Ridge Creek Reunited (Ridge Creek Duology)

by C L Green

  Sighing again he raises his eyebrows at me and starts to look impatient. “Yes.”

  “Where will you go after you leave me to it?”

  “Back to my Motel room, why?” He replies looking agitatedly back at his car.

  “But how will you know when I leave Jake’s house again?” I ask.

  “I’ll know,” he mumbles as he looks back towards his car. “You gunna follow me?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” I agree and decide to let it go. Who cares how he knows when I come and go. It’s his job and I just have to assume he’s very good at it.

  “Take care Arianna,” he says one final time before turning and striding back to his car.

  Considering the condition of his face and hands I almost call out, “You too,” but decide against it. Even though he looks bruised and battered, I’m fairly sure Anton knows how to look after himself.

  *****

  Ten minutes later…Arianna.

  Sticking my hand out the window of the truck I wave a quick goodbye to Anton and turn into Jake’s driveway. Although I’m not sure what kind of welcome I’m going to receive from him when I get to the house, I feel a sense of relief wash over me. Deep down I know I’m doing the right thing.

  The way I figure it, he wouldn’t have given me the keys to his truck and his house if he didn’t want me to use them. Admittedly, when I first left the Harley Shop this evening I didn’t plan to come to Jake’s house. It was only after ten minutes of driving around Ridge Creek aimlessly that I realized I wanted to see him. That after a whole day of being angry with him, I just couldn’t do it anymore.

  Crazy stuff.

  Creeping around the last bend in Jake’s driveway in first gear (he was serious, this stupid truck doesn’t have second) I see the lights of the house up ahead. Floodlights light up the driveway near the house brightly.

  Which means they also light up Jake.

  Standing in his driveway, hair wet, a beer in his hand he watches me creep slowly closer. He’s wearing a pair of tracksuit pants and nothing else. Bare feet, bare chest. No bandage around his midriff. All muscles, tattoos and slick, wet black hair he looks delicious.

  I immediately decide I’m the biggest idiot on the planet and I can’t believe I even thought about being mad with this guy.

  For even a second.

  I must have been nuts.

  So what if he’s got a gorgeous, crazy wife who he doesn’t hesitate to drive off with? I need to learn to deal. For this guy, I could be happy being the other woman.

  Slowly rolling to a stop next to him, I watch as his eyes lock on my face and a small smile tips his lips. I notice he too has a split lip and an angry bruise on his right jawbone. Ignoring my questioning look he rumbles, “Park brake, knock it out of gear and slide over sweetheart,” as his hand shoots out to grab the door handle.

  All thoughts of bruised jawbones and split lips gone, I leap to do as he asks. Even managing to pick Pierre up and plonk him on my lap before I slide sideways. Pierre blinks at me groggily as I do so. Boy does this puppy sleep.

  I’ve barely made it halfway across the seat before Jake lands squarely in the driver’s seat next to me. With his left arm, he flings his now empty beer bottle onto the passenger floor of the truck and then manages to stop my slide. With an easy squeeze, he slides me back hard against his side to fill the barely there gap between us. A heartbeat later I find myself pressed firmly into place and tucked underneath his arm.

  He smells great.

  Clean and soapy, warm and musky, his scent hits my nostrils and I feel a little giddy. Without thinking I lean in and plant my face sideways against his chest so I can inhale more of him. He’s like man cocaine and if I could snort him down, I would.

  I feel his chest vibrate against the side of my face as he lifts his arm up and over to me to place it on the gear stick. With a chuckle, he places the truck into gear, releases the handbrake and drives us around the house and into the garage. I spend this entire time staring at what looks to me like recently broken skin on his knuckles and breathing him in. I’m so content to stay put with my face stuck to his chest for as long as he’ll let me that I no longer care to ask about his face and knuckles.

  Parked in the garage, he kills the engine and reaches for his keys to press the remote control button for the garage door. As I listen to the sound of the motor slowly winding the garage door down behind us, Pierre sighs and slumps down to continue snoozing in my lap.

