by Destiny Ford
Bob nodded. “And he sure as heck seems to think it was hilarious.”
Several things clicked together in my head at once. The high pitched noise wasn’t the result of a sudden hyena hybrid infestation. It was Fred Young laughing. And it was terrifying. “Where is he?”
Bob pointed to the ambulance and I went over. Annie was there, trying to get Fred to calm down. “Hey! It’s been a busy day for you,” I said loudly, so she could hear me over Fred’s laughter. Between this and Opie at the parade, she was probably exhausted.
My eyes moved to Fred, who was dressed in a white button-down shirt and tan khaki pants held up by a Mormon male wardrobe staple: a braided brown belt. I couldn’t believe he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt when it was over a hundred degrees out. Maybe his problem was heat exhaustion that had morphed into hysteria.
Annie nodded between Fred’s fits of giggling frenzy. “We always expect more incidents when the fair comes to town, but they’re usually confined to the rodeo.” Fred rolled to his side, laughing so hard he was starting to turn red. Annie sat back, but kept one eye on Fred as the other EMT gave him some oxygen. After about thirty seconds, his face started to recede from tomato to normal color. “This is definitely…different.”
“How’s Opie doing?” I asked, thinking of the CTR clown.
“He’s stabilized, but they’re not sure what caused his heart attack. They’re running some tests.”
“When will the results be back?”
She shrugged. “With the fair going on? Who knows.” She applied some disinfectant to the scratches on Fred’s arm. “Hey!” he said between laughs. “That’s not nice!”
Fred Young was an executive at the town paper company where many Branson residents were employed. I’d rarely heard him laugh, let alone do a wild animal impression. “Has he been acting this way long?”
She looked up at me, a combination of amusement and annoyance. “Yeah.”
“Did you give him something to make him giggle like a five-year old?”
“Yes, but he was laughing before we gave it to him, too. I’m not sure what’s wrong with him.”
“Mr. Young,” I said, trying to get his attention.
He turned an unfocused gaze in my direction. I doubted I’d get much information from him at the moment.
“Can you tell me why you stole the hot air balloon?”
He answered between more giggles, “Because he told me to.”
“Who?” I asked, not understanding.
Taking great effort, he sat up, scooted to the edge of the bed, and then leaned into me and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, “The minotaur!”
Annie snorted.
“Great.” I folded my notebook back over and capped my pen. “Thanks a lot, Fred. I’ll be sure to quote you on that.”
I gave up and decided I’d have better luck talking to witnesses of the crash. I waved to Annie and went over to where a group was gathered by Officer Bob. I asked them what they’d seen and they told me the same thing as Bob. A balloon was flying low and suddenly fell from the sky. Cars swerved to miss the balloon and crashed. Then Fred Young popped out of the corn field and started dancing on the balloon. “He was dancing?” I asked, completely baffled.
Jane Carter nodded. “Like a fairy in heat.”
Also a great quote for my story. I wanted to ask if she’d actually seen a fairy in heat, or if she was going completely off assumptions. Because if she’d seen one, I wanted to see it too, and write the article about it. If that didn’t win me top prize with the Utah Press Association, nothing would.
I was taking more notes when a deep, sexy voice whispered in my ear. “Hey, Kitty Kate.” Every part of me was instantly aware of his presence. Even the hair on my arms paid attention. I was surprised I hadn’t smelled his Swagger body wash before I heard him. I turned around and my breath hitched. I took him in from head to toe. His sandy brown hair was short and messy, like he’d styled it with just his hands, and his light green eyes were even more piercing in the sun. His faded jeans fit his ass perfectly, and hung looser around his thighs. His tight, teal t-shirt clung to his hard abs and biceps with a tattoo that peeked out from under his sleeves. I was determined to find out what it was a tattoo of—and if he had any more. But, it hadn’t happened—yet.
“Hey,” I said back, my voice breathy. “What are you doing here?”
“I was a witness,” Hawke answered. “I just gave my statement.”
