Cabin 12

by Freya Barker

  “What do you think you’re—”

  The guy had pulled himself up to his full height, which was still short of mine by a few inches, and puffed up his chest. One firm shove against his sternum has him suck up his pompous attitude.

  “Get lost,” I growl, glaring at him from under my frown.

  “I’ll call security,” he sputters.

  “Good. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to hear how you tried to force yourself on a patient.”

  “Jasper...” Bella’s voice sounds from behind me, but I block her out. I’m too busy staring the asshole down.

  The slimeball takes one last look at the bed, and me, before he almost runs out of here.

  “Well, shit.” This from the bed.

  I swing around and take my first good look at her. Her legs are bare. A large bandage is covering her left thigh, which my eyes zoom in on.

  “What the hell, Bella?”

  “It’s nothing,” she says, trying to cover up with the sheet tucked under her, while shooting daggers at me. “Besides, you’re a good one to talk. You look like you were run over by a tank and shot for good measure.” She takes a thorough inventory of my bare torso, where even just the impact of the bullets on my Kevlar vest are showing up in vivid color.

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  “You may not be, but I am. Jesus, Jasper—were you in a gunfight or something?”

  Or something is right. I dig through my pocket to fish out my phone.

  “What are you doing?” she swats at me as I’m scrolling through to find Damian’s number. “Don’t you be calling my brother, Jasper Greene!”

  I grab her hand as it flies by again and hold on tight as I lean in.

  “Then you’d better start talking,” I threaten her without any compunction.

  CHAPTER 2

  BELLA

  “Estás hermosa!”

  A quick glance in the mirror shows my impatient mother sticking her head in the bathroom.

  “Ma—give Kerry a break, will ya? We’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Okay, I’ll be right out here,” Mom answers, leaving the damn door open a crack. I firmly pull it shut and return my focus on the bride.

  I don’t envy Kerry, coming into our family. We are an overwhelming bunch, my mother leading the pack. Damian had done a pretty good job holding Mom and my sisters off during the planning stages—a good thing, since my brother and his bride are going for a simple wedding, and that concept is not within my family’s grasp—but the Gomez women swooped in two days ago to ‘help’ with preparations. Poor Kerry was about to call the whole thing off ten minutes ago, when my mother and oldest sister decided she needed a little ‘fixing’ and started fussing with her hair and makeup. She already looked perfect in her simple soft chiffon wedding dress and loosely gathered hair.

  The moment she tried on that dress, it looked made for her: a fitted bodice with deep V-front, the back edged with lace that continued as wide straps sitting low on her shoulders, and the long skirt—a simple flare of chiffon. Both her best friend, Kim, and I told her she could stop looking.

  When Mom got her first look at the dress this morning, she wanted to know where the sparkles were; that was the first time Kerry was almost in tears. This time, she actually burst out crying when my older sister, Gabriella, started pinning down the loose curls Kerry had wanted framing her face. She was dousing the poor girl in hairspray when she bolted and locked herself in the bathroom.

  For the past ten minutes, I’ve been trying to restore her minimal makeup and relaxed hairdo, while simultaneously attempting to get her to stop crying, but the tears just keep coming.

  “Ignore Ma,” I say to her back, placing my hand on her shoulder. Her head is hanging low and her shoulders are shaking. I’m not sure I’m ever going to get her back together in time for the wedding. “Want me to get Kim?”

  Kerry’s maid of honor is trying to get her son to go down for a nap in the spare bedroom down the hall, while we finish getting ready. I’m already wearing my dove gray dress, similar in cut to Kerry’s wedding dress, except instead of lace and chiffon, the bodice has fabric crisscrossing over the chest and gathered at the shoulders. Oh yeah, and there’s the side slit in the skirt going to mid-thigh, luckily just hiding my newly acquired scar. That is, as long as I’m careful sitting down.

  “No, leave her, I’ll be fine,” Kerry assures me.

