Pleased to Meet Me

by J. L. Salter

  “But you said this place has everything you need.”

  “It used to.”

  “Not any more?”

  He shook his head.

  “So what’s missing? Parts for your windmill? A new accumulator for your solar storage system?”

  “Not a what...it’s a who.”

  “Anybody I know?”

  “Some foxy lady with no memory who writes and paints.”

  Her thoughts still fogged by the intensity of their kiss, Stacy somehow remembered a significant detail. “What about that Bambi person you visit in this town once a month for supper and breakfast?”

  “Bambi who?”

  Stacy jabbed his mid-section. Maybe she’s just a friend with benefits.

  “Well, I’ll have to compare the breakfast meals before I make a decision.” Before she could slug his arm, Wilder swept her off her feet and held her as though he was about to carry her away. Her arms tight around his neck, she kissed him. Not as long as their first, and not as urgent, but their lips and tongues spoke volumes.

  When that kiss ended, he gently put her down, her toes barely touching the gravel and his arms squeezing her tightly. The mountain man’s large, rough hands roamed about her. Not groping, but more urgent than a caress. It was as though he’d waited a lifetime to touch her. Yet not that tentative helpfulness he’d evidently manifested when he removed her soaked and muddy clothing Friday night—this touch had heat. Passion. Had they been in more private surroundings, she might very well have melted.

  Just as she realized her internal engines were about to shift into gear and race forward, Wilder stopped. He must have known where their speed and direction was heading, so he hit the brakes. All her heightened sensory receptors were screaming to keep going, but she, too, knew they had to stop. “Will you let me visit you, up on the mountain?”

  “You’d better.”

  When he released her until she was off her tiptoes, she slid down his full front and remained there, hugging him. “You don’t have a phone. Before I go trekking all the way up there, how will I know you’re home...and how can I let you know to expect me?”

  He smiled softly. “When you’re down at the base of this mountain and on your way up for a visit...I’ll know.”

  “How could you tell?”

  “I’d taste your scent in the breeze.”

  “Seriously.”

  “We’re connected now. Our psychic energy…”

  “You’re just making fun of me.”

  He lightly kissed her forehead. “I live here, Stacy. I’m integral to this environment.”

  “You mean you’re part of Hardscrabble Mountain?”

  He considered that for a moment. “If I were, which part would I be? The rocks? Trees? Soil?”

  “You’d be the best part.”

  “Which is…?”

  “The heart and soul.” She hugged him again tightly and spoke into his firm chest. “Seriously, how can we communicate? I can’t use smoke signals.”

  “Okay. The night you reach town, at midnight,” he replied, “stand midway between the courthouse and church and shine a high intensity light for five minutes.”

  “Wait. How will you know when midnight is?”

  “What do you mean?” He looked puzzled. “Midnight is midnight.”

  “But how can you tell with no clocks in your cabin?”

  Wilder smiled. “I have a clock...runs off a battery. I just rarely pay attention to it.”

  “Looked all over and never saw it,” she said. “Where do you hide it?”

  “On top of my dresser, in plain view.”

  Only if you’re six-foot-three...or whatever. “Oh. Well, anyway what do I do at midnight with this bright beam light?”

  “Move it back and forth a bit, so I’ll know it’s you.”

  “That’s me letting you know I’m on my way up the next morning. But how do I know you’re, uh, ready to see me?”

  Wry smile. “I suspect I’ll be ready.”

  “Seriously, what’s your counter-sign?”

  “While you’re flashing me, I’ll get out my own high-intensity lantern and shine you back.”

  “You’re sure I’ll be able to see it?”

  “Even with the densest growth, you should see a bright light coming off a dark mountainside.”

  “And your signal will mean it’s okay to come up?”

  “My signal means, what took you so long?”

  Who knew mountain men could melt you with their simple, direct words? She wrapped her arms around his neck and rose up on her tiptoes again. Then kissed him deeply. And he kissed her. Who knew rustic mountain men were so passionate?

  When their lips finally separated, it took her a moment to catch her breath. Eying Hardscrabble Mountain over Wilder’s broad shoulders, she asked, “How often would you feel like entertaining visitors? I mean besides the egg lady on her route.”

  He searched her eyes with a tender expression. “You mean, after you’re checked out by a doctor, you get things situated, and then remember everything.”

  She nodded, though she was ready now.

  “I’d want you here probably more times than you’ll be able to give me.”

  She squealed. “Are those mountain days or days of heart-time?”

  He just smiled. And right in the shade near the office of the Grande Vista Motor Court, Wilder kissed her as though they had just landed on their honeymoon bed after a generous helping of champagne. His hands began roaming again. So did hers. “One of us is purring, Stacy. Is that your motor?”

  “I think my motor’s off the grid now,” she replied. Which made no sense, but neither cared. And with no self-consciousness by the proximity of her brother-in-law or Doretta the motel clerk, Stacy kissed Cody back.

  In the distance, near number seven, Bishop honked his horn twice.

  But only Doretta heard it.

  The End

  Acknowledgements

  Naturally, and quite sincerely, I want to thank Stephanie Taylor, founder and CEO at Clean Reads, for contracting this novella and for the numerous other ways she’s encouraged and inspired me and my writing.

