Protector for Hire

by Tawna Fenske

  “Wow, that’s really sweet.” Janelle moved her hand to the other breast, remembering the feel of Schwartz’s mouth on her nipple that morning. She stifled a moan, feeling a little ridiculous. For crying out loud, he was just telling her a family story. It wasn’t like he’d called to talk dirty to her.

  It’s his voice, her conscience pointed out, and she kept talking so she could hear it again. “You and your brother sound really close.”

  “Yeah. There was just one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The condom wasn’t Grant’s, either.”

  “What? Who put it there?”

  “We didn’t know. But Mom did.”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  He laughed again. “The whole thing was a setup to see how we’d handle the situation. Honor and dignity and sticking together is a big thing in the military. In the Patton family especially.”

  His tone had taken on a slight grimness, and Janelle tried to rewind through the conversation and figure out where things had gone off the rails.

  “So who left the condom?”

  “Our sister, Sheri.”

  “No way!”

  “Yep. She was older than us and in college by then, so it wasn’t like she was some fifteen-year-old getting groped in a borrowed truck. She was home on break, and she’d taken it to the drive-in movies with the guy she’d been dating. I guess they forgot about the condom.”

  “I can’t believe this! So your mom knew all along?”

  “She did. After she finished lecturing Grant and me about honor and respect, she called Sheri out for her talking-to.”

  “Was she harsher on her than she was with you boys?”

  “You mean in the sense of ‘my little princess should be pure and wholesome’?”

  “I guess.”

  “Hell no. Stella Patton doesn’t go for any of that double standard bullshit. She raised her daughter to be empowered and responsible and open about sex. There was no difference between that and how she raised the boys. Well, except one.”

  “What’s that?”

  “After she finished lecturing Sheri about self-respect and public decency laws, she moved to a lecture on demanding sexual satisfaction.”

  “What?”

  “Grant and I tried to take off at that point, but Mom made us stay. She said it was important that we all understand that women are wired differently from men, and that they should expect their partners to respect them enough to take the time and care to bring them pleasure.”

  “Seriously?” She laughed, cradling the phone against her shoulder as she slid her other hand over her hip. “Go, Stella!”

  “Yeah. We were all pretty embarrassed, but deep down, I think we were taking mental notes.”

  Janelle laughed again, trying to imagine a teenage Schwartz filing away the knowledge of how important it was to take his time and go slowly, ensuring his partner’s pleasure. She closed her eyes as the fingers of her left hand stroked her nipple while the right hand slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts. Her skin was soft from her bath oil and smooth from the Brazilian wax she’d endured a week ago, and she sucked in a breath as her fingers trailed downward.

  “So your mom wanted to make sure you knew how to get a girl off.”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Did you learn anything?”

  “Yeah. Never try to pull the wool over Stella Patton’s eyes. Also, multiple orgasms are a thing.”

  “No kidding.” She let her legs fall open as her fingers slipped between them, her brain still ringing with the word “orgasms.”

  “How was that?” he asked. His voice was low and gravelly, and it made Janelle feel like she’d just swallowed a spoonful of melted bittersweet chocolate.

  “How was what?” she breathed.

  “Was that a good enough bedtime story?”

  “Perfect.” She dipped two fingers into her wetness, the rumble of Schwartz’s voice making her tingle everywhere. Some spots more than others.

  “Feeling better now?”

  “Much, much better.” She bit her lip, sliding two fingers inside herself, then drawing back only to slip inside again. She closed her eyes and imagined Schwartz touching her, those huge hands stroking her hips, her breasts, her thighs.

  “I’m glad. Oh, and Janelle?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “Don’t think I don’t know you’re touching yourself on the other side of this wall.”

  “What? How did you—”

  “Good night.”

  And with that, he hung up.

  …

  The image of Janelle pleasuring herself in the darkness was still burned into Schwartz’s brain the next day. And the next day. And the day after that.

  As the week dragged on, it got harder and harder to keep his distance. He was as polite as he could be, making small talk over dinner and even allowing her back into the office to work since the light was better for her graphic design projects.

