“How’d that go?” Ryan laughs. Rookie jumps. “Sorry, buddy.”
I sigh and quietly set the phone down.
But Rookie picks up his head, as if he hears a noise outside. I glance at the time. It’s just before eight. There’s something outside, and Rookie knows it. He jumps to his feet, walks to the door, and lets out a low growl.
Ryan and I look at each other.
“My gate was unlocked this morning when I went down to meet you guys on the scene. I know I’d locked it.”
We get to our feet and walk outside to the wraparound porch.
Ryan quietly walks to his truck, opens the driver’s side door, and reaches under his seat. “My pistol’s gone.”
“What?”
“My gun. It was under my seat. Now, it’s gone.”
“I’ll be right back.” I run upstairs to my bedroom and grab my handgun in my nightstand.
When I return, Rookie’s breathing fast. I can see it in the cold night air. He stays close. Not sure that I want Rookie wandering outside with a lunatic preying on innocent animals. I don’t give him the command to go search.
There’s a rustle in the bushes just off to the left of the house. Ryan shines his spotlight, and I aim my gun there. We move closer to the rustling bush, and Rookie is at my side.
“Show yourself,” Ryan says.
Eight
Alex
October 12, 2017
It’s just past eleven when I hear the rain start to trickle on the roof. I close my computer and put it on the nightstand. I quietly listen to the rain and the wind that blows through the hollow places of the massive house. The rain picks up speed and intensity, pounding down on the roof like an African beat. I listen and allow the strong hold of nature’s call to let my mind drift, to relax.
I turn on my side, peeling the comforter from my body, and stare into darkness. In the confines of my own mind, I pretend. I pretend Kyle and I have just made love for the second time tonight. His touch all over me, his fingers, large hands, his manliness put in places that turn my body to fire. I pretend I’m naked and that I can feel the satin sheets against my body. I pretend he’s in the bathroom, and not gone from this Earth.
I ask myself the one question that has been sitting idly in the back of my brain for a day or so now, Would it still be all right if it were another man in the bathroom, one in particular?
Eli Young.
Would it still be okay with you, Alex?
But Kyle has my past—most of my teenage years, all of my twenties, and some of my thirties. He has his own spot, a big spot, carved out in my heart, one that consists of only darkness now.
There’s a loud thud outside, like a building just collapsed, and something shakes the house. It sends electric shock waves through my body. One thing I’ve never been scared of is being alone in the dark. But, right now, something doesn’t feel right. I sit straight up in bed, and immediately, my breathing quickens.
Who could be here this late? And why?
My mind begins to rationalize. Someone is moving firewood. Making a delivery. Neither of these options makes sense.
With my heart pounding against my chest, I grab my phone and my gun and quietly tiptoe to the kitchen.
Inching along the wall, I make it to the front door. My stomach doing somersaults, I try to look through the peephole, but it’s too dark to see.
Shit.
I could text Eli. Call him maybe.
I debate on flipping on the porch light. Part of me is scared of what I’ll find, but part of me feels stupid because of my overactive imagination.
Quickly, I flip on the porch light. The rain is hammering outside. Wind is blowing.
I see it. The rain is splashing off a mass in the front yard. The rack on the beast is massive. It’s lying there, unmoving. It’s huge—whatever it is. Maybe a moose. A whitetail deer?
Call Eli, is all I hear, so I do.
“Alex”—his voice is low—“are you all right?”
“Yeah. Hi, Eli. I know it’s late.” I try to sound like I’m picking up milk at the store, not staring at a dead animal in the middle of the night.
“No, no, it’s fine.” His voice is clearer now. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. But there’s a dead animal in front of my place. And—”
“Lock your fucking doors, Alex. You lock your doors, and do not open them until I get there. Do you understand?”
I hear a door slam, a truck start, and a dog collar jingling on the other end of the line.
“Yes.”
