One Reckless Summer

by Toni Blake

  The expression on his handsome face gave the impression he was actually thinking about what she’d just said, absorbing it. “Hmm, smaller problems,” he finally murmured. “I could go for that.”

  “Maybe…I can show you the stars some night,” she heard herself say unplanned. Oh God, did I just ask Mick Brody out on a date?

  Apparently she had, so relief flooded her as he smoothly replied, “Maybe so, pussycat.” But wait—should she be relieved? Or terrified?

  No time to examine that now, though—instead, she bit her lip and lifted her gaze to his in playful challenge. “Of course, given all the trees in my yard, it’ll be difficult since you won’t let me on your side of the lake.”

  He winced, grinned, as if to say, Touché. “Sorry about that.”

  So did that mean she was welcome now, to show him the stars on his side…or not? She was about to ask, when he said, “I gotta take off, honey,” and sat up, reaching for his underwear.

  Hmm. At least she’d gotten a little snuggling this time.

  Followed by an abrupt departure.

  But I guess that’s how it is in casual sex. Wham bam thank you ma’am. She’d had sex with him twice now without hardly knowing him at all, so she had no right to complain that he was leaving, even if it tugged at her emotions a little.

  As he pulled on his boxers, then his jeans, she finally got a good look at the tattoo on his arm—a rather menacing-looking skull and crossbones. “Interesting tattoo,” she said.

  He glanced down at it as he zipped up.

  “So why’d you pick that,” she asked, “out of any tattoo in the world?”

  The look on his face said he found her inquisitiveness cute. Or maybe silly. He winked and said, “I didn’t think a butterfly or heart would suit me.”

  She giggled softly, then said, still smiling, “Seriously. Why that?”

  He looked down at his arm again, his expression reflective, and honest. “I got it a long time ago. Guess maybe I wanted people to think I was a bad-ass.”

  “Are you?” Her heart beat a little harder at the question.

  Yet he only answered with another wink. “Probably depends on how you see the world, pussycat.”

  Maybe he was right. The tattoo didn’t mesh with the Mick Brody who’d just made love to her. And though she knew he’d never call it that, that was what they’d just done—made love. But maybe it made sense for the Mick Brody she’d known as a girl, and even the Mick Brody she’d had sex with in the woods.

  The part she couldn’t figure out was: Who was the real Mick Brody?

  As he pulled his T-shirt over his head to hug the muscles in his chest and arms, he looked down at where she still lay naked on the couch. “See ya soon.”

  How soon?

  No, stop, don’t ask that. It’s so stage-five-clingy. “Does this mean you still don’t trust me to keep your secret?” she came up with instead.

  A wicked little grin made his eyes sparkle once more. “Could be. Or could be I just want to get in your panties again.”

  Walter Tolliver pulled his cruiser into the gravel lot peppered with pickup trucks and a few souped-up cars to park right outside the front door of the Dew Drop Inn, a dive bar along a lonesome stretch of highway skirting the Destiny city limits. The building was a flat, drab, one-story establishment with low ceilings that left the smell of stale beer hovering in the air. Neon beer signs hung in windows lined with strings of Christmas lights, many of the bulbs extinguished. Behind the building stood a small dingy white house with tilted green shutters that had also seen better days.

  Walter knew Digby Woods had sold the whole place recently and headed off to parts unknown, but he hadn’t yet met the new owner. Since he’d broken up more than one fight here over the years and figured he was apt to break up more, he’d thought he should stop in and introduce himself.

  It was nearly midnight when Walter pushed through the door, mostly unnoticed, and he was pleased to find the place quiet. A few slightly rough-looking characters shot pool in the corner, but no one was causing any trouble. Bruce Springsteen’s “Cover Me” filled the room, echoing from an old-fashioned jukebox near the door, as peanut shells on the floor crunched beneath his shoes.

  The bar itself was empty of customers, so he ambled to a stool at the end nearest the entrance. He didn’t see anyone tending bar, but he wasn’t in a big hurry—he dug his fingers absently into a dish of peanuts, shelled a few, and popped them in his mouth.

