Addicted to You

by Bethany Kane

  It was twilight by the time she pulled into the river road where Errol lived and then turned down the long drive that led to his shack. An older-model but well-tended Honda Civic sat in the driveway. Olive answered the door with a cheerful smile. The older woman’s kindness sent a glimmer of warmth through the numb chill that had come over Katie as she tried to evade her demons on the twisting, tree-lined roads.

  She sipped chamomile tea and chatted with Olive as Errol watched an old episode of Hogan’s Heroes on the black-and-white television that sat on the kitchen counter. Slowly, her confidence started to seep back into her spirit.

  “I was wondering,” she began slowly as Olive poured some more hot water over her tea bag, “where you and Monty live? There’s something I’d like to ask him.”

  Olive’s pale blue eyes widened in mild surprise. “You want to speak to Monty?”

  Katie nodded.

  “Well, he’s here. He’s down on Errol’s dock, fishing,” Olive explained, waving toward the kitchen door. “He always says they bite best at nightfall.”

  There was barely enough light left in the sky for Katie to locate the dock. She tiptoed on the weatherworn boards as she made her way to the still figure of the man sitting in a lawn chair at the end of the dock. She supposed the cantankerous Monty would have no problem scolding her for scaring all the fish clear to Kentucky with her city ways, so she was extra careful in her approach.

  Much to her surprise, he didn’t even glance around when she eased down on the dock next to him. Katie whispered.

  “I’m sorry for . . .”

  “Shhhhh,” he warned softly.

  Katie gave him a glance and then peered into the wide, flowing river, trying to see what Monty was studying so intently. After several seconds of silence, during which Katie was starting to get impatient, Monty finally spoke.

  “He’s gone,” he growled as he began to reel in his line. “Little bastard probably nibbled away all my bait and never touched the hook.”

  There was just enough light left filtering through the trees on the western horizon for Katie to see Monty had been right. His hook was bare. He cursed without heat, removed the hook and set his fishing pole aside.

  “Sorry if I chased him off,” Katie mumbled.

  “It’s not your fault. I know that devilfish. He’d been playing with me for fifteen minutes before you walked on the dock.”

  It suddenly struck Katie that he probably didn’t know who she was. It was pretty dark out here, and he’d never fully looked at her. Besides, why would he expect her of all people to come sneaking up on him while he was fishing?

  “It’s . . . er . . . me. Katie Hughes.”

  He gave her a swift glance. “Thanks for informing me.”

  “How’d you know it was me?” she asked, gleaning from the sarcastic edge to the older man’s voice he’d known who sat next to him the whole time.

  “Heard that monstrosity of a car of yours roaring down the road from three miles away.”

  Katie flushed. She really had been gunning it, and she was learning quickly that sound traveled eerily far through these silent hills.

  “I came to see how Errol was doing.” She let her boots drop down over the side of the dock, figuring Monty wouldn’t mind since he was no longer fishing.

  “What’d you come out here for?” Monty asked bluntly.

  “To talk to you.” She hesitated. “Is Monty short for Montgomery?”

  “You came out here to ask me that?” Monty growled.

  “No, I just was wondering.”

  “It’s short for my first, middle and last names,” he admitted brusquely after a pause. “Montrose Montague Montgomery.”

  Katie glanced over at him in surprise, barely making out the outline of his prominent nose and overhanging brow in the darkness. “Your parents must have had a sense of humor.”

  “My parents,” he replied briskly, “didn’t have a funny bone in either of their bodies.”

  “Huh,” Katie mused.

  A cricket began to squeak loudly. It sounded so close, it might have been just feet above Katie’s head. She glanced back. The thick forest of trees seemed to stare back at her like silent, dark sentinels. Katie shivered.

  “I have three different men’s names—my dad’s, my grandfather’s and a great-uncle’s. My grandfather and great-uncle were decorated officers in the army,” Monty said after a pause.

  “What about your dad? Was he in the army, too?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, I was just wondering.”