It seems like hours before Eli pulls up. Really, it’s only been minutes. I peek out the peephole as he grabs his gun and lets a dog out of the back. The rain pelts them as they make their way to the front door. Under the back window, it says, K9 Unit. The dog is at his side when another warden truck pulls and gets out of his truck. They exchange words, and the other warden sets out on foot around the house.
Eli comes toward the door, and I open it before he’s on the step.
“Hey,” he says, soaked, stepping under the porch awning. He’s wearing a white cotton T-shirt with a dark green Maine Warden Service jacket along with a dark green hat with the same emblem as the jacket. The T-shirt clings to his broad chest. Eli looks down at the gun at my side. “Concealed weapons permit?”
“I can go get it.” My bare legs feel the cold fall air. I could have put on more clothes before he arrived.
“No, I trust you.” Eli’s eyes dip down toward my legs once. “Warden Lowe is checking the perimeter. I’m going to examine the legs—” He closes his eyes. “The deer. I’m going to examine the deer.” His dog sits at his feet and cocks his head to the right.
“Okay.”
“I want you to lock the door right now. I’ll let you know when we’re done.” Eli turns and heads toward the dead animal.
I do as he said.
Half an hour passes.
A truck leaves. I assume it’s Warden Lowe, and I hear a knock on the door. Doing as instructed, I look through the peephole to see Eli and his dog. The other warden truck is gone. I open the door.
Eli sighs.
“Please, come in.”
He begins talking as he follows me in, “So, the deer looks like he died from natural causes. I’ll get him to the State Police Crime Lab to confirm.”
I create a space between myself and the door.
“Rookie, truck.”
Rookie turns and heads back to the truck.
“Can’t he come in? It’s cold outside.”
Eli’s stare is hard, as if he’s trying to figure me out or maybe there’s an internal battle going on behind his bright green eyes. “Rookie, come. Inside.” He points, still staring at me.
Eli walks past me, and I take in his scent. A mix between Irish Spring and the woods.
Rookie sits down by the front door while Eli makes his way to the living room.
I hear Rookie groan and slide down on the hardwood floor.
I sit next to him. Our bodies are not touching. I feel heat, though it’s cold outside. My body is almost trembling, but from what? A combination of a few things: being so close to Eli and the cold.
Eli turns to me. “There’s some wack job out in the woods, putting dead animals on people’s front lawns and porches. They aren’t just shot and left. They’re mutilated, Alex, dissected.” Eli shakes his head. “The only reason I’m telling you all of this is because your call tonight scared the living shit out of me.” He swallows, stands, and slides his wet jacket off his shoulders, exposing his damp, wet T-shirt. “I thought for sure he’d left the deer on your porch,” he says, setting his jacket over the coffee table.
“Can I dry your clothes for you?”
It’s as if he didn’t hear me. “I’m staying here with you tonight. Then, you’ll come to my house and stay with me. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you stay alone while there’s some crazy asshole running around town.”
“You’re not all business all the time, huh?
” I nudge him. “Besides, how do you know he’s a male?”
He leans back on the couch, placing his hands over his head. His white T-shirt clings to every muscle and refuses to budge.
Breathe, Alex.
“I don’t think a woman could cut out babies from a mother’s womb.” Eli pauses. “Do you?”
Bile builds in my throat. “You’re right. But why do you think he’d target me? Come after me? I mean, you said yourself you thought he’d come here.”
He’s clearly upset, and I know it’s not at me. Fear is the root of all anger.
“Because you’re beautiful.”
Would it be all right if another man were in the shower? Had slept in my bed? Clung to my waist? Held my body?
“You’re wet, Warden Young. Stand up,” I command.
He does as he was told.
“Take off your shirt.”
I’m too terrified to touch him. Terrified my body will react to his skin. We’re both not ready for touching yet, especially if we have to spend the next few weeks in a truck together and keep it professional. It’s work. Not pleasure, I remind myself.
Eli is hesitant before he takes the bottom of his shirt and pulls it over his head.
Oh, sweet baby Jesus.
