by J. L. Salter
“Th-this f-felt like ice water,” she howled as she slapped one or both towels about her shivering body. Sounded like she was still inside the stall, though the water wasn’t running, of course.
Her slapping noise chased Beethoven over toward Cody’s corner.
“Normally, water collected during the hotter part of the day will stay warm overnight, but it still cools down a little.” He pointed vaguely toward the windows.
“C-cooled a bit?” She jumped out of the tiny stall and stamped her wet feet on the wooden floor. “That stuff is straight off a glacier!”
He’d lost track of his progress through the second song. “Are you through in my shower yet?”
“You c-couldn’t pay me to go back in there,” she said, her teeth chattering.
“Well, hurry and dry off. Unless I’m working on something, this corner is boring.”
“Your pretend shower was...t-totally freezing!”
He could hear the additional sounds of the towels rubbing hurriedly over her body and remembered—from his brief but mostly discreet glimpse the previous evening when he’d undressed her—how beautiful her body was. He wondered what it would be like to touch her skin...in a totally different context.
“You knew that water was ice cold and you let me get in that shower anyway.”
This debate was getting tiresome. “Are you dressed yet?”
“No. But I’m finally dry. And I have frostbite in four places.”
He could imagine at least two of those places. “Tell me when you’re dressed, because I’ve run out of songs.”
He heard various clothing noises, punctuated by the angry zipping of her jeans. “Okay, I’m dressed. Now why did you trick me?”
Cody turned slowly and approached, followed by Beethoven. “I did everything I could to dissuade you from using that shower. Then I stood right here and explained exactly how it worked and told you I only shower during the heat of the day. Didn’t I?”
“Oh. Yeah.” She’d lost a bit of steam. “But you didn’t say why.”
“I said exactly why. Sun heats the water and the tank stores it. The hottest water is when the sun is still up high and has had time to warm both the coils and the storage.”
“That’s not explaining,” she protested. “That’s a science lesson...or something else.”
“No, you’re something else. I told you not to take a nighttime shower with a solar heated water system. Not to mention this storm has blocked sunlight for some thirty hours and let the water cool down.”
“How much colder?”
“Normal overnight drop is some dozen degrees. Without the prolonged storm, it would reheat fairly quickly the next day. But with the storm’s interference, temperature dropped maybe another dozen degrees or so. So instead of around 105 degrees like you’re probably used to, that particular water is likely 80 degrees. Still comfortable for washing your hands, but on a naked body it’s…”
“Freezing.”
He shrugged.
“And you certainly could’ve mentioned that.”
“Would you have listened?”
“Oh, never mind. What a train wreck.” She combed her wet hair with her fingers. “I don’t suppose you have a hair dryer out here in the sticks.”
He shook his head and pointed to her two towels.
“I’ll end up looking worse than when I started.”
Cody smiled. “You look fine. Maybe a little startled...and still a bit angry, I guess.”
Her face flushed.
“And your clothes are still dry since you changed your mind about washing them.”
“Yeah, those seven seconds of icy water kind of discouraged me.”
“Plus you got most of the mud out of your hair.”
She draped the towels over the curtain rod and wandered about the small cabin. Probably off-balance without a mirror.
It would be easy to remind her again how much he’d tried to prevent this incident, but she’d already suffered enough. Her dignity, if nothing else. “Try to get your mind off the shower. Let’s talk about something totally different.”
Apparently willing to cool down—ha—she plopped down on the love seat. “Okay.” She pointed to Beethoven perched on the back of Cody’s chair. “Does your chicken sleep indoors?”
“When Bessie was still around, they’d usually roost in the barn at night. But he’s been a little clingy without a girlfriend, so I’ve got a mature hen on order.”
“So in the meantime?”
“Kinda depends. If he follows me out to the barn and it’s already late, he might roost out there with Trigger.”
“Trigger being…”
“My horse. I know I mentioned him.”
“Maybe so. My brain’s still fuzzy.” She nodded again in the rooster’s direction. “So sometimes your fowl stays in the barn.”
“And occasionally he bunks with me.”
Her shocked expression conveyed more than words could.
“But tonight, I guess I’ll escort him out to his alternate address.” He stood and shrugged into his slicker and broad-brimmed hat.
“Thank you. I believe roosters must have terrorized me in an earlier life.”
Cody gently lifted an obviously disappointed flapping fowl, opened the door, and disappeared into the stormy darkness outside.
Chapter Ten
The woman who knew herself only as Scarlett had learned an embarrassing lesson in listening, discerning, and retention. And she still had stringy damp hair.
Wilder was back within a few minutes, shaking off the rain. After hanging his slicker and hat on pegs, he stared through one of the two west-facing windows. No change in the dismal weather outside, but finally Wilder yawned and headed the few steps necessary to reach the kitchenette. “You ready for some supper, Scarlett?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Starving, in fact.”
“I’ll reheat the Mulligan stew. Can I trust you with a knife now?”
“For what?”