I looked around. I hadn’t seen his super sexy blue 1967 GT Shelby Mustang with white racing stripes. My eyes were trained to notice it. I would have found it immediately.
“I don’t have it today,” Hawke said, reading my mind—no doubt one of his many talents.
Hawke had two giant red brick buildings on his property that matched his giant red brick house. One was a gym. The other was a garage. Though I’d wanted to go in the garage, so far I’d only been invited to Pain—my nickname for his gym. I’d been looking forward to checking out Hawke’s car collection, and wondered what he could possibly be driving today. I looked around. I didn’t see a Lamborghini, and I was a little disappointed. “What are you driving, then?”
He nodded in the direction of a glossy black Harley with some sort of tribal design in matte black that stood out against the gloss. A black matte helmet hung from one of the handlebars. Everything about it said smooth, sexy, and dangerous. I sucked in a breath. I’d already been in lust; Hawke on a bike catapulted my emotions straight to I’ll-do-anything-you-want-just-say-the-word territory. A vision of Jax Teller merged with Hawke in my head. My face got hot at the thought.
Hawke’s lips slid into a slow smile. “Want a ride?”
Did I ever. And not just on the bike. I swallowed hard and glanced up at him. One corner of his lips tilted up in a knowing grin.
“You know,” he said, licking his lips, “I’m still pretty upset that I didn’t get what I wanted.”
After my last adventure involving a crazy teenager and a gun, Hawke had told me he was giving me shooting lessons. He’d inferred that he’d planned to teach me some other, less violent, things as well. That situation had been interrupted by some kids who seemed to think Animal Planet was some sort of instructional guide and they were using their knowledge base to “capture critters” and build a skunk pit. I’d used that quote in the story headline. Believe me, I wasn’t happy about leaving a hard-bodied, ready and willing Hawke to go cover some kids being rescued from their skunk pit. “Yeah. Me either. So we can be unsatisfied together.”
He raised one eyebrow. “We don’t have to be. In fact, we could solve the problem right now.”
I looked around, widening my eyes. Our options were kind of limited. “In a field?”
His lips slid into a grin. “Bet you’ve never done it there.”
Nope. I hadn’t. The closest I’d come to a corn field at all was during a high school double date when we’d watched Children of the Corn—in the field. It had made me terrified of agriculture and blonde children…a problem when Branson is full of both. I cursed Jimmy Sall to this day for taking me on that dumb date. “I had a traumatic experience with corn.” Plus, I wasn’t interested in sex being interrupted by field mice and snakes. An involuntary shudder rippled through me at the thought.
Hawke’s eyes lowered, raking over my blue and white striped tank top and coming to rest on my lips. His eyes darkened and he pulled me into the field anyway. “Then I guess this will have to do for now.”
He pushed into me, his lips hot on mine, full body pressing deliciously—and indecently—into my own. It was already scorching outside, but Hawke managed to make it hotter. I felt every plane of his abs against my stomach and chest as his hands moved down my back and over my butt. He grabbed me. Hard. And bent his knees as he lifted me off the ground. I gasped and wrapped my legs around his waist. He took my mouth deeper. But almost as fast as it started, it was suddenly over. He put me down gently. I staggered back, grabbing an ear of corn for balance. It broke off
in my hand. Hawke was lucky I’d grabbed the corn instead of something else. Hawke held back a laugh as he steadied me. “That should help you remember me.”
It took me a moment to process since all of my blood was currently located in places that had nothing to do with brain cells. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Work.”
I eyed him suspiciously. Hawke had an interesting job, and one that was rather undefined. He kept it that way on purpose. If rumors were to be believed, he’d been everything from a member of the Secret Service to a contract killer. Oh, and he also rescued kittens. “Off to kill some people, huh?”
He grinned. “You never know.”
“I’m aware. And it scares me.”
He lifted a hand to my cheek and held my eyes. “It shouldn’t. You’re one of the few people I care enough about to keep in my life. It’s a very short list. I’ll be back soon, Kitty Kate. We’ll finish this then, I promise.” He kissed me one last time, slow and soft, as his hands moved up from my waist and cupped my breasts, the cleavage even more visible from my current agitated state. “I like this shirt,” he said, voice rough.
