Slow Dances Under an Orange Moon (Colors of Love Book 4)

by V. L. Locey

  “Hey there, Mr. McLeod. Good to see you again!” Petty said then smiled widely.

  “Uh-huh. So what are you two up to today?”

  “Got a call to remove a mama skunk and her kits from under Doris Albrun’s mobile home out on the Cherry Run Road,” Petty gushed. Davy wrinkled his nose. It was just as cute a look as it had been twenty years ago.

  “Ah, glamour work eh?” I teased, stepped back from the SUV and slapped the front fender. “Oh! Before I go, I talked to Dunny about buying the studio so get your bib ready because by week’s end, I’ll be taking you out to dinner. Just need one more root and it’s candlelight and romance for us, Officer Aguirre.”

  Petty’s eyes went round as hubcaps. Davy’s eyebrows dropped into a low, deep V. I skipped back across the street, giddy over my massive claim staking skills. The warden’s SUV peeled away from the curb, which made me even giddier. Teasing Davy had always been fun. He was so passionate. Getting a rise out of him was easy even back in the day, perhaps even more so when we’d been young. Smiling to myself, I strolled down Main Street whistling a happy tune as memories of our friendship/romance swirled around inside my head. I recalled clearly the first time Davy and I had held pinkies. It had been at one of my summer league games over in the Bower County Ice Palace. He’d been sitting beside me after a game, sharing a soda as the younger kids hit the ice, and our hands had brushed as I handed him the soda. Hell, that might have been the first time we’d known that this bumbling attraction to each other was moving along to something deeper. With the rink full of parents and sweaty kids, we lowered our hands to the gap between our seats and linked pinkie fingers. I swear I jerked off to that memory five times a day for a week solid until our first kiss under the bleachers took place. That kiss was spank bank fodder that was only wiped out when we’d fallen into a make-out turned frottage session three days later. There was no slow burn, take your time at seventeen. You dove in headfirst and prayed you didn’t crack your skull open on those hidden rocks lying under the dark waters of a first love.

  “Wow, you are super poetical today, Kye,” I told myself as I strolled along. “And Dunny said that English degree was a waste.” Nothing about this trip to town had been anything but stellar aside from Officer Petty and his shiny fucking teeth. I’d gotten close enough to Davy to kiss him, he kind-of smiled at one of my jokes, and I now knew where to find root number two. I jumped into my Tesla and raced over the county line to the Bower County Ice Palace. Seems the summer league was thrilled to have a famous ex-NHL defenseman sign-up to coach the four to six-year-old teams. Poor Davy didn’t stand a chance. My wooing powers were strong, oh yes they were. And he would be wooed and wooed properly by a champion wooer.

  Chapter Five

  Tracking down Davy over the next few days proved challenging.

  Finally, when I got tired of burning up my gas driving aimlessly around the county looking for a big green SUV, I went to the stately brick building that housed the Spruce Lake branch of the Maine Department of Wildlife & Fisheries. It was pretty nice inside. Cool, lots of brochures and helpful little pamphlets about birdwatching, bag limits, how to get a hunting license, things of that nature. I strolled up to the desk, opened a brochure about moose permit lotteries and hummed a little song. When no one emerged from the back room, I tapped the bell.

  A lovely young lady hurried out to serve me. “Morning,” I called and gave her name tag a quick read. “Officer Montgomery. I’m Kye McLeod. I was wondering if you had any idea where I might find—”

  “Officer Aguirre?” She was giving me that sassy kind of smile that said she knew a few secrets. But they weren’t really secrets since I’d come out publicly but hey, if it made people feel like they had something big to tell their coworkers, who was I to deny them their dirty gossip?

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  “Sorry, but I can’t tell you where he is aside from saying that he’s on official business. I’m happy for you two though.”

  An older warden ambled out, coffee in hand, and sent me packing without so much as a kind smile. Fine. I’d just use my brain to figure out things. Flipping the moose permit brochure to the passenger side of the Tesla, I cranked over the engine, got the AC blowing, and had a long thought. Official business could mean any number of things. Skunk removal, rabid coon dispatch, setting up a bear trap or poking around in the swamps looking for more poachers. I hoped if it were the last he had Officer Shiny Teeth with him. I’d be the better candidate of course as I knew the swamps about as well as Davy did.

