by Olivia Dade
No. Your family is Penny. Don’t you forget it.
“I noticed that your laptops worked without a hitch.” He deliberately turned his voice dismissive and taunting. “So much for your claims of inadequate technical resources.”
To his surprise, she didn’t bristle. Instead, she actually laughed.
Fastening her seatbelt, she drove toward the school parking lot’s exit. “Just wait until our afternoon stops, Wolcott. You haven’t seen anything yet.”
5
When Billy’s towel slipped, Constance made sure to take a good, long look at Sam’s expression. Sure, endless classes of school kids could prove overwhelming, but the shock of watching an old man flash his junk in an open doorway… Well, it tended to provoke strong reactions from people.
She’d found that Billy’s semi-erect wang—and more importantly, how new employees responded to it—helped separate long-term members of the Bookmobile Department from those who’d look for other positions sooner rather than later. The stalwart few flinched but persevered, while the cowed majority stuttered and fled.
Not that Sam would be riding Big Bertha for long, no matter how he reacted. Given his previous criticism of her work habits, though, Con was itching to see him tested and found wanting.
But she had to give him credit. When Billy’s towel “accidentally” lowered a few crucial inches, Sam’s expression of shocked horror quickly fled, covered by calm professionalism. Gaze determinedly fixed on their patron’s face, he offered to place Billy’s books inside the front hall. Ironically, Billy always insisted on what he called “good, clean entertainment.” No sex or profanity. So she’d found him some relatively tame westerns, which he always enjoyed.
After a minute or two of conversation, Billy sent them on their way with a wave, which caused his towel to drop to the ground entirely.
Sam’s already-quick stride transformed into a jog, and he bounded up Big Bertha’s steps. She followed behind more slowly, grinning to herself.
Once the door closed and they’d pulled away from the curb, Sam scrubbed his face hard with both hands. He didn’t look back at the house. In fact, he didn’t open his eyes again until they’d traveled a half mile down the road.
Even then, his voice emerged in a choked whisper. “Did he do that on purpose?”
“Good question.” Con considered the issue. “The first time, I’m guessing it was an accident. He’s homebound for health reasons, and a lot of homebound people just wear a towel instead of pants. And then, when he hurried toward the door with his walker, things just…slipped.”
“The first time?” Horror had returned to his expression. “You mean he’s lost hold of his towel on other occasions?”
She nodded. “Once a month. Every time I stop at his house. Again, this is only speculation, but I think he got a thrill from exposing himself that first visit. At the very least, Little Billy appeared to stand up and take notice. And each time I see him now, the same thing happens.”
“Oh…God.” He scrubbed his eyes again.
“It happens with other patrons too, but they’re usually humiliated by it. So I try my best not to react or make them feel bad for something beyond their control. As far as Billy…” She shrugged. “An argument could be made that he’s just really bad with towels. And he doesn’t do or say anything else objectionable, so I don’t have a big problem with him.”
Sam didn’t appear to know how to respond to that, so she turned on the radio and let him sit with his own thoughts. After a quick bag lunch in the parking lot of a truck stop, they drove toward their afternoon destinations.
While reviewing the day’s schedule that morning, she’d almost jumped for joy. Not only at the chance to confront Sam with Billy’s naked glory, but also because today’s route took them to areas where she could never, ever connect with the library’s operating system. She couldn’t wait to see his face when all her complaints about his department’s negligence were proven correct.
So she was humming to herself as they headed into the mountains at the western end of Nice County. She stopped on the street outside a small daycare, indicated that Sam should man the front desk, and waited for him to open the laptop.
Slowly, a frown grew on his handsome face. “I can’t connect.”
“Say it ain’t so,” she drawled. “That only happens every time I stop here. And every time I go to most of the places we’re visiting this afternoon.”
His fingers danced over the keys. “No Wi-Fi. No access to the library’s circulation and reference software. No internet.”
She had an easy response to those statements. “No shit.”
Ten minutes later, Sam had checked all the wires and connections he could find, jiggling and rebooting and generally becoming more and more agitated.
“This makes no sense.” He shoved a hand through his floppy hair, pushing it back from his forehead. “You should be able to connect.”
“I know. But instead, we’ll have to scan barcodes into a Word doc and enter all the numbers by hand later.”
He looked startled. “You should still be able to use the software in offline mode. You can scan books in and out and upload the information later today, when you return to the library. It doesn’t take too long.”
“Really?” Con crowded in front of the laptop. “Why hasn’t anyone told me this before?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “I figured you knew. That you were exaggerating when you talked about entering barcodes one by one. Or that we’d fixed whatever problem was occurring, so you wouldn’t need to learn about offline mode.”
“That would be a ‘no.’ To all three assumptions.”
Sam winced. And then, to her shock, he reached out and laid a hand lightly on her shoulder.
She’d noticed that with most people, Sam was a toucher. He offered hugs to Penny, back-slaps to his IT buddies, and a supportive arm to frail patrons in the library without thinking twice. Around everyone else, he seemed completely comfortable with his physicality.
