by Jamie Craig
His Very Own
By Jamie Craig
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2020 Jamie Craig
ISBN 9781646564545
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
His Very Own
By Jamie Craig
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 1
Adam Roper wiped the sweat out of his eyes and then fiddled with the car’s rattling air conditioner, trying to tease a cold gust of air from it. The yellow lines on the road were starting to blur into one long, faded path, and the only thing that kept his heavy eyelids from falling was the sharp pang of hunger in his gut. Billboards dotted the horizon with promise of food, of gas, of cheap hotel rooms. Each and every one looked completely appealing. Their promises seemed meant for him, personally, as though they were addressed to Mr. Adam Roper, formerly of New York City.
His watch told him he had only been on the road for eleven hours. Eleven hours was nothing. When he was a kid and had accompanied his dad in the summer on his business trips, an eleven hour drive would have been nothing. But he didn’t have that sort of stamina anymore—if he’d ever had it at all—and eleven hours pushed his limits considerably.
Adam took the first exit off the freeway that he came to and immediately passed a McDonald’s. He considered pulling over, but he didn’t want fast food. His mouth watered for a big, succulent apple, or orange, or even a peach. He wanted something sweet and juicy. More than that, he wanted to buy a cooler and some food to pack away for the rest of his drive. He was determined to be somewhere before he stopped driving. He wasn’t sure where he was now, but he was pretty sure it wasn’t somewhere.
Adam thought he could drive through the entire town in under five minutes, and he found the grocery store at about the three minute mark. It was smaller than any grocery store he had ever seen before, but that didn’t matter—they’d have fresh fruit, at least. There were only five other cars parked in front of the building. A dog barked at him from one, his slobber speckling the glass as he lunged at Adam.
The heat slapped him in the face as soon as he exited his car, and sweat rolled down his forehead and stung his eyes. His lips were dry and salty and his shirt clung to his back. He would need to find a hotel and take a long, cold shower. The sun beating down his head and shoulders made it difficult to walk. The parking lot even felt sticky as he trudged toward the front door, the soft tar gripping his heels and refusing to let him go.
Should have sold my car and bought a plane ticket. I could be in Miami by now, relaxing at the beach. But no. I wanted adventure. I wanted to see some of the country.
“I’m a freaking idiot,” Adam muttered as he pushed the store door open. A bell jingled above him, equal parts annoying and charming, and an old man nodded at him from behind the register. The store’s single register. Adam smiled cordially as he passed by.
The produce section of the store was tiny, but the apples gleamed in the light—small, red beacons. Adam immediately began picking through them, carefully studying each one, before finding three acceptable ones in the pile.
“Excuse me?”
Adam didn’t look up at first, certain that the soft words couldn’t be directed toward him. He shifted his attention to the oranges, wondering if they were worth the price. But the bananas were on sale. He could get two or three and…
“Excuse me?”
Adam glanced at the older woman standing behind him. She’s about Mom’s age. Something stung Adam’s heart, and he immediately pushed that thought away from him. “Oh, I’m sorry. Am I in the way?”
She smiled at him. “Not at all. I was just wondering if you could help me.”
Adam was about to suggest she ask somebody else for help, but a quick survey of the aisle proved that there was nobody else.
“I guess. What do you need?”
She pointed to a giant watermelon. “I was going to buy that for dessert tonight, but I just can’t seem to lift it.” She lifted her hands almost apologetically. Her fingers were twisted and bent. “It’s the arthritis.”
Guilt washed through Adam. He should have approached her and offered to help, instead of ignoring her. “Of course. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, no, just the watermelon.” She tilted her head and studied his face. “I’ve never seen you around here before.”
“I’m just passing through.” He hefted the watermelon before adding, “My name is Adam.”
“I’m Ida Emerson. It’s good to meet you. We don’t get very many new faces around here.”
“Well, I’m just glad I was here to help. I only stopped to buy some apples.” He nodded at the plastic bag he still held.
“Oh, let me put those on my tab.”
Adam blinked with surprise. “Please, that’s not necessary.”
“I think it’s the least I can do.” She shuffled toward the front of the store and threw over her shoulder, “Especially since I’m imposing so much on your time.”
“You’re not imposing…”
“I’m going to need some help carrying this melon home, of course.”
Adam set his burden down on the counter. “Get it home. You mean, none of those cars are yours?”
“Oh, of course not. I can’t drive anymore, you know. But I don’t live far. Just up the road.”
Before Adam could respond, the old man’s phlegmy voice broke into the conversation. “That’ll be two dollars and sixty-eight cents.”
Ida nodded. “Just put it on my tab, will you, Rosco?”
“Sure.”
