I think about Chet and what he told me earlier this evening. His best friend sounded very important to him, and obviously, Davis and Harper had enough faith in Chet to leave their three sons to him. Family is what we make of it, be it blood or not. In my case, I want to reconnect with my sisters. In Chet’s, his family is a group of boys relying on him, plus Maura and Savannah.
“Then let’s begin.” Naomi suggests we simply dance around the flames. “It can be very freeing. Just let that negative energy release.”
This sounds easier said than done. I’d like to be free of so many things—mainly a secret that wasn’t mine—but I keep it tucked away. It’s the first thing I would let go of if I could. Would it be wrong to share the truth with my sisters? What harm would it bring to be honest?
“Let the rhythm of the fire guide you.” Naomi interrupts my thoughts. With my arms swinging like elephant trunks, I feel ridiculous. At first, I only walk, following her lead. She starts to skip and twist in an intricate dance that seems practiced and perfected, but I can’t seem to loosen up. As I watch my sister before me, her dance appears freeing, elegant even. To be so lighthearted. To be so confident. Confidence is sometimes a façade and takes practice to own. Naomi, however, is not faking her strength. She’s comfortable in her own skin, as she is. I’d love to be that open and strong.
I glance behind me at our middle sister. Beverly cannot possibly maneuver the way Naomi does, and it feels almost insensitive to encourage her to follow our youngest sister’s lead. However, Beverly gives it her all, moving in measured steps around the flames. I wish I had her strength, her courage. She’s braver than I’d given her credit for in the past.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I see we have an audience tucked into the darkness. Nathan watches in wonder as his wife moves around the softening fire, but Jedd struggles. His hand fists near his pocket as he watches Beverly. With the tip of my head, I signal him. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he can’t stand to watch her stumble. He’ll give her space, but if he can offer his body for her to lean on, he’s there for her.
Both my sisters are fortunate to have a partner. A true love match.
We circle the flames once more before Beverly stops and Jedd’s at her side. He slips his leg between hers as if entwining them like a three-legged creature. Slowly, he canters them around the fire. Nathan moves closer but keeps his distance, allowing his wife her moment.
I halt when I see one more figure lurking in the shadows. Breaking from the circle, I step toward the darkness.
“Chet,” I whisper, surprised he’s still here. Earlier, he said goodbye to everyone, including me. He looks left as if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing, and I step closer to him, slipping into the shadows away from the warm fire. “What are you still doing here?”
“Jedd invited me to the house for another beer, and Nathan spilled about what you women were doing. Curiosity got the best of me.”
“I’m not much of a spiritual dancer,” I admit, sheepish about my lacking ability, waning confidence, and pitiful courage.
“I’m not much of a dancer, period,” Chet states. We both watch as Jedd escorts Beverly around the bonfire, and Nathan intercepts Naomi, joining her in her intricate dance.
“You mentioned tonight is a celebration of the dead. You thinking about your man?” Chet’s lips twist after asking as if hesitant to ask and equally uncertain he wants an answer.
“Karl was my husband, and I won’t speak ill of him tonight, but our marriage wasn’t what one would consider equitable.” Unfortunately, Karl’s been on my mind too much tonight, and I’d like to let him go a bit. I suppose that’s a part of Naomi’s ritual. Releasing the spirit, the memories, and setting them free.
“Ever gonna tell me more about him and his phallic symbol prejudice?” Chet chuckles softly.
“Nope.” I smile myself. Why does Chet even care, and why did I offer that little bit of Karl to him anyway?
“Maybe someday,” Chet teases, and again, I wonder why it matters. This man turns me upside down. “For now, want to dance?”
“Here?” I stammer, glancing around the shadowy darkness surrounding us. “You just said you weren’t much of a dancer.”
Chet looks around as if searching for something. “No one here to see,” he teases. “We can make this our secret.”
Our secret? Not his. Not mine. Us together. But I’ve been a keeper of secrets for a long time and I’m not certain I have room in my heart for more.
“And we wouldn’t want people to see us, would we?” I retort, recalling our earlier conversation.
