Find Me, Keep Me: A Let Me Go Novel (A Let Me Go series Book 3)

by L. L. Akers

  Grayson turned his head and looked over his shoulder, his eyes seeming to fall directly on Olivia standing at the window. She sucked in a huge breath. Omigod. Does he really see me? She felt her heart flutter. Only nerves, she told herself again.

  He smiled—a knowing smile that had to be meant for her, and turned back to watch where he was walking.

  She whipped her head around and left the window, her face flaming with heat.

  Yeah, he saw me, she thought as she went to the stack of totes. She popped the lid on one, looking for something easy: cookbooks or cans; something she wouldn’t need to put much thought or effort into. She was getting tired. But she wouldn’t be the first to ask for a break. She didn’t want anyone thinking she was weak.

  Dusty and Jake had agreed to help, and had set off at the break of dawn to try to get a jump on the hot day. The ladies had arrived hours ago to lend a hand.

  They’d had a little trouble finding the place as it was located on the outskirts of town, out in the country. GPS wouldn’t pick up the address, so Dusty had stopped working and given them step-by-step directions.

  They’d been charmed by the surrounding area and had enjoyed the ride. They’d passed pastures of horses and cows—and a jackass—and fields of peach trees, and all sorts of green vegetables. This was farm country. Emma had mentioned her surprise that he’d bought a place this far out. She’d expected him to live in a McMansion, somewhere in town in an upscale neighborhood.

  When they’d finally found the driveway, it was unmarked. It didn’t look like a driveway for a house; just a small one-lane entrance with a metal gate that hung open, giving a glimpse of two vast fields of grass—at least they thought it was grass. It’d been a long time since they’d been in farm country and they were amused that they couldn’t identify more of the crops on the way.

  Emma had questioned if they were in the right place and Gabby and Olivia encouraged her to keep driving and check it out. Even if it wasn’t, they were enjoying their trip into the country, and were curious what was down the old dirt road.

  The dirt soon turned to gravel and wound its way between the two fields of grass, and then into the woods. A moment more and they saw the house.

  It was an old two-story farmhouse from the late 1800s with a wrap-around porch. The paint was chipped and the steps were leaning a bit, but someone had suspended four huge, green ferns on chains from the ceiling. The fern fronds were gently waving in the breeze, along with a porch swing that hung on one end, swaying in rhythm with the ferns. The house looked comfortable and relaxed.

  Behind the house was a dirt road which meandered down the hill and ended at a large, red barn. Gabby had mentioned she’d love to check that out later. She had a thing for barns, and Olivia knew if she went down there, it’d be hours before she came back. She’d want to take pictures... lots of pictures. And if she coerced Jake into checking it out with her, they might not see either one of them all day.

  Beside the house, someone had added an oversized free-standing two-door garage. The massive doors were open and they could see the men had already made several stacks of plastic totes from the pods they were unloading on one side. Grayson’s silver Harley Davidson Fat Boy was parked on the other.

  The men had carried in dozens of boxes and totes to the house, and stacked them in the living room where the girls had been bringing them one at a time to the kitchen to unpack.

  They’d unpacked tote after tote of kitchen supplies, including food, water, dishes, utensils, and cookware. But especially food. Lots of food.

  Who needs this much food? For two people?

  Dusty and Jake came through the door, carrying a five-gallon bucket in each hand. Olivia met them in the living room and turned her head sideways to read the words written in black Sharpie: sugar, salt, pasta, flour. Each bucket had a date scribbled underneath. She directed them to stack them against the far wall.

  “Dusty, why does your brother need this much food?” she asked. “My gosh, there’s enough here to feed an army.”

  He laughed. “Ever seen that show on TV called ‘Doomsday Preppers?’ Grayson is one of them. A prepper—except he’s not crazy.”

  He gave a firm nod to his head as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

  “Prepping? Prepping for what?” she asked, confused. She had never seen the show, or heard the term as he was using it.

