by Jerri George
Bringing herself back to the present, she bent over Uncle and whispered in his ear, “But you won, didn't you, dear Uncle?” She kissed him tenderly on his hand; the coldness of his skin repelled her. “It took about six months for me to face my fears. All my pent-up rage and desperate loneliness, but you were there.”
Candace felt she needed to keep talking, to warm him to memory and thaw his recollection. She had to bring him back to her somehow. “Remember my counselor, that quirky little man with the shiny bald head and those beady eyes who hid behind the round John Lennon spectacles?” She looked hopefully at his ashen face and closed eyes. Would they open soon?
A nurse came in to check his vitals, “Oh, don't let me interrupt, it's good for patients in a coma to hear the voices of those they love,” she said convincingly. “We've seen it do wonders.”
Candace blushed, “I was just reminding him about a time when he was waiting for me to recover.” She smiled shyly and wiped away a few tears that escaped. The nurse jotted in the chart, moved stealthily about the machines with her sturdy white shoes making little noise. Her existence was nearly undetectable.
Candace continued, “Do you remember Doc Hayward? When he made rounds, he wore those silly loafer slippers, corduroy I think, and that tired cardigan.” She smiled and searched for a reaction on Dan’s face. “I swore up and down the man had a fixation with that kid’s show guy, Mr. Rogers.” She grinned sheepishly.
The nurse smiled encouragingly as she left the room but returned quickly, pushing a huge under-stuffed, dark-green vinyl chair, deftly navigating it to the opposite side of the bed. Disappearing again, she returned once more with a piping-hot cup of coffee.
Candace collapsed into the chair, which was superior to the stool. She sipped coffee, and reminisced about the nurses and staff at the rehab center where she spent a good deal of her thirteenth year. It had been a cheerful, peaceful place, established in a refurbished 1920's plantation homestead not far from the ocean. Surrounded by a huge porch, varnished and filled with hardwood rocking chairs, it allowed patients to rock to their heart's content between sessions, accompanied by the whir of hummingbird wings and the harmonious sound of wind chimes in the coastal breeze.
Those mental images made Candace drift into a dreamlike state wondering if it was Doc Hayward's likeness to Mr. Rogers with his soft-spoken demeanor and attentive, inquisitive nature, that gave way to honest and open reflection. Or, was it the odd bird watching, Hitchcockian part of his character that expertly coaxed Candace's thoughts back from the darkened places they dwelled? Regardless, she had successfully climbed from the recesses of despair and gloom, rung by rung, up the rickety ladder of hope. Thanks to him, Candace emerged a young lady who had known fear but fought it. Her wilted spirit blossomed.
Candace fell to sleep stirring only once as that same sweet nurse pushed the chair into a reclining position and covered her with a warm blanket. The caffeinated coffee had little effect on her exhausted and chilly being. It was then she made a promise in the recesses of her mind.
No matter what, she would make herself feel, accept and deal with whatever came to pass and not deny it.
Candace and her Uncle slept to the rhythm of the machines whooshing and clicking.
Chapter 9
Anton saw the foyer light on in the To Dine For Catering offices, and Dawn's car parked outside where she usually left it when she and CJ would run off to Lo-Do, a section of lower downtown Denver. As far as he knew, Candace was still in Gallegos so he was suspicious.
He opened CJ's office door and peered into the dimly lit room beyond. “Hello, Candace? Dawn?”
“Yeah, it's me. I'm in the closet,” Dawn answered. It seemed strange she was there alone. He thought immediately of the wall safe Candace kept hidden behind her favorite framed poster from the Boston Museum of Art. He didn't trust Dawn as far as he could throw her cat under the rocking chair, or whatever that colloquialism was. Since the day CJ introduced them and Dawn treated him like the hired help, he couldn’t shake it.
He flicked on CJ's desk lamp to make sure nothing was disturbed as Dawn emerged.
“I was just getting the dress Candace is letting me borrow for the fundraiser,” she said offhandedly.
“How'd you get in here?” Anton responded.
