River Town Box Set

by Grant C. Holland

  The fourth company, M-Trak, was unfamiliar, but the name of the man scheduled to represent them, Diego Flores, rang a bell. At first, Alan’s memory failed when he tried to remember where he’d heard the name. He finished the coffee, shrugged, and decided to move on to his other tasks for the morning.

  Unfortunately, the mystery wouldn’t let go. Alan stood up from behind his desk and paced back and forth. His office space was bland and ordinary. It was a rectangular box with a small window in the back and a glass and steel desk. The window looked out over a vast employee parking lot. As Alan gazed out the window, the memory came back.

  He whispered out loud, “No, it can’t be. There’s no way it can be the same Diego.”

  Alan said the name out loud one more time and ascertained that both Diego and Flores were common Mexican names. There had to be countless businessmen with the same name. Alan exhaled, but his attempt to relax didn’t stop the memories from filling his head.

  Alan spent two years in south Texas assisting immigrants with a wide range of problems encountered at the border. On one frightening evening, he escaped a drug-infested gun battle with a handsome Mexican at his side.

  Alan didn’t know if it was the palpable hint of danger in the air or the raw physical attraction that was more to blame for the events of that night. Whatever the reason, he went to bed with a man named Diego Flores. They had feverish sex and fell asleep in each other’s arms only to wake in the morning and do it all over again before they went their separate ways.

  Alan asked Diego if they could see each other again, but the answer came back in a flat tone of voice. “Connecting with my family would only hamper your good work. Most of the accusations against us are false, but some have a base in reality. Go back to your work, and I’ll return home to Veracruz.” Diego reached out and pulled Alan in close. He shared a kiss before saying, “We’ll both hold on to the memories. They are the treasure that lasts forever.”

  The time spent with Diego soon faded into the back of Alan’s mind as he aggressively pursued his work. Eventually, the gun battles grew far too common, and he was forced to choose between relocating to a different border community or leaving Texas entirely.

  After consultation with close friends and his supervisors, Alan fled to California. He worked there advocating for better housing in the San Francisco Bay area, and three years later, he took a new non-profit position in Pensacola, Florida. Alan’s adult life turned out to be as nomadic as his army brat childhood.

  Alan worked in Des Moines, Iowa next. It was his first corporate job. He advanced into middle management in just three years. The work wasn’t exciting, but it was steady and brought in a sizable paycheck. Alan was living in Des Moines when his Auntie Erin shared the news of her decision to move out of her old two-story house in Coldbrook Bend.

  At Alan’s suggestion, the family huddled in an online conversation to discuss the fate of the Coldbrook Bend house. His first thoughts about moving to such a small town were negative. It sounded like moving to the small town would make him an exile from the world at large, but a weekend road trip to visit Auntie Erin while she still lived in the house changed his mind.

  Alan decided Coldbrook Bend might be the place to finally settle down into a permanent home. A few weeks later, he discovered a posting for the shipping supervisor at Tar-Mor on the company’s website. The circumstances came together in a way that he couldn’t ignore.

  Packing up his basset hound Boomer, Alan rented a small truck for moving his belongings and arrived in Coldbrook Bend, Minnesota. The house had far too much space for just one person, but he hoped solo life was only temporary.

  Alan’s assistant, Elaine, buzzed a call through. “Your first interview is here. Should I send him in?”

  “I’ll meet him out at your desk.”

  Alan had four hour-long interviews scheduled for the day, two in the morning and two in the afternoon. He wasn’t planning to make a hiring decision yet, but he hoped to remove at least one hopeful from the running and narrow the choice down to only two or three full proposals.

  The two morning interviews were uneventful except for the fact that Alan was distracted. The name Diego Flores nagged at the back of his mind. Alan wondered if he should have done more investigation to figure out if it was the same Diego.

  The internal conversations raged back and forth in the back of his mind while he tried to focus on the interviews. At one point, Alan spoke to the second interview subject and asked, “What is the mileage rate M-Trak would charge us?”

