She picks up her rod and casts out again. “My pleasure, Mr. King.”
We fish, casting in silence, for another half an hour. I bite my tongue. Usually I’d be full of stories, or small talk, or something. But I think she might be wary, and she definitely didn’t like when I was all “alpha,” in her words. I decide to see what she’ll do next. The dusk deepens, and now the inky night cools around us.
What comes next is unexpected, to be sure.
She grabs her gear, tucks her rod into the back of her vest, takes one last drag of her cigarillo. “I’m headed home for the night, I think.” Then she casts a glance around us, back toward the lodge, and leans in and kisses me on the lips.
It’s short, strong, tastes of peppermint and a hint of cigar smoke. Her lips are full and soft and the sensation of her on me charges adrenaline through my lungs, heart, guts, groin. She pushes her lips against my mouth and parts my lips. Her tongue teases mine, and now my blood is jet fuel.
Just as I make the move to drop my fishing rod and take her in my arms, she slips away and jogs up the path toward the parking lot. “Have a good night, Mr. King.”
“And you, Miss Summerlin.” I watch her disappear over the ridge.
I can hear the intake of air when I finally remember to take another breath.
I fish for a while longer. It’s black now, and I strain to see the path as I come back around to the front of our lodge.
I have a passing thought about bears or other predators that might want to eat me, but then I see something across the parking lot that’s a lot more intriguing.
Macy. She stands in front of a little black sedan with its hood popped. The driver’s door is swung wide. She leans over the engine, then stands back up. I can’t hear her, but I bet she’s swearing, despite her best efforts.
I don’t know about divine intervention, but I owe someone for this opportunity.
I leave my fishing gear at the bottom of our steps and stroll over. I call out to her well before I’m close. No sense in surprising her. “Problems?”
She turns around. “I swear, just once, I’d like things to go my way.” She kicks the tire of the car, hard. “Just.” Kicks the tire again. “Once.” She takes hold of the car door and slams it with all she’s got. The car trembles a little.
“But you’re not cursing. That’s impressive.”
“Oh, no, I promise you, I’m thinking a blue streak. Like wash-my-mouth-out-with-a-bar-of-Ivory swearing.”
“Grandmas would be blushing?”
She smiles. “Mothers weeping.”
I wave her over. “Come to our place so I can get my keys. I’ll give you a ride home.”
She frowns. “I can’t. I was just going to run home and let my dogs out. I’ve got to work the front desk tonight. I’m covering a shift.”
“I can run you home. And I can take you back home after your shift.”
“No.”
“Why not? ‘Cause you kissed me?” I wonder. I hope she’s not having second thoughts.
“No. It’s just too much.” She drops the hood and notices the grime on her hands. “You don’t need to drive me all over. That’s more than I’d ask any friend to do for me.” She wipes her hands and looks right at me. “And it’s not because of kissing you. I liked that part.”
“What’s wrong with the car?”
“I think it’s the starter. I replaced the battery not three months ago. I cannot deal with this.”
I pull my phone out. “Let me drive you. I’m a guest, and this is what a guest wants.”
She stands for a minute. I can tell she’s trying to think of another option. The parking lot is empty except for us. The chance that some co-worker comes by to offer her a ride home (and back, for that matter) is slim.
“Come on, Macy. I can give you a ride.” I try to sound as mellow as I can.
She sighs. “Fine. I mean, thank you. I just can’t leave the dogs in for too long.”
I nod. “Let me get the keys.” I point to the Yukon, sitting in front of our lodge.
“Okay.” She picks up all of her stuff and walks to the SUV.
I hustle and get the keys. Andy’s on the couch. The other guys aren’t downstairs.
Andy arches an eyebrow. “Something up?”
“I’m running Macy home. Her car won’t start.” I can’t help it; I can feel the grin bloom on my face.
“Aw, good job Jeremy. Unless this a scheme to get you alone so she can drown you.”
I shake my head. “I think I’m forgiven.”
He turns his attention back to the TV. “Well, good. Now try to stay quiet so you don’t say something that ruins it.”
