by Dylan Newton
“Naw, she just didn’t want me to be self-conscious as the tin man,” Ryker said, flexing his shoulder. “I’m partly metal nowadays. Besides, everyone knows the scarecrow’s the one with the best moves.”
Ryker did a pretty good imitation of the scarecrow’s dancing jig from the movie, and Kate stifled a giggle.
Drake blew out a frustrated breath. “Don’t you two have somewhere to be? Somewhere that’s not here?”
Zander nodded with a knowing look on his whiskered face. “Ah, he wants us to give him some privacy with Kate. I get it. Mom said you guys were dating. No accounting for taste, I suppose.”
Kate flushed. “We’re, um, not dating.”
Drake nodded in agreement as he plucked the silvery fabric off his abdomen, trying in vain to stretch it out, while he glanced at the passers-by self-consciously. “It’s a strictly professional relationship.”
Kate glanced sideways at Drake, trying to read how much he believed in the ‘strictly professional’ part, but he was über-focused on his costume. He released the fabric he’d attempted to stretch, and it lay against him like a sheen of metallic sweat, showing every bulge of his muscles as the writer gritted his teeth and muttered a curse.
She swallowed and looked away. “Totally professional.”
“Oh yeah?” Ryker said, holding up a large shopping bag. “Then why did Mom send for this costume at the last minute so you could match us? If you were just his event planner, she wouldn’t have bothered. Or if she felt obligated, she’d have chosen a flying monkey. If she didn’t like you, maybe the Wicked Witch.”
Zander nodded his shaggy head. “But she gave you Dorothy. You’re definitely dating if she gave you Dorothy and wants you to be a part of her booth’s activities.”
Kate’s eyes bulged as she took the bag being thrust at her. Blue-and-white gingham fabric with frothy white eyelet lace peeped out at her. “I—I didn’t agree to dress up today. I mean, I’m not a cosplay actor. Being Dorothy Gale is not in my plan.”
Drake shook his head. “You don’t have to dress up. I think Mom wanted to include you. For my sake, probably.”
Mollified, Kate turned to give Drake a grateful smile, but was stopped by the younger brothers, who shook their heads.
Ryker and Zander turned to their older brother, who was still scowling and plucking the silver Lycra off his crotch.
“You’d better tell her,” Zander said.
Ryker nodded, lifting his cell phone from his pants’ pocket. “Gotta bolt. We’re needed at the photo booth.”
The two ambled away, Zander’s tail swishing and swatting random people as they were swallowed up by the crowd.
Drake cursed and finally shrugged out of his coat, setting it down with a backpack on the ground between them. “Holy hell, it’s hot out here.”
“Tell me what? Don’t change the subject—what were your brothers talking about?” Kate folded her arms across her chest, rounding on Drake.
Her client was full-on stretching the fabric down by his thighs, his forearm muscles bulging in metallic relief as he strained against the material, which sucked right back down to his skin with a snap as soon as he let go.
Kate forced her gaze up, looking at his face to avoid the distraction. “All your mom asked me to do is come to the festival and make sure you got where you needed to be. She never mentioned dressing up. What’s going on?”
Drake opened his mouth to answer, but his words were cut off as a pack of older women stopped a few feet away. One of them gave a long, appreciative wolf whistle.
“Hey, there, Drake! Lookin’ good!”
The women snickered, and one older lady wearing a shirt with pumpkins embroidered on the front stepped forward, leering over the tops of the bifocals held by a gold chain around her neck.
Kate glanced sideways at Drake, who had frozen in place, his hands on his hips as if he were a silver Superman.
He cleared his throat. “Kate Sweet, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Nowakowski. She was my Sunday school teacher.”
Something pinged in Kate’s brain at the mention of the name, but she was distracted by the drama unfolding in front of her, as Drake’s old religion teacher’s gaze traveled from the man’s toes, up the muscles of his bunched thighs, and lingered at his crotch. As if his greeting had emboldened them, the women inched closer with a rapacious look in their eyes, like a bunch of hungry bridesmaids descending on the wedding buffet.
