A Honeybun and Coffee [Honeybun Hunks Series: Book 1]

by Sam Cheever

  Although she was far from wealthy and just fine about that, Angie was just as far from one of those nature loving types who liked to rough it in the woods, slapping at mosquitoes and stomping snakes. No bleepin’ thank you.

  She stood back and watched as Alastair dug around under a rock looking for the key. “That's so original,” she remarked grumpily. Jaws wriggled to get down and she placed his tiny feet carefully on the ground. “Be careful now, little guy, the critters around here probably bite back."

  He sneezed and wagged his tail, looking at her through soft, adoring brown eyes. Then he whipped around and took off barking at something. Angie's gaze followed him anxiously. “Will he be all right?"

  Alastair turned and whistled. “He'll be back. He rousted a den of bunnies last summer and he never forgets. As soon as he sees that they're gone he'll come back."

  Angie nodded and followed Alastair into the little cabin. Although it had a slightly musty smell it was clean and well kept. The single room sported a double sized bed and a small, scarred wooden dresser on one wall, with a fireplace directly opposite. The long wall opposite the door held some cabinets, a counter with a sink, a stove, and a refrigerator. The window above the sink overlooked a small lake. A round table with four chairs completed the kitchen area.

  The floors were dark, rough wood planks with enough “character” to suit the most rustic inhabitant and were dotted with brightly colored rag rugs. “Cute.” Said Angie in a mostly sincere tone. “Whose is it?"

  Alastair dropped his keys on the table and headed for the refrigerator, opening it hopefully. “A friend of mine. We come here every year to fish. The fishing down on that lake is the best in the area. Halleluiah!"

  Angie jumped, “What?"

  Alastair held up two icy brown bottles, “There's beer."

  Angie licked her lips, smiling for the first time since climbing out of the car. “There definitely is a god."

  Angie took a freshly opened bottle from Alistair and dropped onto a small couch in front of the cold fireplace. She took a long swig of the beer and kicked off her shoes. “God that tastes good."

  Alastair slumped down next to her and, closing his eyes on a sigh, dropped his head to the back of the couch. Angie tried to ignore the way his long, muscular thigh touched hers. She turned on the couch to examine him while he wasn't looking.

  His cheeks were pale under yesterday's stubble and the thick fringe of dark red lashes. His upper lip glistened a bit with sweat. The telltale redness around his nose reminded her that he was sick, though he'd all but forgotten to wallow in it since they'd been running from the thugs. His long arms dropped wearily toward his lap, one big hand resting on his knee and the other clutching the bottle like a lifeline. His legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. He wore brown leather boots that zipped up the inside and were scuffed and worn looking as if he'd had them for a while. His jeans were faded and had a fashionable tear on each knee. His t-shirt was black, with a few small bleach spots on the edge of the sleeve closest to her. Angie licked her lips again and, this time, it had nothing to do with the beer.

  He lifted his head and the bottle at the same time and Angie jerked her head away guiltily. “So what's next?” She asked the question more for something to fill the silence between them than because she really wanted to know. She was strangely content to sit there on that couch for the moment and sip icy cold beer with him.

  The door, which Alastair had left unlatched but pushed mostly closed, shoved inward and a tiny, black and brown head bobbed through it. Jaws pattered across the space and jumped up into Alastair's lap. He kissed Alastair's nose and wagged his butt happily. “Did you get ‘em buddy?” Alistair chuckled and looked at his watch. “We fix dinner."

  Angie jerked as if stung. “Huh?"

  Alastair stared at her for a moment, then gave her a long, slow grin that made her all warm and tingly. “That's what we do next."

  "Oh.” She looked down at the beer in her hand, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious.

  Alastair sneezed three times and pulled a hanky out of his jeans pocket. Wiping his nose and sounding nasally from the sneezes, he transplanted Jaws onto her lap and stood up. “I'll be back in about a half hour. Keep the door locked."

  Angie's eyes grew wide with alarm. “What? No. Where are you going?"

  "To the store, we have no food."

