Calendar Girl 12 - December

by Audrey Carlan

  I nodded. “Okay, baby. We deal together,” I said and then leaned my forehead against his. That simple touch of his head to mine released all concern, doubt, and worry I had about the possibility that I’d seen my mother or what I should be feeling about it.

  “Can I kiss you now?” he asked, his voice a low rumble, the sound of a man who was losing control. I wanted that. Needed it even.

  I smiled. “Please kiss me now.”

  Chapter Two

  Zane’s Tavern was where the locals went to hang out, chill, have a beer and a few hot wings, according to the website. Wes agreed with that assessment. When he was in college, he and his frat buddies would hit the pub after a day on the slopes and pick up some snow bunnies who were waiting around for a hot, rich stud to sweep them off their Ugg-booted feet and take them back to the family cabin. Back then, Wes was only in it for a good time. Now, he was walking me down the steep steps where a wall of doors trimmed in forest-green greeted us. A broad rectangular sign above the entire length of the wall stated Zane’s Tavern boldly in gold relief on a black background.

  It seemed counterintuitive to me that patrons had to walk down steps to enter the establishment since it snowed rather heavily in this part of the country. It would make more sense to go up steps so that the entry didn’t get snowed in. Then again, maybe that was one way to keep the customers inside spending their duckets without seeming skeevy.

  Wes held the door open. The room was cozy and instantly reminded me of Declan’s back in Chicago where we’d hung out with Hector and Tony on St. Paddy’s Day. That day was one of the many reasons why Wes and I were together. He’d shown up out of nowhere, and given me a night I would never forget, and then left behind only the scent of man and sex in the air to cuddle with. I knew we were more then, even though I tried my damndest to fight it. Going so far as to have a one-night fling with Alec again in April. Once I’d found out Wes was banging Gina DeLuca, the star of his current film, I made a point to distance myself. Hell, I spent a month enjoying Samoan cock to try to forget the sexy surfer. It didn’t work. If anything, it made me more aware of what I wanted in the long run.

  My man’s hand was warm against my back as he led me into the basement space. There were several flat screen TVs in various locations around the room playing a football game. I couldn’t tell who it was from this distance, but the number of patrons wearing different jerseys and all eyes glued to the screens proved that it was a big game.

  Wes led me to the bar and helped me out of my own snow bunny coat and placed it on the back of my chair.

  “So when is this guy meeting us?” Wes looked down at his watch as he adjusted his chair and leaned on the bar top. In the day and age where men could look at their cell phone for the time, seeing a man wearing a wristwatch meant something. Wes was more traditional and old-fashioned than he liked to let on.

  “I think seven.”

  He nodded. “Let’s have a beer. It’s six forty now, so we’ve got some time.”

  “I could use a drink, that’s for sure.” I sighed and leaned my elbow onto the glossy bar top.

  Wes placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Sweetheart, nothing is going to happen on my watch. You’re safe with me. If this guy is a creeper, I’ll set him straight. End of story. You don’t worry about a thing but enjoying a drink with your man. Got it?”

  “Yeah. Thanks.” I laid my hand over his and leaned over enough to kiss the slice of skin at his wrist where his thermal Henley had risen.

  “What would you like?”

  I pursed my lips and looked at the wide variety of beers on tap. “Actually, I’m going to go for a cider if they have it.”

  The bartender approached. “Hey, Weston Channing! How the hell are you, brother?” A man with a long reddish beard-mustache combo called out, his mouth curved in a wide grin. His teeth were perfect. His eyes were almost the same color as his hair, a reddish-brown. He wore a black-and-red checkered button-up left open to a plain white tee underneath. Jeans that had seen better days hung over a pair of dirty construction boots. This man was not the kind of man who sat behind a desk. No, he’d probably built the desk by hand with wood from the tree he’d cut. He was a big guy who suited the lumberjack style very well.

  Wes took the man’s beefy hand. Now, my guy was above average in height and built solid. This guy, however, looked like he could break two-by-fours with nothing but his bare hands and a little elbow grease. He’d give my brother Max a run for his money in the big, beefy, built man department.