  When his eyes landed on a folded newspaper a couple of stools down from him, the horoscopes on top, his thoughts turned to his daughter. She didn’t follow astrology, but she did look to the stars for solace. When he’d asked her a couple of days ago if she’d gotten out her telescope yet, he could hear the disappointment in her voice when she’d explained that the trees around the house and road were just too tall. They’d been nearly too tall when she was a teenager, but time had passed and they were even bigger now. So he’d offered to call up his friends Betty and Ed, who had a big, empty meadow on their farm across town, and ask if she could bring her telescope over, but even as he’d said it, he knew that wouldn’t meet Jenny’s need to look at the sky in private. Ed would come out and want to look, too, and Betty would come rushing out with cold drinks.

  And though most of the time, his daughter was a vivacious, sociable girl, she’d always had a strange sort of communion with the sky. There was something about it that made her quiet and introspective, like it was her…religion or something.

  And maybe it was. God was up there, after all. Somewhere. Looking down on them. Maybe when Jenny looked through her telescope, she was looking for God.

  He’d been working hard not to smother her since she’d returned home. The truth was, he wanted to check in with her every day, every night, but he was resisting the urge. Still, it was nice just to have her back around, just to know she was in the old lake cottage a few minutes away. She was his only family—and even if it seemed crazy, he could have sworn he somehow felt her physical nearness. They’d always been close emotionally, but having her close physically gave him a different sort of comfort.

  He hated what her ass of an ex-husband had done to her, but rather than letting himself get as enraged as he wanted to, he tried to be thankful that something good had come out of it—and that good thing was having her back home. He’d never told her this, but he’d never totally trusted Terrence—despite being a clean-cut, dependable sort, he’d always struck Walter as being a little self-absorbed, even selfish.

  And it cut him to the bone to imagine if Judy could see Jenny now. His daughter wasn’t…broken. No, nothing like that. But he knew her sense of security, and maybe her sense of self, were shattered. He could look in her eyes and see that part of her was missing now.

  Although he hadn’t brought it up because he knew people had to work through that sort of thing on their own. He knew because he’d been working through it for the last eighteen years.

  He’d grown used to life without Judy—and yet, if he was truthful with himself, he probably thought of her too often, almost imagining she was with him sometimes when he was alone. It was easy enough to do for a man who spent ample time by himself. You just start imagining what you’d say to her if she were here—and in your mind, you say it. You imagine what she’d say back to you, and you hear it. He could still hear her voice, same as if he’d heard it yesterday.

  But Jenny had gotten him thinking. Not about dating other women like she’d said—Lordamercy, who would he date, for heaven’s sake? Yet Jenny had him thinking that maybe it wasn’t…healthy to cling to his memories of Judy the way he did.

  Only problem was, now it was habit. Now it was impossible to imagine life any other way.

  When he’d eaten enough peanuts to realize they’d made him thirsty, he looked around and spotted a woman bent over a table across the room, loading empty glasses and dirty napkins into a tub. He could see enough of her to tell she had red hair and a curvy body. Her jeans were too snu
g—“painted-on” he’d heard it called when women wore their jeans that way—and the bold print of her top hugged her flesh just as tight.

  Just then, as if she’d sensed someone watching her, she looked up. Met his gaze. Set down her tub and rag and walked around behind the bar. He guessed her to be in her mid-forties, the lines on her face making her no less pretty—she struck him as a woman who’d lived hard but aged well. She greeted him pleasantly without going so far as to smile. “What can I get you, Officer?”

  “A Sprite’ll do.”

  “On duty?” she asked, turning to reach for a glass.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied softly. Not that he drank much anyway. He didn’t think it wise for an officer of the law to engage in activity that could impair his senses. He didn’t begrudge those who indulged, so long as they didn’t overdo, but other than sharing an occasional bottle of wine with Judy when they were young, alcohol had never been his thing.

