Rescued by that New Guy in Town

by J. L. Salter

  "I was touching your places?"

  "Well, it was more like my places were brushing against your face and chest." I cleared my throat softly.

  "O-o-o-oh. And I let you out of my clutches? How come I don't remember this?"

  I softly slapped his firm left bicep. "Because you were asleep, you big galoot! You get me all…"

  "All what, Kris?" He edged closer.

  I backed up without realizing it.

  He noticed and gently pulled me closer to his left side. "Got you all what?"

  "Oh… interested, if you must know."

  Ryan mulled that word. "Okay, I'll take 'interested' for now. But what was that first thing you mentioned, or almost said?" He evidently thought I needed a prompt. "By the time you got around to…?"

  I squinted. Surely he remembered some of this! "Okay. I kissed you! All right?"

  Ryan's face broke out a huge grin. "No! And I missed the whole thing. Kind of like that story about the prince kissing the tragic girl who's asleep." He shook his head slightly. "No, opposite. This would be the beautiful girl kissing the guy who's asleep."

  He had said "beautiful" again. Silver-tongued operator. "Well, it's cancelled out anyhow, 'cause it was only half a kiss."

  "Half?"

  "For it to be a whole kiss, you'd have to be awake."

  He cleared his throat softly. "I'm awake now."

  It was one of those weird moments when time seemed to stand still and my brain started an incredibly rapid debate: Do I back away because this feels a little funny? Or do I embrace him like a warm pillow? My body wanted the intimate contact, but something way back in my head clicked like when a circuit breaker senses a power overload. "Well, sorry you missed it, 'cause my half was pretty nice." I smiled demurely — at least as close as I could get to demure — and pulled away.

  "Kris, you do know that I'm gonna want to collect that other half… sometime." He looked like he was ready right then.

  Like a well-trained Southern girl, I gave him my butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth smile, and changed the subject. "So you want a cola or something to help wake you up?" I knew he was already wide awake.

  He shook his head and went back to the couch. "Yeah. Anything but bourbon."

  ****

  We watched more television together. Well, truth is, he looked at the TV and I monitored him. When he caught me, I pretended to be involved in the show and then he studied me. I couldn't even have said what was playing.

  It was nearly four o'clock when Ryan scanned the room slowly. Then he stood, patted his pocket for keys, and looked toward his replacement jacket.

  He was leaving? No, not now! I had to think fast. "Uh, while you're up, could you help me with something?"

  Ryan looked relieved. "Sure. What?"

  I hadn't thought of anything yet, so I looked around the room just as he had. The first thing I saw was my framed photo of Eric when he graduated from high school about six years before. "Uh, Eric. I mean, Eric's stuff. A box of his stuff in the attic." Good save, Kristen. "He keeps saying he'll come get it, but never does. So if you'll drag it down from the attic for me, I can take it over to him and it'll be out of my way."

  Ryan looked puzzled for a second and then he grinned very slightly. He probably knew I'd manufactured a project, but didn't appear to mind. "Okay. Where's your opening?"

  "Huh?" Oh, that opening. "Uh, in the hallway." I pointed.

  Ryan started to turn away.

  "Wait. I forgot about your arm. Your cut, the butterflies. They might tear off if you do anything strenuous."

  "Still hurts, but as long as I don't bump it, everything should be okay."

  "You sure?"

  He nodded. "Got a ladder?"

  I had to think. "My landlord has just about everything in the garage. There's got to be a ladder in that pile somewhere."

  "Let's go look."

  I led him through the utility room to the inside garage door and flipped on the light switch. "Brace yourself. It's complete chaos out there." I opened the door and stepped back. The space got almost no light or ventilation and its stale odor smacked us both in the face.

  "Man! You weren't kidding." He entered tentatively. "Ladder, ladder." It was as though Ryan thought he could locate that device by calling its name.

  So I joined in, calling, "Ladder, ladder."

  Ryan turned and smiled. "I spotted it. Now we got to catch that sucker." Then he kissed my cheek lightly. "Maybe you should back up. This could get ugly."