  “Hmm.” I suddenly had an urge to go fishing in the Boogieman Swamp, the largest of the many small ponds in the swamps. Maybe I’d just stumble across a certain game warden and show him the two slips of paper in my back pocket. One being the schedule for the summer league with my name as associate coach listed at the top, and the other was a note from Dunny saying that he was thinking of selling me the studio but negotiations were underway because I was a cheap shit dingleberry for refusing to meet his million dollar price tag. I’d only asked him to scribble out something that read we had discussed it, instead I got that. Whatever. I had two root signs in my back pocket and no Davy to be found.

  Within an hour, I’d scrounged up most of Dunny’s old fishing gear from the basement and was making my way through to the Boogieman Swamp, slimy water rolling up over my ankles at every step. I’d never minded the frog spit and sludge in my shoes when I was a teen. Now it grossed me out as did the constant cloud of biting bugs of every shape and size. Waving my pole in front of me, I waded past the old hanging tree (no actual proof of anyone being hung from it, but it looked like a good hanging tree to twelve-year-old boys) and climbed out of the marsh to a thin strip of dry land.

  There was usually some pretty good catfishing to be had back here, so I dropped to a knee and opened up Dunny’s old tackle box. Inside I found a jar of trout bait, four broken bobbers, and one rusty hook.

  “Pathetic,” I huffed and cracked open the jar of trout bait. The stench of rotten fish made me dry heave for a minute or two.

  It was bright orange and had the consistency of Play-Doh. The trick was to take a small pinch, roll it into a ball, and slide your hook into the ball, which I did, the stench of the rotten bait making my nose run but it was all good. Catfish were known to enjoy rotten shit, and this bait was really rotten. I poked around in the corner of the box and found one massive lead sinker, so I attached that to my line, stood, and cast out as far as I could. The bait and sinker hit the water with a ‘ker-splash’ and I smiled at the sound. It had been a long, long time since I wet my line here in the Boogieman Swamp. Sure, it lacked the haughty appeal of deep sea fishing off the coast of Brazil or racing over Lake Okeechobee in a new bass boat, but it had its charm. Nostalgia was a heady damn thing, wishing for how it used to be had even been enough to help get some jughead into the White House.

  I dropped down to sit and peel off my wet socks and sneakers. Leaning back against a white larch, my wrinkled toes airing out, pole resting on a stick someone else had shoved into the ground, I folded my arms over my chest and let the warmth of the day and the hum of the insects carry me off to lethargy land. I’d been working damn hard in the house of Dunny’s. I deserved an afternoon off to fish and nap. Only things missing were Davy, a cooler with drinks and ham sandwiches we’d made, and Davy’s old backpack filled with X-Men comics. We’d come here and fish and kiss, eat sandwiches without washing our hands after handling fish, argue about who was the coolest X-Man—Wolverine or Cyclops—and kiss more. We did a lot of kissing back then. We touched a lot as well. Sometimes sitting super close even when it was blistering hot as it was right now. Sweaty skin pressed to sweaty skin. Eyes drifting closed, I let the memories trundle over me, taking me along for many a pleasant recollection of the sweet taste of Davy’s mouth and the firm swell of his hard dick pressed against my hip. God was there anything more enticing than a first lover? No, there was not. I’d been with plenty of men since that last glorious summer at
home and none of them had held a match to Davy.

  I came awake a short time later to the shouts of men off in the distance. Unsure of my surroundings at first, it didn’t take me long to shake off the confusion of sleep and grasp my whereabouts. I sat up, rubbed at my face with my hands, and wrinkled a nose at the stink clinging to my fingers. A yawn escaped. I began to reel in my line to check if something had stolen the bait while I’d been napping. I jumped out of my skin when the bang of a high-powered rifle ripped through the peaceful swamp. The birds and frogs all went still. The bugs hummed endlessly. I sat frozen, eyes darting around to touch on every tree, every bush, every mossy stump. Another shot rang out, further to the west, and the shouts began again.

  “Coming your way!” a man yelled. I wiggled around to get my cell phone out of my back pocket. The bastards. I suspected that this group of assholes were pushing deer toward a stationary hunter who was picking them off. Beating the bush as it were to drive the whitetails to their death. In the middle of the day in fucking July! Talk about balls the size of watermelons. Another shot rang out. More yelling drifting off away from the Boogieman Swamp and to the smaller Dead Man Swamp. Guess we Mainer’s have a thing for spooky names and places. Blame it on that damn famous horror writer of ours.