“You’re lucky you’re my best client. I don’t take that kind of abuse from everybody.”
He waves absently over his shoulder. “Go get her, Tiger.”
I get outside and back to the car. Macy stands there, leaning up against the passenger side. “Ready?”
She nods. “Thanks for this.”
We get in, and she directs me as I pull out of the lodge parking and on to the state highway.
“You don’t drive like a lunatic, do you?” She pulls her feet up underneath her, almost perches on the seat next to me.
“I drive like a Californian, so the answer is relative. In Idaho terms, probably yes. In LA, I’m tame.” I keep my eyes on the road just to prove it to her.
We drive for a while in silence. I try really hard to avoid saying something stupid. Then Macy sits forward a little and points into the distance and sagebrush ahead of us.
“My place is just up there. On the left. You can see the lights of the complex.” She seems nervous, eager to get this little road trip over with. She worries at the lanyard with her house key on it, picking at the seams.
I pull into the parking lot of her apartment complex. It’s non-descript, but not terrible. There’s a dinky little playground off to one side of the big, low building. The whole place is tan, and the vinyl siding buckles in more than one place, but it’s clean, and it reminds me a lot of college housing when I lived on campus.
She points out her front door, and we get out of the car.
As she walks to the door, she looks over her shoulder. “You don’t have to come in.”
“No, I don’t have to.” I hang back, give her the space she needs. I don’t want to press. I haven’t figured out exactly where she stands yet.
She gets her keys out. “I guess I don’t mind if you come in.”
“That’s enthusiastic. I can wait here while you hide the bodies.” I smile, trying to put her ease. She may be the most guarded woman I’ve ever dated (if that’s what we’re doing). And I’ve dated actresses who had a lot, a whole lot, to hide, believe me. She tops those ladies.
“Just give me a second to let the dogs out the back door. They have to go pee before you come in or they’ll pee everywhere from excitement. I never have visitors.”
The prospect of animal bodily fluids slows me down. “I’ll wait here until you give me the all clear.”
She disappears behind the door, and there are sounds of dog barks and whimpers. Then it’s still. Then the door swings open.
“Mr. King.” She has her head down as she steps back to let me by.
“What’s with the shy stuff? And when are you ever going to call me Jeremy?”
“You’re a guest. Never.”
“I’m at your apartment. You kissed me. I think we’re past the pleasantries.”
There’s a howl from the other side of the sliding glass door I can see at the back of her place.
“I have to let them in. They’ll tear the screen off if I don’t.” She trots to the slider and opens it. Two dogs bullet through as soon as their bodies will fit through the crack and make straight for me. “They’re nice. They won’t bite.”
I’m surrounded by dancing furry bodies and the sound of toenails tapping on the linoleum and whining.
“Sit. Pierre and Justin. Sit!” She uses a commanding voice, confid
ent and stern.
The dogs sit quickly, tucking tails.
“Impressive. That’s kind of hot.” I smile at her, but she’s holding the dogs’ attention, her hand up in front of her.
“Stop. Don’t tell me you’re turned on by basic dog training. It’s just too easy to insult you from there.” She takes a step to the dogs and lowers her hand. Both of the dogs lie down, eyes still trained on their mistress.
“A French bulldog and a what, exactly?” I examine the dogs. The French bulldog is black with a fat little neck and wide-set eyes and ears.
The other dog is a mystery. Half-wiry, half-angora-fuzzy brown and white fur, one ear up, the other down, and an under bite that would put Muttley to shame. It looks as though it’s been kicked one too many times and is still waiting for the loose rattle in its brain to settle out.
“He’s a mutt. His name is Justin Trudeau.”
“The prime minister?” I ask.
“He was named Rob Ford, after the mayor of Toronto who did crack and got fired. Both the mayor and my dog may have had some residual brain issues. Then the mayor passed away, and I felt bad, so his name’s Justin Trudeau now.”