  “Wondering what?” Monty asked. She heard puzzlement and a trace of irritation in his gruff voice, but he must have sensed there was something she wanted to ask him. Monty obviously wasn’t one for small talk.

  “How someone like you ever became a social worker.”

  “What do you mean, someone like me?”

  “I don’t know,” Katie said, throwing up her hands in exasperation. “Just . . . how did you? What kind of a degree did you have to get?”

  “I have a master’s degree in social work.”

  “Oh,” Katie replied pleasantly. Now she was getting somewhere. She leaned back on the dock, trying to seem casual.

  “What kind of schooling did you get?” Monty countered.

  “I went to law school and then got my master’s in tax law. So . . . where’d you get your degree from?”

  “What is this? The inquisition?”

  “No. What’s so terrible about me asking where you got your education?”

  “What are you sniffing around for?” Monty snapped.

  Air popped out of her lungs. “I just asked a question. There’s no need to be rude.” When he didn’t speak for several seconds, and she sensed his frank suspicion, she sighed.

  “I was thinking about going back to school. I’d like to do something where you can . . . you know. Help people.”

  Then it came, the snort of derisive laughter she dreaded hearing. Well, she’d just have to get used to being ridiculed. One day, people wouldn’t laugh.

  “You. Want to be a social worker?”

  Katie straightened her spine and glared up at him in the chair, even though she knew he couldn’t make out her defiance in the dim light. “I want to do something where I make a difference. And yeah . . . social work was one of the fields I was considering,” she said defensively.

  “You’d never last,” Monty said bluntly. She heard a metallic sound and knew he’d opened the tackle box she’d seen earlier next to his chair.

  “How do you know?” she asked. “You don’t even know me.”

  He made a scoffing sound that told Katie loud and clear he thought he knew enough. The cricket’s solo chirps seemed to intensify to a screech in the silent seconds that followed.

  “You really want to make a difference?” Monty asked after a moment.

  “I really do.”

  “Meet me Sunday morning at the diner. Eight o’clock.”

  “Okay,” Katie agreed. She waited expectantly, but Monty didn’t appear to plan on telling her anything else. She stood and started to carefully make her way back on the dock when Monty called out to her. A small flashlight blinked on.

  “Here. Take this,” the older man said.

  Katie accepted the flashlight with a word of thanks. She could tell by his tone that Monty didn’t take much stock in her proposed career plans, but she had to start somewhere, didn’t she? If she was thwarted every time someone gave her an incredulous look or laughed at her, she’d never get anywhere.

  Before returning to Rill’s house—something she was definitely dragging her feet about doing—she found the entrance to the co-op. Olive had told her the store would be open for another hour or so. She was amazed at the variety and quantity of food offered on the farm. She stocked up on cartons of fresh vegetables, fruit, rice and freshly baked bread.

  Everything was dark and quiet when she pulled up to Rill’s at a little past eight in the evening. Rill’s car was still parked out
front, but the house felt empty to her. Where had he gone? He seemed to make a habit out of disappearing into thin air.

  She flipped on the light in the kitchen. The warm glow seemed to chase away some of her feelings of alienation and uncertainty. She put away the groceries she’d bought and removed some meat from the freezer. She’d prepared a salad, including some juicy tomatoes from the co-op, and was broiling two large steaks when she heard the back door open and close.

  Leave it to the scent of cooking beef to call a man home, she thought wryly.

  She was a little nervous by the time she spied Rill’s large shadow moving toward her from the darkened living room, but she was determined not to show it. She put two plates on the counter.

  “Hey,” she said, her gaze flickering over him. His dark hair looked windblown. “You been walking?”

  “Yeah.”

  She had a vivid impression of them both studiously ignoring the chartreuse bull elephant in the room and resisted a hysterical urge to laugh. “I made you a steak. You hungry?”

  He shifted uneasily on his booted feet. His expression was guarded, but also . . . pained somehow.