  There was no service. Great. Sneakily as possible, I slid on my shoes, tossed my wet socks into the tackle box, reeled up, and slid back into the murky water. Going slowly, ears alert to any sounds, I slowly made my way back to where I’d come in. It was late afternoon now, and I’d not heard another gunshot. I checked for bars, found I had a blip of one, and then scrambled up the incline from the road, going to my knee hard and cussing at the rocks. When I reached the top, I was winded, riddled with bug bites, and doing the circular looking for service spin dance.

  When I took two steps to the left I hit pay dirt. Three whole bars. I hurried to send a text to Davy but ended up deleting him instead. Big, stupid, fucking fingers. So, I then I contacted Mrs. Aguirre to ask for Davy’s number. She replied back with a dry as fuck ‘Why?’ to which I responded with a polite as fuck ‘I think I may have witnessed a game violation’ and was then sent his number with a firm dark look attached. Not that she sent a GIF of a dark look or anything, but I knew it was there just the same.

  Davy picked up quickly, his greeting reserved. “Hey, hi, it’s me Kye.”

  “What do you want, Kye?”

  “I may have witnessed a game violation.”

  “Did you really or is this just another Kye lie?”

  “Ah-ha, rhyming slams. Nice. No, I really did witness one or at least overheard what I think was one. I was fishing back in the Boogieman Swamp and heard gunfire and shouts. Sounded to me like a deer drive going on.”

  “Motherfuckers. Stay there. I’m calling in for backup and heading out. Kye, do not do anything stupid.”

  “Like I ever do stupid things.”

  He snorted at that. I smiled. Then I hung up after promising that I’d not do anything stupid and would meet him at the catfish hole in the Boogieman Swamp. He’d started to protest, but I pretended the signal was dying out and ended the call before he officially told me not to go back into the swamp. Tossing Dunny’s gear beside my car, I went over the guard rail and down the incline on my ass, heading back to my fishing hole with carefully measured steps and my senses on alert. The sounds of nature had returned the deeper into the peat bogs I went. Dragonflies whizzed past my face. Tiny wrens and big jays flew from tree to tree. I slid behind the hanging tree, listened, and then continued on until I was crawling out of the muck and mire and resting on my ass where I’d been fishing/sleeping.

  In a half hour, two game wardens appeared to my right, Davy, and Kirk aka Shiny Teeth. I got to my feet and motioned them to me. Both men were sweaty and flushed with the heat. Those uniforms had to be miserable in the summer.

  “Kye, I thought you would wait for us by the road. Why the hell are you back in here?” Davy asked in a clipped manner. Petty removed his hat and ran the back of his hand across his brow. All the golden hair was plastered to his scalp. And still he looked like a movie star. I tore my sight from the pretty boy and stared at the gorgeous man.

  “Because I know exactly where I heard the shouts and gunshots. I’ll guide you.”

  Davy shook his head emphatically. Kirk started mouthing platitudes to me about my safety and legalities. I threw my hands up, spun on my heel, which squeaked rudely in my wet sneaker, and took off in the direction of the hoopla.

  “Dammit, Kye, do not make me break out the handcuffs and arrest you for impeding an active investigation.” I waded out to my knees then turned to look up at Davy on the strip of land. Petty stood at his side, his mouth now pressed tightly shut. Probably he thought he was witnessing a lover’s spat. If only.

  “Break them out then.” I held out my arms. Petty’s eyes bulged a bit. Davy wallowed out into the bog, removed his cuffs and forced them around my thick wrists. Fuck. I didn’t think he would really do it.

  “Kirk, wait here, keep in constant contact. I’m escorting this civilian to our truck where he will sit and enjoy the music and not come back out here or risk being prosecuted. Isn’t that right, Kye?” He jerked me right up out of the water, no small task given my six foot four, two twenty or so pound build. “Do not engage anyone who may wander in. Penny and Lou are in transit so back-up is coming. Just stay put. This place is big, and you’re not familiar with it.”

  “I am. I could stay and help. Ouch. Hey, you’re being unduly rough to the prisoner. I want to speak to the warden. I’ve been framed. I’m innocent. I’m not really bad I’m just drawn this way.” I pleaded, but my appeals fell on deaf ears.

