by Freya Barker
“Jesus, Jaimie,” I sympathize. I can’t imagine a man leaving his wife and young baby for that long without a way to contact him. “I had no idea, and now with Lena missing, I’m so sorry.”
“Honestly? I care more about Lena. Rob can stay up in Montana as far as I’m concerned. Lena, I’m worried about.”
“Me too. Any word from the Denver PD?”
“No. Sue was going to call this morning, but I haven’t heard from her yet. I’ll give her a ring.”
“Keep me in the loop, okay?”
For the fifth time today, I try to concentrate on my manuscript. I only have a few more chapters to write in what is supposed to be a steamy and intricate romantic suspense story, but I can’t seem to find a way to tie up the loose ends.
After wrestling out two hundred and fifty or so words—and promptly deleting them because they sucked—I finally give up. It’s no use trying to force it or the writing will be shit. Maybe I’ll try again after dinner.
Instead I should have a look at the room I’d hoped to turn into the nursery. I haven’t done a thing yet, waiting to hear whether it’s a boy or a girl, but since I’ll find out this week, I may as well start prepping the walls for paint. At least I’ll have some claim to productivity today.
Luke pads after me down the hall. When I open the door he scoots into the room, giving it a thorough sniff down. The reason I picked this one as a nursery—there are two more down the other hallway—is the two large windows bathing the small space in light, and the fact it’s right beside the master. I like the idea of not having to plunder through the house in the middle of the night to get to my Little Pea.
The previous owners used it as a dressing room, leaving their wire closet organizers screwed all over the walls. I’d made a start on removing them, back before the weather got nice, but didn’t get very far. It’s clear these people were not handymen, given the number of holes drilled to get one screw in the right place.
I have a blister on my hand from the screwdriver by the time I have another shelf removed, when I hear the distinct sound of Trunk’s motorcycle outside. Grateful for the distraction—I can’t seem to concentrate on anything much these days—I drop the tools on the floor where I found them, and rush to the door.
“Hi! What are you doing here?” I call out, as I bounce down the steps toward him. He scowls at me and without a word, grabs me by the arm and turns me back toward the house. I helplessly trot beside him. “What the hell, Trunk?”
He shoves me inside and slams the door behind us. “When were you gonna tell me? A fucking body, Tahlula? Can’t believe I had to find out from Ouray’s wife, Luna, instead of my own goddamn sister.”
Oh, he’s pissed. “I’m sorry you had to find out from Luna, okay? I didn’t call you because this doesn’t have anything to do with me, and yet I knew you would overreact, like you’re doing now.”
He steps closer and gets in my face. “A dead body, Tahlula,” he growls, trying to intimidate me. Unfortunately for him, that hasn’t worked since I turned eighteen.
“I know that, and I won’t say it’s not disturbing, but you know as well as I do, when I had my condo in Denver, there were shootings and stabbings almost daily. Plenty of them within a half-mile radius from my place. They didn’t have a damn thing to do with me either.”
“You’re alone up here.”
“I’m well aware, and it’s just the way I like it,” I tell him firmly.
“Well, I don’t. I need you to pack a bag and stay at the clubhouse.”
He folds his impressive arms over his chest and looks down his nose at me. Not hard to do since he’s got about eight inches on me. However, I’m a forty-one-year-old woman who’s spent the past twenty or so of those years living by herself; I’m not about to take orders from my brother.
“Not going to happen, Titus. I’m perfectly fine where I am. This is my home; I live here, I work here, and I’m not leaving. You could’ve saved yourself the trouble.” Now I’m pissed too. I stalk to the door he just slammed shut and open it wide. “You know your way out.”
“Tahlula…” His tone is soft now we’ve come to the part where he pleads in a last ditch effort to sway me. I’ve been here before too.
“Don’t Tahlula me, Trunk. It’s not gonna work.”
“You’re my sister.”
“Right now I’m painfully aware of that fact, thank you.”
