Love in Due Time

by Smartypants Romance

  “Maybe sometime this week?”

  “Perfect. That means I need to call you again to set a date.” His voice teases, but my insides warm with the humor in him. I shake my head. I’m sitting on the floor against the wall between the window and my front door. I haven’t taken off my coat as it smells like bonfire and Nathan. I’d sleep in it if I thought I’d be comfortable.

  “I guess I should let you go, so you can finally go home.”

  “Don’t let me go, Naomi. But yeah, I probably should get out of your driveway.”

  We’re silent for a second and I remember phone calls like this as a kid to other boys I had a crush on. The calls where you didn’t want to be the first to cut the connection.

  You’re a hellion, Naomi. God will take care of the devil in you.

  I shiver with the memory of my mother’s voice.

  “Talk soon?” He questions, and I smile at the vulnerability.

  “Talk soon.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dewey Decimal Classification: 152 Perception, Motivation, Emotions, Drives

  [Nathan]

  As soon as I enter the library on my lunch break on Monday, I know something’s wrong. My first hint—a new sign on the counter reads: Save Our Library. In a second plastic sheet display stands the official letter from the state formally announcing the closure of the library by the end of the calendar year.

  “Where’s Naomi?” I ask the second I read the announcement. Something in my eyes frightens the meek librarian behind the counter and she squeaks. Mrs. MacIntyre steps up instead and I repeat myself.

  “She took off about half an hour ago. We had just read the letter.” Mrs. MacIntyre frowns and I’m certain she’s disappointed in Naomi’s disappearance.

  “She couldn’t breathe,” the younger librarian stammers, her eyes wide as she speaks to me. She glances toward the back of the library and I turn for the corner, but I don’t see anything other than shelves of books, something Naomi loves. Books are her life, she told me when we spoke on the phone the other night. Our phone date.

  Date one point five.

  As I spin around, the quiet girl points at a security door.

  The woods, I think as I take off through the door ignoring the emergency alarm which begins pealing at my departure.

  “Naomi,” I yell before I’ve even reached the trees, as if she can hear me. I don’t know how deep she’s gone in thirty minutes but if it’s anything like the night I followed her, she can get pretty far, pretty quickly.

  Thankfully, I find her within a few yards, crouched down in a squat. Her forehead presses to a thick trunk. Her hands brace the sides like she’s holding on for dear life.

  “Sweetheart,” I say, my voice cracking. Her head picks up and then she shakes it without looking back at me.

  “Go away, Nathan.” Her voice is hardly more than a whisper, but I can hear the pain loud as the geese overhead. I ignore her request and step closer.

  She shivers, and I quickly remove my jacket. I wore it only to ward off the chill on my Harley. It’s another beautiful fall day and I didn’t want to waste it in my truck when I could get away with the bike. I slip the coat around her shoulders and her head falls forward again.

  “Speak to me,” I command softly, squatting down behind her. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I just needed some air.” Her voice lowers. “I needed the trees.” Her cheek presses against the base and her arms wrap farther around the massive trunk.

  “What happened?” I want to reach for her. I want to pull her close to me, but she seems delicate, like if I make the wrong move, she’ll break.

  “The library is closing effective December thirty-first and I can’t shake the feeling it’s my fault somehow.”

  “How could it be your fault?”

  “I gave into you again.”

  “Naomi,” I warn gently as her spirit seems fragile.

  “I shouldn’t have done it, but I couldn’t help myself.” Without meaning to, she’s made me smile and I lower my eyes to look at the crushed, dead leaves under my feet.

  “Where do you come up with these things? These thoughts that being with me will make the world crumble?”

  “You won’t understand.”

  “Try me,” I say, knowing there’s nothing she can say which will be stranger than her thinking an orgasm closed a library.

  “My parents.” She shivers despite my warm jacket. “My father was a pastor of a very small church. My mother wanted to be a nun but left her religious studies to be with him. She blamed me for everything. I was too forward. I was too brash. I was too affectionate. She said my sexuality would be my undoing. Anything bad that happened was because of my promiscuousness. They called me a slut.”

