by Lena North
That hope was thwarted immediately.
“Annie!” Wilders called out. “Come and meet my friends.”
I thought frantically about something to say or do which would allow me to walk away but couldn’t come up with anything that wouldn’t be incredibly rude, so I started walking toward them. The time to share a few more secrets than I'd initially planned had apparently come.
“This is Snow,” Wilder said and indicated the slim girl next to her. “You met her cousin, Olly, when you got here.”
“Hey, Snow,” I said. “I’m Annie.”
“Annie works with Andy,” Wilder clarified.
“I work in the stables,” I clarified even further. “Although –”
“Jamie!” Wilder cheered. “You haven’t been around since forever.”
I turned slowly and looked at the tall, lanky man stepping out of the car. His dreads were auburn instead of brown, and his eyes sharp, although not the way his cousin Domenico’s were. I knew who this was – James Jamieson, another one of the geniuses.
“Wild girl,” he said. “Some of us work for a living and don’t have time to socialize.”
“Pooh,” Wilder said, dismissing his job at one of the hospitals in downtown Prosper with a wave of her hand. “This is Annie,” she added and extended the wave to include me.
“Hey,” I said quietly.
“Hey, Annie,” Jamie said, smiled politely at me, and turned toward Wilder. “Snowy-snow promised dinner.”
“Mac’s out back, manning the grill,” Wilder said. “Will you eat with us, Annie?”
“Thanks, but I had a late lunch and have to do a few things,” I said. “I’ll grab something later.”
“You’re sure?” she pushed.
Since it wasn’t uncommon for anyone who felt like it to join her and Mac for dinner, I’d hung out on their back porch with a group of others a few times, but I had absolutely no desire to spend the day with Olly’s cousin, or Jamie Jamieson for that matter.
“I'm sure,” I said and glanced quickly at the other two. “It was nice meeting you,” I murmured, and forced myself to walk away slowly.
They were laughing when they entered the house, sounding happy and carefree. I knew all about the problems they were facing and wondered how they could ignore it so thoroughly. Then I started up my computer, answered emails and messages from my family, and kicked off a few programs which would run routines I’d designed to search for the snippets of information the net was so full of. Everything I found was kept in a database, but I liked writing things down, so I also collected everything in a color-coded binder. Blue meant information about Norton and the heritage they had, yellow was for the things I’d found out about the Ophidians and how they smuggled drugs into our country, and red was for the research program Jamie and several other geniuses had been involved in. Even though I wrote it in a kind of shorthand I'd created, it was getting thick.
I didn’t feel like cooking something in the tiny galley-style kitchenette in my loft and decided to leave the ranch and get a burger in one of the restaurants half way down to Prosper. I’d put my helmet on, and was adjusting my thick brown braid when another vehicle came up to the ranch. Domenico got out, glanced over at me and moved toward the house but Olly stayed by the car. When he took a step toward me, I unfroze, raised a hand in a casual greeting and got on the bike. My shaking hands managed to start up the engine and without looking at him again, I roared out of there.
It wasn’t such a surprise he was back, I thought. Everything would be okay, I just needed some time to calm down and plan my next steps.
Leaving the ranch had been unplanned, but I was pretty sure it was safe for me to cruise around, so I did for a while, and was looking for somewhere to eat when a small sign indicated that someone apparently had a barbecue. There were several cars outside the low sprawling farm-style wooden house. It looked inviting, and I was hungry.
“Hey there,” the man greeted me in a deep and friendly voice. “Hungry?”
“Yes,” I said. “You’re Carson.”
My voice went up in a ridiculous squeal because I’d realized who the man was. It would be rude to turn around and leave and there was no way he’d recognize me, so I cleared my throat, and murmured, “Sorry, long ride. Dry throat.”
“That happens,” he chuckled. “Come, we’ll get you some food.”
He led me out on the back porch, placed me in a corner and handed me a bottle without even asking what I wanted. Since I really wanted a beer, I accepted it.
“You haven’t been here before?” he asked.
“No,” I confirmed.
“Well, either you eat what I put in front of you, or you can come to the kitchen and fill a plate with whatever you want.”
“Really?” My voice went up again but this time with joy. “I’m coming with you.”
“Picky eater?”
“Big eater,” I corrected him.
“The best kind,” he said with a grin.
I filled a plate with a little of everything and was debating with both myself and Carson if I should put a piece of chicken on top of my plate when heavy boots stomped through the house. I glanced over my shoulder and froze.
“Careful there,” Carson said as he pushed the side of my plate up to stop the food from sliding off.
“Okay,” I murmured and turned toward the grill.
Carson’s younger brother, Miller, and his son, Kit, had walked into the room, and a few steps behind came Hawker Johns. To calm myself down I started calculating the odds for something like that to happen and pretended to inspect the chicken.
“Hey,” Carson said, and added quietly, “How is he doing?”
“He’s at Double H,” Hawker replied. “Nick picked him up and took him there.”
“How bruised is Nicky?” Carson chuckled.
“You know him, the slick bastard. Smiling and joking and getting everyone to do whatever the hell he wants,” Hawker muttered, and I heard the sound of them picking up plates.