  I nodded, but didn't actually move.

  He began moving boxes and worked his way toward the middle of the side wall, where I finally spotted the step ladder he'd located. It took some five minutes of shifting things to reach it. With loud grunts and a few emphatic cuss words, Ryan emerged from the dusty stacks of boxes and crates with a six-foot step ladder.

  "This is a bit shorter than I really need, but it might work. We'll try." He took it inside and positioned the ladder below the attic hatch in the hallway.

  "You want a drink first?" I was thinking about washing down all the dust he'd inhaled.

  "Not right now, but I probably could use a flashlight."

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  When I returned with the light, all I could see of Ryan was from his belt down, as he stood on the top step. A six-foot ladder doesn't put somebody six feet off the floor; that's the entire length on an angle. And the top cap can't be used, so actually only about fifty-one inches is netted from a seventy-two-inch ladder. I passed him the light.

  "You got any idea where your brother's box is?" He aimed the light in all four directions. "There's a lot of junk up here too."

  Unlike my landlord's garage stuff, the attic debris was mine — but I didn't clarify that ownership. "It's a big box… has his name on it: 'Eric'. Might be the box his computer came in."

  "Hmm. Big computer box named Eric." He called out the name, just as he'd summoned the ladder: "Eric, Eric." Then Ryan grabbed the sides of the hatch and stepped on the top cap of the ladder. Before I could remind him about the warning label, he'd already hoisted himself up and was out of sight. The beam of light swept overhead a few times and his footsteps landed heavily along a very narrow pathway among all the boxes. "Eric, Eric, Eric."

  "Any luck?" I ventured part way up the ladder.

  "No. Oh, wait, maybe. I found an Eric box, but it's from a small TV. Could that be it?"

  "Yeah. TV, computer… whatever."

  Ryan grunted loudly and the Eric box hit the top of another with a whump sound. "Whatever he's got in here — is it breakable?"

  Dust flew down through the opening and onto my face. "Not sure."

  Another whump and more dust flew down the hatch. Ryan's feet appeared and seemed to have trouble locating the ladder cap. I guided his muscled calves until both feet were settled and then I backed down the ladder. He lowered himself to the top step, below the cap, and surveyed the attic contents with his light. "There's some boxes marked 'Christmas decorations' up here. Are you gonna want them down in a couple of weeks?"

  Christmas? Again? Already? Where did the year go? "Uh, yeah. Guess I will need those again. Good idea."

  "Once we put this ladder back in the garage, no human will ever see it again. Might as well get 'em now." Ryan's feet went back up and he strained to reach something. "Okay. First small box coming down."

  I climbed part way up to meet him. My face was slightly higher than his knees. He slowly lowered the box to my up-stretched hands, but my eyes were closed because of the dust.

  "Got it?" He panted slightly.

  "Yeah, I think so." Getting back down the ladder was the harder part, but I made it okay.

  "Two more like that. Ready for another small one?"

  I got back into position. The second box went smoothly. I thought I was falling with the third box, but I leaned forward into Ryan's shins and regained my balance.

  He passed down the flashlight. "Okay. That leaves the Eric box, which is a good bit heavier." More dust fe
ll as Ryan pulled the container into position. "Hold on." He looked down for his footing on the next lower step. Slowly his body descended until his rump perched on the ladder's top cap. I was still on the second step, so my face was just below his belt level. He didn't seem to notice. Breathing deeply, he rested his hands on both knees and closed his eyes. "Hard to breathe up there with all that dust and insulation."

  "Same process for that heavier box?" I wiped some dust from my eyes with the back of my wrist.

  "I won't pass this one down — I'll just hold it. You climb up as high as you can and help keep me steady while I take each step. I won't be able to see where I'm going so you guide me and keep me on the ladder."

  "Okay. Let's try it. My job is to keep you from killing yourself." Bad phrasing, Kristen.

  Ryan stood on the fifth step, with the backs of his calves partly braced against the ladder cap.

  I climbed up to the fourth step, so the top of my head was just above his waist.

  "You're too high. I'm gonna need that step."