“The light was on, and the front door was unlocked. I knocked, but no one answered. I thought maybe you or CJ were burning the midnight oil, or burning something together,” she teased, tilting her head to one side. She threw him a look and winked.
“The door was unlocked?” he asked suspiciously.
“Of course it was. You don't think I'd break in, do you?” She scowled at him and stepped closer. “Now, if I knew you were here alone, maybe I would have given it some thought, Tiger.”
Anton was not amused by her flirtatious tone. He had to hand it to her though, Dawn knew her way around a man, any man. She liked switching the topic of conversation, adding innuendo. Was there ever a time when she didn't come on to him, even when Candace was around?
Dawn was dressed to kill, or at the very least, seduce, wearing a tight, off-the-shoulder, red mini dress. It fit her shape so exactly, he was pretty certain there was nothing underneath. The only two things that didn’t look painted on her body were the strands of wooden beads dangling from her neck. Her hair was full and windblown. In high heels, Dawn was almost as tall as he was with legs that seemed to travel forever. Tan and doused in perfume, she filled the room with a scent of musk with fruity undertones.
“I stopped because I saw the light and your car but—,” he started to explain but she interrupted.
“Oh really? You were hoping to find me here? Now, the truth comes out!” She placed her hand delicately but firmly on his forearm, rubbing it upward to cradle his bicep with her long nails extended. “Don't worry, big boy. I'll never tell. Mmm, I can see why Candace finds you appealing.”
Anton didn't say a word. He just stood, tolerating her presence.
“Oooh, the strong silent type. I like that in a man,” she said and moved closer to him whispering the last few words in his ear.
“Don't be ridiculous,” he said and took hold of both her arms in an attempt to push her away. “Why are you here?”
“I told you, Candace said I could borrow a dress.” She used the opening created by his outstretched arms to wriggle free and force her body into him, pressing her hips against his. Before he knew it, both of her hands were on either side of his face, keeping his head locked in place and totally involved while she kissed him on the mouth. Her lips were soft and open, her tongue exploring. He couldn't help but taste her.
His already taught abdomen stiffened, and his hands clenched her arms. He couldn’t help but react to her unexpected advance and her insistence. She was smooth and fit and felt hot next to his body—a body, which naturally and inexplicably responded to her presence since he hadn’t been with a woman for some time.
As his desire swelled against her pelvic bone, he felt the grip on his head lessen, just as a fisherman might loosen the tension on a line preparing to reel in a big catch. Dawn sucked gently on his tongue, pulling it deeper into her mouth. He wondered if she was aware she was moments away from gaining total control of him. Anton let go of her arms and grabbed her waist. Intending to push her away, he pulled her to his groin instead with both hands. His palms slid easily around to the small of her back. He rubbed himself against her upper thigh. The hem of her tight little skirt slid upward.
Their mouths were open wide, tongues groping for more. He really wanted to stop this, but she was so eager, so damned inviting, and his resolve was slipping. Damn, sometimes a man felt completely out of control! He felt a pulsating urgency to satisfy himself.
She grabbed the back of his neck as he lifted her off the floor and carried her across the room to the desk. Like an acrobat, she flung her head back and arched her body to enjoy the motion of the ride, her bare legs wrapped around his waist. He tightened his hold and pulled her upri
ght as smoothly as an accomplished dancer might embrace his partner's body. The light on the desk revealed the tattoo behind her left ear. So close, he could touch it, a coiled snake in shades of gold and copper with a cobra’s head. Anton’s eyes flashed fiercely with an intensity that seemed to make Dawn a little uneasy.
She came to rest on the edge of the desk. His hands, no longer needed for support, reached up and slid the neck of the dress off her shoulders revealing her entire upper torso. Braless, as suspected, two perfectly aroused nipples stared back at his glance. He caressed them both like a boy playing with a new toy. Dawn busied herself undoing his belt and breathed in deeply as she slowly unzipped his pants working them and his silky boxer shorts past his hips. They cooperatively fell to the floor, exposing him fully.