  The middle-aged man with a craggy face asked, “M-Trak? That’s not us. That’s the Mexican up in Red Wing trying to push us out of business.”

  Alan bit his lip. “Oh, excuse me. I have too many thoughts crossed in my head. I meant to say Ship-Mor.”

  The Ship-Mor representative was confident when he first shook hands with Alan. He had a swagger in his walk. He was assertive, and he pushed Alan on details instead of the other way around until the name M-Trak dropped out of Alan’s mouth. Suddenly the man looked nervous and unsure. He said, “If you’re bringing in M-Trak, make sure you check their numbers. I never make unfounded accusations, but make sure that you check the details.”

  Alan checked the clock on his computer. It read 3:00 p.m. on the dot when Elaine called and said, “Mr. Flores is here to see you.”

  Feeling his palms begin to sweat, Alan answered, “I’ll be right out.” As he walked through the short hallway, Alan remembered the warnings the Ship-Mor representative gave him about Diego Flores. He knew there was room for a lower bid. Figures quoted from all three of the earlier interviews were somewhat high. Alan believed that he could bring the other applicants down in further negotiations, but, if rumors that Elaine heard were accurate, M-Trak might offer a more competitive bid from the beginning.

  As he opened the door to the lobby of the Tar-Mor shipping department, Alan heard Elaine say, “Mr. Flores, this is Mr. Hansen.”

  Diego’s voice was light and relaxed. He was finishing up the shreds of an earlier conversation with Elaine. He said, “And I’ll be sure to check that restaurant out the next time I’m in Red Wing.”

  Alan barely heard the last words. His jaw dropped as he gaped at the subject for his final interview of the day. The bronze skin was as he remembered it. Eight years sharpened the angles at the jawline and cheekbones, but it was unmistakably the same Diego.

  A broad smile spread across Diego’s face when he saw Alan. He didn’t appear shocked or disturbed in the least. Alan froze in place while Diego asked, “Are you going to invite me inside, or will we do the interview right here in the lobby?”

  Alan’s cheeks filled with color as he invited Diego back to his office. He admitted, “I’m still in shock that it’s you. I’m right. It is you, isn’t it?”

  Diego chuckled softly as he stepped up close behind. He reached a hand out and swept his fingers up the back of Alan’s head lacing them into Alan’s closely buzzed hair. “It’s me, and it’s you. What happens next?”

  They stepped inside the simple office, and Alan pushed the door shut. Feeling flustered, he said, “I had questions to ask, but I’m not sure I remember them. Give me a moment, and I’ll pull it up on the computer.”

  While Alan seated himself behind the desk, Diego walked around the room shaking his head. “You deserve so much more than this. You’re easily the most attractive object in the room.”

  Alan pounded the keys on his computer. His fingers trembled, and a prickly sensation raced up his spine when he observed Diego staring at his hands. Diego stepped behind the desk chair and put his hands on Alan’s shoulders. “We have business to conduct,” whispered Alan.

  Diego gripped Alan’s shoulders and then ran his long, thin, nimble fingers down over Alan’s chest. He whispered, “We have so much unfinished business.”

  Alan stifled a groan and spoke slowly with careful diction. “I’m curious whether you’ve worked out a standard mileage rate and what that might cost us.”
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  Diego nipped at Alan’s right ear. “You’re doing an admirable job of concentrating. I’ll match and beat whatever rates my competitors have presented. I want this contract.” He kneaded Alan’s chest and added, “There are few things I’ve wanted more than…you’re contract.”

  Alan swallowed hard. His brain slammed him back into the memories of what happened seven years ago. He fought against the searing hot lava flow of lust erupting from inside his gut. It wasn’t all about the raw, edgy allure of Diego himself. It was the fact that Diego craved him. No one else ever pursued him like Diego. It could have all been mere flattery, but Alan felt the impact much deeper in his gut.

  Catching his breath, Alan gestured toward the chair on the opposite side of his desk. “Please…sit.” He heard the desperation in his voice, and he was sure Diego heard it, too.