  But all he had to do was recall that soft little gasp on the phone, the breathy moan she thought he couldn’t hear. He could only imagine what she’d looked like as she threw her head against the pillow and slid her fingers between her legs.

  Truth be told, he imagined it a lot.

  It was ridiculous. He had no idea how much longer he could keep his hands off her, but he had to figure out a way to do it. From what Grant reported, Jacques wasn’t giving up his search for his ex-wife. The police were involved, of course, but they’d already failed several times to get the situation under control. Jacques was too slippery, too good at not getting caught.

  It was no wonder Janelle hadn’t figured out right away what sort of man she’d married. The guy was good, Schwartz had to give him that.

  By Friday morning with Janelle bare-legged and sucking the tip of her pen at the other end of the desk, Schwartz was running low on resolve.

  He was also running low on groceries. He shoved his keyboard aside and turned to face her. “I need to go into town today.”

  She looked up, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Can I come?”

  She could come pretty easily from what he’d heard on the other side of the wall, but that probably wasn’t what she meant.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” he said. “About whether you’re safer here alone, or with me.”

  “With you. Definitely with you.”

  “I’d be flattered, except that I know the real reason you’re jonesing to go.”

  She stood up, beaming. “I’ll be good, I promise. I’ll wear my disguise and keep to myself. But I’d seriously sell a kidney for a decent cup of coffee right now.”

  “I don’t think they take payment in kidneys,” Schwartz said, getting to his feet. “Be ready to go in ten minutes.”

  “Thank you, Schwartz!” Before he could say anything, she’d launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing him in a surprisingly ferocious bear hug. He meant to step back and push her away, but his arms went around her by instinct and pulled her tight. He was still reeling when she let go and turned to scurry toward the door.

  He patted himself on the back for making a damn good effort not to notice the jiggling going on under her T-shirt.

  An hour later, he led her out to the truck. He opened the passenger door and offered her a hand up into the cab before moving around to the other side and sliding behind the wheel. “Explain to me again how it can take you fifty minutes to get ready,” he said as he shoved the key into the ignition.

  “I had to do my hair.”

  “You’re wearing a wig.”

  “And I had to fix my makeup.”

  “Your sunglasses take up half your face.”

  “And I needed to find something to wear.”

  “You brought enough clothes to outfit a small African nation.”

  She grinned at him from the passenger seat. “Thanks for taking me with you, Schwartz.”

  He grunted. “Buckle your seat
belt.”

  He drove most of the way in silence, though every once in a while he’d stop to point out a landmark or a buffalo or a path to the creek that snaked through the woods around his cabin. He’d agreed to skip the blindfold this time, knowing she’d never be able to describe the twists and turns and back roads making up the fifty-mile stretch between the cabin and the closest town. Three Creeks was a little over an hour away, and they bumped along the gravel road in companionable quiet for most of the way.

  He was aware of her, though. His chest tightened every time she smiled or laughed or touched his arm to point out a mountain view she found breathtaking. He’d lived out here for nearly a decade, but driving along with Janelle in his truck was the first time he’d really noticed most of this stuff.

  By the time he pulled the truck into the dirt parking lot beside the small mini market, his stomach was growling.

  “You hungry?” he asked.

  “Starving.”

  “See that place over there?”

  “The house?”

  “That’s the restaurant I was telling you about. Owner makes a damn good meat loaf.”

  “Just tell me she also makes coffee and I’ll love her forever.”

  “Him,” Schwartz said, pushing open the truck door. “Keep the chitchat to a minimum, okay? We don’t want anyone asking questions about you.”

  She hopped out of the truck on her side and came around to join him. She grinned and raised a hand to her forehead in salute. “Roger that. Now lead the way to the coffee.”

  Schwartz shook his head and headed across the dust-covered asphalt to the Elk Horn Café. There was a handmade sign out front that gave the name, along with a collection of other small signs advertising taxidermy services and pointing out where to tie up horses.

