by Meg Jackson
And her phone was buzzing. Cursing, she grabbed it, only meaning to see who was calling but accidentally answering it.
“Sis?” Ricky’s voice came in over the line and Kim heard herself grunt in frustration, her brain still addled.
“What?” Kim asked, gruffer than she meant to be. “Sorry…you woke me up.”
Her heart was still beating a million miles a minute, and the last thing she wanted to do was talk to anyone. She felt like she’d just run a marathon in her sleep. And waking up to an orgasm wasn’t exactly a normal thing for Kim. Although she had to admit it hadn’t been entirely unpleasant.
“Word,” Ricky said, oblivious to the state her sister was in. “I heard there was some fresh stock at the rumor mill. What you got for me?”
Kim groaned. Ricky worked for the town’s newspaper, which seemed to get thinner and thinner every week as advertisers dropped off and the classifieds shrank.
“What time is it?” Kim asked, throwing her arm across her eyes.
“It’s gossip o’clock,” Ricky urged. Like a dog with a bone, that girl. But that’s why she was a reporter, Kim supposed.
“Ricky,” Kim groaned. “C'mon, I have a hangover fit to kill and...”
“Okay,” Ricky interrupted, the sound on the other end of the phone indicating that the younger woman was hurtling herself through her house at breakneck speed. What on earth she was doing, Kim could only guess. “I'm coming with an egg sandwich, cheese and bacon, coffee. And you're gonna dish.”
“Ugh,” Kim groaned again, but there was silence on the other end of the line.
Thirty minutes later, Kim's doorbell rang. Ricky stood, nearly hopping from one foot to the other, holding a brown paper bag and two cups of coffee. When Kim let her in, she rushed by in a whirlwind. From the faint smell of rum on Ricky's breath and the bags under her eyes, Kim guessed that Ricky had been celebrating a bit of TGIF, as well. But at 24, four years Kim's junior, Ricky still had a year or two of consequence-less partying in front of her.
For two sisters, Kim and Ricky didn't look much alike. Kim's soft, supple body was nothing like Ricky's tall, thin frame. Ricky had their father's gray eyes and ultralight blonde hair, both of which were multiple shades lighter than Kim 's blue eyes and ruddy blonde locks. And when it came to personality, there was an ocean's difference between them. Ricky was overwhelmingly bubbly, sometimes tactless, demanding and confident. She never took no for an answer, and was an incorrigible gossip. No secret – not even a sacred, sisterhood secret – was safe with Ricky James.
“So,” she said, emptying the bag onto the kitchen table. “I talked to Junior last night – well, I mean, we texted. Don't really remember texting him, but anyway, I woke up and there they all were.”
“You don't remember?” Kim asked, furrowing her brow and picking up one of the fragrant, foil-wrapped sandwiches.
“Save it,” Ricky said, putting up an open palm. “Remember that time you woke up wearing Tom Livingston's tie around your neck like a leash?”
Kim grimaced. She did remember that morning. She'd been Kim's age. Sighing, she knew that she was in no position to lecture.
“Anyway, Junior told me that Mayor Gunderson just about flipped his lid over some dudes who came in? Said they were gypsies? And he said you were there. So, spill, sis.”
Ricky took a huge bite of her sandwich while Kim turned her own around in her hand, looking for the perfect place to begin nibbling. As the sisters ate, Kim told Ricky everything – except, that is, for the dream, and the fact that the three brothers were hot as hell, particularly the eldest brother. But everything else was fair game for her sister, who nodded and seemed to be taking mental notes. Kim knew that Ricky was looking for an angle in the story, something worth pitching to her editor.
“You might want to write something about the new businesses,” Kim offered and Ricky nodded distractedly.
“Weird about Mayor Gunderson freaking out,” Ricky said, taking a long sip of her coffee before turning to raid Kim's fridge; Ricky was like a garbage disposal, she could eat an easy 3,000 calories a day without gaining an inch of flab around her stomach.
“He was drunk,” Kim said with a shrug, feeling defensive of the man even though she certainly hadn't liked his behavior the night before. “And he was a cop thirty years ago, you know? When that woman was murdered. I guess he took it hard.”