  Light, almost musical laughter fell from Diego’s lips. “Okay, I’ll pull myself away and play by the rules.” He stepped around the side of the desk, never taking his eyes off Alan’s body, seated himself, and crossed his legs in a deliberate, gentlemanly fashion. Before Alan could proceed with the interview, Diego asked, “Do you live here in Zephyr?”

  Alan shook his head. He didn’t want to share a host of personal details with Diego, but he didn’t want to antagonize a potential business ally either. “I live up in Coldbrook Bend.”

  “For how long? You were only in Texas temporarily when we met if memory serves.”

  Alan nodded. He said, “We’re asking for formal proposals from only three firms, and I can congratulate you on making it to that stage, Mr. Flores.” He stared at his computer screen as he spoke. He could not look his interview subject in the eye without uttering his first name, “Diego.”

  Diego gestured around the room and asked, “Is it a house as beautiful as this? Or is it something different?”

  Alan raised his eyes. “My great-aunt moved to an assisted living facility. I moved into her old house. It’s on the opposite side of the street from the houses that line the river bluff.” He bit his lip and stopped himself from divulging any more information.

  Diego leaned forward demonstrating an interest in the shared data. “This might be a little forward of me, but I’ve been considering purchasing a house up in Red Wing. I’m intrigued by the older homes that look out over the grand river. Would it be possible to see your family’s home?”

  The request was not only forward, but it was also astonishingly transparent. Alan looked down at his keyboard. He failed at trying to tame the desires burning inside his gut. History was repeating itself. They ended up in bed the first time that Diego invited himself into Alan’s personal space.

  With his heart thumping in his chest, Alan placed his hands firmly on his desk, looked Diego in the eye and failed to speak with authority. “I can’t decide about that right now. Please focus on the business for now. We can talk about the rest later.”

  4

  The House in Coldbrook Bend

  Alan’s hand shook as he worked the key into the lock on the front door of Auntie Erin’s house. Diego stepped up close and peered over Alan’s shoulder as the door opened. He was impressed at first glance. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected. Maybe it was small, wooden tables decorated with lace doilies and fragile cut glass lamps. Instead, the furnishings were tasteful. Diego’s first impression was an Arts and Crafts sensibility with a masculine flair.

  The rugs were thick, heavy, and splashed with bright, angular polygons of color. Diego said, “I’m sure that these furnishings didn’t all belong to Auntie Erin.”

  Alan turned and found himself landing in Diego’s outstretched arms. The first honest smile since their reunion two days ago at Tar-Mor lit up Alan’s face. He said, “Thank you for noticing. Auntie Erin took most of her treasured pieces with her for her new apartment. I’ve slowly built my collection of furniture, and I splurged on a few new pieces when I arrived here in Coldbrook Bend.”

  The surroundings made Alan even more alluring. Diego was an unapologetic child of wealth, and he indulged in surrounding himself with beautiful objects. All of the worry that filled his mind after observing Alan’s spartan office crumbled away. The smile on Alan’s face was replaced by a look of shock when Diego seated himself on a deep brown leather sofa framed by heavy, carved lumber.

  “Didn’t you want a tour?” asked Alan.

  “Is there a rush?”

  Alan turn his head first right and then left. “I suppose not.” Their conversation was interrupted by a jangling sound and the unmistakable clatter of canine toenails on the hardwood floor.

  Diego raised himself up to look over the back of the sofa. He saw a low-slung brown and black spotted dog. The dog’s ears were so long that they actually brushed the floor. “Who is this?”

  “That’s Boomer. He’s been with me for four years now. This is his third home. Fortunately, he’s tolerant of change.”

  “And friendly?”

  “Very friendly.” Alan glanced toward a doorway leading to a kitchen at the rear of the house. He asked, “Would you like something to drink? If you don’t like dogs, just give Boomer a couple of gentle shoves. He’ll get the message.”

  “I love dogs,” said Diego. “I grew up with a yellow Labrador Retriever named Arnold.”