His big head drops back on his shoulders, as he dramatically lifts his eyes to the ceiling, his hands in white-knuckled fists by his sides. I can hear the low growl of frustration deep in his throat.
I wait him out. I know I have more patience than him, which isn’t saying much.
“There’s a fundraising rally in Grand Junction this coming weekend,” he finally caves, taking in a deep breath. “We’re rolling out tomorrow morning. I’d feel better…” I bite down a grin at the sarcasm he can’t seem to contain. “…if I knew you were safe at the compound.”
I take a step closer and put my hand in the middle of his chest. “And I appreciate that.” I know from the way his eyes light up, he thinks I’m conceding. “But I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.”
“Jesus fucking Christ, woman. Stubborn like a mule.”
“Damn right. Now I know you’re gonna spend your time fretting over me, so let me put your mind at ease.” I walk over to the hall table and pick up the two business cards I left there and lift them up for him to see. “I don’t only have a direct line to the cops.” I wave the card Detective Blackfoot left with me. “But I also have one to the fire department.”
Before I have a chance to wave Evan’s card in his face, he’s snatched it from my hand. “This that white cracker who was over here drooling all over you?”
I punch him in the arm. “Titus Maximus Rae! You should know better than to use racial slurs. That rule goes both ways, you know.” I pluck the card back from him and return them to the hall table. “And for the record, yes, the same guy who showed up to make sure my house was fire safe. The point is; I’m as safe as I can get, right here.”
My big galoot of a brother hooks his hand behind my neck and yanks me against his chest, his other arm banding around me. “You’re all I’ve got,” he mumbles in my hair.
I slip my own arms around his waist and hug him tight.
“You’re all I’ve got too.”
6
Evan
“Are you coming?”
I look over my shoulder at Blue, who is following me down the stairs.
“Where are you going?”
“Just grabbing breakfast at Oscar’s.”
It’s been a long night with only one two-hour stretch to catch some winks. I’m wiped, but I also know I need sustenance. “Sure. Who else is coming?” I ask, but I already have my answer when I walk outside to find Hog and Sumo waiting.
We’ve been so busy I’ve been able to ignore Sumo. I’m still pissed at him. I know he was likely only yanking my chain—he likes doing that—and normally that shit slides off my back, but this time it struck a chord. I know Kyle Matsumoto; I’ve seen him working the ladies. He cranks up the charm and they love him. I’ve never given the first fuck, but even the idea of him moving in on Tahlula makes me want to beat him bloody.
It’s ridiculous. I have no claim on the woman—hell, I chose to walk away—yet I can’t fucking stop thinking about her. Not that anyone lets me, first Sumo going on about her, then Blackfoot pushing.
If Sumo starts it up again at breakfast, I’m gonna blow.
“I’m not used to you being moody,” Blue observes from the passenger seat.
She cycled to work so I offered her a ride, and I’ll swing by the station after so she can pick up her bike.
“I’m not moody.”
“Okay, maybe I should’ve said broody. Does it have to do with that woman? The one Sumo is harping about?”
“Sumo is an ass.”
“We agree on that, but that doesn’t answer my question.”
“There’s nothing going on with me and her,” I finally respond, hoping that would end yet another conversation with her at the center.
I miscalculated. This was Blue after all. She always seems more worried about other people’s happiness than her own. “But you want there to be.” Her voice is soft but insistent.
“It’s not that simple.”
“Is it ever?”
“I don’t know, but shouldn’t it be?”
That seems to shut her up, but it doesn’t last long before she speaks again. “I don’t think so. I think we have a tendency not to appreciate the things that come easy as much as we do those we have to fight for. The reward is bigger after sacrifice.”
She sounds introspective and I glance over to see her staring blindly out the window. “You sound like you might know what you’re talking about,” I offer carefully.
She flashes a look my way and a rare grin tugs at her lips. “Look at you, all perceptive, but we’re not talking about me now. Nice try though.”