  Jake turns off the headlights on the truck and we sit into the dim light created by the light coming from the motor on the roller door behind us. Lifting his arm back up and over my head, he grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me closer. “You got lost.”

  Immediately wondering how he knows that I stiffen. “How do you know that?” I squeak in shock.

  “Anton,” Jake replies softly.

  “Anton?” I ask as I ineffectually try to push away from Jake’s body just far enough to be able to tip my head and at least see his face.

  Squeezing me tighter and essentially locking me against his chest, Jake continues. “Not smart leaving the shop without telling anyone and not smart getting lost.”

  Deciding that this is almost borderline creepy how much he and Anton know about my movements I wiggle against Jake’s arm and start to put more effort into putting some space between us. Pierre, sensing my unease (whilst also being bounced around my lap) wakes up fully and begins shuffling about on my lap, agitated.

  “Quit fidgeting, you woke up the dog.”

  “Quit trying to stop me fidgeting with your hulk arm,” I snap as Jake squeezes me again essentially quelling any ideas I have on moving.

  Continuing to ignore what are obviously my futile efforts to put some space between us, Jake continues. “Anton and I have come to an agreement.”

  And that’s when it hits me. Thoughts of bruised knuckles cut lips cross my mind.

  I realise exactly what’s going on here.

  Relaxing against his side, I verbalize my thoughts. “You and Anton had a punch on didn’t you?”

  “Anton and I had a conversation,” Jake corrects me almost instantly.

  “A conversation in which your faces and fists were engaged?” I question as Pierre, now fully alert and starting to look a little desperate to get out of the truck pushes off my lap and moves towards the passenger door.

  “You could say that,” Jake responds with a slightly amused sound to his voice. “It’s a man thing, you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Talking with your fists is not a man thing Jake. That’s a hulk thing. Really? You seriously punched Anton in the face, broke his nose and then came to an agreement?”

  “You could say that,” Jake says as he loosens his hold on my shoulder and moves to open the driver’s door. “Pierre needs a walk. Let’s finish this conversation after the dog’s done its business. I’d prefer he didn’t do it in my Dad’s truck or on the garage floor, let’s move.”

  Looking at the desperation in Pierre’s eyes, I nod my agreement. Jake climbs out of the truck and I’m about to slide across to the passenger side and get out when I find myself suddenly dragged sideways and lifted from the truck. Placed gently on the ground next to his side, Jake mutters, “Your sticking with me.”

  Rolling my eyes at him I shake my head. “I think we’re safe in your garage Jake.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Jake responds softly as he reaches in and lifts out Pierre. Pierre excited at his impending departure from the truck has already moved across the seat to the driver’s side. His big brown eyes are looking expectantly at the ground from what must feel like the second story of a building to him.

  Tucking Pierre neatly under one arm, Jake quickly wraps his other arm around me and guides me towards the door that joins the garage to the house. “I’ll take him out back and check in with Willy and Rabbit that all is well. Meet me in the kitchen, I won’t be long.”

  “Ah, okay,” I agree softly as he we reach the door. “I’m going to m
ake a coffee, you want one.”

  “Nope, I’ll have another beer. I’ll grab some from the shed after I’ve walked Pierre,” he announces as he walks past me and starts heading for the laundry. “Oh and Ari,” he pauses to look back at me. “Glad your here.”

  Chapter Ten

  Cheezels

  Arianna…

  Sitting in Jake’s gleaming white kitchen with a large cup of coffee in my hands I soon hear the familiar sound of Pierre racing across polished floorboards. Hitting a corner near the kitchen, he skids sideways in excitement as he races to find me. All chunky legs, big feet and rolls of fat; he’s no advertisement for style and grace as he enters the room.

  He is however, pure joy.

  Smiling at him as he flies across the room towards me, I gently place my cup on the bench and swivel my stool to watch him bouncing around at my feet, desperate for attention. I’m about to lean down and give him some loving when Jake rounds the corner carrying two bottles of beer. One is already open and they are both frosty cold, fresh from the cooler in his shed.