  “You sure? It’s no problem.”

  “Positive.” She turns around and I’m surprised to see her grin through her tears. “I’m a mess.”

  “I know, I’m so sorry.” I grab a tissue and blot the tears under her eyes. “My family—”

  “It’s not your family. Well,” she says, after a moment’s hesitation. “It’s not all your family. I was going to tell Damian tonight, but I’m afraid if I don’t tell someone, I’ll go nuts.”

  “What’s wrong?” I’m instantly alerted. God I hope she’s not sick—that would kill my brother.

  “Not wrong, per se. I’m pretty sure it’s a good thing. At least I hope it is.” She nervously wrings her hands, a watery smile playing around her lips, and it dawns on me.

  “Ohmigod! Really?”

  “Shhhh,” she admonishes me, her finger pressed to her lips. “Please, I don’t want your mother announcing it to all the guests before I have a chance to inform the father. And don’t you start crying—you’ll ruin your makeup.”

  “He will be over the moon. I’m so happy for you,” I sniffle, dabbing at my own eyes before folding her in a tight hug.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m walking down the stairs in front of a blushing bride, both of us smiling around our happy secret, when I catch a pair of blue eyes in the group watching our descent.

  Jasper.

  I knew he would be here, since he’s part of the wedding party, but I haven’t seen him since he pulled Dr. LimpDick off me in the hospital ten days ago. He was absent at the rehearsal dinner last night, finishing up a case.

  I’d convinced him I would handle Scott Lipczyk myself, and in return, he’d made me promise to tell my brother about the knife incident myself, or he would—right before a nurse came looking for him. I did tell my brother, albeit a slightly modified version of events—which already had him up in my face about career choices—but I hadn’t really done anything to deal with Scott, other than avoid him. Dealing with his inappropriate advances would create exactly the kind of situation I’d been trying to avoid. Been there and wore the scarlet letter back in Farmington. Not something I’d care to repeat here.

  With everyone’s focus on Kerry behind me, I can feel his eyes glued to me as I self-consciously take the final steps, holding my skirt firmly in place. His gaze travels down the length of me, and I feel fully exposed when his eyes find my hand covering the scar peeking out. The moment my feet hit the hallway tiles, I turn my back and rush into the kitchen, needing a quick drink of water—and an escape.

  Moot, as I discover seconds later, when he is waiting by the back door. I’d forgotten he’s supposed to lead me down the garden path to where my brother is waiting by the edge of the Animas River to marry his bride.

  THE CEREMONY WAS LOVELY, and I swear I saw my brother surreptitiously brush away a tear. Something I will file away for future use, should I need some extra leverage.

  Of course I was back on Jasper’s arm, following the newly married couple back to the house, and just like the walk up the aisle, he was silent. A tad unsettling, since what little I know of him, he never seems at a loss for words. The silence felt ominous.

  I’m reminded of that when I spot him coming out of the house, holding a beer bottle by the neck between two fingers, casually making his way over. I look for an escape but am weighed down by Kim’s little boy, who I offered to watch while his parents dance under the strings of lights covering the roof of the rented canopy tent. Exhausted from the long day, Asher fell asleep on my lap in seconds, his warm cheek pressed against my cleavage. There’s no way I can slin
k away with a sleeping toddler plastered to my boobs.

  “Your scar is showing,” he says, pulling out a chair and sitting down, his back to the dance floor.

  “Shit.” I try to reach around Asher to tug my dress into place, but part of my skirt is wedged underneath his little butt.

  “Lift him up.”

  Fearing my family will make a scene if they see my injury, I do as he orders, but throw in a scathing look for good measure. A blush quickly replaces it, when I feel the surprisingly rough pads of his fingers brush the skin where my thick thighs are pressed together. My body responds immediately, and I’m suddenly grateful for the little boy on my lap, effectively hiding the evidence.