  She frowned. “Oh yeah, but I don't want to stay here alone."

  He smiled again and picked up his keys from the table. “You're not alone. You have Jaws."

  He sauntered out of the cabin and she sat there listening as he started up the rental and pulled down the stone drive. Her mind immediately started racing with scenes of thugs and kidnappings and the criminal possibilities of stashing bodies on the bottom of the small lake outside the cabin. Her palms started itching in alarm. She needed to do something to occupy her mind and squelch her fertile imagination. She got up and set to work making the cabin as comfortable as possible.

  When Alastair returned forty five minutes later there was a fire roaring in the fireplace, the table was set for two, candles flickered from several spots throughout the small space, and scratchy musical tones wafted around the room from an ancient AM/FM radio she'd unearthed from the scarred, old dresser.

  He smiled.

  Angie met him with another cold beer and took the grocery bag from him. “What'd you get?"

  Tilapia fillets, twice baked potatoes, and fresh green beans."

  Angie tried to keep her face neutral but he noticed the slight grimace at mention of fish. “You don't like fish."

  She smiled at him. “It's not that I don't like fish. It's just that I wish it tasted more like chicken."

  He laughed. Following her into the kitchen he grabbed the package of fish off the top of the bag. “One chicken flavored Tilapia fillet dinner coming up."

  Angie smiled and boosted herself onto the counter to watch him work. She'd always appreciated a man who knew his way around a kitchen. She sipped her beer and felt herself relaxing for the first time all day.

  He put the potatoes into the oven and started preparing the fillets. When the fish was prepped he set the pan aside and starting lopping the ends off the green beans. Then he rinsed the beans, dropped them into a sauce pan, and added chicken broth, diced ham, and assorted flavorings to the pan. He covered the beans and turned the heat on under them.

  He grabbed his beer and went into the living area of the cabin. “Do you mind if I put the news on?"

  Angie shook her head and slipped off the counter to silence the battered old radio. “The scratchiness of this fine radio was giving me a headache anyway.” She joined him on the couch and shifted so she could prop her feet on the scarred leather ottoman and stare at the fire. She felt herself dozing off after only a minute or two.

  "Holy shit!"

  She jerked upright, nearly dropping her bottle of beer. “What? Did they find us? Are they here?"

  Alastair placed a warm hand on her knee and jerked his head toward the small TV. She followed his gaze and felt a jolt of recognition at the face on the screen. “Hey, that's..."

  "Shhhh!” Alastair turned the volume up and the wobbly voice of the old woman from the cab filled the room. “I was just sitting there waiting for my nephew and these two young people jumped into the cab and started yelling at me."

  The news babe looked appropriately sympathetic as she said, “How awful for you. Can you describe your kidnappers?"

  "Kidnappers!"

  "Shhhh!"

  The old woman's head started bobbing. “One of them was really small, about ten pounds I'd say, and had large brown eyes and big floppy ears."

  Jaws cocked his tiny head at the television.

  The news babe looked appropriately perplexed and turned away to accost someone else. “Excuse me, sir, are you the victim's nephew?"

  "Victim!"

  "Shhhh!"

  A middle aged man with thinning brown hair grimaced at the c
amera. “I told her to stay in the back seat but she likes to play with the buttons.” He sort of tried to smile but it really just looked like another grimace. He obviously thought the “kidnapping” had been all his fault.

  The news babe rescued him. “But in this case it was a good thing she did push a few buttons wasn't it?"

  The man nodded and pointed needlessly to the cab. “She pressed the camera I had installed on my dash for security and got a picture of the kidnappers.

  A dark, grainy photo flashed across the television screen and there they were, looking wild and desperate and a little like those big eyed dogs and cats you see on greeting cards. “Holy shit!” Angie moaned and dropped her head into her hands.

  The news babe's perfectly made up and appropriately disgusted face returned to the screen to announce that the police were following up on the photo and that they were offering a reward for information on the kidnappers, who were considered dangerous, but not necessarily armed.