But he’d never touched her. Not once. Until now.
“In offline mode, taking care of circ functions won’t be quite as painful as you’re accustomed to,” he said. “But you still won’t be able to see who owes money, and you can’t look up titles or authors or any other information patrons might need. I’m so sorry, Con.”
The gentle clasp of his hand, its breadth and heat, made her breathing turn shallow.
“It’s fine,” she managed to squeeze out of her constricted lungs.
Somehow, now that he’d acknowledged her travails and apologized for them—hell, told her how to alleviate their worst consequences—she couldn’t seem to drum up the triumph she’d expected to feel. Her anger had died the moment he’d turned that contrite expression her way. Who could resist a man who admitted his mistakes? And when it came to inspiring forgiveness, she suspected his amazing beard didn’t hurt his cause, either.
She didn’t even have the heart to taunt him about the IT department’s incompetence. Which was fortunate, given what happened next.
He let go of her and produced his phone from his messenger bag. “I should call Downtown to make absolutely sure the connection issues don’t stem from internet or software problems there.” A few swipes of his finger later, he set his cell down and dug out his tablet. And after another minute bent over that screen, he looked up at her with brows drawn.
“No bars on either device. Con, I know it’s the middle of your workday, but please check your phone. Do you have any service?”
When she dug her phone out of her backpack, she saw the symbol indicating no coverage. The lack of service surprised her, honestly. She’d always assumed she’d be able to make calls in the area if she ever bothered to turn on her cell.
“Show me on a map where your dead zones are,” he ordered, an excited glint appearing in his eyes. “I have a theory. A good one, I think.”
From the glove compartment, she produc
ed a Nice County map and pointed out the trouble spots. “Here. Here, here, and…oh.” Her jaw dropped as she noted a definite pattern. “Oh, shit. Sam, that gray area on the map without any notations, that’s—”
“Camp David.” He offered her a broad smile. “The dead zones are clustered around the president’s top-secret retreat. The military must scramble signals in its vicinity. Which means—”
“The IT department isn’t to blame for the dead zones,” Con finished for him. “There’s nothing you guys can do about it.”
He held up his hand for a high-five, which she figured he’d earned. So she smacked his hand and returned his smile.
“So,” he said, “if I understand all this correctly, neither one of us was entirely right or entirely wrong. You’re not breaking your equipment on board Big Bertha, but the dead zones aren’t IT’s fault, either.”
His smile faded. “I’m still sorry I didn’t take your concerns more seriously before now. I could have saved you hours of manually inputting barcodes.” He hesitated. “Maybe I let other considerations distract me from paying enough attention to your complaints. I should have come on board the Bookmobile with you before. And when we get back to Downtown, I promise to look more closely at your office computers.”
“It’s okay. And I promise to stop kicking the CPU in my office. I might even stop resting my feet on it.”
The furrow between his brows didn’t disappear with her words, so she patted his cheek, a gesture she’d always used with her younger siblings to show forgiveness and provide comfort.
But he didn’t feel like one of her siblings. Not at all. His beard brushed against her fingers. It was so much softer than she’d imagined, and she wanted its friction against her own cheek. Her breasts. Her legs. God help her, between her legs.
Before she could lose herself any further, she took a big step back from the warmth of his strong frame.For just a moment, he swayed toward her. Then he settled back on his heels, hooked his thumbs through his belt loops, and regarded her in silence.
Clearing her throat, she plopped back into the driver’s seat.
No point in denying the obvious. “Now that we’ve settled that issue, what are we going to argue about now?”
His lips twitched, just a little. “I’m sure we’ll think of something.”
***
“I need you to take a picture of me at the wheel,” Con said later that afternoon as they stopped at a railroad crossing for a lengthy freight train. “I’m going to upload pics illustrating the manifold virtues of the Bookmobile Department when I get back to my office. My phone’s in the front pocket of my backpack, if you’d rather not use yours.”
He didn’t budge. “That would involve moving. So it’s not happening, even if I were willing to support your ill-fated efforts to win DOTY.”
“Really, Wolcott?” He could almost hear her eyes roll. “You’re this tired after only one day on board Big Bertha? I didn’t even make you drive her.”
“Mock me as you will. I’m a broken man.”
Her snort of laughter only widened the smile he’d been unable to fight all afternoon.
He wasn’t totally joking, though. The Bookmobile was approaching Downtown a few minutes after four, and Sam could barely speak through his fog of exhaustion and persistent, ill-conceived lust. Stifling his reaction to Con and dealing with patrons—rather than fellow employees and their various technological needs—had kicked his ass into last year, as she so charmingly put it.
During the course of the afternoon, they’d stopped at daycares, nursing homes, community centers, and residential neighborhoods. He’d been cussed out by a patron searching for inspirational fiction. Tried to determine the title and author of a book by cover color alone. Checked in and out more library materials than he’d ever handled before.