  “Pain right in my ass,” I caught Davy muttering as we slogged our way along, his hand holding my bicep in a death grip. “Why are you always in my face?”

  “Because I’m trying to woo you, but you’re being unwooable. Ouch, Christ, shit. I think I lost my shoe.” I bounced around on a boggy bit of land on one foot, my sneaker floating beside a patch of green algae. “I have roots to show you.”

  “Digging ginseng requires a permit.” He jabbed a finger in my face. “Stand right here by this pine tree. Do not move, do not talk, do not blink. I’ll go get your shoe.”

  He splashed back out into the water, grabbed my sneaker, and whipped it at me. It bounced off my shoulder.

  “That’s police brutality. Or warden brutality. It’s some sort of brutality. Help! Help! I’m being oppressed!” I shouted and Davy, amid all the bugs and heat and stink of the swamp, stormed out of the water, took hold of my shoulders, shoved me into the trunk of a pine tree and crushed his mouth to mine. The move stole all my breath. A weak kind of moan of sheer joy bubbled up out of me. He bit my lower lip, hard, and I ran my tongue over his teeth where they were attached to my lip. He lapped into my mouth. I sucked on his tongue, trying to pull it deeper into my mouth so I could suck on it. He’d used to love when I did that. Fuck but I wished I could touch him, but my hands were behind my back.

  The kiss ended just as suddenly as it had started. Davy jerked free of my mouth. I sagged against the pine tree, huffing and hard, his glorious taste rich on my tongue.

  “Damn you. I swear to God you’re the biggest pain in my ass. This…what there happened…I mean, fuck. This thing…”

  “Kiss.”

  He screwed up his face. “That kiss was nothing more than a way to shut you up. It means nothing.”

  “I got a coaching gig at the rink and am in negotiations with Dunny to buy the studio. He’s asking a cool million for the place which makes me sniggle every time I think of it, but once he comes down off his crack high, he’ll be willing to make a deal. So yeah, two roots. What time do you want to have dinner?”

  He wet his lips, shook his head, and pointed in the direction of the road. “Go. Go now. And don’t ever throw a Monty Python line at me when I’m trying to get you out of my face.”

  “You were always a pushover for Python.” I winked. He
pointed at the road once again. “Okay, fine, I’m going to your truck as directed but I’m staying until you and Officer Shiny Teeth—”

  “Please stop calling him that.”

  “Officer Shiny Teeth come back. Then I want to know what you found and when we are going out for the dinner you smack-talked yourself into.” He coughed a bit then motioned to the road. A fly the size of a coffeemaker landed on my arm and bit down, hard. Ouch. Fucking A. The things a man suffered through to rekindle a love affair. “Right, just so we know where we are. You can uncuff me now.”

  “Nope, I think you should keep them on until I return. I’ll call Penny and tell her to secure you to the headrest of the SUV so you keep your annoying ass where I told you to keep it.” With that he whipped around and pushed into the swamp, disappearing behind a big ferny plant.

  “Oh. Oh. Motherfucker. Fine. Who needs hands? Pfft. Hands are for sissies!” I muttered all the while I was tripping and falling on my face all the way to the road. I whimpered a little, just to myself, when I saw the climb I had to make. On my face. Davy Aguirre was going to pay for this humiliation, yes he was. Things only got worse when Officer Old Man and Cutie Girl arrived. Cutie Girl helped me up the incline as if I weren’t a tough hockey player. Then she shoved me into the back of the SUV and cuffed me to the headrest.

  “Stay put. Officer Aguirre’s orders.” My she was bossy. Cute but bossy.

  She did have the decency to only cuff one arm to the headrest so I could drink from the water bottle they’d provided. Sure, it looked like a nice gesture. Okay, yeah, it was a nice gesture. After an hour, I fell asleep, chin resting on my chest, right arm attached to the headrest. The sound of voices stirred me from my nap. My shoulder ached like a rotten tooth. I roared like a bear to be let free and Officer Petty appeared in the open door. His face scratched and bloodied, his mouth a flat line.

  “I can’t feel my arm,” I meekly said and was then freed. Rubbing my arm from shoulder to wrist, I shimmied down out of the SUV and was horrified to see four deer being hauled up over the guard rail in plastic tarps, each of them left to rot. “Oh my God,” I whispered and hustled over to help the female game warden with her burden.