  Getting a full view of his face under bright kitchen lighting I frown. Although his face is nowhere as bad as Anton’s, I can see he took a few hard ones. His split lip looks angry and sore.

  Anton was obviously no push over which I find reassuring. I’d hate to think that a man employed by Stephen Bradford to watch over me could be taken down easily in a fistfight.

  Deciding to appease Pierre with a wiggling toe, I shove my foot in his face before I move my attention straight to Jake. “Do tell me what sort of agreement one makes with a man after breaking his nose and taking a few good hooks to one’s own face.”

  “The sort of agreement where we swap numbers,” Jake shrugs as he continues to move into the room and towards a stool next to me. “And the sort of agreement that when I’m with you, he gets to take a break.”

  Pierre suddenly noticing Jake’s bare feet, averts his attack away from my foot onto Jake toes. Jake stops to look down at his foot that is now under siege and grimaces. Thinking quickly, Jake changes direction and heads for a basket of toys in the corner of the kitchen. With a quick kick from one of his besieged feet, he tips the basket over and toys spill out across the floor. Pierre, immediately in puppy heaven, redirects his attention away from Jake to focus on the abundance of toys now at his disposal. With Pierre happily distracted, Jake moves back towards me and the kitchen bench.

  “I see. So that explains how you know I took a detour on the way?” I ask realizing that Anton and Jake are now communicating by phone.

  Jake nods as he places his unopened beer on the bench next to my coffee. As he does, he moves in close. Close enough that I can smell his fresh, clean scent and be distracted by it. Looking like he is about to sit on a stool next to me he appears to change his mind. Instead of taking a seat, he shoves it out of the way and leans his butt against the bench next to me. He then leans down and swivels my chair back to face the bench. This done he reduces the gap between us even further so that his legs touch the side of my knees. He’s essentially as close as possible to me as he can get without actually sitting on me or on my stool.

  Enjoying his closeness for a beat or two, I relax and grab for my coffee. Taking a sip and putting it down, I tip my head to find Jake staring at me intently. His face is unreadable. His green eyes are dark and glassy, his pupils dilated. It occurs to me that his pupils should constrict under the bright lighting of the kitchen. I’m considering mentioning this when he starts talking. “I don’t love her, anymore.”

  Sucking a long breath through my nose I close my eyes for a beat or two as I ready myself for whatever it is that Jake is about to tell me. I guess his opening line isn’t so bad. Although the hesitation before the anymore wasn’t awe inspiring. I guess I should also be thankful he’s not going to draw this out. He’s headed straight for the heart of the matter and appears to already realize that this is the topic that bothers me the most.

  Opening my eyes again, I find him still staring at me. It would be creepy if he wasn’t so damned gorgeous and he didn’t look so laid-back. He seems mellow, relaxed. I strongly suspect he’s been smoking pot which would explain his pupils and his relaxed state. In fact, right now, I sort of wish I had some pot to smoke too. Perhaps it would help me keep my mouth shut and listen to whatever it is he is about to tell me without analyzing it word for word.

  Taking another swig of his beer, he keeps his eyes locked on my face. I feel like he’s waiting for me to say something but since I have no idea where this conversation is going, I decide to forfeit the opportunity. Instead I nod my encouragement for him to continue.

  He does. “We met through her father, a cancer specialist at the hospital that treated my father many years ago.”

  Instantly forgetting about Victoria I hone straight in on the fact that Jake is now talking about his father. Someone he hasn’t mentioned to me before. “Your father had cancer?”

  “Leukemia,” he confirms. “Nasty fucker that it was. Sucked the life out of him. Slowly and methodically. Which is how I met Victoria’s father. He was the specialist who treated Dad through to the end. He was also the man that convinced me to grow pot in Ma’s garden shed to help Dad with his pain and nausea.”

  Well there’s an unusual reason for starting a pot business.

  “A doctor told you to grow pot for your father?” I blurt out slightly shocked. “Is that even ethical?”