  Alan held a hand up to his mouth. “Arnold? Not exactly a…”

  “No, not a Mexican name, but my father loved Mr. Schwarzenegger.”

  “The drink?” asked Alan.

  Diego reached up and stroked the dark stubble on his chin. “I’m trying to remember. It was a cabernet, wasn’t it? I know that you loved your wine.”

  Alan’s chin dropped for a moment. “You remembered. That was years ago.”

  “I think it’s safe to say I remember almost everything about you.” Diego looked down and rubbed the crest of Boomer’s head between his magnificent ears. Then he reached lower and chucked the dog under his chin. “I would bet you have a bottle of cabernet out in the kitchen. Why don’t we share a toast?”

  Alan disappeared into the kitchen while Diego leaned back in the corner of the lush sofa. He luxuriated in the creaking noise of the real leather when his body shifted. He sniffed the air and inhaled the unmistakably rich aroma. Diego gazed around the expansive living room. A broad doorway to the right of the entrance led to a dining room. The furniture appeared to be more formal there. Perhaps Auntie Erin left her table behind.

  Diego was surprised that he could see no photos decorating any of the furniture surfaces. Lamps, coasters, and a few books were the only embellishments. A few small-scale works of art adorned the walls. He guessed that decorating the house was a project still in process.

  Alan returned carrying two wine glasses half filled with deep red liquid. He handed one to Diego. Within seconds, Diego held out the glass in preparation for a toast. Alan clutched his wine to his chest. “Okay, I’m going to come right out and ask. What do you want, Diego? We screwed around once, and it left a deep gash in my heart. I’m happy to negotiate a beneficial business agreement, but I have no idea why you’re here in my house. I don’t know why I let you inside.”

  Diego held a finger up to Alan’s lips quieting him. They weren’t thin. When Diego encountered thin lips, they often rejected all that was warm, hedonistic, and erotic. Alan’s delightful lips promised more. They promised soft kisses and the sharing of erotic desire. The lips weren’t unnaturally swollen either. Like almost everything about Alan, they were perfect. Seven years later, Alan still didn’t realize the powerful lure of his everyday appearance. Diego whispered, “Figure it out, Alan. You’re smarter than this.”

  Alan pulled his face away from Diego’s reach and held his wineglass to his lips. He sipped and stared into Diego’s eyes. “I can’t do it, Diego.”

  Alan drew out the syllables of the name like his mouth and tongue were bathing the word. They enjoyed forming it again and placing it out in the world. That much was obvious. Diego knew he had a challenge on his hands, but he was patient.
He could wait for Alan. He frequently thought about the sexy gringo the better part of a decade already. A few more weeks or a month or two would be easy.

  Diego asked, “Can I have the tour now? It’s a beautiful house. Would those in Red Wing be similar?”

  Alan nodded. His body visibly relaxed. The tension in his muscles eased. “Most of the river towns in this area boomed in the era of steamboats. Captains, their top crew, and business leaders built houses to show off their good fortune. Auntie Erin’s house is a modest one from that era. Some are much more elaborate, but this building will give you a good idea of what to expect.”

  Alan led the way into the dining room. He said, “Auntie Erin didn’t have space for a table that seats twelve in her new apartment. I only have it set for eight right now, but it has two leaves available for expansion. The family legend says this was the first piece of furniture my great-great-grandfather purchased after his arrival in the United States from Germany.”

  “And upstairs?” asked Diego.

  “There’s not a lot up there. It’s fairly ordinary. Three bedrooms and a bath. There’s attic space above. It’s a large house.”

  “So the tour’s finished?”

  “I can show you the kitchen.” Alan turned to exit the dining room when Diego reached out a hand to grip his elbow. Alan stopped and slowly turned. “Do you want something?”

  “I do,” whispered Diego. “I think you do, too.” He reached out his other hand and pulled Alan close wrapping him in an embrace.

  Alan pulled back briefly, but then he gave in to Diego’s tug. He started to shake his head, but Diego raised a hand and gripped the back of Alan’s head. The swift motion led to contact. Diego’s lips met Alan’s for a kiss.