by Hollis Wynn
Chapter Two—Pennington
It’s been a month since I stood in the lawyer’s office, listening to him read my grandfather’s will. The man who was my hero—hell, he still is. He spent years giving of himself both to his country and his family and now his ashes are scattered on the water behind his house.
Driving down the lane to his house, the memories come flooding back. The days when he took us fishing and hunting. Or when he taught us to drive on the dirt roads, way before we should have been driving. I’m thankful for those memories, I can keep him with me forever.
Jesus, I’m sounding like my sister.
My inheritance is this house and the property it sits on. I also inherited the responsibility of taking care of the house that sits next to mine. It’s rather fucked up, but it is what it is, and it was my grandfather’s wish. Looking around, it’s obvious that both homes need some updates. I also happen to notice that Gramps’s porch light isn’t on. That’s one of the things I always remember about this place, his porch light stayed on, night and day. One day I finally asked him why he left it on, and his response wasn’t what I expected.
“Well, son, I’m a refuge in the dark for those in need. I leave the light on so they know I’m here for them.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You mean, you’re a Motel 6?”
A throaty chuckle escaped him. “That’s one way to put it.”
Ever since then, I’ve referred to this as Motel Gramps. First thing I’m going to do is find a lightbulb, so I can get the burned out one changed. Then I need to take a walk around both properties to figure out what all needs to be done, other than the obvious mowing and trimming.
Unlocking the heavy wooden door, I allow it to swing all the way open. I haven’t been here since Christmas, and it smells faintly of pine and must. Dropping my duffle bag on the couch, I head into the kitchen to see if there is a science project growing in the refrigerator. Thankfully, it looks to have been cleaned and there are only a couple of condiments in the door. The freezer on top has an orange box of white powder dumped on its side. I place it upright and am thankful the freezer doesn’t stink to high heaven.
It doesn’t take me long to change into some work clothes before I head into the garage to find the mower.
The garage is fairly organized. The right side houses the riding mower, lawn equipment, tools, and his golf cart. Along the back wall are several metal storage racks filled with cardboard boxes. On the left side of the garage sits an old refrigerator and a chest freezer. When I check to make sure there is no spoiled food in either, I am shocked to find a fridge full of bottled water and a freezer full of coffee cans. Opening up a can, the smell of fresh coffee grounds greets me. I snap the lid back on and toss the cold metal can back into the freezer.
Lifting the overhead door, I push the mower out. It doesn’t take long for me to check the oil and fill up the gas tank. A couple of hours later, two acres have been mowed and I trim the edges.
While I’m trimming around the other house, I notice the front steps are starting to rot and the garden beds are overgrown with weeds. I mentally add those tasks to the things to do tomorrow list because it’s been a long day, and the sun is setting.
It’s an easy decision to run into town for food before everything closes. Being as this is a one-horse town, things close much earlier than in Austin. The ride to Dairy Queen is short and I splurge on a steak finger basket and a coke. Normally, I don’t eat fast food, but desperate times and all. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to the grocery store tonight.
I’m startled awake by headlights coming up the driveway. Glancing at my phone, I realize it’s just after two in the morning and no one should be out there. I grab my gun out of the bedside table and stalk to the front door. Flinging it open, I stub my toe on the threshold. “Goddamn it.”
Looking all around, I notice the glow of taillights as the garage door closes at the other house.
I wonder who the fuck that is?
Almost immediately, the lights come on in the kitchen. A minute or so later, the back bedroom lights up. I reach for my boots just inside the door, and pull them on while holding my pistol in one hand. Then I quietly make my way to the other house, checking to be sure no one is outside.
Beginning on the dark side of the house, I walk along the perimeter. Not seeing anything suspicious, I decide to creep around to the back. I stop at the bedroom window that was most recently illuminated and am shocked to see a woman with a small baby.
That clarifies why she rolled in under the cover of night. She probably wanted to travel while the baby slept. At least that’s what my sister would say.
Nothing appears out of the ordinary, so I head back to Gramps’s house. I hope to get a bit more sleep tonight, but with my luck the insomnia will probably win.
Almost three hours later, I’ve tossed and turned so much that my body aches. Climbing out of bed, I trudge to the coffeemaker and fill the glass pot with water. After dumping the water into the reservoir, I open cabinets only to realize there are no damn coffee grounds in this house. I retreat to the bedroom and pull on a pair of shorts before heading to the garage to grab one of the coffee cans from the freezer.
While the pot brews, I jot down the things I need from the store. I’m annoyed there isn’t someone I can hire to do the shopping for me, like in Austin. It makes life so much easier to have someone shop and prep my meals for the week. This way, I don’t eat all the junk food the guys at work eat. Don’t get me wrong, they have wives and kids, so you would think it would be easy for them to bring lunch. Most of them bitch that their wives refuse to make them lunch because they’re not toddlers. I just roll my eyes and tell them to pack their own damn lunches. With the amount of fast food they eat, they’re all going to end up having a fucking heart attack.
After I finish my food list, it’s almost nine in the morning. I head outside to pull out the Weedwacker to finish up on the house next door. Starting on the side closest to Gramps’s house, I work quickly to trim the grass that is growing up on the side of the clapboard home.
