by Carly Bloom
Staring at the stain made him think of Little Red Riding Hood. Not a cool association, but he couldn’t help himself. An image of that part of the female anatomy, even if you had to squint to see it, was just too tempting an invitation to begin ruminating on last night’s activities. That soft skin, those perky breasts with their perfect pink nipples…
Henry shifted, flooding Travis with guilt and embarrassment. He placed his hand on Henry’s chest to settle him back down—he could use a few more minutes of peace before the little scoundrel woke up—and wondered if he’d ever been that innocent. If he’d even had a chance to be. His mom had run off when he was little. And his dad, instead of shielding his sons from things most people would consider solidly within the adults only realm, had practically reveled in exposing them to his vices. Travis had little to no doubt that Scott, if he was man enough to raise his own kid, would do the same to Henry.
He pulled Henry in a little closer, swallowing the unease that plagued him almost constantly now. What was he going to do about Henry?
Scott was not father material. But neither was Travis. Henry deserved better than either of them. And didn’t Travis deserve better, too? He hadn’t asked for this. Was it his fault his brother was a loser and the kid’s mom had died? He was fresh out of the Army with his whole life ahead of him. His buddy had a pipe outfitting business and was holding a job for him in Austin. It wasn’t as glamorous as being a rancher, but it was a hell of a lot more realistic. He was stuck in limbo until he could sell the ranch and get Henry settled.
He needed to call the social worker again. Surely there was a long-lost aunt or cousin somewhere who would be a good fit for Henry. Foster care had been mentioned, but Travis hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Scott would get out of prison eventually and then…Well, hell. Travis didn’t exactly want it coming to that either.
Henry stirred and opened his eyes.
“How are you feeling?” Travis asked. “Still up for our trip?”
Travis had chiseled out a chunk of time he didn’t have to take the kid camping. Henry had never been, and that was a fucking sin.
Henry’s foggy, sleep-encrusted eyes turned bright and clear. “That’s today?”
“If you feel good enough.”
Henry tossed off the sheet and launched himself like a rocket, jumping on the small bed and narrowly missing Travis’s crotch. It was hard to believe he’d been in an urgent care clinic just a few hours ago. Who knew severe constipation could mimic appendicitis? And who knew little kids got constipated?
The doctors at the clinic had been all over him. When’s the last time he had a bowel movement? Travis had no idea. How much fiber does he get per day? Again, no idea as to how much fiber the kid even needed per day, much less how much he got from a cherry Pop-Tart. How much water does he usually drink? Does juice count? Or milk?
Henry needed more fruits and vegetables. Less junk food.
Henry stopped bouncing as Travis stood up. “I want some Cocoa Balls with chocolate milk.”
Travis had already thrown the box in the trash. “How about oatmeal? I’ll put some raisins in it.”
Henry looked at him as if he’d just suggested tarantulas with piss sauce.
“All the bad food I’ve been feeding you is what made your tummy ache. We’ve got to eat better.”
Henry scrunched up his face, and then opened his mouth to protest.
“The longer you whine, the longer it’ll take us to hit the road.”
Henry switched gears. “Will we see bears?”
“Nah,” he said. “The only bear you’re going to see is me after a week of not shaving.” By most men’s standards, Travis’s five o’clock shadow was more of a starter beard. A week would leave him pretty wooly.
“You won’t turn into a bear, Uncle Travis. That’s just silly.”
Travis winked at Henry. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m more of a wolf.”
* * *
Maggie pulled into the parking lot of Petal Pushers. It had been hard getting out of bed this morning. She stretched, noting the familiar soreness in her shoulders. It came with the business. She’d had trouble getting the weed whacker started at the courthouse and had dang near put her shoulder out.
She opened the door of her Jeep and leaned back in her seat expectantly. Pop flew over her lap and onto the asphalt like he’d been ejected from a cockpit. Then he ran straight for the fence that enclosed the outdoor garden area, barking and shaking his stub of a tail. He looked over his shoulder at Maggie, snorting impatience through his little smashed-in bulldog nose.
