“Let me look at your eyes,” she insisted, blocking out Beckham as she hovered above me.
I stared back at her patiently, rubbing my middle finger against a torn cuticle on my thumb. Escaped strands of her golden hair, stiff with sweat, drifted around her face. I focused on a prominent trio of freckles on her right cheek while she examined me.
“Your eyes are so dark,” she complained, straightening up. “It’s hard to tell if your pupils are enlarged.” Sam frowned and folded her arms across her chest.
“Let’s just say they’re not,” I suggested. “So, how was practice?” It was usually easy to distract her by taking advantage of her passion for soccer. She was a sophomore, a year younger than I, but she was good enough to play for the girls’ varsity team.
“It was fine. So, if you’re not really hurt…are you just freaked out?” Obviously she wasn’t going to be deterred.
I sighed. “There’s this new guy working there—he came running out to check on me.” My fingers fluttered to my mouth, and I caught myself right before my teeth could connect with my hangnail. I pushed my hands under the small of my back, the embroidered leaves of the comforter rubbing against my palms.
Sam made an hmmm sound. Arranging herself on the edge of the other bed, she waited for me to fill the silence. She knew me too well.
“Dothan.” My heart pounded out a few staccato beats as I tried his name out loud for the first time.
“Huh?”
“I know. I looked it up last night,” I said, aiming to keep my voice casual. “It means ‘law’ or ‘custom’. It’s also the name of an ancient city in Israel.” I blew out a frustrated breath as my heart tripped around in my chest yet again. It was just that he was so hot, I explained silently to David Beckham’s equally hot torso.
“That’s weird.”
“He’s weird. Like, bipolar or something. First he seemed all concerned for me. Then a few minutes later, he acted like I was a pariah or something. And while I should be used to that, he doesn’t even go to Huntsville.”
Sam stood back up, tugging her black soccer shorts over her nonexistent hips as she paced. She was very bad at sitting still. “Maybe it was something you said?” She was also very bad at sugar-coating things.
I winced. “Well, I did comment on his name. But he seemed amused by that.” I pretended to reflect for a minute in an attempt to disguise the fact that I’d actually been thinking about my conversation with Dothan quite a bit since yesterday. “I asked him some questions about school, and he got…like, suspicious.”
I sat up and related the conversation to her, winding a dark curl around my finger. According to my mother, I had a prettier version of the ideal eighties hair. My mom had been a teenager during the decade when long, spiral curls had been all the rage. Apparently people had paid a lot of money to sit with noxious chemicals in their hair in order to achieve a more extreme version of my look. And while I didn’t hate my hair, it was a far cry from the sleek, straight style that was popular now.
Popular. What a loaded word. Even perfect hair wouldn’t help me in that department anymore. And while I didn’t need popularity, I’d settle for merely being liked. But that was impossible after the choices I’d made. I reminded myself that if I had to make the same decisions all over again, I would.
My pathetic social life was one reason I’d hoped Dothan attended our school. Obviously he was out of my league as far as dating was concerned. But a new student might not be so quick to hate me, especially if we got to know each other at the stable.
“So, maybe he dropped out of high school. Or had no interest or money for college,” Sam suggested, pulling me from my private ruminations.
“I suppose. But would it be so hard to just say that? None of those options seem like national secrets.”
“He’s probably just embarrassed.”
I shrugged. Embarrassment wasn’t the vibe I’d been getting from him. And it didn’t explain the electric shock between our skin and his apparent reluctance to touch me a second time. Perhaps I had misconstrued the hostility, but I was fairly certain I hadn’t imagined the charge emanating from his grip like a low voltage current. My mind kept providing reasonable explanations for what I’d felt, despite the fact that I knew on some level it had been much more than my shaken, misfiring synapses or the temporary, crisp spark of static electricity.
Sam studied me, her bright sapphire eyes contrasting sharply with her fair skin and ginger freckles. “You’re not going to let some guy keep you from riding, are you?”
