by L. A. Fiore
I handed it to him. “Cookies.”
Those pale eyes found mine. “Homemade?”
“Yes.”
“Sweet. Want to come in?”
I did. I was surprised at how much I did, but I suspected his girlfriend would have a problem with that. “That’s okay. I don’t want to intrude. I just wanted to say thank you. And I’d like to know what I can call you.”
“You want to call me, Doc?”
I really thought it was possible that he had multiple personalities because this personality was charming in a rakish way.
“It’s Abel Madden.”
Abel, yeah he looked like an Abel.
“Thank you, Abel.”
“Any time, Doc.”
“My name’s actually…”
“Next time.”
My pulse jumped from excitement. There was going to be a next time. And because I was thrown off-balance at how very much I wanted there to be a next time, I retreated. “I’ll see you around. Enjoy the cookies.”
“See ya, Doc.”
My hands were actually shaking as I drove away from him. I tried to deny the attraction, but every time I was near him it only grew stronger. And for a man who drove me out of my mind. It was because I felt so conflicted, that I pulled into the quiet cemetery. After I lost Jake, I spent a lot of time at his grave. At first, it tore me up but eventually I found solace visiting him. I could use a little of that now.
It wasn’t a large cemetery and some of the stones were rather old. People visited, the flowers and flags, pictures and mementos left on the graves were proof that though gone, these loved ones were not forgotten. I had left flowers for Jake every week; a small picture of us was buried at his grave. Even after all this time, it hurt thinking of him there. Not forgotten, but gone from me forever.
Wiping at my eyes, I noticed Mr. Milburn standing at a grave. His head was lowered and his back was hunched. I could feel his grief from my distance and understood all too well how he felt.
His head lifted, his eyes catching mine before a smile touched his lips. I took that as an invitation and joined him.
“I’m sorry to intrude.”
“Not at all. I was just visiting Maggie.”
My eyes moved to her stone and the lasting tribute to the woman she had been.
Margaret Pearl Milburn
Born: July 14, 1943
Died: April 28, 2004
Beloved Wife
It was just a few months past the anniversary of her death. Those days were the hardest; the memories that you managed to battle back into the deepest recesses of your mind came back with startling clarity on the anniversary. Understanding, I reached for Mr. Milburn’s hand and offered him silent comfort as he remembered and mourned his wife.
I needed a car. I didn’t want anything new, but I needed something big enough to carry my supplies and it had to have four-wheel drive so I didn’t get stuck in muddy farmland. In the past, Jake would have done a bunch of research on reliability and safety. He’d have a whole spreadsheet on the cars I was pondering. He wouldn’t have discouraged my picks, but he’d have made certain I had all the facts before I purchased. It had been an endearing if not overwhelming trait.
For this purchase, I asked Doc Cassidy how he felt about his Cherokee. He raved and told me where he’d purchased it. I was to drop his name to the proprietor, Jimmy Dean, and he’d be sure to give me a good deal and would refrain from his customary practice of pulling fast ones. The man was named after a brand of breakfast meat and he owned a used car dealership, pulling fast ones seemed inevitable.
There were several four-wheel drive Cherokees available. Jimmy had even offered to personally show them to me, but he ate chew and kept spitting it out. And not just spitting, but somehow creating an arc with the brown saliva. It was really nasty, in fact so nasty that I might swear off sausage for the rest of my life since Jimmy Dean and arcing saliva would forever be synonymous. Which was a damn shame because I loved Jimmy Dean sausage.
So there I stood looking at four Cherokees that looked remarkably the same, even the mileage was similar. I wondered if you could doctor that like the dad from Matilda had. What did one do when looking at a used car? New cars were one thing, you knew what you were getting, but a used car I imagine there were things you should check. Like looking under the hood—what I’d be looking for though escaped me—and kicking the tires. I hadn’t a clue. Maybe I should have Googled how to shop for a used car. I then remembered Ichabod and Jeshaiah were right down the street. They owned a garage. They could probably tell me what I should look for. Jimmy Dean hadn’t gone far. He loitered a few aisles over from me, pretending to wipe away nonexistent dirt from a windshield. He turned as I approached, spat an arc of brown saliva and smiled.