“Sure,” Ricky said. “A lot of people did. I read all those articles from the Times, back from when it happened. It was the only thing news-worthy to happen in Kingdom since a fire in 1946. It really tore the town up.”
Kim nodded slowly, finishing the last bites of her own sandwich. Her hangover was demanding more food to placate it, but she settled for downing the last of her coffee and brewing some more.
“Anyway, I think I might go over there tomorrow,” she said, not even knowing she'd planned to do it until the words left her mouth. “To apologize and kind of give them a nicer welcome.”
“Is that so?” Ricky asked, looking over her shoulder at her older sister. Ricky closed the fridge door, having found some leftover salmon with rice pilaf to eat. “Well, see if you can get me an interview or something about those stores and stuff. It is worth a story, I guess. Can't even remember the last time a business opened in this town. I'm getting tired of writing farewell articles whenever someplace goes broke.”
“Amen,” Kim agreed, thinking of the real reason she’d come up with the idea to go see the Volanis brothers. She couldn't shake that dream. She couldn't shake those green eyes. And, what's more, she didn't want to shake them.
8
Kim was immediately impressed by the change in the trailer park. Gone were the used needles, rubber ropes, empty liquor bottles, and myriad trash that had once littered the grounds. There were about 14 trailers, of varying sizes, in three rows. Each one was brightly painted and decorated, with flowers blooming out front and in the windows. Barbecues and patio furniture, pink flamingos and wind chimes, delicate spinning ornaments that caught the sun and bashful stone lawn gnomes had turned the once-seedy park into a homey, joyful place.
She parked in a general lot near the entrance to the park and scanned the area spread out before her. There was a good collection of children running around, and older people sitting on their small lawns watching after them.
She didn’t know where to start looking for him. All she knew was that her appearance was something interesting to the people she passed. That wasn’t too surprising; this was a gypsy caravan, after all, and outsiders probably weren’t welcomed with open arms. But it did make it a little unnerving to wander around aimlessly, since she didn’t feel comfortable asking anyone where she might find Kennick.
When she’d walked to the center of the trailer park, she heard a ruckus coming from a trailer in the leftmost row. It was a dull roar punctuated by grunting. The sounds ignited her anxiety; it was one thing to walk among the spattering of people who milled about, another thing entirely to walk right towards what appeared to be the center of activity. But she wasn’t about to turn around and run home, so she forced herself towards the noise.
As she grew closer, she saw a ring of people standing around with animated interest on their faces. Some were chanting and howling, others murmuring to their neighbors. The grunting continued, and seemed to come from the center of the ring. When she got close enough, she attracted some attention, but apparently wasn’t as interesting as what was happening in the middle. She rose up on her tip-toes and leaned to catch a glimpse.
Two men were in the center of the ring, both shirtless. Their bodies were entwined, huge muscles bulging, tanned skin gleaming with sweat, vibrant black tattoos almost melting into each other. One was landing a series of blows to the others’ ribs, though they didn’t look very forceful. The crowd let out a unified whoop as the bodies separated and began to bounce around in a circle. Kim’s interest grew; she recognized them as the two other Volanis brothers. She recognized Damon’s jet-black hair, Cristov
’s lean, chiseled face.
Cristov put his hands up and Damon began to rain blows upon them, audible smacks above the crowd’s yells. The brutality in their movements was tempered by the skill with which Cristov tested his brother, moving his hands this way and that, feinting one and then the other, Damon keeping up with each quick, metered movement.
Kim gasped as Cristov suddenly swooped forward, taking hold of Damon’s waist and trying to forcefully propel him backward, but Damon dug his heels into the dirt and stayed fast in place, responding to the assault with a deftly delivered headlock that landed Cristov on his back, struggling to rise until finally slamming his hand down on the dust beneath them.
As the men released, both panting, the crowd murmured and began to disperse. Whatever the hell that was, it seemed to be over. Kim couldn’t see what the point had been; neither man seemed to be overly hurt by the fight. It looked like they’d been practicing for a fight more than anything else.