Spoken like someone who knew what it was like to have a passion, I thought. “No, of course not. I really should have at least gone on an easy trail ride today, since I have to work tomorrow. But I’ll be there Thursday.”
She nodded in approval. “Good. You’ve been at that stable for years. He’s the new guy. If he gives you any attitude, just remind yourself that he’s weird, bipolar, and possibly a high school dropout. Then give it right back.”
“I’ll try. The problem is, he’s really hot.”
“That’s a problem?” Reaching toward a painted white shelf, she grabbed a tiny beanbag soccer ball and dropped it toward the floor. Her ponytail swayed as she worked to keep it airborne with her feet.
I chewed on my lip. “Well, sort of. He’s like…distractingly hot. So much so that I get a little flustered around him.”
The ball slipped off her left foot and fell with a soft crunch onto the light pink carpet. For a room belonging to a self-proclaimed tomboy, there sure was a lot of pink decor. She turned to me, her pale eyebrows lifted. “Distractingly hot?” She huffed out a knowing breath. “It’s probably just sexual tension between you guys. Try flirting with him.”
I rolled my eyes dramatically. “I’m not sure I even remember how to flirt. I haven’t been on a date in over six months, remember?”
“You’ve still got me beat,” she pointed out, tugging off a long hunter green soccer sock as she balanced on one foot.
“I don’t know about that.” I leaned back to search the pocket of my jeans shorts for peppermints. My fingers closed around a few and I tugged them out. “You went to the movies with that guy Evan over the summer.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Yeah, I still don’t know what that was.” Shaking her head at the proffered mint, she worked on her other sock. “You can hang out if you want. I have to hit the shower. And then the books.” She dropped the socks in her hamper and pulled a thick geometry book from her backpack with a grimace.
“I have to get some homework done too. Do you think your mom would let me steal some old magazines?” Mrs. O’Brien’s part-time job as a receptionist allowed her plenty of time to flip through magazines between phone calls, and she subscribed to at least five monthly publications I could think of off the top of my head.
“Sure. What for?” Sam asked, dropping her enormous math book on her desk with a thump.
“I have to make a collage for psychology.”
Sam gaped at me. “A collage? Seriously? Wow, eleventh grade sounds brutal. Don’t get a paper cut.”
The corners of my lips lifted, along with my spirits. “Hey, it’s hard work. Profoundly creative.”
She snorted. “Uh huh. Much like abstract theorems.” With a shake of her head, she pulled her practice jersey over her head.
“Have fun with that,” I said, crossing the room to toss my candy wrappers in a polka-dotted trash can. I tapped her geometry text with my knuckle for good measure. “Okay, I’m out of here. Thanks, Sam.”
“For?” she asked, pausing at her bathroom door in her sports bra and soccer shorts.
For being one of the few people I can count on, I wanted to say. But expressing emotions was not my strong suit. I went with a shrug, accompanied by the incredibly descriptive, “You know.”
A smile accompanied her nod. “Anytime.” She disappeared into her bathroom. Seconds later, the rattle of pipes gave way to the steady pulse of the shower. “I’m putting on my music,” she cal
led out.
“Thanks for the warning!” I yelled back, hurrying out her door. I made my way down the staircase, leaning on the banister to favor my right ankle, and went in search of Mrs. O’Brien and her magazines.
Chapter 3
The dull bronze bells attached to the door of Huntsville Vintage jangled, a merciful break from my pre-calculus homework. “Good afternoon,” I said, looking up. My jaw dropped open. It was him. The hot guy from the stable. Dothan.
“Uh, can I help you?” I managed. He was staring at me with equal surprise. Today his shoulder-length hair was tied back, a few loose blond pieces hanging around his face. Somehow he could make a ponytail look incredibly masculine. Breathe, I reminded myself.
A frown darkened his face. “What are you doing here?”