  Thanks to Amanda L. Matthews at A.M. Design Studios for this wonderful cover; thanks to Kathryn McGrail for Content Edits, Charisa Weirich for Line Edits, and Janet Greaves for Proofreading.

  I’m greatly indebted to my wife, Denise Williams Salter, for reading and discussing this manuscript and for her numerous helpful suggestions. Also to my friend, Dale Fulton, who read it and provided valuable feedback on living off the grid.

  Special thanks to my friend Larry Tuttle for helping me figure out mountain slopes, roads, and distances…as well as letting me tap his brain about beer brewing.

  About the Author

  My newest novel is “Stuck on Cloud Eight,” released by TouchPoint Press.

  Through Clean Reads, I have the following titles: “The Ghostess & MISTER Muir” (Oct. 2014), “Hid Wounded Reb” (Aug. 2014), “Called to Arms Again” (May 2013), “Rescued By That New Guy in Town” (Oct. 2012), and “The Overnighter’s Secrets” (May 2012). Also released through CR are the short novellas, “Echo Taps” (June 2013) and “Don’t Bet On It” (April 2014).

  Released by Dingbat Publishing: “Curing the Uncommon Man-Cold,” a screwball comedy (Dec. 2013)… and its prequel, “Scratching the Seven-Month Itch” (Sept. 2014)… and a novella, “One Simple Favor” (May 2015).

  Romantic comedy and romantic suspense are among eleven completed novel manuscripts and four completed novellas.

  I’m co-author of two non-fiction monographs (about librarianship) with a royalty publisher, plus a signed chapter in another book and a signed article in a specialty encyclopedia. I’ve also published articles, book reviews, and over 120 poems; my writing has won nearly 40 awards, including several in national contests. As a newspaper photo-journalist, I published about 150 bylined newspaper articles, and some 100 bylined photos.

  I worked nearly 30 years in the field of li
brarianship. I’m a decorated veteran of U.S. Air Force (including a remote tour of duty in the Arctic, at Thule AB in N.W. Greenland).

  I’m the married parent of two and grandparent of six.

  Also by J.L. Salter

  Chapter One

  Friday, August 15

  “Aren’t you the new teacher who lives in the spooky old downtown hotel?” asked the female voice behind Levi Muir. Lurching into the flimsy cart against the faculty lounge wall almost caused him to spill his freshly poured coffee.

  Turning, Muir realized the speaker was his attractive young colleague with lovely tanned legs. “I’ll be at the Whitecliff Apartments. Don’t know anything about a hotel.”

  She moved closer and extended her sun-bronzed hand. “I’m Lucy Tierney, science department. Starting my sixth year.”

  Nice to know there were some five year survivors at Magnolia High. “Levi Muir, English department. Rookie.”

  “I know, Levi. We can all spot a newbie, but you look older than most.” Intently peering into his eyes, she smiled faintly. “Were you held back in college?”

  Muir shrugged but didn’t explain.

  “Have you been assigned a mentor yet?”

  “Uh, don’t think so. Don’t recall it coming up.” His eyebrows lifted. “Are you…?”

  “Oh, heavens no. Not me. I won’t serve as a mentor until my seventh year, at the earliest.” Then she lowered her voice. “The School Board even requires our principal to mentor someone each term and I’m betting she’ll take you on herself.” Lucy winked. “Mrs. Gull isn’t very inspiring and doesn’t make the time for effective mentoring, but she likes bossing the young single guys.” She pointed to his left hand.

  Is she fishing for my status? Muir couldn’t arrive at an appropriate reply.

  “So what do you think of your apartment in the legendary old Majestic Hotel?”

  He winced with his bum ankle as he stepped to one side to let others access the dinged thirty-cup percolator. It was the final day of orientation and professional development training; Monday would be D-Day… when the students began classes. “Haven’t really stayed there yet, Miss Tierney. Tonight’s my first night.”

  “Lucy. You’ve been here every day this whole week. Where have you been staying?” She pointed vaguely south, toward town.

  “An aunt lives in Magnolia. My apartment wasn’t ready yet. Didn’t realize school started so early here. In fact, all I got was a nickel tour from a shrimpy manager who kept looking over his shoulder.”

  Lucy nodded like she knew the man. “Where’s all your stuff?” She looked behind him as though it would be near. “Piled in the driveway at your aunt’s?”

  Muir shook his head. “Left some things at my aunt’s, but I don’t really have too much besides what’s in my pickup. That’s why I was so intent on finding a furnished apartment.”

  Her nicely-toned arm tensed as she reached for an empty cup, but she frowned and put it back down. “The coffee’s awful here.”

  Already noted.

  “Have you seen those old hotel furnishings?”

  “Didn’t really notice, except to be sure I had a bed and a chair.”

  “What about table and stove for cooking your meals? Plus couch and extra chair… for all your visitors?” Her warm smile suggested she’d be willing to be among them.

  And attractive company she’d be. But Muir wasn’t ready to engage any new females right away… not after that awful split with Eva. “Don’t really cook, at least not worth mentioning. And not expecting many visitors, since I really don’t know anybody here except Aunt Martha.”