“I know you’ve got trees to water. Settle down.”
Stepping down from the Jeep brought a second ache into focus, somewhat unfamiliar but not at all unpleasant. And it wasn’t located anywhere near her shoulders. She slammed the door, catching a glimpse of her face in the side mirror. There was that stupid grin again. She’d been walking around like a brainless idiot all morning.
“Snap out of it, Mackey,” she said aloud.
But no matter how hard she tried to tone it down, she was bouncing around like one of those people with a spring in their step. Surely it would wear off by the end of the day. It wasn’t like she had a freaking boyfriend. She’d had sex with a stranger. And they had made no plans for future interludes. But he’d found her sexy. And irresistible. And it was just so dang utterly delightful that now she was stuck with this irritating bounce when she walked.
“Snap out of it, Mackey,” she said again. Because she didn’t need any man to boost her step or her ego.
He couldn’t keep his hands off me.
She resigned herself to the bounce. But she was limiting it to twenty-four hours.
She unlocked the gate and Pop shot through to begin his daily watering. He would only squirt a little on the first two or three trees. After that he’d shoot blanks until he exhausted himself.
She followed him in, scanning the rows of plants and shrubs, breathing in their magic elixir. She tiptoed among the balled and burlapped trees heeled-in at the back of the nursery, as if not to wake them, and stepped gingerly over the trickle irrigation lines, working her way to the small building that used to be a farm implement business owned by her grandfather. Upon his death, Honey had made it a nursery. Maggie had moved home to be a partner, and Petal Pushers had flourished under the management of the grandmother-granddaughter duo. Honey had kept up her end, which included floral arrangements for all the funerals and weddings in Big Verde, while Maggie developed a successful landscaping venture.
Claire had recently stepped into Honey’s shoes as florist, and they seemed to fit pretty well. But nobody would ever fill the hole Honey had left in Maggie’s heart. Or her life.
She strolled among the blooming plants, removing a leaf here and there, deciding what needed to be moved into the direct sunlight of the nursery’s entrance and what needed to be loaded onto the truck for the River Mill subdivision.
The Texas Hill Country was a beautiful region, and although Big Verde might not attract a lot of industry, it did attract tourists and wealthy folks looking for pretty country homes. River Mill was a great addition to her portfolio, and she was ninety-nine percent certain she’d be adding Anna’s project, as well. There was no way Anna would hire Travis Blake for something that important.
He was a nobody.
She let herself in through the nursery’s back door and started flipping on lights. She checked on the shelves of gardening tools, gloves, and bulbs, noting which ones looked bare and needed restocking. She turned on the ceiling fans to make the wind chimes jingle pleasantly, and then went to the counter to boot up the cash register—a fancy new one she barely knew how to operate. Honey’s gloves and shears sat by the business cards like a memorial.
While the cash register came online, Maggie pulled out her phone to check e-mail.
She had a text. According to the time stamp, it had been sent last night from an unknown number.
Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf
?
Her heart leapt straight to her throat. The wolf had texted! But then a sense of unease crept in. She scowled. How did the wolf get her number? Did he know her? If so, why hadn’t he said anything?
Her stomach lurched. She’d assumed he was a stranger. What if she’d been wrong?
The best night of her life had suddenly turned creepy.
Someone tapped at the front door and Maggie jumped. She had the jitters. With her heart pounding, she slowly approached the glass door while hugging the fertilizer aisle so whoever it was wouldn’t see her. She sighed in relief. It was just Norbert. He was here to start loading the trailer for River Mill.
Maggie unlocked the door with trembling fingers.
“Sorry,” Norbert said, breezing in. “Forgot my key to the back.”
“No problem.” She hoped she didn’t look as freaked out as she felt. “I haven’t made coffee yet.”
Norbert hung up his cowboy hat and put on his Petal Pushers cap. He looked at Maggie with a glint in his eye. “I would have thought coffee would be your top priority this morning.”