Adam held up his hand. “Wait, Rosco. That’s not necessary. I’ve got three dollars.”
“No, no, no,” Ida said, twisted hands fluttering at him. “I told you, it’s the least I can do. Just put it on my tab.”
“Have a good day, Ida.”
Ida moved toward the door before Adam voiced another protest, and he had no choice but to gather up the apples and the watermelon and follow her into the relentless sun. Her hair was almost white outside the dim light of the store, and her skin looked blue. Despite her arthritis and aged appearance, she walked with surprising swiftness and grace. And she didn’t seem to have any compunctions about leading him to her home.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Emerson?”
“Ida.”
“What?”
“Don’t call me Mrs. Emerson, or ma’am, or any other such thing. My name is Ida.”
“Ida, I could gi
ve you a lift. My car is just right here.”
“I need my daily walk.”
Adam looked up the road, trying to gauge how far away her house was. Except, he couldn’t see a house. “Where do you live?”
She gestured ahead of her vaguely. “A few miles up the road. It’s not far.”
“A few miles?” Adam was a fit guy, but he didn’t think he could handle a few miles in this heat. Especially not carrying a watermelon. Plus, he didn’t want to leave his car. “How will I get back?”
“My son can bring you back to the store, if you like. He’s a good boy. Now, are you going to lollygag all afternoon? I’ve got a dinner to cook, you know.”
“A dinner?” Adam looked over his shoulder to his car. What would she have done if she hadn’t run into him? Carry the watermelon herself? Lurk in the produce section until she could trick another sap into carrying produce a few miles to her house?
“Do you like ribs?”
“Sure.”
“You’ll love my ribs. I can’t tell you just what my recipe is—it’s a family secret—but you’ll never find another barbecue like it. Not anywhere. My ribs are pretty much famous in this region.”
Adam tried to blink the sweat out of his eyes. “They sound very good.”
“You’re going to stay, of course, and try some.”
“Oh…I couldn’t.”
“I’ll make you a mint julep, too. It’ll cool you down in this heat. Can you believe it? I think it’s the hottest summer we’ve had in years. But mint julep before dinner and nice, iced watermelon after dinner is just the thing, don’t you think?”
Adam nodded, then realized she wasn’t looking at him. “I think that’s exactly right.”
“Where are you from? New York?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“Well, you aren’t from around here, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then there you are. Now, Colette is going to be at dinner tonight, or else I’d cut a big hole right in that melon and dump a bottle of vodka into it. That’ll certainly take the summer edge off. But that’s okay.”
“Colette?”
“My granddaughter. Now, do you need to stop and rest? You’re looking a little peaked.”
He felt a little peaked, but Ida looked fine. Better than fine, in fact. He suspected if he refused to take another step, she’d take her fruit from him and continue on her way without a single faltering step.
“So where were you going?”
“Florida.”
Ida grimaced. “What do you want to do in Florida?”
“I…don’t really know. I thought I might keep driving if I didn’t like it.”
“I’ve been to Florida once.”
“Oh, really?”
“Didn’t like it.”
“Why not?”
Ida shrugged. “My son took me to that Disney World. Too crowded. Too hot. Too smelly. What would anybody want to do with all those people, I have no idea.”
“I thought about visiting Disney World while I was there.”
“Don’t waste your time.”
Ida kept up a constant stream of conversation there, detailing all of the reasons she didn’t enjoy Florida, and all the reasons why she would never go back. Adam became more accustomed to her company, and soon he almost forgot the heat. Almost. But she made him laugh. More than he had laughed in a very, very long time.
“We’re here,” she announced as she approached a large, rambling house. “It’ll be much cooler inside. You look about as red as one of your apples.”
They had only reached the edge of the yard when the screen door slammed open, and a gangly young girl came barreling out. Her colt legs blurred as she raced for Ida, her dark hair streaming behind her in a long ponytail.
“Gram! Dad said you’re doing ribs and watermelon tonight!”
She nearly knocked Ida over as she threw her arms around the older woman. The two were nearly matched in height, though the girl’s awkwardness and lingering baby fat in her cheeks meant she couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve. She was all arms and legs, which had to be a product of her genetics. It made Adam wonder where she might have gotten those particular genes from.
That was when she noticed him hanging back, and tilted a brown-eyed gaze in his direction. “Who’re you?” she blurted.
“Adam. I was just helping your gram with her watermelon.” He smiled. “Who’re you?”
“Colette. Like the writer. Except she worked in a music hall, too, but Mom says that’s because she was just bored.”
Adam didn’t know which surprised him more—that she knew who the writer was, or that she addressed him so matter-of-factly. This girl didn’t seem to have a shy bone in her body. He glanced at Ida and almost smiled. That must have been genetic, too.