“What’d he make you do, Hawk?” Kit asked and came up right next to me to start piling food on his plate.
“Shut up,” Hawker said and placed himself on my other side.
“I hear we’ll have new pictures of our esteemed Sheriff Johns down at the police station,” Miller said calmly. “I’m sure he’ll look pretty.”
“Really?” Carson said and I could hear laughter in his voice.
“You’re all laughing,” Hawker snorted and leaned in front of me to pick a piece of chicken from under Kit’s fork. “But both Mary and Bo are begging him to do family portraits, so you’re next.”
I bit my lip to keep a giggle from slipping out. The Nick they were talking about had to be Domenico, who was an internationally renowned photographer. It was considered an honor to have your picture taken by him, but the men surrounding me clearly didn’t see it that way.
“How’s he doing?” Carson asked again.
“Fucked up,” Hawker muttered. “Not talking about it, not even to Snow. Sven is still shell-shocked and barely functions.”
I suddenly didn’t feel like laughing at all anymore. I knew they were talking about Olly, but what in the hell were they doing, discussing so openly how he struggled?
“Excuse me,” I murmured, and walked out with my head bent over my plate.
Then I ate the delicious food and tried to figure out what to do. The men from Norton were at the other end of the porch, and they were arguing about something but they seemed oddly jovial about it. The right thing to do would be to walk over to them and introduce myself but I didn't dare to. I'd talk to Wilder in one of the coming days instead. I'd ask Mac to be there in case she felt like killing me, and if Olly were at Double H, then he could join us. It might be better to just get it done.
“Grillaroo for you,” someone quipped next to me in a cheery sing-song voice. “Carson said the badass brethren pushed you out of the kitchen before you
got your chicken.”
I looked up at the massive man standing in front of me.
“I'm Bo,” he said with a broad smile.
When I said absolutely nothing at all, he nudged a plate toward me but I kept staring at him. His hair was pulled back in a set of intricate braids and his neatly trimmed beard surrounded lips painted in a lovely peach color, expertly matched with his blouse and, I realized, his eyeshadow.
“Wow,” I said and then my mouth continued talking before my brain caught up. “If I ever decide to make an effort with how I look, can I come to you for advice?” His brows went up and a grin spread across his face. I smiled back at him and added, “Love the peachy pink.”
“Blank sheet,” he squealed and I blinked.
“What?”
“Wholesome, girl next door, cutie-pie,” he said. “It works for you, but when you want to look gorgeous, I’m your man.”
I’d planned to say something cheeky but I’d put a piece of chicken in my mouth and the taste of it side-tracked me, so I circled the fork above my plate, and mumbled, “This has got to be proof there is a God.”
He started laughing and clapped his hands together in a way that rattled several stretchy bracelets made up from plastic beads in various shades of pink. I wondered if he’d made them himself, or if one really could buy them that size somewhere.
“I’ll leave you to worship the godliness of my man’s food,” he said. “Gotta go talk to the macho-squad.”
“Ten-four,” I said, thinking that using some military code would be appropriate.
“Fantastico,” he said. His eyes lit up with curiosity, and one brow arched as he added, “There are plenty of ten-thirty-twos over there.”
I knew I should shut up but I couldn’t help myself. He’d told me the code for men with guns, and I countered, “You’d better ten-oh then.”
He burst out into loud laughter and the men at the table on the other end of the porch turned toward us. I studiously avoided looking at them, grinned at Bo, and kept eating.
“Caution is my middle name so I’ll certainly proceed with it. Enjoy your food now, and come back anytime you want girlie,” he said and pranced away across the porch, chirping, “Toodles,” over his shoulder as he gave me a cheeky wave with his fingers.
I followed him with my eyes and watched as he sat down in front of Hawker, saying something which had the whole table roaring with laughter. Through the meal, Hawker’s eyes were constantly scanning the surroundings, and I felt them on me more than once. I tried to keep my hair in my face without getting it full of food and left as soon as I had emptied the plate.
It took longer than I expected to get back to Double H but the night was beautiful and I felt good. “You can do this, Annie,” I murmured to myself as I drove down the gravel road leading up to the ranch. “Just tell them. Zap. Bam. Done. If they don’t like it, you leave. If they want to work with you, you stay. It isn’t harder than that.”
The sliding door was a struggle as usual, and since no one was around, I dropped a few f-bombs and a couple of other words which would have earned me a firm scolding from my grandfather. Then I was finally inside, trying to pull the stupid thing shut as quietly as possible. If Olly was sleeping upstairs, I did not need for him to wake up and come down to sneer at me. The door seemed to be stuck, and I cursed some more, sucked my lower lip in between my teeth and pulled.
“Hey,” a voice murmured out of the darkness behind me, and I bit down, hard.
“Ow,” I murmured.
Then I felt the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.
Well, shit.
Chapter Two
You’re not a gick
“I’ll get it,” Olly said and reached above my shoulder to pull the sliding door closed with what seemed like a flick of his hand.
I was busy holding a hand over my mouth and trying not to gag.
“Thunksch,” I said, and moved through the darkness toward where I figured the bathroom would be.