The blood in Maggie’s veins turned to ice. She hadn’t seen Norbert at the party last night, but maybe that’s because he’d been wearing a freaking wolf mask! Even though her veins were now officially frozen, her face was on fire.
Surely, she hadn’t banged Norbert in a shed.
Norbert whistled and headed for the coffeepot in the break room. Maggie followed, watching him as he rinsed out the carafe and dumped yesterday’s grinds. She had to remind herself to breathe as she sized him up to be about the same height as the wolf.
“I’m going to add an extra scoop,” he said. “That was some gala last night, wasn’t it?”
He’d been there. Maggie swallowed and clenched her hands into fists.
Norbert turned around. “Maggie? Are you okay?”
She took in his build. He was fit, but stockier than the wolf. And his hair was darker and longer. His hands…definitely not the wolf’s. She closed her eyes and imagined the wolf’s hands. The things they’d done to her…
“Whoa,” Norbert said, putting down the coffee scoop and heading her way. “I think you need to sit down.”
“No, I’m fine.” She waved him off. Norbert’s text wouldn’t have shown up as an unidentified number. She was being freakishly paranoid. “You’re right. I probably had a little too much to drink last night.”
Norbert looked doubtful, but he turned back around and flipped the switch on the coffeepot. It sparked and sizzled. Norbert said something in Spanish and jumped away from the counter. The smell of ozone filled the small room.
“No coffee this morning,” Norbert said, unplugging the coffeemaker.
Maggie didn’t care about coffee this morning, which was saying a lot, and her mind went straight back to wondering who the Big Bad Wolf was. She turned and felt paper stuck to the bottom of her boot. Something yellow poked out—a sticky note. She peeled it off, noting Claire’s handwriting. COFFEEPOT IS TOAST. LET’S GET A KEURIG!
She crumpled the note and tossed it in the trash. She’d only recently convinced Claire to start washing and reusing a real mug, and now she wanted to blow through plastic K-Cups.
Whatever. Back to the endless loop of anxiety and panic.
“Who was that wolf you were dancing with?” Norbert asked, like a mind reader.
“Um, just a guy,” she said. “He was from out of town.”
Unless he was the mailman. Or the guy who kept the books for Petal Pushers. Or the man who drove the UPS truck…She felt faint again.
Once Norbert was adequately occupied and Maggie’s heart rate had dropped back into the normal zone, she went into the small office and closed the door. She stared at the message again.
Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
Her thumb hovered over her phone. Maybe she should just ask the idiot who he was. Then again, maybe she didn’t want to know.
After twenty minutes of fretting, she decided to ignore it for now. And by ignore it, she meant think about it constantly while pretending not to.
She still hadn’t checked her e-mail. Maybe that would provide a decent distraction. She opened her in-box. First up was a Groupon for a spelunking tour. In an earnest effort to continue ignoring the text from the Big Bad Wolf, she bought two. Next were erectile dysfunction drugs from Canada, political appeals, and an Indonesian prince who wanted to give her lots of money. Delete. Delete. Delete. But then she hit pay dirt. An e-mail from Annabelle!
Dear Maggie and Travis,
Wait…what? Why was Travis Blake included in the greeting? Why were their names side by side? Why were they being addressed as a single entity?
I am happy to award the landscaping and architecture bid to Maggie (gorgeous design). The labor bid is going to Travis (great price). I’m sure the two of you will work well together.
Congratulations!
Annabelle Vasquez
Maggie set her phone on the desk like it was radioactive. That dirty rotten scoundrel had weaseled his way in on her job! Maybe if she’d spent less time banging the wolf and more time talking to Anna at the party, this wouldn’t have happened.
Whatever Travis Blake’s price was, she’d go lower. She supplied her own labor: herself and a small crew. She was not going to share this job.
This had turned into a shitty day. In less than an hour, her mysterious sexy stranger had turned into a stalker, and her unqualified competitor had become her brand-new work buddy.