My breath was ragged as I answered, “You’re the only one.”
His head canted slightly and his lips lifted. “I doubt that.” He waved as he walked away.
I looked down and smoothed my striped tank top and grey shorts, checking for items that screamed I’ve-been-almost-sexing-in-a-corn-field. Luckily, I didn’t find anything. I peeked through some corn leaves to see if anyone was paying attention before I walked out of the field. I was fine . . . until I was accosted by Mrs. Olsen, the town busybody who liked to tell everyone else exactly what they were doing wrong and which level of the afterlife they’d be relegated to because of it—Mormons had three levels, and only one was an acceptable placement for the faithful.
She pointed at my hand. “You’re carrying a cob of corn.”
I grimaced inwardly. So I was. Clearly, my senses were still back in the field with Hawke and I’d forgotten to drop my balancing cob on my way out. Now I had to go with it. “Yep,” I answered, throwing the cob back in the field behind me.
“Why?” She slitted her eyes. “What were you doin’ in there?”
The lie came swiftly. “I dropped my earring and was looking for it.”
She looked from one lobe to the other. “No you didn’t. You’re wearin’ one in both ears.”
I could have told her I’d already found and reattached it, but I was hoping to distract her. I made a show of reaching up to my ear, and hoped her memory was lagging so she’d forget about the corn. “Oh my gosh! Look at that! You found it! Thanks, Mrs. Olsen!” I quickly changed the subject. “Did you enjoy the parade today?”
She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Can’t believe the clothes they’re lettin’ some of these girls wear. Downright immodest.” She glanced over me, assessing with an eye honed for judgment. “And you’re no better with that shirt. Showin’ off your shoulders and chest like that is somethin’ only a hussy would do! You might as well not wear anythin’ at all.”
I looked down at my tank top and suddenly the strange stares and finger pointing / name calling from small children all made sense. Tank tops were considered immodest by most residents of Branson Falls. Anyone caught wearing one was either not a member of the church, or in serious trouble. Personally, I wore them because it was hotter than the seventh circle of hell outside. “It makes the heat bearable.”
She scowled, her face scrunched up in a way that made me concerned she might be having a stroke. She wasn’t. “I hope that’s what you think when you’re livin’ in the horrors of Outer Darkness.”
I gave her a sweet smile. “I’ve always preferred the dark.”
Her jaw dropped.
I smiled wider, and walked away.
I spent the next day at the fair covering the animal judging and auction. I’d had pets growing up, but I could never bring myself to raise one with the knowledge that it would be sent off to slaughter. I had a hard time even covering the story. I kept having to repeat: food, not friends. It was enough to make me a vegetarian for a couple of days at least.
After the auctions, I wandered over to get some photos of one of the most popular fair events: the poop drop. Areas of a field were separated into a numbered grid like a checkerboard. People could choose a number, and place their bet. Then, a cow was let loose in the field. Whichever square he chose to poop in was the winner, and the person who had bet on that square got all the money from bets placed. In the past, there had been some debate over whether or not it constituted gambling—a no- no in the Mormon Church. But most people just considered it good fun, and many winners donated the money to charity. That was one thing I really liked about Utah and Mormons: their willingness to help those who were less fortunate.
The air was sticky and stifling outside, so I took a break to get a tart, frozen strawberry lemonade, and sought refuge in the air conditioned buildings. As I went from booth to booth, I couldn’t help but notice the sheer lack of people visiting most of the vendors. The buildings were usually packed.
When I got to the animal rescue booth, I smiled as I watched a couple of puppies jump and play tug of war with a blue and white braided rope. One was a golden lab, another was a small black and gray mix of something that looked a bit like a terrier. His gray beard around his mouth reminded me of Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings. “They’re so playful,” I said to Michelle James, the shelter owner. She had eight kids and ran the shelter. I was pretty sure she also moonlighted as Wonder Woman. I bent down to scratch the puppies behind their ears. Gandalf flipped right over and demanded a tummy rub. I smiled at the little guy, and happily obliged.