“Don’t pretend you’d want people to know what we’ve done.” His rough voice drops, and I bite my cheek.
“Well, I wouldn’t be announcing it in the Piggly Wiggly,” I snark, but I’m not ashamed I had sex with him. Maybe he’s embarrassed? Maybe he doesn’t want to be seen with me? We seem to have come full circle to earlier this evening.
“If I keep you a secret, it’s because I want someone only for me,” I admit again, lowering my eyes as the truth seems easier to say in the dark. Chet steps closer to me, cupping my jaw tenderly in his big paw.
“Give me that secret, darlin’. What do you mean?”
“I wish I could explain it.” Which I can, but I won’t because the revelation would be too much. “I don’t know what we’re doing, but I like you.”
I swallow at the heavy truth clogging my throat as I admit more than I should. He’s complex and complicated but there’s something I really like about him, and it’s not just the way my body reacts to his touch. He isn’t afraid to call me out. And I find I’m sensitive to his thoughts of me. I don’t want him to think I’m . . . mean.
I’m honest and straightforward, but I also have my reasons for being that way. Mask in place, Scotia. Speak before spoken about. If I reject others, they can’t reject me first.
“I like you when you’re truthful with me,” he whispers, curling his finger over my ear to brush back the loose hair near my face. “When you’re real.”
“What are we doing with each other?” I whisper. It’s an honest question. Are we just hooking up, filling a need in each other? Or could we be something more to one another?
“For now, we’re dancing.” He’s a large man, but he takes my hand, pulling me into him. I raise my arm to set my other hand on his shoulder. We don’t dance as much as we sway. He holds me close, and I rest my body against his. It’s nice to be held.
“I like you best like this,” I murmur, thinking he can’t possibly hear me as my cheek lays near his thumping heart.
“I like you best, darlin’.” He leaves the statement without a modifier, making me fill in the blanks with hope.
Chapter 15
A Game of Cat and Mouse
[Scotia]
The next night, I find myself at The Fugitive.
“Heard you’re having a party,” I said to Chet the night before. “My invitation got lost in the mail.”
“The party is all Todd’s thing. But after your first visit to The Fugitive, I didn’t think you’d want to come back,” he stated, reminding me of my behavior toward his patron and shock at his home.
“I’d like a second chance for first impressions,” I whispered. He didn’t answer, only kissed me. It was soft and sweet and too short, but we were standing in the shadows of the barn by then. The bonfire dance was over, and the night was ending.
We sisters arrive in tandem, and it’s obvious the crowd does not know what to make of three grown-ass middle-aged women dressed in tight, gray clothing with dark sunglasses. Beverly found us these onesie-style costumes, complete with mouse ears on a hood and a long tail near the backside.
“Are we getting robbed?” one biker jokes before lifting his mug of beer.
“I think we’re being punked,” another states, leaning back in his chair, getting comfortable like he’s about to watch a show.
“Maybe they’re strippers,” a smoke-roughened voice c
alls out from a corner, and I’m ready to take my tail and turn around when Nathan saunters up to Naomi, and announces, “This little mouse belongs to me.”
Jedd isn’t far behind, wrapping his arm around Beverly and stating, “And this mouse is mine.”
My heart drops as there’s no one to claim me, and for some stupid reason, tears prickle my eyes until a hand takes mine, and I turn my head.
“And I’m wedging bets on this one.” Todd Ryder wears a bright yellow, cheese-wedge shape on his head like a Wisconsin fan, and I laugh despite the desire to cry.
“You are too kind, sir,” I drawl. He lifts my fingers to kiss my knuckles. The gesture is sweet and unnecessary, but I’m also so grateful for Nathan’s older brother being here, humoring me. He’s a nice-looking man, broader and stockier than his brother, earning him a biker name of Toad when he’s anything but one. With solid silver hair and a sprinkling of facial hair plus beautiful blue eyes, he’s lovely, but his cheesy-ness doesn’t cut it for this mouse. Still, he’s charming, and I’m thankful he escorts me to a table where the others are seated.