She might not be able to do anything about Travis at the moment, but she could confront the Big Bad Wolf. Was he trying to scare her? Well, it wasn’t working. Much.
She pulled out her phone.
Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
Ha. Screw him.
Not me.
She sent it and strummed her fingers on the desk. Would he answer?
Five minutes went by with no response while she cleaned out her in-box. She picked up her phone.
And if you text me again I’m calling the cops.
There. That would put an end to it.
Pop started whining at her feet. She mindlessly leaned over and rubbed him between the ears while contemplating all the ways she could make Travis Blake miserable enough to walk off the job and go back to doing lawns with his little push mower.
Pop barked as someone began pounding on the front door. Maggie stormed out of the office. What type of gardening emergency couldn’t wait fifteen minutes for the store to open? She was full of bluster and ready to shout, “We’re closed!” But then she remembered she had a stalker.
Pop had beaten her to the door, and she listened for his ominous, protective growl. Instead, she heard his whiny rub my tummy growl. And from the frantic toenail ticking, she deduced he was doing his happy feet circle dance, too. Just when she’d thought the day couldn’t possibly get any worse, she rounded the fertilizer aisle and saw the white Stetson.
She crossed her arms over her chest. JD had stopped pounding and now tapped politely on the glass.
“We’re closed!”
Pop wasn’t buying it. He kept whining. JD kept tapping.
“Fine,” Maggie muttered, unlocking the door and yanking it open. JD walked in quietly. His hat sat firmly above his ears. He adjusted it once, twice, and then once more.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. JD didn’t realize it, but that stupid hat was an interpretive device. JD having a good day meant it was high on his forehead. JD having a bad day meant it rode low. JD hiding from everyone because of some shit he’d pulled meant it was yanked way down low, and JD setting the damn thing squarely on the ears meant he was shooting for a confidence he didn’t deserve.
Maggie wasn’t going to make it easy on him, so she said nothing. They didn’t have a thing in the world to talk about. Pop clearly hadn’t gotten the memo and ran figure eights between JD’s ankles, yapping to be picked up.
JD removed his hat. Dear God, he was going to do the Grand Gesture.
“Mag
gie—”
“Save it, JD.”
“Too soon?”
“Massive understatement. I’ll reevaluate when Hell freezes over.”
“I think it’s best to do it now.”
“I’d prefer to let it fester. And believe it or not, I have bigger things—”
“We need to talk about your feelings for me,” he said, taking a step toward her.
“How about we talk about your feelings for me? Shorter conversation.”
JD cleared his throat. “Maggie, you mean the world to me, and there’s something I need to tell you.”
He’d practiced! She could hear it in his voice. He had a speech ready. Well, she wasn’t going to let him deliver it. “I was drunk. That’s pretty much it.” She put her hand on his chest and tried backing him to the door. “Bye now.”
“I’ve seen you drunk. You were maybe a little buzzed.”
“Okay, fine. I was on my period.”
“I’ve seen that, too. You weren’t telling me to fuck off—”
“Fuck off.”
“And your skin is perfectly clear. You don’t have those puffy things you get beneath your eyes from fluid retention.”
She got puffy things beneath her eyes from fluid retention? “File it under temporary insanity. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Or”—she snapped her fingers—“I was horny. How about that? Even girls like me get horny.”
“Girls like you…What does that mean?”
“You know what it means.”
“No, I don’t.”
Maggie turned and started for the counter. “Do, too,” she said over her shoulder. It was habit to argue childishly with JD. They’d been doing it for fifteen years.
“Do not,” said JD. “So do you want to go to Tony’s tonight and catch a game?”
Maggie stopped in her tracks, overwhelmed by the repetitious, deadening familiarity of it all. She didn’t want to fall back into the same old rut of being one of the guys. And she didn’t appreciate her feelings being swept under the rug by JD, even if she had refused to talk about them.