  “What does that sign mean?” Janelle asked as Schwartz held the door open for her.

  She stepped into the restaurant and he followed behind her, ducking a little to get through the doorframe. “What sign?”

  “The one that says ‘Walt Crossing.’ Who’s Walt?”

  Schwartz shrugged. “Beats me.”

  “I can answer that one, young lady.” Schwartz looked up to see the owner, Bill, standing in the middle of the three tables that made up the dining area. He was smiling and looking at Janelle like he’d never seen anything quite like her.

  That was truer than the guy probably realized.

  Janelle swiveled her head to look at Bill, then shot Schwartz a nervous glance. He shrugged, letting her know it was okay to at least acknowledge the guy had spoken. Hell, maybe it would have been better to have her pretend to be mute.

  “So what’s a Walt Crossing?” she asked. “Is that the name of this place?”

  “Nah, this here’s the Elk Horn Café. Walt is my father-in-law.”

  “And he has his own crosswalk?”

  Bill beamed and gestured to the table closest to the window, setting down a pair of paper napkins in invitation. Janelle followed, while Schwartz cast a longing look at his usual stool tucked up close to the battered wooden bar where no one else liked to sit. He usually had the spot to himself, which was how he liked it.

  But Janelle was already standing next to the long wooden table at the window, and Schwartz had no choice but to join her as Bill continued to chatter on about Walt.

  “Walt’s ninety-two years old and blind as a bat,” he said. “Still likes to get out for walks every now and then, so we put up the sign to remind people to slow down when they see the old guy with the cane.”

  “That’s adorable!”

  “’Course we don’t get a lot of traffic through here, so it’s mostly just for show.” Bill smiled again and bent to pull out one of the long wooden benches tucked beneath the table. “Please have a seat. I don’t think we’ve met before. I’m Bill.”

  Janelle bit her lip and glanced at Schwartz. “Rebecca,” she supplied, and Schwartz gave an approving nod at the use of her middle name. At least it would be easy to remember.

  “Rebecca, it’s great to meet you.” He shook her hand, then turned to Schwartz. “And I know you’ve been coming in here for years, but we’ve never really spoken, ’cept for the occasional food order.”

  Right. That was the way Schwartz preferred it. No chitchat, no connections, no attachments. But it would be rude to say that now, so he stuck out his hand and nodded. “Schwartz.”

  “Schwartz,” Bill repeated, offering a friendly smile and a handshake more suited to crushing beer cans. “Good to finally meet you.” He glanced over his shoulder to the empty tables behind him, then lowered his voice so the nonexistent patrons wouldn’t hear. “Gotta admit, Schwartz—there’s been a lot of speculation about you over the years.”

  “Me?” Schwartz frowned. “What the hell for?”

  Bill looked nervous, and it occurred to Schwartz that his social skills were probably a bit rusty. Beside him, Janelle gave an encouraging smile.

  “Well,” Bill said, “you’re always so quiet and keep to yourself. Some folks thought maybe you’re some sort of terrorist. Janie—she’s the one who runs the post office—she thinks you’re a celebrity hiding out from the paparazzi. Back before you shaved off that beard, a coupla guys thought maybe you were a Sasquatch.”

  “A Sasquatch,” Schwartz repeated, mystified.

  Janelle grinned and reached up to brush a hand over his cheek. “I’ve never seen you with a full beard.”

  “Yeah. Well, I shaved it off a week ago.”

  His face was still tingling as she sat down on a scarred wooden bench and picked up the little handwritten card that passed for a menu at this place. He glanced back toward his usual spot at the bar, wondering why no one ever joined him there. It had never occurred to him before, but maybe they were afraid of him. He couldn’t decide if that was depressing or funny as hell, so he looked back at Janelle instead. There was plenty of space beside her on the long bench, so he sat down next to her, figuring that was easier than claiming the opposite bench. At least this way he wouldn’t have his back to the door.

  Her arm brushed his side, and Schwartz tried not to think about how warm she felt beside him. She smelled like flowers and sunshine, and he took a deep breath to fill his lungs with her.