Wow. His shortcomings certainly didn’t include a lack of nerve. “What am I doing here? I work here. Much like you work at the barn where I board my horse.” I folded my arms across my chest protectively before I considered the message this body language sent. Quickly uncrossing them, I planted my hands on my hips instead.
“Touché.” The suspicious glint in his eyes softened as his pushed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He glanced around the dim antique shop. “Is the owner here?”
And now he was insulting my competence. I came around from behind the display counter. “I’m sure I’m quite capable of assisting you.” My guess was that he needed directions or something. The tight black shirt and worn jeans didn’t exactly suggest “antique enthusiast”. He would look more at home at a vintage record store. Or maybe a biker club.
“I’m sure you are,” he allowed, his gaze traveling over my body before darting past me toward the back room. “Could you just answer the question?”
Like you answered mine the other day? I wanted to snap back at him. But I needed to remember there was a small possibility he was here to make purchase. My grandfather would not appreciate me being rude to the customers.
I tucked a curl behind my ear. “He just left.”
Dothan nodded, his hard features relaxing just a little. His response sent adrenaline pouring into my veins. Was there some reason he wanted us to be alone? No, that couldn’t be it—he’d been surprised to see me here.
“For the night?” Dothan continued, and my stomach somersaulted. Was he going to rob us? He wouldn’t make out with much cash, but we had expensive antiques in the shop. We have insurance, I reminded myself. And the truly priceless antique books were in a safe in our house.
I bit my bottom lip hard to stop the shiver tiptoeing up my spine. “I can ask him to contact you tomorrow if you have a specific question I can’t answer.”
He nodded again, seemingly satisfied. I guess I had inadvertently made it clear my grandfather wasn’t coming back tonight. But I locked up on Wednesdays.
“Okay. I think I’ll just browse around for a few minutes.” He slid me a crooked smile and wandered toward the entrance to the back half of the store.
“There are only old books back there,” I pointed out, trying to help this strange, hot guy. His social skills needed help as well, but that wasn’t my problem. I had homework to finish.
“Great,” he called over his shoulder. “I love books.”
I watched his butt through narrowed eyes as he disappeared into the back section. The high school drop-out loves books? So odd.
Somehow I avoided creeping into the back stacks to spy on him. But I also wasn’t able to concentrate on pre-calc. I chewed on my pencil instead, trying to figure out a way to learn more about Dothan without asking him any highly personal questions like where he went to school.
He showed up with an armload of books about ten minutes before our seven o’clock closing time. His gaze shifted around the store again as he lowered the massive pile of faded, dusty tomes onto the counter.
I stared at the assortment, speechless. Bizarre titles jumped out at me from the old bindings: Ancient Egyptian Rituals; Spirituality and the Occult; Medicinal Herbs, Tonics, and Potions; Poisons, Spells, and Cures. A few of the old medical texts appeared to be in Greek or Latin.
“Can you ring me up?” he asked, breaking into my astonished stupor. I detected a hint of nervousness underneath his clipped words. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”
In a hurry? He’d been perusing the stacks for over an hour. “Sure,” I mumbled, my mouth suddenly dry. I swallowed and slid the inventory card out of the first volume. Whoa. I quickly typed the title into our computer to double check the price. “Uh, this one alone is three hundred dollars.”
“I can read,” he pointed out. He looked at me as if I were the one exhibiting odd behavior. “It’s a useful skill when you’re buying books.” The corner of his lips quirked up, pushing one of those devastating dimples into the stubble around his mouth.
“It’s just…some of these are very rare. And some…unusual subjects to be reading about.” Was that even a complete sentence? Stop stammering, I ordered myself.
He shrugged, tucking the stray strands of blond hair behind his ears. “I have a lot of varied interests. And nights at the stable are fairly boring.”
I rang up two more texts in the neighborhood of fifty dollars each. “You hang out at the stable at night?” I asked, glancing up.