I grin back and decide to play along. “Busted.”
“So, what’s holding you back?” she probes, not letting me off the hook.
I think about the question. I had a laundry list of reasons when I walked away from her, but for the life of me, I can barely remember a single one of them. “I don’t really know,” I finally admit, as I pull into the parking lot next to the diner and turn off the engine.
“Glad to hear it. Good talk,” she says with a full grin this time, before she jumps out of the truck.
The guys have already procured a booth and I find myself sitting across from Sumo.
“We good?’
I stare at him hard. “If you watch your mouth we are.”
Sumo is the first to drop his eyes. “If I’d known she meant—” Blue launches herself over the table and smacks him over the head, shocking the shit out of all of us. “Ouch! What the fuck, Blue?” He shoots daggers as she calmly takes her seat.
“Didn’t he just say to watch your mouth?”
Hog bursts out laughing while Sumo mutters something unintelligible under his breath.
After a waitress stops by our table to pour coffee and take our order, the discussion turns to a new wildfire that was called in last night. The fire isn’t big, eighteen or so acres involved by last count, but with the potential to spread. Even the slightest shift in wind direction can change the entire picture, which is why the fire is closely monitored by the department.
We do have a unit based in Durango, the San Juan Hotshots, who specialize in battling wildfires, but there are just twenty or so in the crew and they’re deployed all over the country. With the extremely dry conditions predicted for the season, a call has gone out for firefighters from departments all over the country willing to volunteer a few weeks to help stay on top of the fires over the summer months. In the coming weeks, some of them will start arriving, and Cap mentioned this morning the department is looking for temporary housing for them.
“I’m in a one-bedroom apartment,” Blue shares. “I guess I could fit one on the couch.”
“I’ve got room, but I’m in Aztec. Not sure how helpful that would be.” Hog is the only one on the crew who doesn’t actually live in Colorado, but just across state lines in New Mexico.
“My place is big enough for two or three guys,” I volunteer. “Plenty of room for about five vehicles in the driveway too.”
“Yeah, I can’t do it,” Sumo contributes. “I’m still stuck in that studio over the art gallery.”
“Weren’t you buying a house?” Blue asks him.
“Was hoping to, but things change.” The odd tone to his voice has me looking up, but whatever might have been showing on his face is carefully hidden behind his goofy smirk.
“Can I get you anything else?”
At the unified, “No, thank you,” she distributes the separate bills she already had in hand. Sumo snatches mine from the table before I can pick it up.
“Shut up,” he snaps when I open my mouth to protest.
As an apology, it works for me.
“Any plans the next two days?” I ask Blue when we pull back into the fire station.
“Nothing noteworthy for me. I hope you’ll make good use of your days off, though.” She pulls up an eyebrow when I glance over.
“Not very subtle,” I note.
“I think I proved earlier nothing like a two-by-four between the eyes—or in that case a slap around the ears—to knock a bit of sense in some people.”
“Should I take offense to that?”
Once again she flashes a rare grin as she reaches for the door. “Only if the shoe fits, and for the record, sleep is overrated.” With that she leans in to kiss my cheek, shocking the hell out of me. Before I can react, she gets out, slams the door, and with a casual wave walks around the side of the building to get her bike.
When I pull onto the street I already know where I’m going.
Tahlula
This was a mistake.
It’s the lot of an author to wake up at four thirty in the morning with sudden clarity on how the story needs to be written. A moment of pure inspiration that—unless acted on immediately—will disappear with the coming light of day.
Four hours later, with only an epilogue left to write, my stomach was growling, but my empty shelves necessitated a trip to the grocery store.
It’s when I was about to turn right onto the City Market parking lot; I caught a familiar truck passing from behind me. It was a split-second decision—I should’ve taken a moment to think.
To the annoyance of a car waiting behind me, I turned off my blinker and followed, taking the right-hand turn onto the bridge across the Animas River. In front of me he pulls into the fire station and I slow down, crawling by with my neck craned to catch a glimpse.