  "Right." I went down to the third.

  "Here we go." Ryan lifted and more dust fell. He got the box centered over the hatch and then called down, "Taking the first step." His right foot moved rather shakily, and I guided it to the fourth step. With that foot stabilized, he began moving the left one. I steered it down also. He stopped. "Okay so far?"

  "Okay down here." I moved to the second rung. "You?"

  "Yeah. Next step down." More shaky feet and the stepladder wobbled just a bit.

  I secured his footing on the third step. "Two more rungs and then to the floor." Then I moved down another.

  "Okay, I'm going for the second step." His right foot descended tentatively and I nudged it to the proper spot. His left foot followed.

  The remaining step was a lot easier because he could lean back against the ladder while he was locating the rung. In another minute he was down and I moved in front to show him where to put the box.

  "We can toss it in your car right now, if you want."

  I grabbed my keys and hurried ahead of him to open the hatch. By the time he loaded the box and came back inside, he was definitely ready for that drink I'd previously offered.

  "Thanks for getting that thing down, Ryan. It would have been there 'til doomsday."

  "No problem."

  While truly helpful, that project had none of the urgency I'd implied. I would have felt rotten if Ryan had hurt himself. But he seemed fine after he washed the sweat and dust off his face and took a few swallows of iced tea.

  After a few moments, he resumed watching TV — alternately with studying me — just as he had before. Departure crisis averted!

  We snacked on what few treats my brother hadn't swiped. But my mind whirred the entire time. Eric had said "it is what it is". Unfortunately, that wasn't enough information for me. I knew I liked the way Ryan felt here in my house. But I needed more — maybe context or something. During a commercial, I popped the nagging question. "Do you realize I know hardly anything about you?"

  "What's to know?" He shrugged. "I'm here. I like being with you."

  I looked into his steel gray eyes. "That's, uh, wonderful, Ryan, and I like that too. But I want, or need, to know a little bit more than 'today' and 'now'."

  "So you're one of those used car shoppers who looks up the repair history and maintenance records?" Ryan grinned.

  "Unless you want me to kick your tires." I sighed heavily. "Look, all you revealed so far is that you've worked on a ranch and lived near Memphis. " I consulted my mental list. "And all you've explained is the business with Vanessa, the Pyewacket note, and that you were carrying fence posts instead of carcasses."

  "Okay." Ryan nodded. "But you're exaggerating. I've told you more than that."

  "Not much more. As far as I know, you were born in early September when you arrived in Greene County."

  Ryan looked toward my back door as though he could see the field and pond and forest beyond, though none were visible from my couch. "Okay, what more do you need to know about me?"

  I had a hundred questions, but one jumped in front of the line. "Why were you alone and drunk at the Halloween festival that night?"

  "You sure you want to hear this?"

  I nodded.

  "Okay, it was Vanessa. I mean, well… it's what she said."

  A frown formed on my forehead.

  "I thought she and I were hitting it off okay, I mean, for what it was. You know, mostly physical."

  That word made me cringe.

  "Anyway, we'd already planned to go to the Halloween thing, so I got all dressed up in that costume and went to pick her up. She met me at the door and just said, 'it's over'."

  "No explanation?"

  "Well, in effect, she admitted she was only messing with me while her real boyfriend was gone. When Rand came back, she figured it would make him jealous and maybe he'd appreciate her more."

  "That hussy was playing you!"

  Ryan nodded sadly. "And I couldn't see it. You know, new guy in town. Didn't know any better. But, deliberately deceived — it really hurt."

  "Must make it difficult to work in the same courthouse with her."

  He was silent.

  "But you went to the festival anyway."

  "Already dressed. Once I got there, I just moped around and drank too much punch. Then I woke up in that big ole dark truck bay and heard you calling for help."

  I touched the back of his hand. "And you rescued me."

  "So it was fate that I went to the festival after all."

  I didn't agree because that would have meant it was also fate for him to get involved with Vanessa. "I'm not sure that's fate, but I'm glad you, uh, met Mizz Fake-Chest, if that eventually got you to, uh, meet me."