“And this one’s Pierre as in Pierre Trudeau?” Pierre and Justin are both statue still, waiting for Macy to put them at ease. I scratch the French bulldog’s ear.
“Yes.”
“What’s with the Canadian leaders of government?”
“I kind of love Canada. Don’t tease me about it.”
This girl completely mystifies me. “Why? What’s so special about it?” I take a breath, about to really give her a hard time, when a teeny, tiny light bulb goes off in my brain. A way in. I’ve been looking for a way in. Who in the hell would figure it was Canada?
“I don’t know. It’s not here. They’ve hosted the Olympics, which is cool. Justin Trudeau does yoga, which is cool for a world leader to do. Toronto seems like a cool city. Mostly, it’s not remotely like Idaho. It’s the anti-Idaho.”
I try to seem disinterested. “Yeah. I see that. I have to say I like Vancouver the best, though.”
She tries to seem disinterested, too, but I can see the last comment light in her eyes. “Why, exactly?”
“Weather’s not as frigid. Better sushi, too.” I go in for the kill. “Andy and I are headed to T.O. after this week, though. His next movie shoots there.” I didn’t even lie—that’s the God’s honest truth, we are shooting in Toronto. This is too easy.
“Really?” She bites her lip, holding herself back. She really, really doesn’t want me to have the upper hand.
I think she was about to say, “That’s so cool.” She just couldn’t bring herself to admit it. And here, here’s where I drop in the bait. “You could visit if you wanted. I like you, you know. You could come see the set.”
Her eyes widen, but then she drops her head and her attention back to her dogs. She nods her head to them, and they spring to their feet. I don’t know what just happened, but I was very close for a second there, and now some shield’s back up in position.
“No passport. But nice offer. Really. You can be nice, I see that. Thanks.”
“I want to try to be more than just nice to you.” I lower my shield, in response to hers going up. Maybe now’s the time for a little honesty.
“What do you mean exactly?” She side-eyes me.
I sit down at her little kitchen table. The odd Justin Trudeau dog springs up into my lap. “I haven’t met a girl like you before. I like you. A lot. As much shit as you give me, you make me smile. I want to make you happy. You seem like you’re overdue for someone to make you happy.”
She’s considering. “I don’t know about that.” She points to the two dog beds in the corner of the room, by the couch. Both dogs immediately rush to the beds, the mutt springing from my lap, and curl up on the beds.
She sits next to me. “You want to make me happy? Right now I’m hungry. Feed me. Take the dogs on a walk with me. That might make me happy.”
It’s a start. “People get passports all the time, you know.”
Instead of smiling, she flinches. Something big hides behind that shield. “I know they do. Change the subject.”
I nod and get up from the table. “Let’s drive back to the lodge. We’ve got loads of groceries. I’ll feed you. We can walk the dogs down along the river after. Then you man the front desk, and I’ll take you home when you’re ready.”
“It’s gonna be really late when I need to come back home. You’d have to dog sit. And the dogs aren’t really allowed on the property.”
“If they’re Andy Pettigrew’s invited guests, they sure as hell are.” I put out a hand.
She stands up, ignoring the hand. “Fine. You’re going to get me fired, you know that? Is that your real mission with me?”
“Just the make-you-happy mission. I promise. Maybe make myself happy in the process. I’m always about the added benefits. Win-win’s never a bad idea.”
I pile the dogs into the giant SUV, and Macy climbs up on the passenger side.
“If it really is the starter, I’m screwed.” She’s texting somebody.
“Why?” Justin is on my lap, looking out the driver side window. I feel something wet and realize he’s resting his tongue on my arm. Not licking, just resting it.
“Because a starter is like eight hundred bucks, and I don’t have that kind of money right now.”
“Put it on a card.”
She snorts, “Yeah, of course. Sorry, Daddy Warbucks, I’ve maxed my cards out, oh, I don’t know, last century.”
“I’ll pay for the fucking starter.”
“Language! And I don’t need your charity, Mr. King. I’m not a pity case.”
She turns her attention to the phone again. “Yeah, see? I’ve got it all figured out.”