Mrs. Nowakowski adjusted her glasses to finally stare into Drake’s eyes. “You were such a scrawny thing. Who’d have thought you’d grow into such a fine hunk of a man?”
Kate saw Drake shift uncomfortably, his hands slowly coming around to clasp in front of him, like a groom standing at the altar. Except it was clear this was more to protect his…assets from prying eyes, than it was to appear composed.
Another one of the ladies crept to the side, angling her head to see around the writer.
“You could bounce a quarter off that butt! You must do more than just write to get a rear like that! Do you do squats?”
“No, he’s a runner.” One of the gray-haired ladies in the back leaned against her walker to pin Drake with a shrewd glance. “I’ve seen him doing laps on the high school track on the weekends.”
“How do you see him, Aggie? Your eyes are so bad, you can barely read the Sunday paper,” came the response from Mrs. Nowakowski.
“With my binocs,” said Aggie, grinning to reveal a pearly white set of dentures. “He goes round and round and round. Sometimes he does the stadium steps, and then does a bunch of sit-ups on the infield. After he does that, he usually takes off his shirt.”
The ladies gave a chorus of “ooh’s,” and Kate cast her gaze to her author client.
Misery radiated off him in waves, but Kate gave him credit; he never lost his polite smile.
“That’s how I get all my best ideas—sweating it out with an audience of you beautiful ladies,” Drake said. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we’ve got—”
“A date. We know. Patty told us all about her,” Mrs. Nowakowski said, leveling her eyes over her bifocals at Kate. “I’m Shirley Nowakowski, and you must be the event planner. I heard about your request to our town council. I love the idea of a street maze, and I’ve always thought the Matthews mansion could be such a fun place at Halloween.”
“I’m glad you liked the idea!” Kate beamed, jolted as the name she’d memorized earlier finally clicked in place. She shook her hand, surprised by the older woman’s steel-hard grip. “It’s lovely to meet you. I was hoping to introduce myself to some of your fellow council members today and answer any concerns you might have. It’ll take a load of worry off my plate knowing the permit has your endorsement.”
“Well, I’m not sure about everyone else, but you have my vote. Now, you’d better hurry up and get changed, missy,” Mrs. Nowakowski said, giving what Kate interpreted as a nod of approval. “Patty wants you both at the Allegany County Abuse Shelter’s booth before the pumpkin carving starts. Don’t force us to call you out, Drake-y.”
With that, she shoved her glasses back in place, straightened her pumpkin-covered shirt, and led the ladies to another stall across the park.
Drake watched the last of the posse leave, her red-enameled walker bumping across the park grass, and then tilted his head back, glaring up at the autumn leaves above him as muscles in his jaw bunched. He looked as though he were two seconds away from howling in frustration. Finally, blowing out a breath and batting the funnel hat back to swipe at a fine mist of nervous sweat at his forehead, he gave Kate a look so wretched, she bit her lip to keep from laughing at the dichotomy of his expression with his blindingly silver costume.
“Think you can do me one massive favor this morning? For my research?” Then, Drake shook his head. “No. That’s a lie. It’s not for my book. It’s for me. Well, maybe for my mom, but that’s for me, really. She’s sort of a nut about Halloween. And her women’s shelter. See, my mom’s sister was abused by her husb
and, and although she finally left the guy, my aunt never really did recover from the emotional trauma. She ended up taking her own life.”
Kate gasped. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Drake sighed. “It was twenty years ago, but Aunt Beth was Mom’s only sister and fall was her favorite season. The first anniversary of Aunt Beth’s death, Mom coordinated a big festival here, with the proceeds going to the local women’s shelter. She’s made us boys dress up in coordinating costumes for it every year, whether we want to or not. Five years ago, I told her I couldn’t make it back to the East Coast for the festival, because I was speaking at the annual Horror Writer’s Convention in Sacramento, and she made me regret that decision.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “What did she do?”
“She gave my cell number to every aunt, female cousin, and family friend to call me and tell their stories of how they themselves, or those they knew, had been traumatized by domestic abuse. Mrs. Nowakowski was one of the ones who kept my number on speed dial.” Drake’s face was grim. “Super humbling stuff. Made it into the book I was writing at the time, which is why Attic Asylum has such a loyal cult following. The heroine of the story gets the ultimate revenge against her abuser.”