She didn’t see why that would have drawn the crowd it did, but maybe there was a general lack of entertainment around the trailer park. Either way, as the crowd shoved past her in a wave, she watched the brothers embracing, patting each other on the back and moving towards the trailer with their arms still draped over each other’s shoulders.
She rushed forward, ignoring the curious looks she got. Yeah, outsiders definitely drew interest.
“Cristov! Damon!” she called out, waving her arm above the crowd. The brothers turned in unison as she approached, slightly out of breath. She’d seen how cut they were from a distance, but now that she was only a few feet away, their physical forms were something to behold. And then some.
Damon definitely had a good twenty pounds of sheer bulky muscle on his brother, but neither seemed to have an ounce of fat on their sculpted bodies, and deep 6-packs that invited the eye further downward. Both were covered in tattoos, like Kennick, but the style and type varied; Damon seemed to mostly have Sailor Jerry-style flash art dotting his body, while Cristov was adorned in elaborately colorful flowers and koi fish and nature scenes. She blushed, willing herself to keep her eyes in an appropriate place.
“It’s you,” Cristov said with a smile. “I remember you. How you doing, girl?”
“I’m…I’m good,” Kim said.
“I bet you are,” Cristov said, his tone suggestive. She was caught off-guard for a moment but shook it off, which was easier to do when she saw the exasperated look Damon shot his brother. Something told Kim that Cristov talked a big game to all the girls he met.
“I’m looking for your brother,” Kim said. “I just…wanted to talk to him about something. Is he inside?”
The men shared a glance, then looked back at her with their eyebrows raised. A smile split across Cristov’s face while Damon seemed like he was biting back a smirk.
“He’s not,” Cristov said. “But he could be soon. Want to wait around? We got cold beer and…”
“He’s over there,” Damon interrupted, pointing to a trailer in the middle of the park, kitty-corner to the one they stood in front of at the moment. Cristov glowered at his brother.
“Oh,” Kim said. “Is he busy?”
Damon shrugged. “If he is, he’ll tell you.”
“If he is, come on back,” Cristov said. “The beer won’t get warm anytime soon.”
“Uh, thanks,” Kim said, backing away towards the trailer Damon pointed to. The two men watched her, curious and engaged, until she turned and trotted away, feeling their eyes burn behind her with every step. It was not, surprisingly, an entirely unpleasant feeling.
She paused on the stone steps. She could hear faint conversation inside; a woman’s voice, and a voice she immediately recognized as Kennick’s.
“I’m just tired as hell of watching him kill himself,” the female voice said, sounding as tired as it claimed to be.
“Can’t change a man like that,” Kennick’s voice responded, smooth and sympathetic. “I wish he’d listen to me but…”
“He ought to,” the female voice interrupted, now sounding terse.
“He won’t. I’m too young. Hell, I feel weird trying to give you advice, Beebi.”
“Ah, Kennick, you are young. But you have the right mind to lead us,” the female voice said. In the pause that followed, Kim knocked, feeling awkward about having eavesdropped in the first place.
She heard the people inside moving, and heavy footsteps approaching the door. When Kennick pulled it open, she was caught once more by his raw sex appeal. He was wearing a tight black shirt and low-riding jeans that accentuated his lean, triangular frame. His ink-adorned biceps were tanned and popped in the tight sleeves. His reddish beard invited fingers to scratch it, while his long brown hair hung in a well-managed mess. And those green eyes…shit.
“You,” he said, seeming more than a little surprised. At first, she wondered if her association with the man who’d so recently threatened him and his family would make her an unwelcome guest; but when he smiled, slightly crooked and revealing a line of straight, white teeth, she relaxed. “Ain’t this a surprise. Come in.”
His voice never ceased to thrill her; it was an amalgam of accents and dialects. Sometimes, she swore he had a southern accent; then, the next sentence would be pure Maine. She figured this was probably a side-effect of having lived most of his life on the road.