  Who says such a thing to their child?

  “That can’t be true.” The label does not fit her. She told me she’s only been with me and I believe her, but I remember a girl who looked like she had a wild streak to her. I’m not judging her, though. I’d be the last to judge anyone.

  “They said it,” she whimpers.

  “I’m not doubting what you’re saying about them, sweetheart. I mean, it can’t be true about you. I don’t believe acting in any particular way causes bad things to happen. Life isn’t like that. God isn’t like that.”

  “I don’t believe in God.”

  Okay. “What about your Goddess? Would she think such a thing?”

  Naomi’s quiet for a moment and shakes her head. “She believes in the power of three. Whatever I do, whatever energy I send out into the world, will come back to me threefold. A reaction to an action.”

  “So you have an orgasm and the library closes? Come on, sweetheart. That’s not apples to apples. Your sexuality doesn’t equate to the states’ ignorance or their business practices. If it does, that’s pretty powerful stuff.”

  She shifts to look at me over her shoulder. Sad eyes find mine and then lower to the forest floor. Her fingers dig into the trunk, the bark crackling under the pressure. “You’re mocking me.”

  “I’m not. I’m saying that’s one powerful vagina.” She glares up at me, without a blink. Then she breaks into choking laughter.

  “Vagina humor?” she mocks, twisting her body to slump against the tree’s base.

  “Heard laughter is the best medicine.” I smile weakly at her, pain in my own chest at her sadness. With my words, she breaks into a sob. Her hands cover her face and the tears fall in earnest.

  “Oh, baby,” I say, scooting up next to her and pulling her into me. “It will be okay. If you believe in the power of three, then three good things can happen just as well as three bad.”

  “I know this,” she mutters against me, sounding unconvinced. “I know.”

  “Well, unless you think your orgasm sucked, then you deserve something good, right? And good multiplies to more good.” Jesus, I shouldn’t have said multiplies because now I’m thinking of giving her multiple orgasms in order to spread the positive energy she needs. Then again …

  “Nathan,” she admonishes with a chuckle. “This isn’t the same thing.”

  “And neither is the library closing because you were with me.” Her shoulders rise and fall, and she settles into me. Her tears have stopped, and I kiss her temple.

  “I know,” she whispers again, not very convincingly. “I’m just looking for answers in places they don’t exist.”

  “I don’t want us, or anything we do, to be your answer.” I place a hand on her cheek and force her to look up at me. She nods to acknowledge what I’ve said. “And your parents were wrong about you, Naomi. They just were. No one understands guilt and blame like I do, but eventually, you have to release it.” I pause, taking a breath to calm my irritation. I’d like to admonish her for taking their words to heart for so many years, but I understand the power of shame. “You love the library. You’d never do anything to harm it, including being with me if it really meant us being together would take down the library.” I swallow hard
at the thought of losing her. “Tell me more about the library closing.”

  “Julianne received the official email this morning. I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt like it was caving in, crushing me. I mean, what am I going to do?” Her voice falls so soft, so worrisome. “I have no other skills. I’ve been grandfathered in as a lead librarian where the states now require a degree in library science to work in a library. I got my current position by default—my friend died. Prior to that, I was only an associate which is now Sabrina’s title. There aren’t other libraries in the immediate area. But that’s the point. The state wants to force patrons to bigger cities with high-traffic branches and more resources.” She exhales.

  “I don’t know what I’d do without the library. It’s the only job I’ve ever had.” Her head shifts, and she looks up at me, and stormy eyes beg me to understand.

  “Okay.” I breathe out. Construction work is all I’ve known so I can relate. “Okay, we can figure this out. Are there other libraries? Knoxville, maybe?” It’s only about twenty minutes away.

  “I don’t want to move. When I think of my house …” She trembles in my arms. “It’s important to me. I’ve had so few things that were truly mine without conditions on them.” Her eyes glance up to me. “It’s also the principle of this closure. The injustice. I don’t want another library. I want mine.”