  Alastair flopped back into the couch and ran a hand over his face. “So much for calling the police to get some help."

  Angie groaned. “Alastair, we're wanted criminals."

  He sighed and pulled Jaws back onto his lap. “At least they didn't get a picture of Jaws. He can stay with my brother while I'm in prison."

  Angie shook her head. “No, he'll go to prison too. The old lady gave them his description."

  This was too much. They burst into hysterical laughter and didn't stop until the timer for the potatoes dinged and forced them back into the kitchen.

  * * * *

  * * * *

  "This does sort of taste like chicken.” Angie told him, surprise in her voice. “You're good."

  Alastair grinned at her. “I have to admit you stretched my abilities with that request. I'm glad you like it."

  Angie nodded. “We need to have a plan you know."

  Alastair swallowed his last bite of fish and wiped his mouth. Standing up he carried their plates into the kitchen. Angie got up to help him.

  "Well, the first thing we need to do is call work and tell them we won't be in for a few days.” He looked at Angie. “That's going to be a bit more complicated for you I'm afraid."

  Angie frowned and nodded. “I'll tell Petey to call a few people. I'll have to promise him a manager's bonus for covering for me.” Angie looked up and smiled, “He's very ambitious for a nineteen year old."

  Alastair laughed, “A kid after my own heart."

  They worked in silence for a few moments, lost in their own thoughts. Alastair washed and rinsed the dishes and handed them to Angie to dry. She managed to find a spot in the cabinets for each of their dishes.

  Angie finally broke the silence. “Have you had any luck remembering what you might have seen that would make the thugs come after you?"

  He shook his head. “I've gone over it and over it in my head. I can't come up with anything."

  Angie placed the last glass in the cupboard. “Okay, let's go over everything you've done over the last two weeks. I doubt it happened longer ago than that."

  Alastair nodded and grabbed two more bottles of beer out of the refrigerator. They sat down at the table again, across from each other.

  "Okay, weekend before last."

  Alastair thought about it. “I got up on Saturday morning, did a couple of hours of work, then cleaned up and took my car to get the oil changed."

  Angie picked at the label on her beer bottle. “Then what?"

  "I grabbed some lunch..."

  "Where?"

  He looked sheepish. “Actually I met some friends at Hooters."

  "Very classy."

  Alastair shrugged, “They love the place, they force me to go there at least once or twice a month."

  Angie grinned. “They force you?"

  He grinned back, “Kicking and screaming."

  "Mmm hmm."

  "No really, I hate the place. Those women don't turn me on in the least."

  "They don't?"

  He shook his head and the ghost of a smile sat on his lips. “No way. I prefer my women flat chested and ugly."

  She smacked his arm. “Ass."

  He laughed.

  They did a painstaking inventory of each and every day, going over every encounter, every interaction, until they reached Saturday night of the previous weekend.

  "We went to The Rock, that new sports bar on East and 21st. You know the place?"

  Angie nodded. She knew of it but had never been there.

  "I really didn't want to be there. I've been feeling ... I don't know ... dissatisfied with the single male lifestyle lately. It feels so ... desperate I guess.” He shook his head and scraped at the label on his beer bottle. Between the two of them they'd amassed an impressive pile of label scraps and naked bottles.

  "I know what you mean.” Angie offered, liking him better because of the obviously painful admission. “I used to go out with my friends on weekends too. But they were so frantic for attention, and it was all the wrong kind of attention. I finally gave it up for work. At least I know what to expect there and I'm not in danger of getting date raped, or worse."

  They sat in morose silence for a few beats before Angie remembered what they were trying to do. She looked up, “so did anything happen that night that you can remember?"

  He shook his head and took another swig. “We sat and drank for a couple of hours, then my buddies started hitting on a couple of girls who were playing pool and I thought about leaving. I actually almost did leave in fact but then..."

  His eyes widened and he slammed the beer bottle down on the table.

  Angie jumped and Jaws gave a startled bark from his cozy spot on the couch nearest the fire. “What?"