“Well, Colette, it’s good to meet you. Why don’t you just show me where I can put this melon, and I’ll leave you to your ribs and watermelon.”
“No, you won’t,” Ida said sharply. “I told you, you’re going to stay and have supper with us.”
Colette nodded. “You have to stay. Dad’s driving me crazy. He’s got a block, and Mom’s not going to get here until dinnertime.” She turned back to Ida. “Can I stay here tonight? Dad said it’s okay with him if it’s okay with you.”
Ida linked her arm through Colette’s and guided her to the steps. Adam naturally fell in step behind her, realizing that he was locked in for the night. He knew he could just drop the watermelon and announce his departure, but Ida’s eyes were the same color as his mother’s, and he didn’t want her to look at him with disappointment or disapproval.
“Of course it’s okay with me, dear. We can find a movie on cable and eat those cookies I didn’t tell your father about.”
“The peanut butter ones? He found those.” Colette pulled the door open, and a blast of cool air rushed out. “But we can make s’mores. We brought marshmallows and everything.”
Adam followed them into the bright house, grateful for the air conditioning sending a chill to his skin. Colette continued to make her plans for the evening, barely stopping for breath, while Ida smiled and nodded. She clearly adored her granddaughter. Another pang shot through him.
They stepped into the wide, open kitchen, but it wasn’t empty. At the sink, a tall, dark-haired man stood, washing his hands. Colette’s father, Adam reasoned. Her swift disengaging from Ida and subsequent bolt to his side only confirmed it.
“Gram said I can stay the night. Don’t eat the marshmallows.”
“Maybe I wanted the s’mores for me and your mom,” the man teased. He glanced over his shoulder at Ida, a half-smile on his face. “You know she only wants to stay because Sasha’s got tomorrow off, right, Mom?”
“Now, she wants to stay with me because she loves her gram, don’t you, sweetheart?”
“Of course, Gram.”
“That’s why you’re my favorite granddaughter.”
Colette made a funny face. “I’m your only granddaughter.”
“Still my favorite, though. And we’ll make more cookies, since I’m sure your father has devoured them.”
Adam shifted uncomfortably. He couldn’t have felt more awkward, until Ida’s son turned and looked at him directly. His eyes seemed to cut right through him, like he knew everything there was to know of Adam Roper (formerly of New York City) after a single glance.
Adam placed the watermelon on the nearest counter, relieving himself of his burden.
“Oh, that’s right,” Ida said. “Adam, this is my son, Scott. Scott, this is Adam. He helped me home from the store.”
Adam politely held out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Grabbing a dishtowel, Scott dried his hands before returning the greeting. He was tall, taller than Adam, and everything about him was long. Long face, long body, long legs. The fingers that folded over Adam’s were long, while the direct blue-eyed gaze fixed on him never wavered. This was where Colette got her height, t
hough except for the dark hair, the coloring was slightly wrong. Her mother must have had brown eyes. The golden skin, too. Scott Emerson had the slightly pinked edge to his that hinted at a fairer complexion outside of the sun.
“You look like you could use a drink,” he said. “Beer? It’s ice-cold.”
The longer Scott held his hand, the warmer he got. In fact, he couldn’t even feel the air conditioner anymore. He had no desire to let Scott’s hand go, and the small bit of hair visible through Scott’s unbuttoned collar was oddly distracting. Which didn’t make any sense to Adam at all, because Scott was most certainly not his type—as far as his type went—and also, the man’s mother and child were standing right there.
“A beer would be great. Thanks.”
He thought he caught a glimpse of a smile in those blue eyes before Scott let him go, brushing past him for the refrigerator.
Colette hopped up onto the counter next to Adam, swinging her legs so her heels kicked at the cupboards. “What do you do?” she asked, tilting her head to get into his line of sight. “Are you working for Rosco?”
“No. No, not at all. I was just stopping for some apples and maybe something to drink—I’m on my way down to Florida. But then Ida asked me to help her with the watermelon, and I guess I’m just a sucker for a pretty face.”
Scott snorted, though his head was buried inside the fridge.
“Are you going to Disney World?” Colette continued. “We went there. Dad got sunburned, but Mom gave him special massages with cream to make him feel better.”
Adam blinked at the image Colette innocently conjured. “Uh, I had considered it. But…”
“I told him what a rotten place it was.”
“She makes a very convincing argument, too.”
“I’ll bet she left out the part where she won two hundred bucks playing poker with the concierge at the hotel.” Humor danced in Scott’s eyes as he held out a long-neck beer to Adam. “Mom hates Disney World because we made her stop playing cards long enough to go with us a couple days.”
“Gram’s the best poker player. She even beats the computer most of the time.”