  I admire her conviction and smile at the dedication and determination in her tone. She’s been a survivor for a long time, and she’ll weather this storm with grace.

  “No one’s moving,” I tell her. “What about the local schools? Or maybe there’s something to be done about the closing. A committee or a politician who can help.”

  Naomi presses upward, a hand on my chest as she straightens. Her eyes not leaving mine.

  “Billy Winston is a congressman.” Those Winstons cover everything. Auto repair. Scientist. Stay-at-home dad. Veterinarian. Politician. And their mother hired Naomi. They had been friends.

  “See, we have our own congressman right here in Green Valley. We voted for him. Surely he can do something.”

  Her arms come around my neck, and she pulls herself up against me. I like this feeling. Her wrapping around me and holding tight. I like her needing me.

  “Thank you,” she says pulling back but not releasing my neck. Her eyes are crisp and grateful. Then they shift and drift down to my chest. “I must look a mess. I’m an ugly crier.” She swipes at her cheeks, brushing at non-existent tears.

  “You can cry if you want to, sweetheart. You’re hurtin’. I get it. And you still look beautiful.”

  She gives me a curious glance again—the one where she doesn’t blink—and then her mouth brushes mine. I follow her lead a second before taking over and dragging her into my lap. I’m liking this position, only I wish we were naked and not sitting up against a hard tree. Then again, I’d take her here if she’d give up her notion of catastrophe resulting from us being together.

  Suddenly, my phone alarm rings. I have ten minutes to get back to work which isn’t enough time to have my way with her, not the way I want, which will be salacious, but slow and full of rediscovery.

  “It’s your lunch break,” she states pulling back to look down at me.

  “It is.”

  “And you came to see me?” Her now-bright eyes widen.

  “That I did,” I say, my lip curling. Her fingertip draws a curve around the corner.

  “That was sweet.”

  “So are you,” I remind her, taking her mouth one last time, wanting more but pulling back quickly so as not to take her under the tree. “Feel better, baby?”

  “I do. Thank you. Thank you for listening to me and giving me suggestions and just everything.”

  “I’ll give you everything,” I say, and it’s a promise I intend to keep, along with proving us together will not be a catastrophe. “But first, I need to get back to work.”

  I lift her off me and stand, brushing at the seat of my pants. Offering her a hand, I tug her upward. “And you, my beautiful booklover, have a library to save.”

  The next evening, I take a ride. It’s been a long day. Dwight messed up something again on the site and a building inspector read Garrett the riot act. I waited out the delay although my mind wasn’t on the project. Naomi has me all twisted up after my visit to her at the library. I hate to see my girl crying and I feel helpless without solutions. My girl. How quickly I’m thinking of her in such a manner.

  I can see how losing the only job she ever had would be devastating.

  I can’t see how anything she does sexually plays a part in losing everything.

  Her parents did a real head job on her and I decide it will be my mission to correct those negative thoughts.

  I’m pondering these things as I head to the Fugitive. The bar is an epicenter for motorcyclists risking a ride south down the Tail of the Dragon. This strip of road isn’t a strip but curves and swerves some twelve miles long. The road holds ghosts for me, and I don’t take traveling down it lightly. In fact, I love the thrill of racing down it, as if I can outrun my demons which lived and died on this road. The memories haunt me each time I hit a certain curl and I hold my breath.

  I’m sorry, I whisper for the millionth time as I buzz past the spot that changed my life. I understand guilt. It’s one reason I understand Naomi’s predicament. I also know shame is a disease which can eat at your soul if you let it. It ate at mine for years until I finally accepted there wasn’t anything else I could do. Coming home to Green Valley, I knew I’d have to face my sins, my fear of retribution, and this godforsaken road. But like so many times before, I ride without incident. Each time I survive the Dragon Tail I remind myself there must be a reason I lived, when someone else didn’t.

  Then I think of Naomi, and I realize for the first time, she might be another reason I returned to the Valley.