  "There was this girl.” Alastair's beer drenched brain tried to conjure up the girl's appearance. “I think she had dark hair. She was really plastered. And then she passed out. I was gonna catch her..."

  Angie felt the small hairs on the back of her neck standing up at attention. “And?"

  He turned startled blue eyes on her. “A big guy caught her and carried her out of the bar."

  "Did he look like one of our thugs?"

  Alastair shook his head. “No. This guy had blond hair and about a seventy two inch chest. He was probably six foot four or close to it."

  Disappointment swamped her. “Well, that was close. I thought we had them there for a minute."

  Alastair grabbed her hand. “Don't give up on that one yet, Angie. You said you heard the thugs talking about some girl. Whoever these thugs work for there must be more of them. Who says it couldn't have been a different thug from the same organization?"

  She nodded but was less convinced apparently than he was. “Maybe."

  They sat looking at each other for a few more minutes and then finally Angie said, “I really need a shower and some sleep."

  "Me too. You can go first."

  Angie stood up and headed toward the bathroom.

  "Hey Angie?"

  She stopped, turned. “Yeah?"

  He held something out to her. “You'll probably swim in it, but at least it's clean."

  She smiled gratefully and took the flannel shirt he held out to her. “Where'd you get this?.” They'd had to leave the bag Alastair packed behind when they'd run from Cinnamon's house.

  "I picked up a few things in town. I would have gotten you something too but I had no idea what you like ... or what your stats were.” He grinned at her.

  "Oh, okay, thanks.” She closed the bathroom door and leaned against it for a few beats, smiling. Her life might be a mixed up mess of screw-ups and missed chances, but despite the drama of her current situation, she couldn't help feeling that something was just right about her and Alastair Honeybun being there together. Then she wrinkled her nose with disgust. Who the hell names their kid Alastair Honeybun?

  Sighing with exhaustion, she headed for the shower.

  She was warmly cocooned in the bed when Alastair emerged from the shower. Jaws w
as tucked up next to her, lying full length along her side with his sweet little face on her shoulder. He was snoring softly.

  Alastair was wearing a clean, white t-shirt and the bottoms to the flannel pjs she was half wearing. He was rubbing a towel energetically over his red hair, drying it into bristly spikes on his head, military style. The hair was so short on his well shaped head that just the brisk rubbing with the towel appeared to have dried it completely.

  He threw the damp towel over the back of one of the kitchen chairs and headed for the couch. “Sweet dreams."

  Angie realized he intended to sleep on the tiny couch. Seconds earlier she had been struggling with the idea that he would join her on the bed. Now she was feeling anxious about him sleeping on the couch. She was an emotional train wreck.

  Alastair extinguished the lamp next to the couch and the room fell into relative darkness, lit only by the flickering amber light of the fire. The soft crackling sounds of the wood in the fireplace made the room feel cozy and safe.

  Angie fought against lethargy and mentally pounded herself for her reluctance to invite him into the bed. He didn't deserve to be scrunched onto that tiny couch all night. He was just being a gentleman. A truly superior trait that Angie had seen much too little of from the men she'd encountered during the paltry span of her dating experience. And being a gentlemen of apparently the highest order, why shouldn't he sleep in the bed and be comfortable. She was comfortable in the bed.

  She bit her bottom lip.

  Weakness was an alien emotion to her. She had always despised weakness and had spent a lifetime stiffening her spine and forging onward through whatever pain life dealt her. But there she was dithering pitifully over whether to invite a really great guy, whose presence on the couch proved he had class, to share the bed with her. It wasn't as if she was going to let him ravish her. Although the idea did have merit. She smiled in the dark. It was just sleeping. Sleeping was totally innocent. She forcefully pushed away all thoughts of how warm he would be and how good he'd feel stretched out on the small bed next to her.

  Damn! You stop those nasty thoughts right now Angie Marie Peterson. That's the entire trouble here. You have the mind of a street walker and the experience of a nun. And now poor Alastair has to pay the price because you're afraid you won't be able to control yourself.