I don’t want to look around for Chet . . . Big Poppy . . . but my eyes drift.
“Who’re you looking for, sweetheart?” Todd asks me, and I snap my attention back to the table. He winks.
“Just taking in the scenery,” I say, holding his gaze a second. His eyes really are a brilliant blue, but I’m not getting lost in them as I desire midnight orbs that are clearly not present.
After my quick scan, I see we really do look ridiculous in our costumes. The body-hugging material is all sexy mouse among some cool cats. The attire isn’t something my curvy, prefers-loose-fitting, makes-her-own-clothing sister typically wears. I remember last Halloween when she made an exception to her clothing selection for a Jack Skellington costume. That’s a story in and of itself. On the other hand, Beverly’s always been angular, so something formfitting actually hangs a bit loose on her body. My physique is in between theirs with a more athletic build, but I’m not comfortable with the curve-hugging shape of this light fleece material nor the mouse-ear hood on my head.
“What’s this?” The loud, rugged tone has me turning my head to find Chet standing behind me. In a waffle-fabric Henley and dark jeans, I’m assuming his costume is night-off lumberjack.
“Big Poppy, take a seat,” Jedd offers like they are old friends. Somehow, they are, but I don’t remember the particulars.
“Seems the table’s full,” he states, noting the six chairs around the circular wood. His eyes narrow when he lands on me, and Todd quickly stands.
“Take my seat, boss,” my cheese-man suggests, tugging the wedge off his head and pushing it into Big Poppy’s chest. Big Poppy snorts, grabbing the foam hat in his hands.
“I’m not wearing this damn fool thing,” he states and then does a double take at the attire of the women at the table. Repeating himself, he snides, “What’s this?”
“We were told it was a Halloween party,” Naomi defends, her eyes shifting to Nathan.
“It is,” Big Poppy states. I scan the room again, realizing the only people dressed in costume are women in devil outfits or skimpy dirndls as if it’s an Oktoberfest. One man wears fake eyeglasses with a false mustache attached, and another has a pirate hat on his head with a patch covering his eye, but for the most part, the rest look like bikers. I don’t think it’s an act.
“We thought that meant costumes,” Beverly clarifies. Her voice is quiet while Jedd wraps an arm around her and says something in her ear to make her blush.
Pushing back the hood with ears from my head does nothing to conceal that we are the only people wearing true disguises, and I feel ridiculous.
“As your costume must be a barkeep, get me a drink. I’ll take a chocolate martini neat.” I slap my hand on the tabletop for emphasis. I’m not certain if I’m allowed to recognize Chet as Big Poppy or anyone for that manner. Do we pretend we don’t know one another as anything more than casual acquaintances? Or can I announce to this bar that I slept with him and I’d really like to sleep with him again?
“I’m not a fucking beer wench, and we don’t sell martinis. This isn’t the Omni Hotel,” Big Poppy states, glaring down at me, reminding us both of the hotel where we met.
Uh-oh. Big Poppy is grumpy again.
“It’s Halloween. You must have something chocolaty sweet,” I say, noting his tall stature towering behind me.
“We’ve got whiskey and more whiskey. That’s our sweet,” he states, looking at me. With those dark eyes lasered in on me, I want to twist in this seat, climb his body, and hate-kiss the crap out of those pouty lips. He’s oil and vinegar tonight and I want that sweet dill I know he can be.
My fingers clutch at the back of the chair, and I push myself out of the seat to stand. “Perhaps Todd can help me figure out something,” I say. I hardly take one step around Big Poppy before his hand wraps around my upper arm to halt me.
“Todd won’t be wedging his cheese anywhere near you,” he grunts. Somewhere nearby, I hear, “Oh my.”
“I’m not looking for cheese. I want something smooth and velvety chocolate against my tongue.” I lick the front of my teeth and twist out of Big Poppy’s clutches. Sauntering to the bar, I catch Todd’s eyes.
“Whatcha need, sweetheart?” He teases me with another wink, and I sense Big Poppy’s presence behind me.
“She doesn’t need anything,” the gruff voice at my back mutters.