He motioned toward a homemade breadbox.
“Oh, sure. I can slice bread.” She tried to recall where he kept the sharp knife. “What do we have to go with it?”
“Trucille’s homemade butter.”
She was intensely curious who Trucille was, but wouldn’t give Wilder the satisfaction of asking. Probably another ex-wife or current girlfriend. Scarlett retrieved the loaf of dark bread and began sawing.
It wasn’t long before Wilder ladled piping hot stew into the bowls she had set on the table. This time she’d folded napkins under the utensils. “Since we’re stuck here ‘til the storm passes and I can’t remember anything else about myself, do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
“Ask away, Scarlett, but I don’t promise I’ll answer.”
“Okay, I realize you’re pretty self-sufficient up here, but I’m struggling to imagine an income stream. I mean, surely some of the things you need presumably require actual money.”
He held up a spoonful and blew on it to cool it sufficiently. “Sure do. Supplies, materials, fuels—yeah, they require cold, hard cash.”
“Well, call me a busybody, but my curiosity is killing me. Do you have a trust fund or something?”
He swallowed that spoonful hard and then laughed deeply. “Not by a long shot. I just lucked into a situation.”
“What kind of situation? Maybe I’ll need one some day.”
“My partner calls it an invention, but it’s more of a solution. An engineering professor friend helped me get it patented.”
“Cool.” She finally began eating. “What kind of solution?”
“It wouldn’t make much sense to most people, I suppose, but it has to do with hospital beds.”
Surely those were perfected long before this mountain man was born. “I’m guessing you didn’t invent the wheels.”
Wilder shook his head. “Think about a hospital bed, Scarlett. It’s got to be totally self contained, portable at a second’s notice, and must have components which are
quickly and easily interchangeable.”
“Makes sense.” She ate another spoonful.
“Well, have you ever looked under a hospital bed?”
“Not really. Just some structure that makes it bend, go up and down, et cetera.”
“More than that. There are motors and drives to let it contort in every conceivable configuration, plus batteries to power them when they’re not plugged in, and multiple controls to activate those motors and drives.”
Still waiting for the explanation.
He slurped noisily. “There’s probably enough wiring in each one of those hospital beds to equip a full-size RV or camper.”
“And?”
“All those wires have to be managed so, if any individual component goes down, the bed’s not out of commission long enough to jeopardize the patient’s health or safety.”
“Makes sense.” She nibbled on a piece of cold dark bread. “So where did you come in?”
“I was visiting my grandmother in the hospital and noticed some of those wires. Did a bit of poking around and realized that a few little gadgets could keep most of those harnesses separate but grouped...and therefore easy to route, connect, disconnect, and anything else you need to do to keep the bed self-contained and mobile.”
“So you invented one.”
He nodded. “I think of it as designing the solution. Not really an invention.”
“And you got it patented?”
“With the help of my professor friend.”
“What do you call this gizmo, the Wilder Adaptor?”
“Ha. No. It’s known mostly by bed manufacturers and typically goes by a part number. Nobody in the hospital is probably aware it exists.”
“What do you call it?”
“While I was designing it, I just called it a comb, but that’s misleading because it doesn’t resemble a standard hair comb.”
“So why…?”
“Because it separates the wires and harnesses like a comb might.”
“So if you hold the patent on this comb gizmo, you must be a millionaire.”
He nearly choked on his newest spoonful. “As if. It takes a long time to get specialty manufacturers lined up to use it.”
“I take it you’re not involved in that part.”
“No, Scarlett. My friend is also my business partner. He handles all that. But we already have two major bed manufacturers who are using my comb. He’s been trying to break into the European market, but there are lots of complications.”
“I can imagine. So you do have an income stream.”
He nodded.
“Then you’re probably one of those eccentric mountain men with a high-powered New York stock broker.”
“Never.” He shook his head. “I figure if I ever get so wealthy that I can’t manage my own funds, then I’ll have too much money.”
“I didn’t think anyone could ever have too much money.” It sounded wistful, even to her.
He eyed her carefully. “In your world, Scarlett, perhaps not.”
She started to frown but caught it in time. “Then you must pay enough attention to the market to manage your own portfolio.”
“No portfolio.”
“Surely you don’t deal only with money markets and CDs.”
He shook his head. “When sufficient cash accumulates, I convert it to precious metals.”
“So you buy certificates for gold and such?”
“Nope. Bullion.” He slurped another spoonful of stew. “But when I use that term, some people imagine I’m sitting on a cellar full of gold.”
“Like Fort Knox.” She pointed over her shoulder, without any real sense of the proper direction. “So do you?”
“Heavens no. It takes a lot of cash to acquire even small amounts of silver, gold and platinum.”
“So that’s what’s under your hard mattress.”
“Nope,” he said smiling. “And I don’t keep any cash there either.”
“Do I have to ask?” She dipped back into her stew.