  Dusty shrugged. “For anything. Power outage, economic collapse, natural disaster... he prefers not to have to rely on anyone but himself in case of an emergency.”

  Olivia scrunched her eyebrows together. It did make sense, in a way. In 1989, Hurricane Hugo had unexpectedly hit right here where she lived now. No one had been prepared, and the power was out for up to ten days for some people.

  Supplies had been scarce, especially water. Food prices had soared. Many people drove out of state just to stock their cars with food and water and drive back. It was a brutal ten days for thousands. People couldn’t take showers. Extra water was reserved for pouring into the toilet to flush. And that was only if necessary.

  She grinned as she remembered something she’d heard about during that time: if it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.

  Yeah, she could see being prepared for that type of event, but did he need so much?

  Graysie walked into the living room, interrupting Olivia’s thoughts.

  She pointed at the buckets. “Those go downstairs, in the basement,” she said. “Follow me.”

  Dusty and Jake grabbed the buckets.

  Olivia followed them through the kitchen, where Graysie opened a six-panel door that Olivia hadn’t noticed before. The door had a deadbolt installed that worked only with a key. It opened to a dark stairway.

  Curious to see the basement herself, she carefully stepped down behind them. She hadn’t been aware the old farmhouse had a basement. Those were unusual in the south, especially in older homes. Some had cellars outside, but rarely indoors.

  Olivia sniffed at the cool, dank room. She ran her hands down her arms. They were covered in goosebumps.

  She was surprised, and a little startled to see a mattress on one side of the basement. It sat naked with a tiny table beside it. The table held only one lamp with an exposed bulb. Magazines were strewn haphazardly over the mattress, sharing space with a folded blanket and pillow.

  The walls were concrete blocks and the corners of the room were draped with spider webs. She watched as a spider scurried away, and shivered. At least the basement did have one rather large window, even if it looked out to the ground. It did let light in.

  “Does someone actually sleep down here?” she asked. She glanced at Graysie who seemed comfortable enough. She was leaned against the wall, waiting for the guys to set the buckets down.

  “Not really,” Graysie answered, and shrugged.

  Not really? What’s that supposed to mean? Olivia thought. Either they do or they don’t.

  Olivia gave her an expectant expression, raising her eyebrows. She’d had some experience dealing with insolent young girls who didn’t want to talk. She knew they needed someone to not give up when trying to get a straight answer. Otherwise they’d just continue to be insolent.

  They’d given Graysie some slack on her first day with the family, but if they let it continue, it would turn into a habit.

  Graysie saw Olivia’s determined look and answered, “I’ve been down here hanging out for the past few days when I want to get away from Dad, but he says once the food and stuff is in, I can’t come back.”

  “Don’t you have your own bedroom? Maybe upstairs?” Olivia asked with concern. Why in the world would she want to hang out in this dark, dank place?

  “Yeah. Well, not upstairs. We’re not planning on using the upstairs. We both have a bedroom downstairs.” She shrugged again, and flipped her head, tossing her hair to cover part of her face. “I just like it down here.”

  Olivia raised her eyebrows again as she looked around. She
didn’t like it down here. Not at all.

  Her eyes wandered over one wall that was covered in shelves. Multiple cases of toilet paper, paper towels, paper plates. At least six cases of bottled water. Flats of canned food. Camouflage material in a roll. Portable cook stove, bottles of propane, and even a small toilet still in a box.

  She hurried to the steps. Her curiosity had been met. This basement gave her the heebie-jeebies.

  “See you guys upstairs. I’m getting back to work.”

  12

  Grayson stepped into his pantry carrying a flat of chicken broth. He stopped short when he saw Olivia, her back to him, running her finger over the colorful jars of assorted food—food he’d grown with his own two hands and ‘put up.’

  She didn’t notice him, and appeared to be finishing up organizing the jars according to contents, in neat little colorful rows of strawberry, fig and orange jellies and marmalades, as well as tomato sauce, pickles and other veggies. It looked nice; she’d done a good job.