Once I make it back around to the front, my eyes catch the front door being flung open. The beautiful woman from last night is flying out the door wearing only an oversized T-shirt. I’m immediately drawn to her long tan legs and drag my eyes up her body, landing on her red-rimmed eyes.
That woman is going to be the death of me. I already know it and I’ve only really just set eyes on her. Even in wrinkled clothes, exhaustion marring her face, she’s one of the most stunning creatures I’ve ever seen.
“Could you please shut that thing off? We’re trying to sleep in here.” Her voice is dripping with anger.
Hitting the kill switch, I hold the Weedwacker by the handle, letting it hang at my side. Feeling the fabric of my shorts rapidly tightening, I try to nonchalantly adjust myself.
Well, fuck. This is not how I planned on starting my morning.
“Who the hell are you? And just where is Owen?” she interrogates me, demanding answers while flailing her arms around like a crazy person.
“The name’s Penn,” I deadpan, glaring at her. “And my grandfather, Owen, is dead.”
My glare softens as I watch her face turn from anger to shock to devastation. Her legs buckle and she crumbles onto the dirty wooden floor. Dark tears run down her beautiful face, and I immediately feel like a dick.
Shit. Don’t cry. I hate tears.
I look down at the trimmer I hold in one hand and the dirt that is all over my legs and shoes, trying to decide what to do next. I may not know this woman, but I feel an overwhelming need to help her.
“Ma’am, what’s your name?” I ask her in the gentlest tone I can muster as I walk to where she’s half laying on the porch.
“BellaRose,” she says between sobs. “BellaRose Rogers.” She’s folded into herself as if the news of Gramps’s death has shattered her whole soul.
“BellaRose, would you like me to help you into the house?” Placi
ng the trimmer on the ground, I help her up. I can’t help but notice the black lace of her panties as I lift her up. Now, I know she prefers lace panties and is the owner of the house Gramps demanded I take care of.
I think it’s time I find out why she’s here.
Chapter Three—BellaRose
Jesus Christ.
Now, I’m sitting on my couch in just a T-shirt and panties, sobbing in front of the most devilishly handsome man I’ve ever seen. He has broad shoulders and thick arms, clearly built over years of working out. His large hands felt rough against my skin as he helped me to my feet after I completely lost it on the porch. But what I’m most entranced by are his sharp, assessing green eyes.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” His voice is smooth and deep, drawing me in one word at a time.
“A cup of tea please. There is some in the cupboard over the stove.” It is somewhat ridiculous that I’m giving this man directions on where to find a tea bag in my house, instead of just fixing it myself.
I hear Ainsley stirring and it will not be long before she’s wailing. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back.”
Yes, I named her because if I didn’t I would draw even more attention to myself. Who the hell has a baby and doesn’t name it? No one is my guess because she needs a name for the birth certificate.
I walk into the bedroom and grab the sweatpants that are crumpled on the floor where I tossed them after waking up in a cold sweat from a nightmare—Kaiser was chasing me.
Quickly, I pull them on and lean over the portable crib before picking her up and cuddling her to my body. I whisper to her as I change her diaper.
We walk into the kitchen, and I don’t know what to say to this strange-ish man. Technically, he’s not a stranger, he’s Owen’s grandson. However, I don’t know the first thing about him, which makes him a stranger in my book.
He notices the baby and begins talking to her. “Hi there, beautiful girl. Are you having a good morning? Did you sleep well for your mama?”
Well, shit. I didn’t consider this happening. I guess I have to answer as if I am her mother.
In my mind, I hear Lake calling me Trash-Can-Momma and a giggle escapes me.
“She slept very well, but it’s almost time for a bottle so if you don’t have earplugs, I’d suggest you move out of the way.” I laugh because Laken used to say the same thing all the time. Liberty is a beautiful baby, and always has been, but don’t you dare get in the way of her food. I’m learning quickly that Ainsley is just like her. Hell, maybe all babies are. Who knows?
Penn stands over the stove, silently waiting for the water to a boil in the old teapot. I quickly fix her bottle and head back to the couch to cuddle her while she eats. I watch her and think back to the days when I wondered what it would be like to have a baby. I know she’s not mine, but she doesn’t know that. All she knows is I’m taking care of her.
My heart beats a little faster thinking of what life would be if she could be mine forever. There is a chance it won’t happen, and I will accept it when it’s time. Until then, I look at her and acknowledge my soul is healing one moment at a time with Ainsley in my arms.
“Your tea, ma’am,” Penn says, placing the teacup next to me on the table. “I can feed her if you’d like.”
Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes.
Hmm, do I want to give the baby over to a stranger? Not really, but I’m exhausted and would love a hot shower. But will he run off with her?
“BellaRose?” Penn’s voice pulls me from the back and forth inside my head.
“Huh, sorry, I sort of spaced out. What did you say?” I ask, buying myself another minute’s reprieve.
Penn sits down beside me and Ainsley on the couch. “I said, I can feed her if you want a break. Maybe take a quick shower. I promise, I’m not gonna steal your baby. I’m trustworthy. Or at least the DEA thinks so.”