He laughed. “Scarlett, you seem to expect some bizarre reply, but proceeds from my patent go directly to the bank in Boar Mount. I also have a safe deposit box for the bullion. I usually stop by when I’m in town.”
“On periodic visits down the mountain…”
“Typically once a month.”
“So if you have accounts at a bank, then you’re not really off-the-grid.”
His expression suggested he was explaining algebra to a housecat. “Being off the grid doesn’t mean I’m hiding from the authorities. I’m not an outlaw. I file income tax returns, pay property taxes...heck, I even vote in local elections.”
“So what’s the deal about living in a cold one-room cabin with a wood stove and hardly any plumbing?”
He slurped another spoonful and eyed her evenly. “I don’t need them to be content.”
“But they’d come in handy when you have guests.”
“Which is not all that often.”
“So you do have some guests!” She jabbed the air with her empty spoon.
Without replying, he smiled slyly.
“Aha. You’ve got a special friend!” Probably a friend with benefits.
No response as he scraped the last bit of stew from his bowl.
“Let’s see. I got off track. Where were we?”
“It’s your quiz, Scarlett. But let’s get more comfortable if you’re going to keep grilling me.” He stood, took his bowl to the sink, and moved to his easy chair.
“Just a few more questions and then I’ll do the dishes.”
“Okay, but I didn’t talk this much in the entire month of March, so be aware this is a strain on my social skills.”
“You have to be kidding.” Maybe not. She sat on the rustic hand-made loveseat next to his chair. “Oh, I remember. We were talking about banks and cash.”
He nodded. “Yes I do have some cash on hand.”
“And if not in the mattress, then I’m guessing a cookie jar.”
“It’s safe. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Okay, but what do you use cash for? It’s not like you have a mini-mart up on this mountaintop.”
“For one, I need it to pay Trucille.”
“Pay her for what?” Her voice was shrill with shock.
Wilder chuckled. “Not what you’re evidently thinking.”
“How could you know what I’m thinking?”
“I can see it in your face, Scarlett.”
“So what do you pay this hussy for?”
“Trucille’s the old lady with the egg route.”
“Egg route?”
“Comes by every two weeks—weather and road permitting —and keeps me supplied with fresh eggs, milk, butter, and plucked chickens.”
So he doesn’t milk his own cow.
“On her next run Trucille’s bringing Beethoven a new bride. Roosters shouldn’t live alone, you know.”
Hadn’t gotten that bulletin. “And those are your only transactions with her?”
“She’s in her sixties. In fact, as a child she was friends with my grandmother. Trucille’s run this route for a long time.”
“I’ll bet she wears a bonnet and comes by here in a horse and buggy.”
“Not even close. She wears a baseball cap and drives a utility vehicle.”
“Four-wheel drive?”
“Yep. Seating for four plus some cargo. Nice buggy. I’ve thought about getting one when my horse gives out.”
“Why not get one now? With all that money from your comb gizmo?”
“What would I do with my horse?”
Exasperating. “Don’t you ever do anything on a whim?”
He looked at her evenly. “I opened my door to a mud-covered straggler in the middle of a horrible thunderstorm, Scarlett. That’s definitely something I’d never planned on.”
“That’s different.” It was an act of kindness and charity to let her in and help her out. “I’m talking about a whim where you indulge yourself
...you know, impulse purchase. Buy a four-wheeler because you want one.”
Wilder shook his head. “I’ve watched a lot of people spend themselves into the poor house on the empty belief that one more expensive gadget would bring them happiness. But it never does. They’re just as miserable as they were before...and a lot deeper in debt.” He gazed toward the dark front window. “That’s a destructive cycle I hope to avoid. One of the many reasons I moved up here to Hardscrabble.”
“Am I allowed to learn some of the other reasons?”
After a short silence, he said softly, “We’ve just met, Scarlett. A man should have some mystery.”
“Your whole existence is a mystery.”
He shrugged. “Not to me.”
“Okay, I wasn’t trying to pry. Sorry. Just had a feeling I might need to know some of these details for some reason.” She shut her eyes to envision what else she wanted to know. “Oh, let’s go back to this older lady’s egg route. That finally explains why I didn’t see any farm animals around besides your pet rooster.”
“Well, you haven’t been inside the barn yet.”
“True, but I didn’t hear any either.”
“The storm is pretty loud.”
“So you’re saying you do have farm animals?”
“No. Only the horse. Creatures like cows, goats, and chickens are a lot of trouble. Maggie didn’t want to fool with all that.”
“And Maggie is…”
“Gone.”
Chapter Eleven
He’s dying for me to ask who Maggie is but I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Wilder also went silent as he gazed out a window at the rain pelting the thick glass. It was a long moment before he resumed his explanation. “Besides the things I get from Trucille, I also hunt small game, of course, like rabbits and squirrels, for more meat.”
She quelled her curiosity about Maggie and kept topical pace with Wilder. “I can’t imagine this Trucille person has too many customers up here.”
“I’m not the only human on this mountain, Scarlett.”