  Ignoring my outburst, Jake nods and continues soberly. “Jim’s not your average doctor Arianna. He’s a man who deals with the hopeless, the ones who have run out of options. He’s the man that delivers the same news, over and again to men, women and children. He’s the one with the fucked up job of telling them that all else has failed and he is there to help them die as well as they possibly can. Jim does this every damned working day of his entire fucking life. He’s the man who understands more than anyone else I know that modern medicine doesn’t always work the way we want it to.”

  “But he’s a doctor. Couldn’t he lose his license if anyone found he was suggesting his patients smoke pot?”

  “Absolutely. Which is why he doesn’t recommend it direct anymore. Australia still treats all cannabis users as criminals, no matter what the level of usage and their reasons for using. This however doesn’t mean pot does not continue to have a role in medicine. It means its role is clandestine. Which is where we come in. Jim refers patients to certain Naturopaths for pain and nausea management and we make sure those Naturopaths have access to large quantities of high quality pot at very affordable prices. It’s a whole industry of its own outside the normal unlawful goings on of pot growing. It’s the reason Zane and I continue to carry the risk. We believe in what we’re doing. We saw how much cannabis helped our father during his last months and we also realized early on that the people who needed it most, couldn’t afford it. Cannabis isn’t cheap. To pay street prices for the amounts you need to treat therapeutically would send the average family broke.”

  “Holy shit,” I mumble as I redirect my gaze to my coffee cup. My drug dealer boyfriend has just told me he’s trying to save the world. One cannabis plant at a time. “Why do you sell to the street suppliers as well then, why don’t you just sell to the naturopaths?”

  “Because to be able to afford to sell it to the naturopaths for next to nothing, we need to make a killing on the street sales. And no matter which way you look at it, the whole business involves risk. Huge risk. Every day my brothers and I risk going to jail for the rest of our lives for supporting a cause we believe in. The only way to offset that risk is to have the finances to cover our asses if shit goes bad. We need cash and lots of it so that if we suddenly need to disappear, we can. We also need to uphold a certain image and be prepared to do whatever is necessary to protect what’s ours. There are wolves out there who want our business for the turnover. They don’t understand we have a world of people relying on us to help them through the worst times of their lives. We need them to know we’r
e not afraid to do what is necessary to protect our business. Both the good and bad sides of it.”

  “Holy shit…” I murmur lifting my now near cold coffee to my lips for another sip. When Jake said we needed to talk, he meant we needed to talk.

  Jake watches me sipping at my coffee and finishes the beer in his hand. Pushing off from the bench, he walks to the recycle bin at the end of the bench and drops the empty bottle in. I watch him with interest and once again wonder at his tidy habits when he’s not at the shop. He grins at me cheekily, I can tell he knows what I’m thinking but I refuse to ask.

  Lifting his eyebrow just enough to make his eyebrow ring bob, I see him urging me to ask. My mind screams at me to just do it, but I decide to veto.

  For now anyway.

  Instead I say one word, “Victoria.”

  “Victoria,” Jake nods as he moves back close to me and reaches for his second beer. Twisting the top off, he places it carefully on the bench. I can see his mind is working overtime to find the right angle to continue with his conversation.

  “You don’t love her, anymore,” I urge.

  “I don’t love her anymore,” he agrees as he pushes his hip back against the bench and settles in again.

  “So you did love her then?” I ask starting to wonder if I’m going to have suck every word out of him.

  “I did. Or I think I did. I don’t know really. She was Jim’s daughter. She was just – there. All the time. Like a shadow in my peripheral vision. She was there through Dad’s death and she was there whenever I went to see Jim over the years following Dad’s death as we set up the business. She was beautiful, she was in to me and it just seemed natural to hook up with her whenever we got together. It’s just a shame it took me so long to realize she was enjoying me for the bad boy arm candy more than anything else. It took me too long to realize she also wanted her bad boy cleaned up and driving a car. She had no intention of ever sitting on the back of my motorbike. She also wanted me separated from my brothers which she should have realized early on was destined to failure.”