  I’m stuck on you.

  A reaction to an unresolved action.

  She’s unfinished business and the universe, her Goddess, or whomever, is giving me another chance to make it right.

  Maybe.

  As I near the Fugitive, my thoughts turn less morbid. Attached to the bar is a motel, nothing classy, but clean and well-kept. I park alongside a long line of motorcycles from various states. The foliage change in the fall is a big draw to the mountains this time of year.

  When I enter the bar, I’m prepared for the grilling I’m about to receive from my brother standing behind the wood counter like he owns the place—which he doesn’t. His best friend Big Poppy does. Todd is an unofficial bouncer, manager, knower-of-all things man, who keeps his eyes on the visiting MCs, making sure everyone minds their manners.

  I slip onto a stool and Todd hands me a beer.

  “Who is she?” Todd steps back, leaning against the inner counter of the bar, the one with a wall of glass shelves and colorful bottles of liquor above it. His road name is Toad. He claims it’s because his tongue can reach a great distance and be creative in all sorts of ways pertaining to the female anatomy. The truth is our dad called us Frog and Toad from those kid’s books. Two opposite and yet similar boys, Pop would say. Todd was chubby as a kid. I was the lean one. We’ve both bulked up and our stature is similar, but three years older, and my brother’s hair isn’t nearly as white as mine. A strong salt-and-pepper mix covers his head, and he has a beard to match. Cold blue eyes narrow at me. He isn’t pissed. It’s just his natural expression.

  “Her name is Naomi Winters. She’s the one from that night.”

  My brother’s brows rise as his hands fall to the counter behind him. He whistles low, knowing which night I reference. The night I didn’t patch-in. Todd teased me afterward, trying to make light of a difficult time in my life.

  She must have been an angel in bed, he said. He knows the details. There was a call to fulfill my prospect duty, playing bitch to the club. There was a girl I couldn’t quite resist, making me late.

  “How the hell did you find her?”

&
nbsp; “At the Piggly Wiggly.”

  He snorts with a gruff chuckle. “You have the damnedest luck.” His arms cross his barrel chest again. In some ways, he’s right. I feel lucky that I found this girl from my memory but also strangely out of sorts over her.

  “So, it isn’t ironic you almost threw down against the Wraiths for the same woman.”

  I take a gulp of my beer and eye my older brother over the bottleneck. It is weird. I feel protective of her and worry I made it even worse threatening an IW prospect in front of the clubs’ unspoken leader. If I know Catfish, he’s only biding his time until he can become prez. With the current president in the Knoxville State Penitentiary, the second-in-command in the hospital, and another key leader missing for years, the Wraiths are struggling. Then again, I like to think Catfish has enough sense not to judge me based on Dwight being a dimwit.

  “It wasn’t an ultimatum.”

  “Pretty damn close. If you’d pissed a circle around her, it might have completed the statement.”

  Jesus. It wasn’t that bad, was it? I just wanted the Wraiths to understand who she was and Dwight to see that she’s mine.

  The thought makes me choke on the next sip. She isn’t really mine. I feel like I hardly know her, but something in my chest tells me I actually do. We’re linked somehow. She was special all right, and I knew that night was important. I surmise that must be the connection. That night.

  You’re giving me something special.

  How could I not know she was a virgin? Then I think of my reasons for not patching in and remember the rest of the night was a dose of biker reality.

  Still. I curse myself for not remembering the smallest of details.

  Did I hurt her?

  Did she enjoy us?

  What is it that draws me to her?

  I’ll call you, I remember telling her after I got the call from Catfish and had to split too quickly. I never came back for the phone and had no way to find her again.

  “Must have been something special under that long coat to haul your ass out of the Canyon without introducing her.” His drawl grows heavier, the accusation deep. It’s not like we’re high society, but Todd prides himself on introductions and knowing people. “Just wanted to meet the lady who I was willing to fight for next to my brother.” Ah, there’s his reason. He will go to hell and back for me if I need him, but he also wants a reason other than loving me as his kid brother.