Kate glanced again into the bag and let out a resigned breath. “Fine. I’ll do it. Where can I change?”
Drake’s face lit up. He cupped her face in his hands, and for one, hot, glorious minute, she thought he was going to kiss her. Instead, he stared into her eyes, his gaze so intense, it was like he was memorizing her features. Then, he let go.
“I owe you. Big-time. I don’t know how I’m going to repay you, but I will. That’s a promise, Ms. Sweet.”
“I’m holding you to that, Mr. Matthews,” she grumbled, but inside she was picturing ways he might fulfill those promises.
None of them were G-rated.
Fifteen minutes later, she’d cleared her mind of Drake-inspired smut and was dressed in a Dorothy costume that fit surprisingly well, right down to the ruby slippers. She almost walked out like that, but then changed her mind. If she was going to do this, she was going all in. She rapidly finger-parted her hair in the back and wove two Dutch braids close to her head, tying them off with the costume’s gingham hair ribbons high at the shoulder, leaving low ponytails, Dorothy-style, that hung down to the bibbed part of the gingham dress. Peeking into a jewelry stall owner’s mirror, she nodded in satisfaction. It wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough for only seven minutes’ warning.
She walked out of the changing tent and found Drake half-hidden behind an oak tree.
He spotted her immediately and stepped out of hiding. He gave her a brief up and down, smiling as he gestured toward the end of the park where the Allegany Abuse Shelter booth was set up.
“They’re waiting for us down there. You look great, by the way. I love the braid thingys.”
“I’m resisting the urge to take your arm and skip while we sing about visiting the wizard,” she said. “But at least this costume will help me break the ice with your local board members. If you see any others, point them out. They still haven’t approved our permits, and although Mrs. Nowakowski loved the idea, I’d like the opportunity to speak to more of them and get that item checked off.”
“Right. The checklist, which contains answers to all the mysteries of life. Or at least my event,” Drake said, holding his backpack in front of him as he walked and staring straight ahead. The crowd parted for them, giving both Drake and Kate a look as they passed. “Answer me this. Why is it that you still look professional and poised in a last-minute Halloween costume? How is it my mother nails the size of a lady she’s met only twice, while she stuffs me, her oldest son, into this thing?”
Drake plucked the elastic material at his groin, and Kate caught herself staring as the fabric resettled, revealing such a mouth-watering amount of him, she stumbled. Drake put a hand at her back, helping to right her again, and Kate couldn’t remember the last time a guy had done that. She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear the rest of Drake’s conversation until the very end.
“…tag says large, but she’s got me crammed into a Sh-medium. Ryker’s right. I look like a damn stripper.”
“Sh-medium?” Kate hefted her gaze with effort from his groin to his eyes, purposely not touching the stripper comment, and the mental images that poured into her head. “What’s that?”
“A woman’s medium. A Sh-medium. This doesn’t begin to fit me. It’s indecent.”
Indecent is a good look on you, Kate thought. But instead she said, a bit too eagerly, “Do you want me to go downtown and find something else?”
“No!” Drake grasped her arm, his tone desperate as he tugged her to a narrow, secluded area behind the backdrop of the makeshift stage and a supply truck that advertised the abuse shelter. Peeking around the backdrop, she and Drake spotted a podium, microphone, and a folding table with two plastic chairs set up on the stage in front of a growing crowd. “No time. Besides, nothing’s open today. Everything’s shut down for the festival.”
“It’s not that bad,” Kate said, turning back around to cast an eye over his costume. “Just maybe a smidge…tight.”
“You think?”
Patty spotted them hiding behind the stage, and she waved, coming over to the microphone stand. Taking the mic, Drake’s mother tapped on the black top of it, and the amplifiers squealed in protest.
“Oopsie! Okay, thank you for coming out today to support us at the Allegany Abuse Shelter! In a couple of minutes, we’re going to have our very own Drake Matthews come out to start the carving competition, so go ahead and take a seat next to your pumpkin while I tell you a little bit about our shelter and who we serve.”