Her skin was like satin, smooth and silky. She glistened in the glow of the lamp as he pushed her flat onto the hard, wood surface. He slid her hips toward him preparing to ease himself into her. This American was clean shaven and smooth between her legs. He had to admit, he’d been curious about that. Then, spreading her legs between his strong thighs, he slid his hands around to grasp and control her backside, moving her even closer to him. At last he pushed himself deep inside her with disregard, consumed by the soft, delicate folds of her inner body. Her natural scent enveloped him.
“Oh yes!” she cried out, grabbing his hair in both hands. He groaned and breathed deeply to control his response. She untangled her long legs from around his waist with approval and perched on the edge of the desk.
CJ's desk. Why hadn't he carried her into his own office? He really had to stop this insanity.
As if reading his mind, Dawn slipped her hands between her thighs and caressed him.
Oh hell, he figured she’d wanted to sample what he had for a long time.
With increasing speed and a steady rhythm, he slipped in and slid out. It was all he sensed. He felt her rise and fall with each insertion. Anton was providing her with a wild ride, bareback. She held onto him, digging her nails into his shoulders.
He couldn't help but embrace this feeling of power and command. Damn, it felt great. Young, virile and now bent on self-satisfaction, Anton kept at it. He reached the point of exploding with Dawn begging him to let it go. She had better get her money's worth this time around because it could never—would never—happen again.
Dawn shrieked and shivered with delight. “Oh, you're goooood.”
He felt himself writhe and tremble with monumental force. It was over. He stared, first at her, then at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall above the couch. The light from the closet seemed brighter than before. He saw his brow, wet from ringlets of hair dripping onto his nose. His gray-brown, smoky eyes had lost their usual sparkle. Now blank, unfeeling and cold, he withdrew and pushed her away in one motion. All the disdain he felt for himself at this moment filled his expression. Grabbing his clothes from the floor, he stormed out of the room.
“Bastard!” she called after him.
Anton was so pissed at himself; he could barely control his temper. Once in his own office, he picked up a bronze statue of an elk and threw it across the room into the fireplace. He wanted that bitch out of their office, now! Out of his life and out of CJ's for good. What had come over him? Other than the fact that he was just horny, how could he face CJ? How could he tell her? He had to tell her because he was sure that Dawn would—in a hurry and with glee.
Anton could hear Dawn running water into the bathtub in the elaborate en suite five-piece bathroom they had built in Candace’s office. Would she really be so bold as to bathe in CJ’s tub, he wondered? Knowing that whore, she probably would. What had he done? This one night could end his relationship and partnership with CJ. It wasn’t so much that it had happened but with whom. His whole future might really be at risk if Dan were to die and leave her completely alone. Would she give up catering, their partnership, friendship and everything else when they meant so much to each other—over this?
He reached into the mini fridge behind the bar and helped himself to a bottle of his favorite chilled vodka, Russian-made, of course, and decided he would take a drive through the mountains to clear his mind in the fresh air. Taking a couple of quick sips to soothe his anxiety, Anton pulled on his pants and left.
The faster he drove on the nearly empty late-night streets, the more confused he became. Okay, so he screwed Dawn. Why did he feel so guilty? He’d never led Candace to believe that he wouldn’t sleep with another woman, but their bond had some unspoken baggage. As close as she and Dan had become to him, he should think of her more as a sister, but he didn’t, and he was pretty sure she didn’t think of him as a brother. Her face would flush when they teased, and their closeness when tipsy or tired was arousing. I’m always fighting from kissing her on the lips, he thought.
Now, would he ever find out what she was truly feeling? Should he take a risk and broach the subject or just find someone to become seriously involved with and forget it? This female interaction stuff was crazy.
Chapter 10
Candace stirred with the morning shift change. Once her uncle’s vitals were reported and the doctors expressed a conservative confidence, she felt relieved enough to head back to the ranch. The drive was a long one. The third trip alone in as many days. It did give her time to think.