  Damn that man. I mentally scold myself for responding to him the way I do. It’s like it’s genetically ingrained for me to be attracted to this type of guy. Handsome, charming, charismatic, and easily distracted by the next piece of fluff darting in front of his eyes. It’s not healthy.

  “Last thing I expected was to find you sitting here looking like some kind of modern-day Madonna with a child on your lap. I’d figured you’d be partying it up on the dance floor by now.” His raspy voice draws me from my musings, and I’m not quite sure whether to be insulted or flattered right now.

  “And I’m surprised you sat down to join me, I keep looking around to see where you might have left your flavor of the day.”

  Clearly I went with insulted, echoing back what I choose to take as a negative characterization. His eyes go big in his head as he looks around him, appearing confused.

  “Flavor of the day?”

  “Your date? The tall blonde I saw you schmoozing with at dinner?”

  Last thing I expected was the deep belly laugh escaping from his wide smile.

  Jasper

  That’s funny, and not just because only someone of Bella’s short stature would consider Kendra tall, but Neil would probably skin me alive if I just looked like I was coming on to his wife, Kendra.

  Neil James is a fellow IT specialist, except for an independent agency our office has worked with on several occasions in the past. Fellow techie nerds, we’ve become friends over the years, so when he was held up on a case in Boulder and asked me to escort Kendra to the wedding, I didn’t think twice. He and his wife have become family to me: something I haven’t had much of in my life.

  What’s really amusing is the fact I wasn’t the only one being evasive while keeping tabs on Bella. She clearly has been doing her own surveillance of my whereabouts today.

  I’m about to tease her with that knowledge, when a widely smiling Kimeo and her somewhat less expressive husband, Mal, walk up to the table. I’m struck at the similarities between the two women. From behind they could be twins; both sporting long silky brown hair, both rather short in stature, and both looking like absolute knockouts in those formfitting dresses, clinging to their respective lush curves. Mal is a lucky man, and from the way he handles Kim, he knows it too.

  “Look at you,” Kim comments, smiling at Bella. “I’m gonna call you the baby-whisperer. All day we couldn’t get him to settle down, but five minutes on your lap and he’s out like a light.”

  “Story of my life,” Bella jokes, drawing a laugh from Kim, but a long hard stare from me.

  “Here, let me take him.” Mal bends down to scoop his son up in his arms. “We should be heading home. We have a bit of a drive.”

  “You’re not staying at the hotel?” With people coming from out of town, I know Damian blocked off a bunch of rooms and cottages at the Apple Orchard Inn in Hermosa, only two minutes away, so folks don’t have to drive home.

  “As you have witnessed today, Asher is not a great sleeper anywhere other than in his own bed,” Kim points out. “Trust me, the hour and a half drive will be well worth the good night’s rest.”

  “Unless we can leave him with you.” Mal grins at Bella.

  “Normally, I’d be all over that,” I’m surprised to hear her say. “I love babies, but unfortunately I have an early shift tomorrow, so I have to be up and out the door by six thirty.”

  “Ouch. I’m guessing you won’t make it too late either, then?”

  “Too late for that,” I contribute, looking at my watch. “It’s almost midnight now.”

  “Then I’d better grab that dance with my pops before he collapses,” Bella says, getting up. “I haven’t had a chance yet. Too many women standing in line.”

  I’d noticed her father almost nonstop on the dance floor with just about every woman in attendance. The man knows how to dance, unlike yours truly, who was blessed with two left feet. I can hold a rhythm, that’s not the issue, but don’t ask me to make any complicated moves. It’s not pretty.

  I watch her head off in search of her father as I say goodbye to Mal and his family. I sit back to finish my beer, and as I’m taking the last tug, Bella is spinning around in her dad’s arms, and an idea forms.

  When the first strains of Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight” stream from the large speakers beside the DJ I just bribed with a few bills, I walk up behind Bella, who is securely in her dad’s arms. Mr. Gomez senior is as sharp as his son, since he’s already wearing a grin when I approach and easily removes his hold on his daughter, spinning her to face me in the process.