  He looked into my eyes, then smiled softly. "You know the fakes are over-rated. I mean, sure, they attract attention, but they don't feel right."

  "So why do so many women get them?"

  Ryan shrugged. "Can't say. I mean they are inspiring to look at…"

  Inspiring? I let him finish.

  "…but the feel is wrong." Seemingly without realizing it, Ryan's hands moved up and out, as though they were cupping two mounds of silicone or saline. "The fakes are too cold and too hard."

  "I thought that was every adolescent boy's dream — firm, jutting forward… no sag."

  He chuckled. "Well, maybe for some guys. I mean, of course, I don't like them hanging down to a woman's waist…"

  I couldn't help inhaling deeply and looking down at my own chest.

  So did Ryan. His eyes were clearly drawn. But I was transfixed by his lightly callused hands. For a few very warm moments, I seriously imagined myself leaning forward until my own torso made contact.

  He must have realized what I was thinking. Ryan lowered his hands and looked slightly self-conscious. "You know, I've actually discussed this with a few women."

  I could only imagine.

  "And some of them seem to worry that all those surgically enhanced racks will sort of run their regular ones out of business, so to speak."

  Odd phrasing, but I comprehended.

  "Well, in any case, you don't have anything to worry about, Kris." He couldn't hold back a grin.

  If said by the wrong man at the wrong time, that observation could be offensive. But at that moment, with that particular man, I felt charmed all the way down to the tips of my, uh… toes. "So, how do you know mine aren't fake?" I knew he'd been awake for some of that earlier casual contact, but I wanted to hear his answer.

  He didn't reply for a moment. "You want generalities or specifics?"

  This time, I didn't respond.

  "Okay." He drew a breath. "Yours have the right movement and the, uh, volume settles where I'd expect it to. Plus, there's a yield to their firmness."

  "Yield?" I guess I sputtered a bit. "How would you know…?"

  Ryan chuckled. "Well, I wasn't exactly passed-out when you were helping me inside the house a week ago, or wh
en you were fixing up my arm last night."

  "So you were groping me! You, you perv!" My offense was mostly theatrical and certainly he could tell.

  "Are you upset that I assessed your assets?" That line could only come from someone in his particular courthouse office.

  I tried to give him a stern look, but couldn't pull it off. "Not fair to assess while pretending to be the pitiful patient."

  "No jury would convict me for taking advantage of placement and proximity to make a quick assessment."

  "That's a very clinical term for attempted passive groping."

  He just shrugged. "Anyhow, before this turned into cross-examination, I was just noting that your bosom is lovely."

  I had nothing else to say. I treasured that adjective also. But I realized I was eager to resume participation in those proximity assessments.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  For several long moments Ryan stood and gazed through my rear window toward the pond and trees in the distance. He seemed to be debating whether to speak. "You know, I've been thinking…" Whatever he'd mulled over almost had to be significant. "Actually, I believe I was practically, uh, reborn the night I met you — the festival witch-lady." He paused. "You must've cast a spell on me."

  "Just don't call me Pyewacket."

  He moved toward me. "I'm sorry that note caused you so much confusion. Guess I ought to be more careful about my references."

  "Well, I bought the stinking movie, so you can borrow it."

  Ryan looked into my eyes and held my arm in his left hand. "I'd rather watch it with you."

  Much better! I just smiled.

  Ryan kissed me and I kissed him back. Our lips were parted, but no tongues explored.

  "That might be the other half of the kiss I slept through last night." Ryan grinned. His hands roamed slightly and I enjoyed every moment — each sensation.

  But my left brain had a habit of playing sadistic tricks on me. Just when everything was finally going the correct direction, sometimes the logical part of my mind jumped in with a stupid question that certainly could have waited until later. Much later. At a moment when Ryan's hands were nearing areas already tingling in anticipation, about seven inches below my clavicle, I heard Kristen ask a stupid question. "So what's the rest of your long story?" If I possessed the acrobatic ability, I would have kicked my own idiotic bottom really hard. We were just about to get to the good stuff when I broke it up.