What happened to Uncle at the ranch? Did he have a stroke or a heart attack? If so, why would the poker be in his hands and end up on the floor? Was he going to start a fire? It does get cold enough these late summer nights. But what about the dogs? How could they wind up poisoned and how on earth could they get out of the house? Who opened the door? A friend, a stranger?
Nothing made any sense. She wanted to take pieces of the puzzle—all of the ingredients in the recipe and fit them together. Being a trained chef, she could examine, combine, assemble and create—tools that lent themselves well to getting to the bottom of most problems.
As time passed maybe the doctors would determine if there was a physiological reason for his injuries. Of course having Uncle wake up would help. He’d remember who drank the wine with him. Uncle waking up was paramount. What if he never woke up? She shuddered at the thought. What would become of her life? Would she continue catering? Where would she live? These questions were eerily similar to those from her youth.
Thirty more miles to go.
It was nice that Gallegos and New Mexico as a whole was close to Denver as they were a big part of her childhood, but that wasn’t the extent of her travel. Uncle’s unfettered access to the company jet afforded them opportunity. Their time spent in Cape Cod was a favorite, and she often thought she would like to settle there. The rocky shores and small seaside towns with wooden wharfs extending into bays and fishing boats bobbing on the tides of the North Sea gave birth to seafood restaurants scattered up and down the coast. Uncle Dan and her dad were born there, and she longed for the belonging she felt when surrounded by the seagulls and salt air.
Her mom and dad were married there, and Uncle had fallen in love for the first time. It was not far from where Dawn’s parents, Eric and Marjorie, lived for years. It was also where Eric, and Uncle Dan had begun their first investment firm. They had been so close, in fact Eric was her godfather. Their years of success brought them the money and prestige both families enjoyed. It wasn’t until her parents died and their vice president, Pamela Loyd-Everett, manipulated investor’s stock portfolios, causing a rift between them. So much had changed. Dawn’s mom, Marjorie, and Uncle Dan were the only ones alive now, but Uncle’s life was hanging in the balance.
Five more miles.
Exhausted from the drive but resolved to answer some of her questions, Candace was determined to find out what was contained in the boxes and papers strewn about the dining room. She was frustrated with the lack of clues. Candace decided to mentally don a trench coat in lieu of a chef’s jacket, and make herself a strong cup of coffee. She hated leaving Uncle alone in that place, but if she could find out what happened an
d why, at least she could help in some way. Maybe she should buy herself a fedora and a cigar. Uncle would definitely be amused.
It was still early in the day with the ranch operating at one quarter its usual commotion. After a few sips of caffeine, she stood firmly near the spot where Uncle had lay bleeding in the wee hours. Conviction tightening her jaw and with her hands on her hips, she surveyed the dining room table. Whoever was here obviously took an interest in the items scattered around. I’ll start there.
Since no one had yet ruled his injuries a crime, nothing kept her from the area where he had been or the nearby rooms. She walked gingerly so as not to destroy potential evidence and carefully gathered up some file folders from the chair adjacent to the great room. Leaning against the beveled edge of the table, she shuffled through some old receipts, recipes cards and papers that seemed to have been filed away by Jesse at one point.
With the invention of computers and cooking websites, did anyone even use recipe cards anymore? Candace lifted the cover of the first file box and looked inside. It seemed as though someone had beaten her to the contents. Legal pads with engraved stationery and other pieces of paper were askew, file folders pulled out, lying atop the others. Neither Uncle nor Jesse would ever leave things so disorganized.
She spied some newspaper articles about the ranch from back in the day. One had a picture of kids swimming in the pond at the first ever ranch BBQ at the Triple Fork, well before the place was renamed the Double K. The article gave mayoral recognition to Dan Kane and his brother Bradford. Another article included a shot of Dawn’s parents, who Candace referred to as Aunt Marj and Uncle Eric with her own mom, Cynthia. Her mother looked gorgeous in a Nehru-collared bright yellow dress and shoes to match. She wore a paisley turban in yellow, orange and lime green tones and big hoop earrings. Candace couldn't help but smile thinking of her mom making a fashion statement in the day and how funny her flower-child look was actually in style again.