My anxiety-weary body relaxes at the realization that he works for the DEA. In the back of my mind somewhere, I remember Owen bragging about his hotshot grandson, who was a federal agent.
“Sure.” I sigh. “Thank you for this.” I hesitate before allowing him to take her from my me. It may have only been a couple of days, but I already feel like something is missing when she’s not in my arms.
“Please don’t leave the house. I should be out in just a few minutes.” I drag my weary body to the bedroom for some clean clothes and pad to the bathroom.
Closing the door, I hear Penn speak up, “Take your time and don’t worry about us.”
Thirty minutes later, I’m washed, shaved, and ready to take on another day. Or at least another cup of tea and some breakfast.
Walking into the living room, I notice Penn’s head is thrown back on the couch and they are both sleeping. Well, isn’t that interesting. Apparently, Penn is a softy. Internally, I swoon and feel butterflies take flight in my belly.
I watch them for a few seconds before pulling some bread out for toast. Pouring water from the kettle over the tea bag in a mug, I heat it up in the microwave while my bread toasts. Staring out the window, I close my eyes as the memories sweep over me.
It was an early fall day. The weather was perfect, and I was getting settled at school. Laken was planning on coming up the next day with another load of stuff for our apartment. It was so exciting. Our sophomore year in college and our first apartment together. Then my world came crashing down. Laken called to tell me she wasn’t going to make it. Our conversation runs through my head like it was yesterday.
“Bella . . . um, I’m not going to be able to make it today. But I think you need to come home. Can you do that?” Her voice cracks and I can tell she’s trying not to cry.
“Lake, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you coming?”
“There’s been an accident . . .” A loud sob escapes, and she can hardly finish her sentence. “And I can’t come.”
“Lake, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.” My voice is getting higher and higher, and my heart is pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to rip through my chest.
“Just come home, Bella. I can’t do this without you.”
I grab a change of clothes and run out the door. The drive to Laken’s house is a bit over an hour away. Adrenaline fuels me and I try not to scream at the other drivers as I make my way toward home. Laken’s parents live around the corner from my family, and the route is intuitive and doesn’t require much thought.
I should probably stop on the way back to say hi to Mom and Dad, I think to myself. They’ll never let me live it down if I don’t.
When I pull into Laken’s driveway, it’s full of cars. I don’t recognize most of them, but there’s a police car right in front of the door. My heart is beating a mile a minute and sweat pours down my neck. I hope Mr. and Mrs. Peterson are okay, is all I can think as I park and rush to the front door.
“Lake! Lake!” Half a dozen heads turn and stare at me.
Mrs. Peterson runs to me and envelops me in a huge hug. “Bella, did Laken call you?”
“Yes ma’am, she did. Why isn’t she coming to school today?”
She grasps my hand and walks me all the way through the house to her bedroom and closes the door behind us. “Honey, I need to talk to you about something.”
“What!” My stomach feels like I’ve just climbed the tallest roller coaster in the world and I’m just before starting to free fall.
“Bella, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this . . .” She stops and just stares at me. “Uhm . . . there’s been a fire. Your parents died this morning.”
At that moment, I fall apart. Sobs wrack my body from head to toe. The sweat that was dripping down my neck is replaced with chills. I slide off the end of the bed, my knees to my chest.
“What? How?” are the only words I can get out.
“All we know right now, is that there was a fire at the house last night, and they didn’t make it out. But the police are working to find answers.”
“I don’t understand. I on
ly left yesterday.”
The memories assault me at the most random times. Walking through a supermarket, or driving down the highway, even watching the children in my classroom. It’s the small things that make me remember. The beautiful smile of a child or the “thing” that I wish I could tell my mom about, and it would make my day even better. But this is life. Life isn’t easy or fun, it’s hard and painful and full of darkness. The goal in life is to believe that the light will overrun the darkness and we can find the magic to help us keep the faith.
Chapter Four—BellaRose
Ainsley screams and Penn’s head pops up, eyes flying open. “Shit,” he mumbles under his breath.
“Don’t worry. She’s probably just wet.”
Leaning over the back of the couch, I lift her from his arms and the smell of poop hits my nose. Oh crap. His arm is damp, and I snicker. She pooped all over him and he didn’t even notice because he was so exhausted.
“Um . . .” I stumble over my words, wondering how I tell this gorgeous man sitting on my couch that he has baby shit all over him. It’s on his arm, his shirt, and even his shorts because of the way they were resting.
“You may want to go change.” A loud snort escapes, and then I’m laughing even harder than before. He looks up at me with deep pools of green. My heart skips a beat and I run into the bedroom to change her while holding in my laughter.
I laugh and talk to her while I get her all cleaned up and smelling baby fresh again before returning to the living room.
“You ladies were laughing at me in there, weren’t you?” Penn has a smile that could stop traffic in the middle of Times Square. Each time I look at him, I get a lightness in my chest that I’ve never experienced before. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was having a heart attack, but in reality it’s just nerves.
“Us, laughing?” My face flushes the color of a tomato and I pat Ainsley’s back before a loud snort bursts from my chest.