  “Alex Corvin! How are you, buddy?” Wes exclaimed, shaking his hand and holding his other one. I loved when guys did that. To me, it showed how genuinely they cared.

  The bearded fella shook his head, which had the odd effect of making his beard sway with him. I didn’t know anyone who rocked a full beard, but this guy did and did it with style. I had to admit he was sexy. The lumberjack look worked for me. Hell, I bet it worked on most women. That thought made me grin. I had to get a pic of this guy to send to Gin. She’d blow the doors off with her funny antics, and with my nerves the way they were, I could use a Ginelle chuckle.

  Wes put his arm around me. “Alex, this is my fiancée, Mia Saunders. Mia, this is Alex. We went to school together.”

  I held out my hand, and his meaty one engulfed mine until there was nothing left to see. Yowzer.

  “Pleasure, Mia. Damn, Wes.” Alex grinned and bit down on his bottom lip. “You got yourself a live one. Didn’t you?”

  “As opposed to a dead one?” I quipped, not being able to hold my tongue.

  Both Wes and Alex tipped their heads back and laughed.

  Alex stroked his beard in the way Santa was often seen doing in the Mall when he was pretending to think about whether a kid had been naughty or nice.

  Wes grinned and kissed my temple. “Oh, I definitely got the right one.”

  Alex leaned his elbows to the bar and looked at me conspiratorially. He tilted his head to Wes. “If this guy doesn’t treat you right, and you need a real man, you know where to go, yeah?” His voice was a seductive growl.

  Wes pushed his hand out and shoved him away with his palm to his forehead. “Get out of here!”

  They both chuckled. “Now really, Alex, last time I saw you, you were working Wall Street. You didn’t have the crazy mountain man vibe. Now here you are in our local haunt, serving up beers and burgers?” Wes asked, concerned.

  Alex wiped the counter in front of us. “Let me get you something to drink, and I’ll come back and explain it.”

  We both ordered. He served me a pear cider and Wes a Guinness, and took care of a couple customers before coming back to us.

  “So here’s the thing.” He crossed his massive arms over his chest and played with the beard before continuing. “Made a jack load of cash on Wall Street, right?”

  Wes nodded and sipped his frothy dark beer. A little bit of froth stuck to his upper lip, and I stared at that bit of white fluffy goodness as if it held all the answers of the universe. Not being able to take it, I leaned forward, wiped it with my thumb, and licked it. Wes’s eyebrows rose and his eyes darkened.

  “Don’t you start,” he warned, obviously seeing the desire in my eyes.

  I shook it off and paid attention to Alex, who had stopped talking altogether.

  “Continue.” Wes nodded.

  “You sure? She seems willing. I got a nice hard desk out back you can use if it gets to be too much.” He grinned.

  My entire face exploded in heat. I was certain the blush crept up my chest and neck, staining my cheeks.

  “Nah, man. It’s cool. She’ll get hers when we get home.” Wes winked at me. Winked. At. Me. Bastard was so going to get it. Making it seem like the sexual attraction was all me.

  I put the cool glass of cider against my cheeks, relishing the chilly reprieve against the heat, while Alex continued.

  “Turned out I fucking hate working with numbers unless they are adding up someone’s check. I love working
a crowd, meeting new people, providing a nice place for people to come and just be. The stress, the tension, man, it was killing me. So I got out.”

  Wes choked on his beer. “You just left? Weren’t you making a lot of zeros?”

  Alex grinned. “Yep. Enough that I bought this bar right off the guy that owned it, put some cash down on my own place up here and now enjoy breathing fresh smog-free air. Every. Fuckin’. Day. I love my life.”

  “What about a mate?” Wes asked.

  At that question, Alex’s shoulders slumped, and on a man his size, it was like dropping a couple sandbags to the floor. “One day,” he said in a way that made me believe it would happen for him because he was open to it.

  Wes put his hand over his buddy’s forearm in a supportive gesture. “Happy for ya.”

  Alex looked at me, smirked, and gave me the guy head tilt. “Very happy for you.”

  “Can’t complain there.” Wes wrapped an arm around me, pulling me against his chest.