I want to feel his skin, reach out, and touch it. My eyes are stuck on his eyes. Daring myself to look down at his chest, I do. With the small tuft of light hair, his abdomen outlines a core that works out every morning. I realize I’m holding my breath. His jeans hang loosely at his hips.
Dear God. I should hand him his T-shirt back. Tell him I’d like to take back my offer to dry his shirt because of what his half-naked body is doing to my heart.
We don’t say a single word.
The shrill ring of his phone makes us both jump.
He pulls his work phone from his back pocket, his eyes still on me. “Warden Young.”
Quietly, I take his shirt from his hand and put in the dryer.
When I walk back into the living room, Eli is still on the phone. But I look down at Rookie, who’s staring up at me. I sit down next to him and rub him behind the ears. He lets out a low groan and puts a paw on my hand. I give his belly a gentle rub, and it makes me think of Larry. My mom ended up taking Larry home to her house because he had been so lonely.
Rookie stretches out, his head in my lap.
Eli hangs up the phone and stares at both of us. “The only other person he does that with is Ryan.”
I remember Ryan from the other night.
Eli smiles.
Who would have thought just a week prior that I would have a shirtless warden in a rented house in Maine?
“Do you have any blankets?”
The rain has now ceased, but the wind is a different story, shaking the house. We know the moment we shared just before his phone rang had to end.
I find some blankets for him in the middle closet and grab a pillow from my bed and hand them to Eli.
“Good night, Alex.”
We meet each other’s gaze.
“Good night, Warden Young.” With my willpower and pieces of my heart, I pad off to my bedroom just off the living room and climb into bed.
“Hey, Alex?” Eli calls out to me.
My heart is still pounding against my chest. “Yeah?”
“Good night again.”
“Good night, Eli.”
His body is etched in my head—his broad shoulders, his hard chest, and the scar that sits just below his nipple and stretches to his back. I haven’t seen a shirtless man in three years. I haven’t touched another man besides Kyle. It’s as if someone hijacked my rational thought and took my feelings away because, right now, all I want is Eli in my bed. I know my want for Eli won’t change my heart, but it’s a pretty good start because I haven’t felt this way in a long, long time.
October 13, 2017
I’ve been up since four a.m., creating a chart for my data collection to dump the data into once all my notes are collected. Really, I think the chart creation is just a feeble attempt to free my aching mind of Eli Young.
It’s just after six in the morning before I quietly tiptoe into the kitchen to make some more coffee. Then, I hear him stir. I glance up through the early morning darkness, the sun not yet making its ascent over the ocean. That has taken some time to adjust to—the sun rising over the ocean.
Filling the pot with water in the sink on the island that overlooks the living room, I look up, and Eli’s staring at me.
I stare back, and every inch of me becomes warm, uncomfortably warm. “Good morning. Coffee?”
Eli places his hand behind his head, still shirtless, still staring. “Please.”
I’ve got to shake this. Book research, Alex. That’s what this is. Just book research.
“Is this how a game warden wakes up?”
Eli smiles, and I see the innocence in his eyes. The tenderness.
“Been to Acadia National Park yet?” He’s still watching me.
I haven’t been in Granite Harbor long and I already have a game warden sleeping on my couch—named Eli. The question returns. Is this the Eli who sent the postcards? Surely, there’s only one Eli, maybe two, in Granite Harbor, right? How would he have the same exact penmanship as Kyle?
“Sorry, what?”
“Have you been to Acadia National Park?” He stands and folds the blankets—again, smiling, still shirtless.
“Not yet.”
Eli looks to the couch arm and sees his folded shirt. “Thank you.”
Nodding, I try to shake off whatever grip he has on me. “Might be a good idea to put it on. We don’t want you causing car wrecks today.”
Eli slides his shirt over his head.
Thank God, my lungs say.
I look down at my hand, remembering I took my wedding ring off last night and set them on the nightstand. “Do you need to shower?”
“You get ready, and then we will go to my house,” he says.