  “You okay, Rill?” she asked softly.

  “I’m fine.” He came into the kitchen and made himself useful, getting silverware, glasses and napkins while Katie removed the fragrant steaks from the broiler. Feeling awkward but determined, she asked Rill where he wanted to eat. They usually ate separately, but Katie wanted to halt that routine before it became a habit. He shrugged and nodded at the small table situated near the front windows.

  The food had been good, but the conversation had been stilted and terrible, Katie reflected as she took her last bite of salad. Each of them tried twice to bring up a safe topic while they ate. Every time, their attempts seemed to be sucked into the vacuum of straining silence.

  Katie had to admit, the fact that Rill’d tried, at least, had meant a lot to her.

  When the awkward silence continued even as they both cleaned up in the kitchen, Katie decided she’d had enough. She was still hurt by what Rill had said upstairs. Confused. Pissed. Why did she have to be the one to offer the olive branch? By the time Rill had scraped the broiler clean and she’d dried it and put it away, Katie’d had enough.

  “I’m going upstairs,” she said quietly.

  “No, Katie. Wait,” he said, turning around from where he stood at the sink. She froze in her retreat and met his gaze fully for the first time that evening.

  “I . . . want to tell you something,” he began gruffly.

  “What?” Katie prompted when he winced and glanced away.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Fine,” she said abruptly. “I’m going upstairs, then.”

  “Wait a second,” he said in a low but insistent tone. “Do you think this is easy for me?”

  She looked at him, her eyebrows raised in sarcastic expectation. His jaw moved as though he were chewing on a rock.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, as if he’d just spit the rock out of his mouth.

  It didn’t satisfy her. Not in the least.

  “For what, exactly?” she asked bluntly.

  He glanced at her in surprise. “For . . . for letting it happen.”

  She turned and started out of the room.

  “Wait . . . Katie?” he called out.

  “What?” she asked, turning so quickly her long hair whipped into her face. She pushed it back impatiently. “Do you think you’re telling me something I don’t already know, Rill? Jesus. You can’t even put it into words.”

  His nostrils flared in anger.

  “I’m trying to apologize for ‘putting it into words.’ I shouldn’t have said what I said before. I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

  “Fine. Apology accepted. If that’s what you want to call it.” Katie added the last under her breath before she turned again and started to head for the stairs.

  “Don’t walk away from me, Katie.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?” she asked, spinning around once again at his quiet but commanding voice. “You seem to find my presence unsettling somehow. I told you before I knew that. I’m still not going. You can apologize all you want. By the way, you should work on that hangdog expression. Pick up some tips from Barnyard, because your acting is terrible.”

  His eyes flashed dangerously. “I’m not acting, you little . . .”

  “What?” she asked aggressively. “Child? Nuisance? Convenient piece of ass?”

  He expression went rigid. “I was going to say idiot, you little idiot.”

  Her chin went up. She crossed her hands beneath her breasts. He inhaled in exasperation when he took note of her defiance.

  “Can’t you see this is a mistake? You don’t belong here, Katie.”

  “Oh, yeah? When’s the last time you got shit-faced?”

  His expression flattened. Katie zoomed in for the kill.

  “The night I got here, right? You’ve been sober going on two weeks now. So you know what that tells me, Rill? For this moment in time of my life, this is exactly where I belong.” She jabbed her finger down at the chipped linoleum floor. Incredulity flickered over his rugged features.

  “That’s your plan? To drive me so nuts that I can’t even find any peace in a whiskey bottle?”

  “Peace,” she repeated sarcastically. “The only reason you were so calm is you were too drunk to feel anything else.”

  “You’re not my type, Katie,” he bellowed abruptly, startling her. It took a second for the sting from his words to fully settle, but when it did, Katie was galvanized.

  “You think you’re telling me something I don’t know? What precisely is it that you find unappealing about me? Come on, don’t be a coward. Just say it!” She stepped toward him in a challenging gesture.