His smile faded, his clear brown eyes darkening like shuttered windows. I’d gotten too personal again.
“Sorry,” I murmured. “It’s none of my business.” I pulled the next book from the pile.
He shifted his feet and sighed in apparent resignation. “Actually, I live there. There’s a room in the barn that came with the job.”
I searched for something innocuous to say. “Oh. Well, that’s a nice perk. Even if it’s quiet.”
“I like quiet. I’m not much of a people-person,” he added, without a hint of sarcasm.
You don’t say, I thought to myself. “Yeah, me neither,” I confessed. But of course that wasn’t really by choice. I punched in the last book’s price and laid it on the top of the stack. “Uh, the total comes to nine hundred and sixty-seven dollars.”
He pulled a wad of cash from the pocket of his jeans and began peeling off bills. My breath caught, and I struggled to keep my expression neutral. There was only one job I associated with that kind of cash, and it wasn’t working as a stable hand at a local barn. Illegal activities might explain Dothan’s suspicious behavior, but something still didn’t add up in my mind. I’d started pulling myself away from the party scene, and by extension my old friends, when it became clear my childhood group had collectively decided the focus of high school should be drugs, alcohol, and casual sex. However, I’d seen enough by then to know that dealers didn’t generally use their profits to purchase ancient books.
“There’s nine eighty.” He laid the stack of bills on the counter, pulling his hand away quickly.
I opened the cash register, counting out the fifties and twenties while my subconscious devised a plan. My heart rate accelerated to the point I thought he might hear the heavy thud, but I kept my breathing even as I fished thirteen dollars from the drawer. I wasn’t going to chicken out. “Your change,” I said, extending the money toward him with plenty of space for him to grab the bills without risking my touch.
At the last second, I jerked my arm and drove my knuckles into his palm. An electric current stung my skin and radiated outward, spreading warmth that was not altogether unpleasant. But I snatched my hand back, more from surprise than pain; he did the exact same thing, as though we had choreographed the move in advance. The bills fluttered to the counter.
His eyes narrowed, glinting with anger. He slammed his palm onto the counter with enough force to make me jump, then calmly collected his scattered change.
“Sorry, I, uh…” I trailed off. I what? Have Tourette’s? My brilliant plan hadn’t accounted for a story to explain my erratic motion. I guess I’d expected him to apologize for shocking me, and we’d go from there.
The words hung in the silence like a grenade with th
e pin removed. He shoved the folded bills into his front pocket and gathered the books to his chest. His arm muscles tightened under the combined weight.
“Uh…do you want a box for those?” I asked weakly.
“No.” He straightened, holding the stack against his body effortlessly, and walked away without another word. He shot me one last glare, a mixture of irritation and something like disappointment, as he turned to push the door open with his back. The bells jingled and he disappeared into the evening shadows.
Chapter 4
I usually did flatwork or a short trail ride on Thursdays, but I decided instead to practice some light jumping since I’d skipped it on Tuesday. Three days after my tumble, my ankle was pretty much back to normal. It still sent up a twinge every once in a while, but I set the poles around two and a half feet, lower than our regular jump height. Hopefully we’d still get some good work in without exacerbating my injury. I couldn’t push us any higher than that anyway, even if my ankle held up; I’d skipped putting on Beau’s jumping boots today in my hurry to get moving.
After completing the course once, I walked Beau around the ring to give him a few minute’s rest. As I turned the curve, I caught sight of Dothan, crossing the field on the opposite side of the long driveway leading to the stable. The farm dogs trailed behind him in a loose pack, and a hammer hung from his right hand.
A splinter of fear pierced my chest, and I struggled to relax. Did I really think Dothan was on his way over here to bludgeon me? He might have been pissed at my antics last night, but forcing someone to touch you wasn’t motive for murder. I shifted both reins to my left hand, lifting my right thumb to my lips and savagely ripping off a hanging cuticle with my teeth. Screw it.
Divine Fall Page 2