  “I’m hungry enough to eat a horse,” she said, her eyes scanning the menu.

  “’Fraid we don’t serve horse here, ma’am,” Bill said. “But we make a mighty fine buffalo meat loaf, if I do say so myself.”

  “That’s what Schwartz told me.” Ma’am Rebecca Janelle set the menu down and picked up the ice water Bill had just poured for her. “Meat loaf sounds perfect. And if you have a fresh pot of coffee back there, I’ll take the whole thing.”

  Bill laughed. “You want a mug, too, or you plan to drink it straight out of the pot?”

  “If you could just hook it up to an IV, that would be great.”

  “Coming right up,” he said, giving her another fond smile before nodding at Schwartz. “I like her. She’s spunky.”

  Before Schwartz could reply, Bill turned and hustled off to the kitchen. Spunky Ma’am Rebecca Janelle watched him go, then turned back to Schwartz. “He’s not going to take your order?”

  “Doesn’t have to. I always get the same thing. Keeps conversation to a minimum if he just brings it out without asking.”

  She shook her head and gave him a look of dismay. “Welcome to humanity, Schwartz. It’s a nice place. You should visit more often.”

  “Send me a postcard,” he muttered as he picked up his ice water and downed half the glass in one gulp.

  She was looking around the room, taking in the mounted deer heads on the wall, the rustic woodstove in the far corner. Schwartz tried to see it through her eyes and wondered what she must be thinking. A set of stairs off in the corner led up to the second floor where Bill and his wife lived, but down here it was open for anyone who might want to stop by for a home-cooked meal. The scent of fried onions and woodsmoke was heavy in the air, and the wooden walls
bore the burned scars of brands from nearby ranches. The tables were large enough to hold big families or large groups of friends, but right now it was just the two of them.

  He grimaced as a bell dinged at the front of the room. So it wouldn’t be the two of them after all.

  “Mmm-mmm-mmm!” In the doorway stood a round-cheeked woman wearing cowboy boots and a long braid in her salt-and-pepper hair. She stopped on the threshold, sniffing the air like a deer in a meadow, her face tipped toward the ceiling. “Something smells mighty good,” she announced.

  A man walked in behind her, doffing a weathered brown cowboy hat. He had a slight limp, and his flannel shirt was tucked into jeans that bore ironed creases down the front. “Meat loaf,” he grunted.

  “My favorite,” the woman replied, scanning the room. Her eyes widened as she spotted Schwartz, and he looked away fast.

  “This spot okay?” the man asked.

  The woman sighed. “I s’pose it’ll do. Looks like the usual table is taken.”

  Schwartz gave in to temptation and looked up to see the woman watching him. The instant his eyes locked with hers, she broke into a smile. “Or we could sit with Triple M over there. Looks like he found himself a new spot. Gordy, you see this?”

  Before Schwartz could say anything or ask what the hell Triple M meant, the woman was bustling over with Gordy in tow. “I almost didn’t recognize you sitting over here at our table instead of your usual spot,” she said. “And you brought a friend.” She eyed Janelle approvingly, then smiled and stuck out her hand. “I’m Laverne, and this here is Gordy.”

  “Rebecca,” she said. “And—uh, Triple M?”

  “Mysterious Mountain Man,” Laverne said, clapping Schwartz on the back. “That’s what everyone around here always calls you. Got a real name, honey?”

  “Schwartz,” he said, and reached under the table to squeeze Janelle’s knee. It was supposed to be reassuring, but probably came off like he was copping a feel. He let go of her knee and put both hands back on the table in front of him.

  “Rebecca and Schwartz,” Laverne repeated. “So nice to finally meet you. You two don’t mind if we join you, right?”

  “I—uh—” Janelle stammered, then looked to Schwartz. He was trying to think of a reason to say no—agoraphobia? Contagious disease? Invisible friends occupying the other bench? Apparently not sensing his hesitation, Laverne plunked herself down opposite them and patted the table.