“How?” I try to pay attention to her and to the road in front of me—all the sage brush and scrub looks exactly the same to me, and I’m sure as hell not going to get lost when driving a woman. Not a woman I want in my bed.
“Richard, the lodge owner. I offered to lead a couple extra trips in October if he fronts me the money for the starter now. An advance, you know. We’re good.”
“That’s a long way out. You could just borrow the money from me and pay me back by the end of the summer.”
“How? With what? No, you do not answer that, or I’ll probably get really ticked at you for the dumb words falling out of your mouth.” She pokes me on the arm.
I smile, a little because I was about to say something totally bad and a lot because she touched me. I want her hands all over me, to be honest.
The odd drooling under bite-y dog sleeps now, draped over one of my thighs and snoring. I hope that the guys decided on the going into town thing. I want the lodge to myself. I want Macy to myself.
We get back to the lodge, and I park in the lot next to Macy’s dead car, on the side of the main lodge. There’s one car besides hers.
“Damn, Richard’s here tonight. That sucks.” She picks the French bulldog up and tucks him under her arm like a handbag.
“Why? He just did you a solid, lending you the money.”
“Yeah, but he really will be chapped if he sees my dogs on the property. Ernesto usually takes nights. Huh. Hope the twins aren’t sick or anything.”
“The twins?”
“Ernesto’s the night watch guy after eleven weekday nights, when the restaurant closes. He’s got a wife and twins. Little girls.”
I’m about to open my door, but Justin the prime minister dog is still sacked out on my leg. “What am I doing with this guy here? Must have been quite a bender earlier.”
“Just carry him. It’s easier anyway. He likes to run off.”
He’s a sack of potatoes. I scoop him up and carry him football style, scooped into the crook of my arm. We get out of the car.
“Is he dead? He’s not waking up.”
Macy shrugs. “One of the other guides has a theory that Justin’s narcoleptic.”
&
nbsp; “A narcoleptic dog. Interesting. Maybe you’d be doing him a favor if you put him down.”
Macy’s eyes narrow. “You better be joking. Them’s fighting words.”
We walk across the lot to the path to our house. “So you grew up where, exactly? I was going to say around here, but there is ‘no around here’ here.”
She sets Pierre Trudeau down at the foot of our stairs. “I was born in Teton County. Grew up, went to all grades in the same school building, graduated from high school, made the big move to my own little apartment, which you’ve now seen, and started working here. That is my life.”
I carry the weird dog, who is still asleep, up the stairs to the door of the lodge. The lights are off inside. I thank Andy and Tucker and maybe even Todd for not being around and push open the door.
This startles Justin Trudeau. He starts yipping and tries to climb up onto my head.
“Jesus! Macy, your dog!” I pluck him off of me by the scruff of his ugly little neck. I resist the urge to drop kick him outside.
“Justin! Sit. Sit!” She takes him and sets him down on the slate floor. He sits and then flops over, begging forgiveness.
“At least he minds. He’s not going to pee all over the house, is he?” The other dog has already curled up in front of the fireplace.
Justin stays on his back, legs up in the air. Macy snaps her fingers and points to the other dog. Justin springs up and joins his pack mate on the hearth. He goes down into the stay pose and rests his head on his front paws.
“He’ll be asleep in a minute.” The dog already seems to fight to stay awake. Macy’s shoulders loosen. She looks more at ease with the dogs settled.
“Do they need a fire? I could turn the fireplace on.” When did I get so helpful? Plus, these jeans will have to be burned—Mr. Suave Justin Trudeau has left an odd smell on me. I have money, and right now not ever wearing these again is worth whatever money they cost me.
“That’d be nice. It’ll relax them.” Macy twists the bottom of her t-shirt in her fingers. She must be nervous. I like that. Maybe she’ll be more honest if she’s a little off-center.
I stroll over and turn on the gas fireplace. “Looks like ol’ JT’s done for.” His slobbery under bite rests on the back of the other dog, who appears to tolerate him.
Use Somebody Page 8