He’d watched as Con introduced herself to a new homebound patron, who promptly complimented her on her excellent English. Before he could intervene—although he had no idea what he’d have said, other than fuck you—she’d responded with the ease of long practice, noting her childhood in California. Her shoulders had turned stiff, but that was the only evidence of her frustration or anger. Her voice and face remained perfectly placid.
He’d deposited that man’s books onto the foyer table with a loud thump. It was the only semi-professional way he could communicate his irritation. And on their way back to Bertha, he’d exchanged eye-rolls with Con.
His temper had calmed during the next school stop, when yet another kid asked where he and Con slept in the Bookmobile. By then, he knew the drill. After the second repetition of that question, he’d started answering the same way she did: by pointing under the desk and describing a make-believe staircase that led to a secret chamber beneath Bertha.
In fact, he’d found that following Con’s example invariably endeared him to the patrons. The woman knew her shit. She wrangled the Bookmobile like a professional trucker, worked like a dog to help people, and formulated ingenious ways to maneuver around the technological issues she encountered daily.
When his cell coverage had briefly returned late in the afternoon, he’d called Downtown to confirm his theory about Camp David. As Con had predicted, he’d been informed that the library’s computers had been up and fully operational all day. And when the twentieth patron had asked him for information he needed the nonfunctioning Wi-Fi to locate, he’d fought the temptation to kick the computers. Just as Con sometimes did, which he now completely understood. He only wondered why she hadn’t hurled the fucking laptops through Big Bertha’s windows months ago.
But every time he tried to apologize again, she simply waved a hand in dismissal. “Not having access to the catalog helped me in some ways,” she’d say. “I know all the materials on board this motherfucker inside and out. I could probably get you the newest Nora Roberts hardcover blindfolded.”
Still, he owed her. So he struggled to sit up and reached for his phone.
“Look this way and smile.” He centered her in the picture, waiting while she shoved another pencil into her ever-present and ever-precarious bun. “On the count of three. One…two…three.”
Her bright, picture-perfect smile reminded him, once again, how gorgeous she actually was. And as he’d noticed from the beginning, she also seemed entirely comfortable in her own skin. More than he was in his. Maybe more than anyone else he’d ever met.
She didn’t make apologies for who she was. And he kind of adored her for it.
“Tomorrow, I’ll have you take photos while I’m actually helping patrons,” she said after he’d snapped a couple shots. “And maybe a few with a good view of Bertha’s innards.”
“I can even get one of you next to that poster you love so much.” He glanced back at the grinning man on the bulletin board. “Although I still don’t understand why anyone with external genitalia would willingly strip around lathes or saws.”
The freight train’s caboose came into view, and she turned back to the front window. “He wears clothes when he works, doofus.” She paused. “Mostly. Anyway, the whole ‘naked’ thing just means he tries to build structures using simple, environmentally friendly methods whenever possible. Haven’t you ever seen his show?”
“It features a dude who calls himself the Naked Carpenter. What do you think?”
“I think he has a substantial male fan base.” She paused again. “Mostly gay or bi, of course. Anyway, he’s all about traveling the world to learn new building and woodworking techniques.” Her smile returned. “And he’s hot. So I’m certain referring to his naked body helps business.”
“Is he gay? Or married?” Sam wasn’t jealous of some handsome, rich, world-traveling actor guy in Hollywood or wherever. He wasn’t. Not even a little.
“Nope.” After he gave the all-clear signal, she maneuvered Big Bertha onto the road that would eventually lead them back to Downtown. “He’s straight and happily single. Footloose and fancy-free.”
&nb
sp; “Sounds exciting,” he admitted reluctantly. “But lonely too.”
She just smiled and changed the subject. “Speaking of being footloose, you moved here from Salisbury, right? On the Eastern Shore?”
“Yeah. A few months after my father passed away.”
Her smile disappeared. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”
The familiar rip of grief through his chest eased after a few seconds. “Thank you. Anyway, I came to Nice County so I could be near Penny.”
And then, for the first time in hours, neither of them had anything to say. Invoking his sister’s name seemed to break the fragile accord they’d reached during their day aboard Bertha. Which, under the circumstances, was probably a good thing.
They were almost done with their shift. He’d have time to reset his shields to maximum over the course of the evening.
“I assume you’re going to the pre-wedding party tonight.” Con turned into the library parking lot.
Or maybe not. Fuck.
“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead with a stifled sigh. “You’ll be there too, of course.”
“Yup.”
More silence.
“Should be interesting.” With the push of a button, she opened the oversized garage door at the back of the library. “Penny didn’t want a traditional bachelorette party, which frustrated the hell out of Angie. That girl wants strippers the way a starving koala wants eucalyptus branches.”
He blinked. “Okay.”
The Bookmobile came to a stop neatly within its berth. “So there’s no telling what she’s got planned for tonight. All I know is that she apparently took advantage of the discounts at Niceville Java and Intimate Emporium last May Day.”
Sam had to give it up for Niceville. Not every community could boast a combined coffee shop and sex toy store, much less one advertising its wares with the slogan Get Your Buzz On. Penny had chosen her home wisely.