He moved backwards and made space for her to enter. She had to duck underneath the arm that still held the door open, and she imagined what it would be like if that muscled arm fell, crossing her chest and pulling her against that hard body. She blushed at her own thoughts and hoped that he couldn’t read minds.
The woman she’d heard speaking was small but looked strong in experience. Kim guessed her to be about forty. Her eyes were green, her frame slight, and she wore a long, black dress that seemed exotic for its plainness.
“Hello,” Kim said, looking around the trailer. It was much bigger inside than it looked from the outside. The main room seemed to be a mixture of a kitchen and a dining room, which opened on one side to a living area with a bathroom at the far end. A wall built into the kitchen formed a hallway on the other side, with three doors; two on each side and one in the center. Bedrooms, she supposed.
More interesting than the layout was the way it was decorated in bright colors, none of which seemed to fit together but somehow made a cohesive and attractive pattern. The table was bright green, the two hard-backed benches that served as seats flamingo pink. The walls were a soft yellow, and decorated with elaborately dyed hanging shawls and ancient-looking photographs. It looked every inch the gypsy caravan of myth.
“Beebi, this is Kim. She works at the Mayor’s office. Helping us with our business licenses. Kim, this is my Aunt Ana,” Kennick introduced the women. Ana studied Kim for a long moment before breaking into a wary smile and offering her hand.
“A pleasure,” Ana said and Kim took her hand, impressed by the woman’s no-nonsense grip. “Kennick, I’m going to go talk to Baba Surry. She was asking me to show her how to make that cornbread from last week. You all make yourselves at home. Beer in the fridge, you know.”
“Make sure you take Baba Surry shopping if she plans on making that cornbread tonight,” Kennick said with a joking grimace. “I’d hate to see a repeat of that chili debacle.”
He shuddered at the memory, turning to Kim with a conspiratorial wink.
“Gave the whole damn kumpania the runs for a week,” he explained. “Baba Surry has trouble reading expiration dates.”
Left alone in the trailer, Kennick gestured to one of the benches and Kim took a seat, appreciating the way Kennick’s large body moved with feline grace as he took the seat opposite.
“So,” he said, raising his eyebrows and lifting his palms in a sweeping gesture across the table. Kim waited for him to continue with whatever he had planned to say, but apparently the single word and the hand gesture were all he planned to offer.
“I wanted to come by and…well, I know it wasn
’t really, you know….I just wanted to apologize for Mayor Gunderson,” she said, feeling his eyes dancing over her, his expression playful. “At the bar the other night…”
Kennick waved his hand in front of his face.
“You can’t help the opinions of others,” he said. “I won’t take an apology on someone else’s behalf. But thanks all the same.”
Kim bit her lip. She had more questions, but she was afraid how they’d be received. As though sensing her hesitation, Kennick leaned across the table, a smile on his lips and in his eyes.
“You’ll find I’m pretty hard to offend, Kim,” he said. She could smell him; his breath had a hint of cinnamon, and his body was fragrant with sandalwood. A heady combination that awakened parts of Kim that she wished would stay asleep until the conversation was over. There was no denying that the part of her that was attracted to Kennick was automatic, animalistic…bold. The feeling was such a departure from her usual self that she found herself welcoming it wholeheartedly.
“Well, I suppose…I was wondering about your…plans here. I looked over those applications. It’s an…interesting medley. Are you and your brothers in charge of all of those places? Must be a lot to deal with.”
“No,” he said, leaning back and studying her as though he knew there would be more questions to follow. Less pleasant ones. “Cristov, he’ll run the tattoo parlor. My Aunt Ana – Beebi is Romani for Aunt – she runs the grocery. Peta Kristena, she’s our resident vet. Had to marry her into the equation; Rom aren’t exactly known for our pursuit of higher education. The Surrys run the gentleman’s club and the hairdresser.”
“What about the cheese shop?” Kim asked, trying to keep it all straight in her mind. Kennick smiled again, wide and open this time.
“Damon,” he said shaking his head. “He’s got a knack for pairings, believe it or not.”
Kim thought of the huge, burly man she’d just watch pretend to beat the snot out of his brother. She didn’t believe it. Not for a moment.