  He watched her bend over and push the front row of the jars on the next shelf flush with each other. He liked that. Organization. Neatness. He’d been accused all his life of being OCD about those types of things. He was glad to see he wouldn’t have to come back to the pantry and rearrange it later.

  She was wearing shorts and flip-flops and he felt his pulse quicken when he walked his eyes from her rounded backside down her long, tan legs. He only knew it was Olivia because on his way in he’d seen Jake wrap a solicitous arm around Gabby—assuming that was Gabby.

  Damn, how did he know? These women look exactly alike.

  He had no idea how Jake could tell his own bride from her twin sister. And Emma was a smaller version of them. Four more inches and they’d have been triplets.

  Why did Dusty have to marry into a family with three gorgeous women, all looking alike—and one of them single?

  It made things uncomfortable for him... unpredictable. He’d made it a point to stay far away from women for the last ten years. Sure, he’d had a few one night stands, but made sure the ladies knew he didn’t give a flying fuck or two shits about a relationship before their one and only date. He was fine alone—with his daughter.

  Even if he’d wanted a relationship, he didn’t think Graysie would stand for it. She was still angry with him about her mother. He cringed to think how she might treat a new woman in his life. He wasn’t ready for that, and he wasn’t sure she’d ever be.

  But if he was... he shook his head as he thought about the way Olivia had made his pulse speed up the moment he’d met her in under that oak tree, and again today when he’d felt her eyes on him. He’d known before he turned around she was watching him through that window—he’d felt it in his blood.

  And the touch of her skin against his at the dinner table yesterday had nearly made him lose his breath. She made him feel things he hadn’t felt in years. He felt like a silly kid with an insta-crush.

  And he didn’t like it one bit. He preferred to be in control... of himself, and everything else he could be. When and if he was ever ready for another relationship, he’d begin his search and be quite picky about it. If he was ever going to marry again, he’d do it right. Not just pick the first lady that caught his eye.

  He looked to the floor and saw the tube socks he had used to transport his jars of food. They were lying in a pile. He cringed as he wondered if she thought they were his. They weren’t. He’d picked up a bundle at Goodwill for this occasion. He didn’t want the jars to break in transit.

  Besides, Graysie would murder him if she found him wearing tube socks, and nowadays he consulted with her on all of his attire. Not that it mattered to him, but there was nothing worse than a teenage girl embarrassed by her dad’s lack of style.

  Olivia hadn’t heard him yet. As she ran a curious finger over the rows of jellies and pickled food, she hummed to herself. He didn’t want to startle her—or get caught in an awkward conversation... he’d had enough of that yesterday, so he took a step back to exit the deep pantry, but then he caught the tune... an old Dr. Pepper jingle.

  He stopped just as her words came out, “I’m a prepper, you’re a prepper, he’s a prepper, we’re a prepper... wouldn’t you like to be a prepper too?”

  She was making fun of him and his lifestyle. He knew that was bound to happen when he accepted their help in unpacking. He didn’t care. His parents hadn’t called it prepping; it was just being prepared. Living with the ice, snow, and sometimes blizzard conditions, they’d seen hard times—his father had moved them from Kentucky to West Virginia for a better job in the mines—and they’d never had less than a full cellar starting a winter. To do so would be crazy. Roads closed. Power was lost. And sometimes, there wasn’t enough left over for groceries after paying the bills. His mama had kept chickens for the eggs and meat, and his daddy spent every weekend working his garden for fresh vegetables.

  It wasn’t a luxury or a hobby back then. It was a necessity. He and Dusty hadn’t taken up the lifestyle. Never figured they’d need to in the world they entered into from high school. Times were better. Food was available everywhere. They hadn’t wanted to waste time or money on being prepared. But that had been a mistake—a life-changing mistake. And one that caused him to remember everything his parents had taught him growing up.

  If he didn’t know how to do something, there was always YouTube to teach him. He’d never let himself get caught unprepared again.