  * * *

  Once we finished our drinks, Wes ordered us a couple more. Before I knew it, there was a person tapping on my shoulder.

  “Um, you Mia Saunders?” A deep voice asked from behind me.

  I swiveled my chair and turned around. Then I looked up. And up. Into the rugged face of a man with a thick head of dark, layered hair that fell into his eyes. His square jaw was shaved clean, and his chin had one of those little dents that made a woman want to put her thumb into it and hold him in place when she kissed him. At least, I would kiss this man if I were a good thirty years older and in need of a hunky gentleman. He wore a long-sleeved waffle thermal with a plaid shirt left open. Actually, this must have been what was called lumberjack chic, because Alex was similarly dressed, and he was a quarter of a century or more younger.

  “Of course you’re Mia.” His eyes seemed to skip over each of my features. My hair, face, body, but in a cursory glance. He spent far more time on my eyes, which sent a shiver rushing down my back.

  Wes stood and wedged himself in front of me, protective as usual. Only this time, I appreciated it because this guy looked at me as if he knew me, which was disconcerting.

  “You Kent?” Wes asked.

  Kent put out his hand. “Kent Banks. I’m the reason you’re here,” he said automatically.

  Wes shook his hand and introduced himself. I did the same.

  Kent held out a hand toward a booth over to the side. “Care to sit a spell?”

  “Sure. Thanks,” I said, wrapping my hand around my cider. Wes did the same with his mostly full Guinness.

  Kent picked a booth off to the side where there wasn’t as much noise. The place was a bit rowdy with the game in the third quarter. The crowd didn’t seem to have a preference over which team to root for. Almost every play came with cheers, clapping, and smack talking. I was used to it, growing up in Vegas, working the bars most my life. Noise didn’t bother me, and I could easily tune it out.

  We sat down, and I got right to business. “So, Mr. Banks. Care to tell me why you’d pay a bunch of money to have me specifically come out here and do a show on local artists, one of whom is your wife?”

  Kent furrowed his brow “I didn’t pay one red cent to get you out here.” He scoffed and sat back folding his arms over his chest.

  I glanced at Wes. He looked just as confused. “My boss’s assistant said you donated money to get me out here in person to do a segment on your wife, a local artist.”

  The man shook his head. “Not true.”

  “Um, I believe we have a misunderstanding then. Did you not request me?” I asked, uncertain. If he hadn’t, why was I here, and why was he meeting me at the local hangout to talk shop before the interview?

  “I requested you, yes, but not the way you’re saying.”

  Wes held his hand out to me when I opened my mouth to argue with him. Nothing was making sense, and he was talking in circles. I hated when people did that. It made me feel like an idiot.

  “Mr. Banks, what my fiancée and I are trying to get to the bottom of is why you asked her here. Specifically her.”

  Kent played with the cardboard coaster sitting on the table. “Thought it would be good exposure for my wife. Her work is really good, and you do pieces on people who create beauty. Probably because you’re so beautiful, it comes easy to you. My wife, uh, saw your show and became…excited.” He glanced around the room. There was something he was holding back. In Vegas, you learned to read people’s facial expressions or their “tells” as they say in gambling. Kent Banks was definitely not telling the full truth.

  “Excited?” I asked.

  “Yeah. She’s not the type of woman who is easily tamed. When she saw you on the screen, I…uh… knew I had to get you to come out.”

  I shook my head. “Why me?”

  His eyes once again seemed to catalogue everything about me. It was unsettling. Made me feel uncertain, made me want to know if what he saw was lacking. I didn’t care for it. Usually I was confident, but under this mountain man’s scrutiny, I felt…small.

  “Didn’t have to be you. Could have been anyone.”

  He was trying to sound nonchalant, but I could read through the bullshit. I’d been told a lot of whoppers in my day from men like my Dad, Blaine, and others. This guy was being deliberately vague, and I didn’t know why.

  “Tell me about yourself.” I needed to know more about the person who’d gotten me all the way out here before I called up Shandi and reamed her ass.