“What?”
“Git a lick,” I explained and searched for my phone, thinking I could use it as a flashlight.
“Git a what?”
“I git nay lick,” I clarified but even I could hear how it wouldn't be understandable, so I braced for some pain and tried again. “I bit my lip.”
There, I thought. Now he could sneer at me and go back to bed.
“Let me see,” he said and I heard him moving toward me.
“Doe,” I said, and increased my speed as I cursed. Then I repeated more clearly, “No.”
“Don’t be –”
“Ow!”
My cry of pain had him cursing too and his steps faded away. I was busy holding one hand over my bleeding mouth and the other pressed firmly to my brow. Then I started crying silently, from pain although mostly because nothing was the way it was supposed to be. He was supposed to be the Olly I'd known for years. Olly with his soft, gentle brown eyes and dry humor. He was not supposed to be this silent, angry man who looked condescendingly at me or ignored me.
The lights were suddenly on in the barn and I squeezed my eyes shut, from the suddenness of the bright light although mostly to try to hold back my tears. I wasn’t a weepy kind of girl, something my brothers had made damned sure I wasn’t, and I felt stupid.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
His footsteps echoed in the open space and then he was next to me, tugging at my arms.
“What the hell did you do?”
He sounded angry and I opened my eyes to glare at him through my tears.
“I git ay schucking lick and yalked into a killer!” I snapped.
He blinked few times and tilted his head a little to the side, slowly pulling my hands away from my face. A muscle in his jaw clenched, and I got the impression he suddenly found the stupid situation I’d put myself in humorous.
“Are you laughing?” I asked.
“Just a little,” he said calmly, shuffling me toward the bathroom where he swiftly pulled off some paper, wet it and started dabbing my lip. “Don’t cry,” he murmured.
His soft voice made fresh tears pool in my eyes and I closed them while he finished cleaning the blood off my face and prodded my left eyebrow.
“If I got it right, you bit your lip and walked into the wall?” he asked quietly.
“Killer,” I clarified.
“Pillar,” he confirmed.
I nodded.
“Okay,” he sighed, and we were moving again.
I was pushed down into one of the couches and told to stay, and since I felt like the biggest moronic idiot on the face of the planet, I did. While he was moving around upstairs in his loft, I started calculating the probability for what had just happened and the number I came up with was so astoundingly low that I did it again, altering the input slightly. It was still more likely for me to have been hit by lightning. If I factored in meeting Hawker Johns and the others earlier, I estimated the odds would have been higher for me to be hit by a meteorite than to have the kind of evening I’d had.
“Ice,” he grunted and pushed a towel against my brow. “Here,” he added and put another against my mouth.
“'Kay” I whispered and raised my hands to hold them.
“Take this,” he said and when I just looked at him, he sighed. “Right. Open your mouth.”
I shook my head and winced.
“Annie,” he murmured and it sounded a little like a warning. “It’s just Advil,” he added patiently. “The lip will be fine but your eye is gonna hurt some.”
My head hurt and I couldn't find it in me to protest, so I opened my mouth. He gave me the small pill and held a glass of water for me to drink from.
“Okay?” he said but didn’t wait for my reply.
I watched him turn on a small lamp next to us and walk over to turn off the bright lights in the ceiling. Thinking this was his way of saying goodnight, I tried to get out of the couch without lowering the ice fro
m my face but he nudged me back down gently and lowered himself next to me.
“Sit here with me for a while,” he said.
It was really late, I had a split lip and the beginning of a shiner, and he wanted to, what? Chit-chat?
“You could have a concussion,” he said.
“Lo progagility,” I said.
“Low what?”
“Prodadility.”
“Pro… oh. Probability.”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured.
“’Kay,” I whispered, not sure what he was sorry for but since I was somewhat limited in my vocabulary, I didn’t want to ask.
“Wasn’t very nice when you first got here. Things have been shit for a while, but I’m not usually such a dick, Annie.”
“You’re not a gick,” I murmured.
He was silent for the longest time and suddenly I felt the couch move a little. I turned to look at him and to my surprise, he'd pressed his lips together and lowered his brows. When he put a big hand over his eyes, I wondered if he was suddenly crying?
“Olly?” I asked.
He turned toward me and I saw immediately he wasn’t sad. At all.
“It’s good to know I’m not a gick, Annie,” he said, and then he laughed.
I couldn’t smile with my split lip, but on the inside, I did. He looked like the Olly I’d thought he’d be.
“How are you feeling?” he asked after a while.
“’Kay,” I said.
“Okay,” he echoed. “That’s a sweet ride you roll around on.”
I tried to smile, and he saw it even though it was crooked and one-eyed.
“Yeah,” I said with great satisfaction.
He grinned back at me and asked how long I’d had my cruiser. His brows went up a little in surprise when he heard how many years I’d had it, and even more at my garbled explanation of how we weren’t big on following the exact age requirements for driving where I grew up. Then we sat there talking about our bikes, and trips we’d done on them. I had a hard time pronouncing some words, and he laughed every time, but I didn’t mind. It was a completely surreal ending of a bizarre evening, but it was nice. More than nice.