  “Well, now you know me.” Her smile was lovely, but Muir had been fooled by beauty before. Lucy probably expected a particular reply, but he couldn’t guess what, so he just eyed the half-full cup in his hand.

  “Not a big talker, are you?”

  “Guess not.” It sounded terse. “Sorry. Must be the rookie jitters.”

  Lucy nodded thoughtfully. “So tonight is your first night in the old Majestic…”

  “The Whitecliff Apartments.”

  “Well, everybody here knows it as the old hotel, so you might as well get used to it.” Her tone was lighter than the words she’d selected.

  Muir discreetly eyed the lounge wall clock.

  “And you probably already know that everybody says it’s…”

  The principal interrupted as she jostled directly between them. “Now hush, Miss Tierney. We don’t want to scare away any more of our first year teachers.” Big-boned and tall for a woman, Gull squinted as though she were adjusting to contact lenses. “It’s difficult enough to recruit good people to small towns like ours, so don’t run them off before classes even start.”

  Lucy appeared mildly embarrassed. “I thought he already knew.”

  “Knew what?” Muir faced the principal again.

  Mrs. Gull’s firm hands took an elbow of each and steered them out of the lounge. “All in good time. For now, let’s head into the cafeteria for final briefings and to review our battle plans for Monday.”

  Lucy said no more but took a seat next to Muir at an otherwise empty table.

  Over the next ten minutes, he paid considerably less attention to the briefings than to his intriguing tablemate. Though Muir and a few other rookies received orientation on Monday and Tuesday, the veterans didn’t appear until Wednesday for the professional development training aimed at all instructors. He’d immediately noticed Lucy and had observed her frequently… without actually communicating. Leaning closely, he whispered, “What was Gull talking about?”

  No immediate reply. But after a new speaker took the microphone, Lucy tapped his thigh, sending electricity all over his body. Only her business card, however. On the back was a hastily scribbled note, “Tell you later.”

  The principal was staring when Muir raised his head and he felt like a kid caught passing notes in study hall. Which was pretty much the situation.

  The overly long briefing was just a rundown of the calendar for Fall Semester, plus reminders about upcoming accreditation visits and campus security protocol.

  As the session finally ended, Muir tried to catch up to Lucy — already exiting the cafeteria — but was called back by the principal’s authoritative voice. “Mr. Muir, could I see you for a moment, please?”

  “Of course, Mrs. Gull.” He watched for a clue about where they would speak. If all the way over to her office, he would fear some sort of reproach… even though he couldn’t guess why Lucy’s note would warrant any mention. But if they remained among others milling about the cafeteria and adjacent hallway, perhaps it was merely some session follow up. Muir had served in the military under officers of both genders, but it was always more difficult for him to read the females.

  “I wouldn’t be worried about whatever Miss Tierney told you concerning the hotel.”

  “She hasn’t told me anything.” Yet.

  Gull continued anyway. “Seasoned Alabama buildings develop reputations and in an older small town like Magnolia, legends die hard, especially…” She made a show of checking her watch. “Well, anyway, like I say, don’t fret over what you hear.”

  “Okay, Mrs. Gull, I won’t.” He nodded deferentially. “Thanks.”

  The large principal seemed satisfied they’d held their little chat, although Muir still had no clue what they’d been talking about. So far, all he knew was the structure was old, had once been a hotel, and presently featured offices on first floor and apartments on second. Plus, whenever people mentioned the place, they usually had an odd expression and lowered their voices. Maybe there was something troubling about its third floor, supposed to be renovated soon. Wonder if it leaks into my apartment?

  He checked the parking lot for Lucy, but didn’t find her. Shame. “She’s really cute,” he said to himself. “And being that hot, she probably already has a guy.”

  Muir gathered his material, turned a few hallway corners to make a final check of his rather bare first floor clas
sroom, surrounded on three sides by noisy commotion. The gymnasium and auditorium anchored each end of the four spaces on English Row, and Muir’s room shared one wall with the gym. The noisy and smelly cafeteria was right across the busy hallway and his north wall fronted the loud vehicles and hot concrete of the student parking lot.

  Though the desk held nothing of his yet, Muir locked it out of habit and headed to his truck, which contained about half of everything he currently owned. The rest remained in Aunt Martha’s house, where he’d bunked since Sunday afternoon. It was Martha, knowing about his disquieting break up with Eva, who’d alerted him to this teaching vacancy and offered to share her home for as long as he needed.

  Though fully grown in his mid-twenties, Muir was apprehensive about classes starting on Monday. Couldn’t shake an image of the students ripping him to shreds. Sophomore English — what on earth possessed me to take a job teaching literature and writing to 16-year-old kids?

  “I’ll need a few good nights of sleep and a nice calm weekend to gear up for this battle,” he said to his dashboard, with which he could be chattier than around strangers. “And it’ll be a relief to get out of my aunt’s house and away from her yappy little mutt.” Peace and quite. Calm and rest. Weekend at Whitecliff and first night in my own apartment finally. “Sure hope there’s no construction upstairs… or anything else to rattle me.”