  Let them make fun. He had no doubt if the power went down for whatever reason and Emma’s family needed to eat, they’d rethink the ‘prepping movement,’ when they showed up at his house to fill their bellies.

  As he watched her, she gave a little shake of her hips when she delivered the last line and Grayson chuckled out loud. She jumped and turned around, her hand fluttering across her heart.

  “Geesh, Grayson! You scared me.”

  He stepped forward and placed his box on an empty shelf, keeping his eyes on the food.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to. Didn’t realize you were in here giving the veggies a concert.”

  He stole a sideways glance at her and saw her face redden. He regretted the comment; he hadn’t meant to put her on the spot.

  Olivia gave a small laugh. “No, it’s okay. I was just admiring your...um... food. Who did all this?” She pointed to the jars, all covered with colorful slips of fabrics under their rings. It did look a little girly, he supposed. But that was always the way his mama had done it. He wasn’t sure the little bits of checkered cloth ever really had a purpose.

  “I did. It’s not that hard. I enjoy growing my own food and canning it.”

  “Wow. I’ve always wanted to learn how to do that. What is this brownish one?” She pointed to one row of short, squat jars.

  “That’s fig preserves. Last batch I canned before we packed up. I need to label and date it before I forget. It’s great on biscuits, or brushed on pork before I bake it.”

  Olivia eyes widened. “You cook?”

  “Love to cook. And someone’s got to do it. I can’t see Graysie spending much time in the kitchen, unless it’s to eat.”

  “That’s great.” She stared at the jar again, seemingly at a loss for words. Grayson turned to leave, and she reached out a hand to stop him, lightly touching his arm. “I didn’t know figs were sweet. I’ve never tasted them,” she blurted out.

  Grayson twitched. What the hell was that?

  He felt her light touch all the way to his toes. He shook it off and turned back to her. It would be rude to walk away, and he’d earned the dirty eyeball from his brother already for his assumed rudeness toward Olivia in the back yard the day before.

  “Surely you’ve had a Fig Newton cookie before? Same thing, except a little added sugar to it. Everything’s better with a little sugar.”

  He reached around her for a jar, coming so close he could smell her breath, a light cinnamon scent. He breathed in, smelling her hair. It smelled like fruit. How ironic. He felt his stomach give a
little flip. Hunger or desire?

  He unscrewed the lid and pulled off the decorative piece of cloth. He popped the top using his fingernail. He stuck his finger in and put it in his mouth.

  “Mmmm. Best batch I’ve ever made. Give it a try.”

  Olivia reached out a finger to dip into the jar, but he dipped his in again first, and held it out to her. Is this friendly enough, little brother? he thought.

  She hesitated, looking into his eyes. He met them with a smile. She won’t do it, he thought. He was really only playing, trying to make up for his rude introduction yesterday. He had no doubt she’d laugh it off and use her own finger.

  She surprised him when she leaned in and wrapped her heart-shaped lips around his finger and sucked the fig from it, using her tongue to get it all.

  Grayson sucked in his breath and froze. His eyes widened with the shock and yearning that ran through him, competing for attention.

  Olivia pulled away, leaving him looking silly with his finger hanging in the air. She gave him her back, dropping to the floor, and gathering up the socks. He saw a tremor run through her. Or was she trembling?

  Hell, she’s as shaky as a new filly.

  And I got no room to talk.

  His pants were suddenly a good bit tighter. He looked down, embarrassed to see it was so obvious.

  Shit. At least he’d put his shirt on just before coming into the house. It gave a little cover, but was still painfully obvious underneath. Like a damn school boy...

  Can’t just walk away, either. I put us into this with my stupid-ass idea, I need to say something and get us out. If he just walked away, and left it as it was, she might thing it meant something. Or that he was interested.

  He wasn’t.

  He cleared his throat.

  “So, yeah, I was sick about having to leave my fig tree, but I got lucky. Found two huge figs on this new property. They need tended to, but they’ll work fine,” he said in a voice too loud for the small space.