“Have you decided?”
“Not yet. I’m definitely interested and will be back later today to make my purchase.”
“Anything I can do to help you with your decision?”
It wasn’t likely he’d answer me honestly, he had that look and I had already been warned that he pulled fast ones. “No, I’m good. I’ll be back.”
He didn’t believe I’d be back, which probably worked in my favor. When I came back, he might be more eager to make the sale.
Ichabod was working the pumps when I arrived. Spike saw me first, barking before running over in welcome.
“Hey, Sidney. What brings you here?”
“I was just over at Jimmy Dean’s for a used car and I realized I haven’t a clue what I should be looking at.”
A look passed over Ichabod’s face, so fast I almost missed it, but what fed that look I didn’t know. “What kind of car?”
“A Cherokee. Doc Cassidy recommended Jimmy Dean.”
“You go out to the area farms, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So you want to make sure the engine and transmission are solid or you’ll be spending more money fixing them than you did on the car, but you wouldn’t know what to check for. Jeshaiah is doing a tow and I’m needed here.” He scratched his head; he actually scratched his head as if it helped him think. And apparently it did. “Wait, I’ve an idea. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll man the pumps.”
He grinned back at me before hurrying inside, which for Ichabod meant he walked at normal speed instead of his usual slow swagger.
An old blue car pulled into the station. A little old lady, who barely saw over the steering wheel, smiled as she parked and shut off her engine. “I haven’t seen you here before. Are you new?”
“No, I’m just covering for Ichabod. He ran into the office for a minute. I’m Sidney…”
“Oh, I know you. You’re the young girl taking over for Doc Cassidy.”
Small towns had very efficient rumor mills. “Yes, with my partner Rylee.”
“That’s wonderful for you, and Doc, he needs to retire. The man works too hard. I’m Millie Wells. I don’t do much anymore but read my romance books and tend my gardens.”
“Sounds like a wonderful way to pass the time to me.”
“Would you mind filling my tank with regular? I don’t know how.”
“Sure.”
“It takes a lot,” Millie warned and she wasn’t wrong, so while we waited I washed her front and back windows and checked the air in her tires. When she pulled away, I waved as I clutched the sixty dollars in cash she had handed me, some of which was my tip. I didn’t notice Ichabod until I turned to see what was keeping him.
“You’re good at that. She has never tipped Jeshaiah or me. If you get tired of caring for animals, you’ve got a job here.”
An unfamiliar, but pleasant sensation moved through me hearing Ichabod’s praise. The moment was cut short though by the sound of a familiar engine growing closer.
“What’s he doing here?” Seriously we ran into each other an awful lot.
“I called him.”
My neck should have snapped in two with how fast I jerked my head to Ichabod. “Why
?”
“You need help picking out your car.”
“But why him?”
“Because Abel knows his shit.”
There was no time to express my feelings on Ichabod’s solution because Abel was pulling into the station, stopping just in front of us—so close he almost ran over my toes. He cut the engine, but he didn’t climb off his bike. He just sat there straddling it. I couldn’t help it; my eyes took it upon themselves to inspect, in detail, the man before me. His thigh muscles in his jeans were spectacular, made even more so in that position. I was blatantly giving the man the once over while he watched me do it.
“I see you missed me, Doc. You know, you didn’t have to ask Ichabod to call me. You could have done that yourself.”
My focus snapped to his face to see humor burning in his blue gaze. I would rather scoop my eyes out of their sockets before giving in to the urge to look lower again and even with the threat of blindness in the most brutal way, I still wanted to look lower. I went on the defensive; if I got him to piss me off I would be less likely to gawk.
“I didn’t know he was calling you. The thought never occurred to me.” And that was true in regards to the used car situation.