  “Here ya go,” she said, lowering his glass to a little square napkin on the bar in front of him. She flipped long, bouncy hair over her shoulders, and Walter couldn’t help noticing that her top was just as formfitting in front, showing off plenty of cleavage.

  “Can you tell me if the new owner’s around?” he asked, then took a sip of his Sprite. Despite the A/C, it was too warm in here.

  Now she smiled. “You’re looking at her. Anita Garey.” She held out a hand, her fingers tipped with long, pointy red nails, to shake his.

  He returned the gesture gingerly, not wishing to be stabbed, a little surprised to hear she was the owner. But he knew he was…well, pretty behind the times in ways—these days, he reckoned a woman could own a bar if she wanted. And he was equally surprised when he felt the handshake in his groin—just a small, tender pull, but the first such sensation he’d experienced there in…a very long time.

  He hoped to high heaven, though, that none of that showed on his face. “I’m Walter Tolliver, Destiny Chief of Police,” he said as their hands parted and he lost the ability to make eye contact. His gaze dropped—first to her chest, then hurriedly to the bar before him. Hell and damnation, he felt like he was twelve—which made him remember he was actually fifty-four and raise his gaze back to hers. “I, uh, just wanted to drop by and introduce myself. I try to work close with local business owners to let ’em know we’re there if they need us.”

  “Well, that’s comforting to know, Officer,” she said, and something about the deep tone of her voice got him in the groin again, that fast, a feeling he wasn’t at all comfortable with. Cripes.

  Drawing in a deep breath, he struggled to think of something else to say. “You…from around here?”

  When she shook her head, her mane of red hair bounced on her shoulders. “Moved down from Cleveland, to the little house out back.” She pointed over her shoulder. “Decided I’d had enough of city life—figured I’d try country living for a while.”

  “And…does it suit you?”

  She shrugged and sent a soft trill of sarcastic laughter wafting over him. “It’s peaceful enough. Not sure I really fit in, though.”

  Aw, for heaven’s sake, now what did he say? He didn’t want to hurt the woman’s feelings, but the truth was, he couldn’t envision her making too many friends in Destiny. She was just…different than small-town folk. From the overt confidence in her eyes to the fact that she wore tighter clothes than most women her age—or at least most women her age around here. Other than her bar patrons—who likely lived outside of town on the way to Crestview given the location of the place—he wasn’t sure he knew anyone who would want to spend social time with Anita Garey.

  “Might just take a while,” he finally offered as a toss-off, a space filler. It was the only alternative he could think of besides maybe inviting her to church, and that didn’t seem like a good idea.

  Anita Garey smiled knowingly and said, “Probably a long while,” concluding with a wink.

  Again, the gesture traveled straight to his groin—and he knew it was time to go. He reached in his back pocket to extract his wallet, tossing a couple of bucks on the bar. “I, uh, need to get back to my patrol. But it was nice meetin’ ya, Miss Garey.”

  “Call me Anita,” she said. “And it was nice meeting you, too—Walter, was it?”

  He nodded again.

  “You be careful out there, Walter.”

  For some reason, the words echoed in his head as he turned to exit the Dew Drop Inn, and he had the perplexing feeling that he would somehow be safer outside the place than in it.

  Mick stood outside the old cabin, digging.

  He’d started early, as soon as he’d gotten up. He needed to beat the heat. But it was discouraging when he stopped to rest, leaning against the shovel, wiping the dirt and sweat from his forehead, to look down and see what little progress he’d made so far. Thank God for the tall trees all around the house—at least they kept the sun out most of the time. Along with any prying eyes across the lake.

  He’d been putting this off, but now that he realized how long it was going to take, he was glad he’d gotten started. He’d thought about renting a Bobcat for the job, but had decided that even if he drove to Crestview or farther to get it, it would be a bad move. A guy in an average blue pickup wasn’t all that noticeable, even if someone were to see it turning off the quiet stretch of two-lane highway that led back to his family’s land. A guy in a blue pickup pulling a trailer with heavy machinery—more noticeable. So he’d have to do this work by hand, no matter how long it took.