I nod, pulling myself from the counter, but not before filling two cups of coffee. “Not sure what you like in it, but it’s poured. Half-and-half is in the fridge.” I put my cup to my lips and make my way toward the bedroom to wash off the impure thoughts of pushing, pulling, and anything else having to do with two people and their opposite anatomy.
Eli’s on the phone again when I come out of the bedroom. He stops. Stares. Bites his lip. Looks away. “Yeah, just have Greg come pick up the deer. It looks like natural causes. Could be something else though. Yeah. Autopsy.” He hangs up the phone and eyes me.
I look down at my attire, a smile dangling from my lips. “What?” I have on jeans, a Golden State Warriors sweatshirt, and tennis shoes that I purchased yesterday in town.
Eli tips his head back and laughs. “You think you’re smooth with the GSW sweatshirt? Like I’m not going to notice?” He shakes his head. “Sweatshirt goes, or I leave you here.”
“Come on. It’s just a little healthy competition, Warden Young.”
He points to the bedroom. “Not only is the team offensive, but you’ll also stand out like a sore thumb. The last thing I want is to draw attention to you.”
“Why?”
He stares at me.
I wait for an answer, watching Eli squirm from his own words.
“Please, just go change,” he pleads.
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
On the way to Eli’s, Rookie has his muzzle resting on the shoulder of my seat, staring straight ahead. I reach back and give him a rub on the head.
“When did you get Rookie?” I ask, taking in the beauty of what Granite Harbor has to offer in the fall in the early morning light. Steam rises from the black asphalt from the torrential downpour.
“About five years ago.” His hand rests comfortably on the wheel. Eli takes his eyes from the road and puts them on me.
I grow fidgety. “I have a cat named Larry. Kyle actually brought him home from a fire …” My voice trails as I’m still stroking Rookie’s head.
&nbs
p; Eli drags his eyes away from me and looks back to the road. “It’s all right, Alex. We don’t have to talk about Larry if you don’t want to.”
Quiet sits between us like a layer of film, waiting for us to move, to speak, to break the silence. But we don’t. We just ride.
We make our way through town to get to Eli’s and see Ida and Ruthie out, walking. Ruthie waves at the sight of Eli’s work truck, and Eli pulls over.
“Need anything, ladies?”
“We’re good, Eli. Thank you. Well, hi there, Alex Fisher. Hey”—Ruthie reaches into her backpack and pulls out yet another one of my books—“can you sign this one, too? It’s for my sister in North Dakota.”
Eli, confused, looks at the cover, looks at me, and then hands me the book.
“What?” I say, grabbing a pen from his center console, as if I’d been here before. As if I’d done this, riding in his truck, using his pen. I reach past Eli, careful not to touch him, and take the book from her.
Ruthie and Ida exchange a look, and I watch as the smoke billows from their ears while they try to wrap their brains around why Eli and I are in the same truck in this early morning hour.
Ida gives me a wink and whispers to her daughter, “Never liked Grace anyway.”
“Mother!” Ruthie turns to Ida, red-faced.
Ida shrugs. “Truth is a bitch, Ruthie.”
“Mother.” She turns her body toward her mother.
“Oh, come off it, Ruthie. God knows we cuss, smoke cigarettes, and have sex.”
I sign, again reach past Eli, and hand the book back to Ruthie.
Eli puts the truck in drive, smiles, and shakes his head. “Okay, ladies, you have yourselves a good morning,” he says as we pull away.
I want to ask Eli who Grace is, but this is professional. This is a professional relationship. It’s not my business, so I follow his lead.
Eli has one hand on the wheel, and his elbow rests on the center console, his hand cupping his mouth.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
“What?”
“What are you thinking about? What do game wardens think about when they drive their trucks, hand on mouth?” I mimic the gesture. I’m trying to make light of the situation, trying to lighten the mood. “In other words, you look so serious.”
Peony Red (The Granite Harbor Series Book 1) Page 8