“I’d like a chocolate martini,” I say, my voice louder than necessary. I glance right, and a man on a barstool looks me up and down. I give him a fake smile. He grins back seductively, and mine becomes more genuine. It’s nice to be smiled at in an appreciative manner. He’s nice-looking, too, despite his dark clothing and leather vest.
“We don’t make chocolate froufrou drinks,” Big Poppy says, standing close behind me. The heat of his chest radiates toward my spine, but I ignore his nearness.
“Let me see what I can do,” Todd offers, dismissing his boss and turning for the wall of alcohol opposite the bar top.
“You are pushing my buttons, lady,” Big Poppy whispers at my ear. Without conscious thought, I press my tush backward, hoping to land close to my intended target despite him being taller than me. I’ll give him a button to push. A firm hand comes to my hip, stilling me.
“That button?” I drawl, gazing over my shoulder and up at him. He bites the corner of his lip, trying to keep up the glare but failing just a bit.
“Do not flirt with other men in my bar,” he mutters. “And don’t count on Todd to fill any need you have, either.”
I’m not flirting with anyone, but his demand has me wondering . . . is he jealous?
A glass taps on the bar top, and I turn my attention back to Todd to find something light brown with a thick white foam and a drizzle of chocolate over the top. Reaching for the glass, I lift, sip, and lick my lips.
“Delicious,” I purr, making eye contact with the man to my right after I take my first drink.
“You sure you’re a mouse, lady? Because you look like a pleased pu—”
“You watch your mouth, Striker,” Big Poppy warns before he finishes, and the man on the barstool chuckles softly before returning his attention to the television behind the bar.
I take another sip of the chocolatey concoction Todd made and shift as best as I can, placing the bar at my back and a giant of a man at my front.
“What are you playing at tonight, Scotia?”
“What are you playing at, Big Poppy?” I don’t know my place here, and I’m not comfortable without control.
“You look ridiculous,” he states as his eyes drift down the length of the zipper, from neck to crotch and back up. I’d be lying if I said it hurt a little that his body scan was not appraising but appalled. Then his eyes meet mine, and the heat in them is molten steel. My insides do a little dance.
“She looks pretty good to me,” the man named Striker interjects. “I’d chase her.” His
throat rumbles, rawring in my direction. My body shivers. Is he flirting with me? Attempting to meet his eyes, I see he’s egging on Big Poppy, but I don’t fully understand why.
I use my best Southern drawl to say, “Thank you, darlin’.” Then, take another sip of my liquid chocolate heaven. Oh my, that is delicious.
Big Poppy sets a hand on the bar. His large arm acts as a barrier between Striker and me. His big body leans forward, crowding my space even more.
“I’ve got you trapped,” he warns me.
“What if I don’t want to be caught?” I say, dropping my eyes and noticing he’s still holding the foam cheese hat in his hand. He tosses the headpiece behind the bar where Todd catches it and chuckles. It’s a lie, though. I don’t want him to toy with me. I want him to catch me. Instead, he presses off the bar top and glares at me. Holding his gaze, I take one more chocolate sip, toying with him.
“Good thing I’m not interested in chasing,” he states. His meaning becomes clear. Despite our tender moments last night, he isn’t playing tonight.
He glances up, nods at Todd, and then takes a step to the side. “Behave,” he mutters as he pats Striker on his shoulder, passing him before he disappears into the pool room where I know there’s a door leading outside. He’s not interested in cat and mouse tonight, and my heart plummets to my belly.
“Sometimes, big cats are too dumb to realize they’re running in the wrong direction,” Striker states beside me, tipping up an eyebrow and nodding in Big Poppy’s retreating direction.
“Seeing as I don’t like to be toyed with, I guess it’s for the best,” I state half-heartedly. I’ve been ensnared by one Chester Chesterfield. I’ve fallen for his alter ego, Chet, who adores six boys in a house once his. But I don’t need to get caught up in Big Poppy and whatever game he’s playing with me.
Love in a Pickle: A Silver Fox Small Town Romance (Green Valley Library Book 9) Page 12