“They have a lot of energy today,” Michelle said, cocking her hip out and leaning against the table as she watched me.
“Because of all the people?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Because of the lack of people. Usually the animals I bring get adopted pretty fast at the fair, and they get tired from everyone playing with them. We just haven’t had a lot of people stop by this year.”
I furrowed my brow and glanced up at her. “That’s weird. Why do you think attendance has been low?”
She tilted her head to the right. “Because everyone’s over in the baked goods building.”
“Ah,” I said, watching as the puppy pawed my hand, annoyed I’d stopped his tummy massage. I gave him an extra scratch in apology as I answered, “The cookies.”
She gave a sigh. “Yep. The cookies.”
“I’ve never seen so much fervor over sugar and flour.”
“Me either,” she said. “But they’re yummy. One of our German Shepherds hates them, though. As soon as I brought the bag in the house, he sniffed it, then grabbed the bag and destroyed it, and the cookies. He didn’t even try to eat them. I had to buy another bag.”
I laughed, thinking he’d get along well with my mom. “He must have a cookie vendetta.”
She smiled as she watched me with Gandalf, nodding her head toward us both. “He really likes you.”
I grinned down at the cute puppy, still getting petted. I couldn’t stop. “I like him too.”
“You should take him,” she said.
I froze and stared at her. “Take him? Like adopt him?” Another living thing was a big responsibility. I’d had to plant a seed and grow it for a class in elementary school. I’d overwatered it and killed within days. If I couldn’t keep a plant alive, how in the world could I take care of a dog? Then again, the plant situation had happened years ago. I probably had more sense now…probably.
“Yeah! He’d be good for you, and you’d be great for him. You’ll never have anyone in your life who will be as loyal, or love you as much as a dog.” She watched him squirm under me to get a better position, his tongue lagging to the side, a happy smile on his face. “The fact that he flipped on his back and gave you his tummy means he trusts you. He already thinks you’re best friends.”
I tho
ught Michelle was overstating that by a lot. Gandalf would have been best friends with a bear as long as it scratched his tummy. “I don’t know. I’ve never owned a pet of my own before.”
I stood up and the puppy immediately rolled over and sat, staring up at me, waiting for a command—or a treat.
“I can help you with whatever you need,” Michelle said. “It’s really important to me that the animals I place go to good homes. You’re a compassionate person, and would make a great pet parent. I know he’d be taken care of if he was with you.”
“How old is he?” I asked, throwing his tiny tennis ball. He bounced after it with a playful growl.
“About a year, we think. He was found abandoned on the side of the road a couple of months ago.”
My chest constricted at the thought of someone leaving a helpless little dog like that. I bent down to rub the top of his head and behind his little ears, like somehow, that small bit of attention might help erase some of the abuse he’d been through. I knew it wouldn’t, but it made me feel better, and I hoped it made him feel better too.
“He’s already house trained, and is really good with people,” Michelle said, handing me a treat to feed him. I laughed as he smelled my hand, looked up at me for permission and then immediately ate the treat, his little tongue rough against my palm. “You could take him with you when you need to cover a story, or he’d also be fine at home as long as he had toys to keep him company. He’d make a great watchdog, too.” She eyed me, assessing. “I really think he’d be a good fit for you and your lifestyle.”
I looked at him, trying to envision myself as a dog owner. “My life is so hectic, though. I don’t know if I could give him the time he needs. I’m always running somewhere.”
“Dogs are pretty resilient,” Michelle said. “It’s not like he needs a babysitter. You can leave him home when you need to.”
I considered Michelle’s words. I could definitely use a watchdog. And it would be nice to come home to something other than just my TV. The thought of getting a dog was simultaneously terrifying and exciting—kind of like how I felt around Hawke and Drake. I wasn’t sure I was ready for the commitment, but as the little guy bumped his head into my hand again for another pet, asking me to accept him, it made it really hard to say no. Still, I wasn’t sure if I could do it.