and I’m glad you’re here.”
Laura tried to smile but the frown lines on her forehead were too deep. “I’m just hoping it isn’t going to rain the entire time we’re here.”
I turned so she wouldn’t have to see my answering frown. Did she have some big plans for her time in Latney that I didn’t know about? Were they planning to walk the town and visit all of the local businesses? Nothing was going to be open on Thanksgiving; in fact, a lot of the smaller businesses were closed already in preparation for the holiday. Maybe she’d wanted to spend time exploring the property, showing Connor around. But that didn’t sound like Laura, either. She’d grown up with an aversion to almost anything related to the outdoors. She didn’t like bugs, she didn’t like heat or humidity, she didn’t like the cold, and she definitely didn’t like being wet.
“Well, it’s not raining in the house,” I said, spinning around with what I hoped was a bright smile. “And we can stay inside all day today and tomorrow and visit. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, and I think that would be a delightful way to spend the Thanksgiving holiday.”
Laura grunted.
“Now,” I said, still holding the wet jackets that were now beginning to soak through the sweatshirt I was wearing. “Let me just drop these in the dryer. I can grab a couple of umbrellas and we can head out to the guest house—”
“The what?” Laura asked.
“The guest house,” I repeated. “It’s all ready for visitors. I put fresh sh
eets on the bed, and there are some groceries in the fridge out there if you get hungry. I took some coffee out there, too, just in case you get up early and want to have a cup over there before coming over to the house.”
“Why would we stay in the guest house?” Laura asked.
I stared at her. “Uh, because you’re guests?”
One of the things I loved most about the property that was now my home was the fact that I’d gotten more than just a house: I had a little guest house for when visitors came to call, and a barn that stored supplies and could even house a few animals if I ever decided to travel down that path. I’d had a bungalow, too, one that I had contemplated turning into an office or something. Until it burned down.
Laura wrinkled her nose. “Don’t you have extra bedrooms here in the house?”
“Well, of course,” I said, nodding. “But I thought you and Connor might want a little more space, some room to spread out.”
Laura looked at Connor. “I don’t want to stay outside.”
“It’s not outside, honey,” I explained, trying my very best to sound more patient than I felt. “It’s a house. With a roof. And a bedroom and a living area and a kitchen and a bathroom.”
Connor was nodding impressively. “That sounds nice.”
Laura shook her head. “No. I came to spend Thanksgiving with you in your house.” She paused, giving me a sideways glance. “Unless you’d rather we sleep out there…?”
“I don’t care where you sleep,” I said. I was now feeling more than a little exasperated. “Wherever you want to be is fine with me.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure? I mean, if you’re not comfortable with us sharing a bedroom—”
My exasperation grew and I sighed. “You and Connor have been together forever, Laura. I don’t care if you share a bedroom.”
I instantly thought back to my interaction with Owen at the Wicked Wich. I’d toyed with the idea that maybe I was overreacting to his comments, that maybe I was a prude.