Patty continued to speak to the crowd about her charity, but Kate was distracted. Drake had taken her hand. Kate glanced down. How was it possible that even his fingers were muscular? But they were—strong and thick and capable, his hands gripped hers briefly, to punctuate his words as he spoke.
“Kate. You’re an expert at switching gears—at dealing with a crisis, right?” Drake rolled his head around his shoulder, as if attempting to relieve tension. “I can’t go up there looking like a stripper. It’s. A. Crisis.”
Kate bit her lip, tamping down her laughter. Instead, she nodded, switching into problem-solving mode. She could do this—act professional. All she had to do was pretend Drake was a jittery groom. Not a scorching-hot author with abs like a model on the cover of a fitness magazine. Or abs like a male stripper.
Kate kept her eyes on Drake’s face as she held out her hand for his backpack.
“What do you have in there that we can use to make your costume…more appropriate?”
He handed her the backpack, and she unzipped it. Jeans. Perfect!
“Here. Just slip these on over your tights to cover, um, your lower half,” Kate finished, her face suffusing with color as she gestured at his crotch. “They’ll only really see the top half over the tabletop, and I’ll arrange the pumpkins so that they block your…”
“Yeah,” Drake nodded, interrupting her awkward pause. “Got it. Good idea.”
Except as he started to tug the jeans on over his Tin Man costume, Kate saw it wasn’t going to work. The costume came with Tin Man boots that slid on over his sneakers all the way to his knees. No way could the costume fit under his jeans. At least, not without alterations…
Spotting what she needed on a nearby table, Kate gave Drake the “one second” sign with her index finger and sprinted in her sparkly red shoes to a table on the far side of the stage. Snatching what she needed off the top, she gave Drake’s mom a thumb’s-up when Patty’s eyes caught the movement in the middle of her speech, and then Kate rushed back behind the backdrop.
Drake was panting, the waistband of his jeans only pulled to his knees where they’d stuck, the legs unable to be tugged farther over the Tin Man boots. He took in what Kate was holding, and froze, that half-smile tilting up the edg
es of his lips.
“Hacking me up with a knife wasn’t exactly the solution I’d had in mind, but considering my latest book release, I guess there’s some poetic justice in meeting my maker this way.”
“Ha-ha,” Kate said, adjusting her grip on the serrated carving knife she’d grabbed from the pumpkin table. “The only way to get these up is to cut them, at least to the knees. Take those off and I’ll—”
Suddenly, Drake’s mom’s voice changed in that subtle way Kate had come to recognize from the number of toasts and speeches she’d heard in the wedding business. Patty was wrapping up her comments to the large crowd gathering at the tables in the park. She had that tone Kate knew meant it was time for the main event.
“So, I guess it’s time that we get to carving these pumpkins,” Patty said, and the crowd obediently cheered. “And who is more appropriate to start a bunch of people hacking into helpless gourds than my oldest son? In a second, I’m going to invite him up here—”
Kate tuned out, focusing her attention on her client, struggling and staggering with his pants at his bulging thighs.
“Your mom’s almost ready to introduce you. No time to take them off!” Kate gripped Drake’s hips to stop him from moving, as she lowered herself to her knees in front of him. She looked up, feeling heat rising to her face as the obvious eroticism of her position flooded her mind. Her voice was not much above a whisper, as she gazed up at him, knife in hand. “Do you trust me?”
Drake hesitated for only a fraction of a second. Then, he nodded, his gaze behind his dark glasses unreadable.
“Implicitly.”
His tone was imbued with such heartfelt honesty, Kate’s stomach did a little flip of joy.
Steadying her hands, she gripped the knife.
And she began to slash.
Chapter 14
Sweet Jesus,” Drake whispered, holding on to a small maple behind the stage, attempting to be as steady as the tree as Kate went to work.
His body was caught somewhere between lust and terror, as the woman kneeling in front of him used a carving knife on his jeans in a really effective imitation of Edward Scissorhands. Her fingers worked rapidly in conjunction with the knife, ripping fabric six inches below his crotch, and her head was bowed such that he saw only the bridge of her freckled nose and flushed cheeks.
