by Liz Durano
Alright, game over.
“Since they don’t happen to be the courier you’re expecting me to be?” I counter, hating that I got her this riled up. She’s breathing hard, and her nostrils are flaring. If people shot daggers from their eyes, I’d have been dead a long time ago. That, and her damn finger against my chest. She’d probably dented it by now.
Harlow frowns, and for the first time, her face registers confusion as she takes a step back. “What… so… who the hell are you?”
I extend my hand. “I’m Dax Drexel, and I own the Pearl. Anita is my grandmother. I apologize for having misled you to believe that I’m—“
“That was not funny! You have no right pulling stupid shit like that on just anyone whenever you feel like it.” She storms towards the house, and I follow after her, not wanting her to shut the door although there’s another entrance I can use if she refuses to let me in. The Pearl has six bedrooms and can accommodate up to 10 people. And with a wall dividing the east and west wings, it can also be rented by two separate groups.
“Wait! Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” I race in front of Harlow, blocking her way. Damn, but she smells good. I detect a hint of rose oil as the wind whips her brown hair in front of her face and she tucks a lock behind her ear with her fingers. “Look, we need to talk. Apparently, there’s been a little mix-up.”
“About what?”
I cock my head towards the Earthship. “I’m scheduled to stay in the Pearl for the next three weeks—“
“The hell you are!” She pushes me to the side and continues to make her way to the front door. “I paid to rent this place alone, in cash, and I have the agreement to prove it.”
“I have a copy of the agreement right here, and it allows the owner of the place or in the case of the manager, Nana—I mean, my grandmother—access should there be any extenuating circumstances,” I say, waving the envelope in front of me. And isn’t that gun an extenuating circumstance?
This isn’t looking good, but I’m determined. Goldilocks is one stubborn woman, and I can’t blame her. But I’m quite disappointed in myself as well. Somehow my charms have no effect on her, whatsoever. She barely even looked at me. Well, she did, but that was only because she was trying to poke a hole in my chest.
I’m so distracted wondering why my charms don’t work on Goldilocks that I don’t realize she’s stopped walking and has turned to face me until it’s too late. I barrel right into her, and we both topple to the ground.
Amidst the exclamations of Oh shit (mine) and holy cow (hers), I let go of the envelope so I can grab her by the waist with one arm and with the other, I cradle her head just as we hit the ground. One thing about living off-grid: there are no paved driveways, just gravel, tiny little shits that are now cutting right through the skin of my arms as I break her fall. I just might need to rethink that design flaw and pave the damn thing all the way from the highway.
As Harlow clutches her head, I panic. I hope she didn’t hit her head and suffer a concussion or worse, die on me. Great, she survived the night with a loaded gun, but certainly didn’t survive meeting me and my big mouth.
“Are you alright?” I cautiously turn her head to make sure that she hasn’t cut her scalp on the rocks, not when my arm took all brunt of it, and it’s bleeding all over the gravel. It stings like hell, too.
“Oh, God, my head!”
“What about your head? Are you hurt?”
“I’m hung-over, that’s what!” She groans, then freezes to stare at me, her eyes widening and her mouth forming a shocked O as her gaze moves down. It takes a second for my brain to register what’s going on, and why she’s looking at me like I’m the most hated man to walk this earth. Then it hits me. I’m lying right on top of her, between her legs, and right at this moment, the feel of her legs right alongside my hips sends shock waves through my body.
And my dick.
“Oh, shit! I mean, I’m sorry!” I scramble off her just as she pushes me away. I get up, offer her a hand, but she ignores me, getting to her feet without any help and dusting the gravel from her cardigan. Who knew the scent of a woman could do things down south so fast that my brain didn’t even register it? I turn away from her so she won’t see just how hard I am. The Villier brothers better not be peeping with their damn telescope right now.
“Oh, look! Your precious agreement’s all over the place, by the way,” she says dryly, and as I turn to face her, all ten pages of the rental agreement for the 6,400-feet square foot Earthship blow past me and out to the sagebrush. I manage to snag two sheets, but I know it’s useless to chase after them and look like an idiot. I’d have better luck driving back to Nana’s house and printing the whole thing out again, even with her twenty-year-old dot matrix printer that gives off a death rattle with every pass.
The sound of the front door slamming shut brings me back to the present. I don’t even make an effort to rush to the house, not when it’s too late for me to do anything. When I do turn to look, Goldilocks, or rather, Doctor Harlow James looks at me from inside the slanted glass, one hand on her hip and the other with that all-popular raised-finger sign that matches the look on her face that says, plain as day, Fuck you.
Chapter 5
Harlow
Thank God, the kid actually has some brains. After picking up his dignity, he gets the hint that he’s not welcome on my property and leaves. But as I watch him drive away, there’s no denying that I’m still in shock—not from the fall, but from the fact that I gave someone the finger for the first time in my life.
I gave someone the finger.