  “My legs are tired, mi hija. You need young legs to hold you up.”

  With that he walks off, leaving Bella momentarily flustered enough for me to step into his spot, curving my arms around her. I ignore the fact her arms are still hanging limply by her side when I start my signature rhythmic swaying moves.

  “Why?” Her softly uttered question is meant rhetorically, given that she is staring off toward the river as she reluctantly moves with me. Her hands come up to rest on my lapels, and aside from the fact you could drive a herd of buffalo between our bodies, she feels good in my arms. I feel inclined to answer her.

  “Because I want to make up for whatever I have done to make you dislike me so much. Nothing more, nothing less.” Those last words come out by rote, but as I’m saying them I know they’re a lie.

  Funny, isn’t it? You have a firm picture of someone in your head, based on...nothing really. An impression based on an experience or comparison that has little to do with the person you’re judging, but everything to do with you.

  The truth is, if I hadn’t assumed Bella was all cover—no content—I would probably have pursued her. The first crack in that mental image I had of her came when I saw her in that hospital bed, not a stitch of makeup, her hair pulled back in a utilitarian ponytail, and those damn sensible white cotton panties. The second came moments later when she begged me not to tell her brother some lunatic had carved her with a knife, because he would hound her until she gave up her job, and she loved her job. The third appeared when she pleaded with the cop, who came to take her statement, not to charge the drunk with assault, explaining her suspicion the man was suffering from hallucinations as a combined result of alcohol and PTSD. Of course a report had to be made, but she was so convincing, the officer listed reckless endangerment, as opposed to straight-up assault.

  The whole hospital incident surprised me enough that she’d been on my mind these past days. And then earlier, when I watched her coming down those stairs, looking like fucking Venus de Milo, all curves and glowing skin, I’d already made up my mind.

  But what really cemented it was watching her from a distance as she settled little Asher on her lap, and sang softly to the boy with her cheek to the top of his head, her eyes trained on the river, much like they are now. If longing had a look, this would be it.

  Of course Bella wouldn’t be Bella if she didn’t come right back swinging.

  “Puleeze. You haven’t given me the impression I’ve been on your speed dial list, Jasper Greene. And besides, where is your date?” she asks, lashing out and doing it with a dramatic roll of her eyes I suddenly find cute instead of incredibly annoying.

  “Touché. However, I have recently come to see the error of my ways when
it comes to you, and my date is actually my friend Neil’s wife, Kendra, whom I am escorting as a favor to her husband, who is held up on the other side of the state.”

  It’s almost comical to see realization settle into embarrassment on her face. She doesn’t say anything, but she does slide her hands up to rest loosely on my shoulders. I’ll take that as a win.

  Still, when the song ends, she is off like a shot, mumbling something about needing to get home. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was running from me. I head off after her—to make sure she’s okay to drive home, or so I tell myself—when her father grabs my arm.

  “She’s a handful, that one. As fiery as she is beautiful. Growing up the youngest in a family of strong-willed people is not always easy. Everybody always knows everything better, does everything better. There isn’t much you can claim as your own and whatever mistakes you ever make become your lifelong burden to carry.” I don’t tell him I wouldn’t know, growing up in foster care, but I’ll take his word for it and nod politely, not quite sure where he’s going with this. “My baby, she picks a career that counters every expectation. My wife, she cried when Damian started working for the FBI, but she was laughing when Bella announced she wanted to be an EMT. She was mortified when she found out our girl was serious, but the damage was done. Ever since, our Bella has worked hard to prove she is good at what she does, but she never talks about it. Not with me, and not with anyone in our family. She’s stubborn, my girl, but she deserves the best.”

  I’m not quite sure what message I just received, as I watch the older man walk away and get swallowed up by his family, but there was a warning in there somewhere.