He leaned into me, his whiskered chin so close I swear I felt it lightly brushing the sensitive skin under my jaw. And even if the contact was just in my head, the phantom tingles it stirred were strong enough that I nearly moaned in pleasure. “I didn’t think you were a liar.”
A liar? Where the hell did that come from? “Excuse me?”
“The thought of me never occurred to you is a lie. You think about me all the time.”
The man was insufferable, made even more so because the cocky bastard was right. “This was clearly a mistake. I’m sorry to have bothered you, Ichabod. I’ll just wing it. Thanks anyway.” I started away, but strong fingers wrapped around my wrist that applied very little pressure but still managed to halt my forward motion. I felt both a thrill and irritation looking down at the hand holding me. “Could you please unhand me?”
“I’ll take a look at your trucks.”
“I appreciate that but surely you have better things to do than look at used cars.”
I was surprised at the anger I heard in his tone when he spoke next. “Someone should. I’m here, I’ll look at them for you.”
What was the point in arguing? I didn’t know what I should look for, he did, and he was willing to help. “Thank you. I’d appreciate your help.”
“Climb on.”
My entire body reacted to those two words, a burning that I hadn’t felt in a long time. The truth of it was, I’d been envisioning riding on the back of his bike since that first day at the bakery. Now that the opportunity was here I feared the experience would be so fantastic that I’d fall right off in a boneless mess. “Maybe I should walk.”
“I have other things to do. Waiting for you to walk when we’re going to the same place makes no fucking sense.”
He didn’t have to be so curt about it, even if he did have a point. On the other hand, I imagined it would be far more time consuming shoveling the splattered mess of me off the pavement, though I suspected Ichabod had mastered that technique since he and his brother seemed the type to not have a problem with roadkill for dinner.
“Fine. Have you ever been tested for multiple personalities?”
His expression in response was priceless. He thought I was a nut. “Multiple personalities?”
“Yeah, I’ve met Cocky, Flirty and Angry. You have at least three, but I’m guessing there are more in there.”
He didn’t know what to make of that; he looked conflicted. Like he wanted to laugh at the same time wanting to turn his bike around and seeing the last of me. “No, I was never tested for multiple personalities.”
I almost encouraged him to make the appointment, since knowing was half of the battle, but I wisely held my tongue. I climbed on, feeling awkward since I had never ridden on the back of a motorcycle.
“I’m your first?”
He was referring to riding on a motorcycle, but added the sexual innuendo because he was Abel.
“Flirty is back. I prefer him to Angry.”
That earned me a chuckle. “Hold on to me.”
I curled my fingers at the waist of his jeans because what I wanted to do was wrap my arms around his stomach and press in close. Abel was of a similar mindset when he grabbed my hands and pulled them in front of him, linking them at his stomach.
“Don’t be shy, Doc.”
Before I could counter, we were speeding away and honest to God it was the most amazing three minutes of my life. I wanted a motorcycle; one that preferably came with Flirty or Cocky Abel. I didn’t think Angry Abel would be nearly as fun. He obviously knew Jimmy’s lot because he took us right to the Cherokees. He cut the engine.
“You climb off first.”
So I did, my legs hummed and felt a bit unsteady and yet I wanted to climb right back on. Abel didn’t immediately climb off, his focus on me. “You liked that.”
“Loved it.”
Another hesitation before he climbed from his bike and spent close to an hour checking over my four options. I gave in a little, though I’d ogled him enough at Ichabod’s, and checked out his ass in those jeans since it was a very fine ass. I waited for the guilt to come—the pain that I was somehow stepping out on Jake—but it never came. For some reason this man didn’t bring those feelings. He brought a fresh wave of new feelings, but not those.
“You should get this one. It’s in the best shape of the four.”
Even I couldn’t pick fault with his kindness and it was a kindness to drop whatever he was doing to help me pick out my car. Sure it was sandwiched between inappropriate comments, but it was still kindness. “Thank you.”