It feels like such a momentous occasion that with trembling hands, I dig out a hardbound leather journal from my purse and write it down. I gave some guy the finger today! How I wish that were Jeff I was giving the finger to.
But as I look at the words I’d just written, the last sentence gives me pause. That’s certainly a good point, isn’t it? Why hadn’t I given Jeff the finger after the many times he fucked up? If I knew how raising one’s middle finger could make someone feel this good, why didn’t I? Was it because I was more worried that such a childish action would put me in a bad light professionally, or was I so focused on maintaining my reputation even after my life fell apart that I suppressed everything else, even the urge to fight back?
I close the journal and toss it back into my purse. Whatever triumph I had felt at giving Dax the finger is now gone. I sigh and pick out a piece of gravel caught in the weave of my cardigan. As I roll it between my thumb and index finger, at least, there’s one thing I can’t deny.
Dax Drexel is one fine-looking young man. Definitely easy on the eyes, or as I’ve heard people say, a tall drink of water. I can’t get over how good it felt—that split second that he held me in his arms—one arm around my waist and the other just behind my head, cradling me. That he had managed to move so fast surprised me though the hardness I felt pressing against my belly surprised me even more.
I’ve never considered myself beautiful. Outcasts didn’t win popularity votes in high school, not when they were too busy burying their noses in biology books and talking about the nature of farts. People like me simply didn’t even register on anyone’s popularity radar, although my brain got me places I would never have gotten as a foster kid moved from one home to another. That and my heart. I cared too much for my young patients, probably more than I cared for myself especially when my marriage was falling apart. I sat with them after their surgeries instead of going home to an empty house, the nursery still intact but without the baby it had been lovingly built for.
Oh, great, there I go again. Think of happier things, Harlow! I take a deep breath and force myself to think of other things… like Dax Drexel.
It’s a nice name, and it sure goes with a handsome man. Where does that name come from anyway? It’s sexy as hell, suiting the man who bears it. Dark hair, dark blue eyes, a trimmed beard. He smelled really good, too. He was probably wearing one of those colognes fo
rmulated with pheromones to arouse a woman’s desire. Before I can laugh out loud at the idea of me analyzing my reaction to a man, I force myself to remember how it felt to have him holding me for that split second. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a man responding to me like Dax did. That sure wasn’t his phone pressing against my belly. But who am I kidding? For all I know, Dax Drexel could get hard at the sight of a tree.
The sound of my phone ringing from the bedroom snaps me back to reality, and I’m so distracted by thoughts of Dax that I answer without glancing at the phone display.
“Dr. James! Finally! After only emails for so long, it’s so great to hear your voice after all this time! Where are you right now?”
For the last five years, Kathy has been managing the office that I share with two other doctors, and I wouldn’t know where I’d be without her. Nearing sixty, she’s smart as a tack and knows the ins and outs of health insurance more than anyone I know. She’s like the mother I never had, always making me something to bring home with me like a casserole, homemade mac ’n cheese, or apple pie, and reminding me constantly that if ever I need someone to talk to, she’s there.
At first, I’m reluctant to tell her where I am. But then, wasn’t I about to blow my brains out in the middle of nowhere? And what if Dax turns out to be some serial killer? I need someone to know where I am so they can send out a search party in case I disappear.
“I’m in New Mexico. Taos, which is nice,” I blurt out.
“My, that’s quite far. Are you having fun?”
“Yes, I am,” I reply and in the background, I hear the sound of a phone ringing and Melody, one of the medical billers, answer the call. “So what’s up?”
“Penny was just here,” Kathy says, and that’s all she needs to say for my chest to tighten.
Penny is Penelope Kingston, the youngest daughter of Senator Leon Kingston, who was born with polycystic kidney disease, a genetic condition characterized by multiple fluid-filled cysts that grow on the kidneys, rendering them useless. She was the last transplant I performed before hanging up my medical scrubs at Miller General for good, a special request by her father after Jeff, the original surgeon assigned to the transplant, lost his patience with Penny during a consultation. From what I learned, Jeff didn’t exactly shout at her; he just looked annoyed at something she had said during one of their consultations. Maybe Jeff was just having a bad day then, but I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for accepting the Senator’s request that I head the transplant team instead of him, and definitely not since I became Penny’s favorite doctor, and by default, the Senator’s latest addition to his guest list.
“What about Penny? Is she okay?” I ask.
“She says hello,” Kathy replies. “She doesn’t know what happened at Miller Gen, but she was hoping to see you during her maintenance visit with Dr. Rowe today.”
“How is she? Is she stable?” I find myself wishing I’d stayed in town longer to make sure she had recovered from her surgery and that her medications didn’t cause terrible side-effects. But I’m not her pediatric nephrologist; like Jeff, I’m the transplant surgeon.
“She had nasty side-effects from one of the anti-rejection meds, but Dr. Rowe substituted it with something else,” Kathy said as I close my eyes and rub my temples, my headache returning. I feel concern for my young patient growing although another part of me reminds me that I need this time for myself. Grief didn’t have a fixed universal deadline.