  It was looking more and more like the bitch had set me up. Probably wanted me off the show for a while so she could have Dr. Hoffman all to herself. Weird chick. He was crazy in love with his Hollywood starlet wife, yet his assistant was doing everything she could to keep me away from him. She knew I was head over heels in love with Wes, but still made a point to separate me from the studio as much as possible.

  Then there was a random mountain man and a story he spewed. It didn’t add up. None of it did. When things didn’t add up, my dad always told me…dig deeper. Since Kent brought me out here, there had to be more. Something I was missing.

  Kent waved over the waitress and ordered a Coors. Once she left, he sighed. “Retired vet. Served four terms in the military. Got my degree in architecture later in life and used my contacts in the government to score some bigger jobs. Been doin’ this fifteen years, which has given me the life I’ve wanted. One filled with a good woman, money in the bank, a great home, and land to enjoy. Living the American Dream. It’s all I ever wanted.”

  “Any kids?” I asked.

  His eyes narrowed. “Nope. Always wanted them. Didn’t have ’em.”

  “Why not?”

  “Never the right time. I served until I was thirty-five. Met my woman when I was forty. She didn’t want kids.”

  I took a large swallow of cider. “Your wife is an artist here?”

  He nodded. “Has a gallery on Main called 4M.”

  “Four M, the number and letter?” I confirmed, so I’d know where to go tomorrow.

  “Yep.”

  “What’s it mean? The four and the M, I mean?”

  He shook his head, a somber expression coming over his face. “Not sure. She said a while ago, it represented something important she’d left behind.”

  Wes tipped back his Guinness and finished the rest of the dark coffee-colored liquid and set his glass back on the table. “Whelp, it’s been not exactly fun. Look, Mr. Banks. I’m sure you’re a nice guy. You seem like one. But Mia shouldn’t be here under suspicious circumstances.”

  “What does that mean?” Kent’s tone turned rough, almost harsh.

  “Means I’m not going to let my future wife get taken for a ride by a pubescent ill-informed assistant. Mia, sweetheart, I’m sure if you call Dr. Hoffman, we can clear this up and get back to Malibu before Christmas.”

  “Malibu. Is that where you’re from?” He seemed surprised, as if he thought I’d come from somewhere else.

  “Yeah,” I said, thinking a
bout the missed opportunity of a snowy Christmas. I didn’t want to leave.

  “Well, you’re a long way from home not to do what you came for. My wife is talented, and I’m sure if you visited her gallery and the other local artists, you might find something you’ve been looking for all along. A piece of yourself,” he said cryptically. “Art has a way of doing that. Opening the soul, letting the light in when only darkness existed before.”

  My head shot back. “Are you suggesting I have a dark soul?”

  He blinked slowly. “Not at all. Why would you come to that conclusion?” he asked, twisting my response.

  “On that note, I think we’ll take our leave. Thank you, Mr. Banks, for meeting with us. This whole thing is just…it feels…I don’t know”—I shook my head and pushed my hair off my shoulder—“off, somehow.”

  He stood, put his hands into his pockets, and stared. Again, his eyes traced me, but it still didn’t give me the creeps. It was like when he saw someone that looked so much like someone he knew, a doppelganger. Maddy once told me she’d learned that everyone had a doppelganger, a twin, running around.

  “I hope you choose to stay, Mia. I have a good feeling about you finding something you weren’t intending to find.”

  I laughed. “Are you a fortune teller or something?”

  He smirked “Nope. Just a wise old man.”

  “Old? You can’t be more than fifty.”

  “Fifty-five.”

  “Still, that’s not old. Young at heart.”

  “I think all people are ruled by the heart in one way or another.” He spouted more of his mumbo jumbo that, in all honesty, was odd coming from a retired veteran/architect. “I hope you think about staying. I would consider it a personal blessing if you visited the galleries.”

  A blessing. Now that was a very unique choice of words.

  Wes helped me tug on my puffy winter jacket. “We’ll see.”

  “Yes, I believe a lot of eyes will be opened in the next day or two.”

  I pursed my lips. “O-kay.”

  Wes looped his arm with mine. I turned around and waved at the giant man.