  He didn’t like thinking about why he was here, what this was all about, so when Jenny Tolliver entered his head instead, he didn’t push the thoughts away. She was pretty, clean, sweet—everything his life was not.

  He’d never planned to kiss her in her kitchen on that first visit—it had been pure instinct, and it had kept his body tingling for the whole walk across her yard and down to the rowboat. Even now, standing dirty and sweaty, wiping his hands on the thighs of his jeans, he could still remember the feeling. He hadn’t known one little kiss could do that.

  Then again, he guessed he hadn’t had many occasions in his life to give a girl just one little kiss. From the start, his life had been full throttle, very go-after-what-you-want-while-it’s-there-or-it-might-be-taken-away-from-you.

  That was more how he’d felt kissing her while they danced. That tiny kiss had stayed with him, taunting, teasing his brain, and his body, and he’d felt like if he didn’t have her again, right then and there, while she was in his arms, he might never get another chance. It had been worth pushing for, convincing her. He’d needed to be inside her more than he’d needed anything in a long time.

  It seemed like a good enough arrangement for the summer. Checking up on her to ensure—as much as was possible anyway—that she was still keeping his presence quiet. And taking some pleasure with her while he was there.

  Was it using her? Maybe. Sure. Whatever. Who didn’t use people in this world? It didn’t mean he didn’t like her. The truth was, he did. The prettiness and sweetness was more than skin-deep. Normally, that would make her a girl who was far too good for him, even in his own mind. But this summer was different.

  This summer was…the darkest of his life. Darker than beatings as a kid. Darker than his mom and dad screaming, fighting, hitting each other. Darker than the way people looked at you when your last name was Brody. Darker than the fear and shame that came from stealing, taking what other people had worked for and he hadn’t. Darker than being trapped in a life he couldn’t escape.

  So if Jenny Tolliver could carry the darkness away for an hour now and then, how could he not take that? How could he not take the little bits of light a girl like her could inject into one long, dark, thankless night of a summer? At the moment, it was the only thing in the world he had to look forward to.

  He just hoped to hell that she wouldn’t betray him.

  Shit, she had to be the police chief’s daughter, didn’t she? Typical Brody luck. The girl y
ou can have is…the one girl you can’t have. He almost laughed—but didn’t. There was nothing funny about digging this goddamn hole, or the fact that—for another month or two—his fate lay in the hands of a girl he hardly knew, a girl who would probably have a damn heart attack if she knew what he was doing right now and why.

  Returning his gaze to the ground, he got back to work, stabbing the shovel into the hard dirt, feeling the muscles in his shoulder and back stretching as he added another bit of dark earth to the pile behind him. Then, mopping his brow with his forearm, he stopped and looked at that pile. Gonna take a lot more dirt. A lot more dirt.

  Three nights after she’d had sex on her couch with Mick Brody, Jenny found herself feeling antsy, bored. No wonder she’d left Destiny—there was nothing to do here.

  But then, this had nothing to do with where she was—it was about…oh hell, being lonely. Lord, it was hard to admit that to herself. Is this what your life is now? Pathetic and sad? Is this how divorced women all over the globe feel? She sat looking around the living room, bored with TV, bored with her books, bored with the night. Days were better—there was shopping and people in town, there was lunch with Sue Ann, there was garden work, which, despite the heat, was better than sitting inside a little house staring at her past on every wall, in every framed photo. The nights were starting to feel long.

  Except for the nights Mick Brody had shown up.

  She still couldn’t believe that Mick Brody, of all people on the planet, had become such a force in her life.

  Sue Ann had squealed aloud when Jenny had told her over lunch yesterday about her most recent—and satisfying—encounter with him. At first she’d been excited. “You’re having an illicit affair, Jen! Wow, how does it feel?”

  “Weird,” she’d answered simply. “And…really good,” she’d added, “when it’s, you know, actually happening.”