“How are you holding up, Doc? It’s been five months since you left New York and we miss you,” Kathy says as I open my eyes to see the landscape of Taos before me beyond the glass windows. It’s dry and hot outside, so far from the New York that I know where Kathy is now, sitting in her office talking to me.
“I’m all right, Kathy. Thanks for asking.”
“I’m here if you need someone to talk to,” Kathy says. “Don’t do anything rash now, okay?”
I chuckle at the memory of last night’s stupidity, of the sight of myself standing outside in my bare feet with a gun and a glass of wine, cursing at the darkness. “I won’t. I’m doing fine. Really, I am. Taos is beautiful.”
“If you ask me, you’re in a better place in Taos than over here, what with everyone talking about the upcoming nuptials,” Kathy says. “Gardner must have sent announcements to everyone in town, even the local papers. But if I recall correctly, your divorce isn’t final yet, right?”
“Right.”
“Oh boy, that’s going to be complicated, isn’t it?” Kathy says, laughing though I don’t respond. “By the way, Penny wishes you’d be back in time for her birthday, which happens to be the same day as the wedding.”
I curse under my breath, my close call with death last night coming back to me. How could I forget Penny’s birthday? I had promised her that I’d be there. She’d always feared she wouldn’t make it to ten, and I assured her that she would. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to socialize with too many of her friends because her immune system wasn’t ready yet, not for a few more months.
“Tell Penny I wouldn’t miss her birthday for the world,” I say, thinking of Dax and the contract he’d brought over. Maybe he’d get what he wanted after all, but that’s only if I decide to take my time driving back home, the same way I took my sweet time leaving it. But back then, I had no birthdays to attend. I only had one birth to forget.
“I will,” Kathy says before I say goodbye and hang up. Even though I haven’t talked to Kathy in five months, our correspondence limited to emails, it feels good to hear her voice, and I’m glad I answered the call. I can’t very well shut out the only person I trust in my life now that I’ve come back from the brink of almost ending it.
After making sure that Dax hasn’t come back with another set of rental documents, I open the door and step outside. A warm breeze whips my hair about my face, and I tuck a stray lock behind my ear. I catch the scent of sagebrush and take a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs before blowing the air out through my mouth.
I remember someone in town saying that sage was used for healing. Healing what exactly, I don’t know for I didn’t stay long enough to find out. But as I look around me, I can’t help feeling tranquil for the first time since last night’s woe-is-me session. There’s nothing to look at but the sagebrush and whatever else grows out here on the outskirts of Taos. It’s barren, like my womb. But I also know that it’s no accident why I’m here, and why I’m not about to let some arrogant kid like Dax Drexel bully me into leaving on his terms.
I’m here to start over, let Marcus go, and move on with my life. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Chapter 6
Dax
It’s been two days since my run-in with the good doctor and I’m restless. I need to get into my workshop on the other side of the damn Earthship, so I can get some of my latest ideas down or head back to Flagstaff. But ever since I breezed through town the last time I was here and barely got to hang out with my grandmother, I’d made a promise to stay longer the next time I came back. And Earthship or no, I will, even though the wait for it to be available for me to use it is killing me.
I can’t believe how fast the ideas are flowing. It’s why I stay at the Pearl whenever I come back to Taos. It rejuvenates me more than anything I’ve ever known, from the view of the sky and its billowy clouds and the mountain range where in the winters, one can find me skiing my heart out.
Out there, no matter the season, it’s just me and the sky, and the ideas that come to me of handcrafted furniture made from hardwoods like wild cherry, mango, big leaf maple and English walnut. With a list of pieces that clients have paid me to design and create for their custom-built homes, from staircases to cabinets and even bathtubs constructed out of sustainable and exotic woods and finished with a transparent composite barrier, my manufacturing schedule is filled for the next two years. Still, I need the time to decompress, and that’s what my hometown is for. It’s where I dream up new designs.
Who wasn’t she able to save?
But it’s not like I’m going to knock on her door and ask her that question. Hell no, not unless I want another dent on my chest from that damn finger of hers. So for the past two days, I’ve hung out with the Villier brothers, Tod and Sawyer, who live nearby. We play video games for a few hours and whenever I could—without being too obvious—I’d look out towards the Pearl to make sure Harlow was still moving about. And she was.
Funny what guilt does to a man. Harlow had called Nana to tell her that some guy had stopped by with a lease agreement—something about certain circumstances that would somehow force her to share the Pearl with him. That’s when Nana stopped being Anita Anaya, the woman who managed my properties whenever I was out of town and became my no-nonsense grandmother. Mi abuela. It doesn’t matter to her that I’m 27-years-old or that I’ve won furniture design awards the past two years; I’m still her grandson. In this case, I’m her grandson who fucked up.
She could sue you for trespassing, mijo, she said after she calmed down. Sometimes you don’t think with that pretty head of yours but with something else and honestly…