I’m not sure what I was thinking. I remember when I was in high school I would sometimes walk by the house of whoever my crush of the month was, hoping to lay eyes on them. Maybe this is like that, needing a little more context to feed the fantasy. Only difference is I’m not a teenager living in la-la-land.
The blonde leaning over the center console is evidence of how stupid I am. I should stick to writing romantic fantasy and not try to live it.
I quickly speed up and keep driving until I reach the end of the road and have to turn either left or right. Not really any clue where I am, I turn right and end up meandering through a neighborhood until I see a sign for College Drive. I know where that leads. I drove around the college grounds when there were still remnants of snow, to check out a view of Durango Trunk had recommended.
Familiar with the surroundings, feeling hungry and dumb, but also a little sad, I aim for Sonic to indulge in a breakfast burrito and an iced coffee. I just don’t feel like going home right now.
-
“Ohmigod! You’ve gotta be kidding me!”
I almost do a one-eighty when the squeal greets me. Since breakfast in the drive-thru, I’ve been driving through Durango, familiarizing myself with parts of the town I hadn’t had reason to visit before. The quirky sign for Kerry’s Korner: Books & Brew had jumped out at me.
The small strip mall housing it is not much to look at but walking into the store I found myself instantly drawn to the smell of fresh coffee beans and the unmistakable scent of books. A cozy nook to the left of the door with a well-worn sofa, a small coffee table, and two overstuffed chairs works as a welcoming invitation for people to linger.
The exuberant and mildly unsettling greeting comes from a short, comfortably rounded brunette, who currently has her hands slapped over her mouth as she regards me with wide-open eyes.
I’m somewhat at a loss of what to say, so I keep it simple. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she mumbles from behind her hands before pulling them away, revealing a very pretty, beet-red face. “Excuse me one minute.” Dumbfounded, I watch as she darts out from behind the counter. “Don’t move,” she adds, before trotting off between two massive booksh
elves, disappearing from sight. From the back I can hear excited, but muffled, voices.
Well. That’s certainly an interesting way to greet customers.
I’m still frozen in the same spot when she returns, peeking around the shelving unit as if to make sure I’m still here. Then she comes toward me, a second woman behind her. This one is about my height, blonde, and looks like she just walked off the set of the next Pirates of the Caribbean movie. All beads and chunky jewelry, and an almost sheer white tunic complete with puffy sleeves and ruffles.
“I have to tell you this is probably the coolest thing that’s ever happened to me,” she says with a huge white smile. She offers her hand and a little hesitant, I take it in mine. “I’m Kerry Gomez, I own the place, and this is Marya Barnes, my manager. I can’t believe T. Hanna just walked into my store. Talk about a dream come true.”
The brunette, Marya, nudges the other woman out of her way and grabs my hand to shake as well. “I just finished reading In Flagrante Delicto,” she shares breathlessly.
“It’s actually this month’s read for the book club,” the other woman clarifies, moderately calmer. “I’m a huge fan. I think I’ve read all of your books.”
During the entire encounter I haven’t said more than my original Hi, still grappling with the fact I’ve been recognized. It’s happened at the few signings my publisher had me attend—by some avid readers—but never in the ‘wild’ so to speak.
“Thank you,” I finally manage to mutter, still a bit shell-shocked. “I’m…” I blow out a deep breath. “…a little dizzy right now.”
I’m instantly guided to the sofa and told to sit down. “Marya, start on a decaf. Or would you prefer some water?” she directs to me. “I have bottled water in the back.”
“Decaf sounds good. Do you have almond milk?”
“Skinny latte, Marya!”
“Got it!”
I feel like I’ve walked into a sitcom but someone forgot to give me the script.
“Forgive me, but this is a little unreal for me. Last year nobody knew who I was, but after…well, since In Flagrante Delicto that’s changed.”