“You can thank me by climbing into the back and christening it with me.” He offered that with a grin and wink. His mood radically changed, his tone tainted with anger. “Should have been your husband doing this. Man has a woman like you he should be standing here looking over your car. He doesn’t take care of what’s his, someone else will. And you should want more.” He looked genuinely pissed.
Again I wanted to set him straight about Jake, but him believing there was an old man at home kept the boundaries firmly established. And with him, I needed those boundaries because he would eat me alive. I was kind of curious about what the running theories were around Jake since no one had seen him, obviously, so where did they think he was? Not that any of it mattered because Abel had a girlfriend.
“Thanks for your help.” He started away from me, I touched his arm and he reacted like I’d burned him. “Seriously, thank you for taking the time out of your day to help me.”
For a fraction of a second, I thought he was going to kiss me because those pale eyes lingered on my lips for longer than was polite. Instead he jerked his gaze to my face. “Yeah, you’re welcome.” He climbed back onto his bike and rode off and I didn’t know which was worse, that he hadn’t kissed me or that I had really wanted him to.
I woke to find Sandbar standing on the floor right by my head. I had a terrible suspicion that he was contemplating slitting my throat. He really wasn’t friendly, and considering most cats merely tolerated humans because they fed them, for Sandbar to stand out in that group was saying a lot. Tigger and Stuart were curled together sleeping on part of my pillow. Sandbar kept a wide berth from them. They may be old, but they were strays at heart and he was smart enough to know to keep his distance. I wasn’t giving up on him, though. I was determined to learn if there was a sweetie under all that nasty.
“Good morning, Sandbar. Did you sleep well?” I’d set up a bed for him in my room and the living room. He didn’t use either. He usually curled up under the sofa.
“I understand your anger. Stranded, alone…I’ve been there, but you’re not alone any more.”
The cat didn’t blink.
“I’d like to be your friend.” Reaching my hand out just a little so h
e could smell me, he hissed before turning with a flick of his tail and walked out.
“We’ll try that again tomorrow,” I called after him.
Glancing at my watch, I had to get to work but first I headed outside. I had named the wolf Cain. It seemed fitting, he reminded me so much of Abel.
“Hey, handsome.”
He waited at the gate for me. My heart moved into my throat every time I opened the door to give him his food. But the thrill was exhilarating, especially when he didn’t lunge at me but stood stoically watching.
“I’ll see you later. Maybe we can try for a walk tonight.” His leg wasn’t yet healed but we walked. Him in the pen, me outside, but he followed me. I think more out of curiosity, but it was a rush seeing such a magnificent animal keeping pace with me. I could spend all day with him, but I had to get to work.
Hellar Farm was a different sight today than it had been on my first visit. It’d been six weeks since the last time I paid a call and after visiting the McNealy farm, the Hellar place really was spectacular.
Most of the horses were stabled; it was a good chance for me to meet them. Unlike last time, Duncan Hellar would be the one showing me around. Doc had given me the lowdown. Duncan was three years younger than his brother. He’d been a bit of a wild kid in his youth, but he’d been shipped off to military school and came back a different person. Unlike his brother’s rugged cowboy look, Duncan had a buzz cut, wore fatigues and preferred combat boots to cowboy boots. Unless he was leading a trail in which case he dressed the part of a Wyoming cowboy.
“Caramel Apple is training today, so you’ll have to wait to see her.”
“You have a beautiful stable of horses.”
Duncan’s focus shifted to just past my shoulder. “Dad has an eye for horse flesh.”
I had yet to meet Garrett Hellar. I found the man to be a contradiction. He surrounded himself with beautiful things—his home and his horses—and yet I sensed more fear than love coming from Duncan. The same couldn’t be said of Jayce but of the two, Jayce was definitely more laid back.
“How are you settling in?” Duncan’s question pulled me from my pondering. It was an interesting turn of phrase, settling in, and one I’d heard countless times here.