  “You want me to say it?” he shouted.

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

  He glanced down over her, burning her with his gaze. “You’re too obvious, with your short skirts and tight jeans . . . all that hair. Everyone has got to drop what they’re doing when Katie Hughes blows into a room like a sexed-up whirlwind. What are you trying to prove, tempting a man until he goes and does something he’s bound to regret? Why can’t you just give it a rest, Katie?” He made an angry slashing motion with his hand. “I can’t frickin’ think straight when you’re around.”

  His words seemed to hang in the air like the vibrations of a struck gong, making her ears ring.

  “Oh, I see,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m too much of a slut for you, is that it, Rill? I’m not ladylike enough. I’m not soft-spoken. I’m not Eden; isn’t that right?” She spun around, suddenly compelled. She started flinging open drawer after drawer, rattling utensils and tableware.

  “I don’t think you’re a slut, for fuck’s sake. . . . What are you doing?” Rill asked from behind her, sounding pissed off and bewildered.

  “You think I’m too flagrant, is that it? Well, fine,” she spat viciously. Her hands settled on the handles of an aged pair of gardening sheers. She grabbed a handful of curls above her shoulder and opened the scissors.

  “Jaysus fucking Christ.”

  He grabbed the hand holding the sheers in an iron grip. Katie just moved the hunk of hair over to where the scissors were. Rill cursed lividly and held the wrist gripping her hair, as well. His grip tightened uncomfortably on the hand holding the scissors.

  “Let go of them, Katie, or I swear I’m going to turn you over my knee,” he warned in a low, vibrating, thickly accented voice.

  She jerked extra hard the wrist of the hand holding her hair and broke free.

  “You little . . .” He closed his arms round her, forcing both of her hands down to her sides. She had to let go of her hair, but the scissors were still clutched in her hand a few inches away from her thigh.

  “Drop those fucking scissors,” Rill demanded.

  “No.” She struggled in his hold, but he held her fast, her elbows pinned to her sides. “God, I hate y
ou, Rill Pierce.”

  But it was a lie. The realization that it was she—Katie—she loathed at that moment made her growl in pure frustration. She dropped the scissors to the floor and let her leg muscles go slack. Rill let out a stream of curses as they both toppled off balance. He was so large, and she was so small, however, that he almost immediately righted himself. He swung her into the air and began to walk to the living room with a long-legged stride, Katie’s back pressed to his front and her booted feet flaying the air in front of her.

  “Put me down,” she shouted, but Rill’s anger seemed to even exceed her own. She caught a glimpse of his rigid features and fiery eyes when he hoisted her upper body with his arms and draped her thighs in the crook of his elbow. He sat down on the couch, holding her struggling, squirming body in his lap, one forearm holding her down like a steel bar at her middle back.

  “I don’t believe you,” he grated out furiously as he pushed her skirt up. Cool air tickled her naked thighs. He smacked the bottom curve of a buttock when she tried to slide off the end of his knees onto the floor, and then hauled her back up onto his lap. Her heart beat wildly in her ears in rising anticipation, and sure enough, his palm came down again, smacking her other buttock.

  “Stop it! How dare you,” she squealed when he spanked her again. Her muscles were pulled so tight as she struggled that the smack of skin against skin sounded like gunfire going off in the still room.

  “How dare I? You were going to cut off your fucking hair!” Rill boomed above her. He sounded personally affronted. He made a sound of impatience. Katie went still for a moment when he grabbed both sides of the bikini briefs she was wearing and shoved them into the crack of her ass, exposing her buttocks.

  “No!” she cried out when he held her firmly and raised his left hand. Her entire body tightened as he began to smack her bottom repeatedly. The blows weren’t hard, but they stung. She wiggled beneath his hand at her back, trying to avoid the steady reign of spanks by making her ass a moving target. But Rill didn’t seem to mind; in fact, her desperate squirming seemed to amplify the rate of his spankings.