by Leigh Tudor
He gave Lenore a suggestive grin.
Loren struggled to find adequate words. “Well . . . that’s . . . great news. I’m glad it worked out for everybody.”
Lenore seemed to have more to get off her chest. “I thought you were nothing but trouble that first time we met at the 7-Eleven, based purely on how you were dressed, but Henry helped me realize that it’s wrong to assume someone’s character on very little information.” Lenore seemed encouraged by Henry’s smile directed at her. “I’ve promised to get to know people better before making insensitive comments about them and assuming the worst.”
Henry lovingly squeezed Lenore’s hand and then turned to Loren. “If it’s not too late, we’d love for you to work for us at Wilder’s Hardware. Lenore’s been busy managing the 7-Eleven. We’d certainly understand if you’re no longer interested, but wanted to put it out there.”
Loren felt her heart expand, as if an entire lifetime of condescension toward her had been lifted from her chest. Her eyes began to fill and she subconsciously touched her pearls.
And just like that, the curvy brunette undressing her date with her eyes and molesting him with her Halloween nails, was no longer an issue.
What filled her senses was the prospect of going to work and smelling paint thinner, fertilizer, and the chemical off-gassing of the PVC garden hoses on a daily basis. Not to mention the grainy feel of sawdust on virtually every surface, and the warmth of the mid afternoon sun wafting through the industrial steel plated glass windows.
What job could be more satisfying and irrefutably normal than working at a local hardware store?
None, that’s what.
Yanking herself out of her self-imposed reverie, she cleared her throat. “I would love to work for you. My evenings are busy with my self defense classes and helping Cara with homework, but my days are completely free.”
Henry slapped the table with a grin and then reached over Lenore to shake Loren’s hand. “It’s a deal, come in Monday morning and we’ll start the paperwork and get you started, little lady.”
Her smile faded slightly. “What should I wear?”
Lenore eagerly answered for her husband. “Just what you would normally wear. There’s no uniform.”
“Okay,” Loren said with a renewed smile and a slow nod. “I’ll be sure to wear something work-appropriate.”
“I’ve no doubt that whatever you choose will be just fine. By the way,” Lenore added with a wink, “love the pearls.”
Loren made her goodbyes, feeling like she’d just been awarded a Nobel prize, and turned toward her table only to be reminded of the trashy MALF (mother Alec ((would no doubt)) like to fuck) and re-found her pulsing heart rate.
Like the stealthy assassin she was, she lifted her boot as if to scratch a difficult spot and gripped her knife, no one the wiser.
As she meandered through the throng of tables, her mission re-established, she slowed as Lenore’s confessions connected with her conscience.
“. . . it’s wrong to assume someone’s character based on very little information . . .”
She faltered and sighed. What did she really know about Marybell Simmons? Maybe there was more to the story, just like there was more to her and her sisters’ story.
“. . . get to know people better before assuming the worst.”
Crap, Marybell was just given a stay of execution by the town’s most malicious gossip and here she was, clutching a knife recently sharpened with a leather strop with diabolical plans to terrorize, at the very least, Amarilla’s mother because she was making eyes on her fuck-worthy neighbor.
Seriously, look at him. Who wouldn’t want to take that home and do dirty things to him?
Not that she planned to. Oh no, tonight she was going to be polite and circumspect.
She was on a first date, and nice girls didn’t get down and dirty on the first date. She didn’t need to watch movies to know that, for crying out loud.
But come on. How could she blame Marybell for being attracted to Alec? With those lickable dimples and porn-worthy biceps . . .
Maybe she should gather more intel before coming to a conclusion as it pertains to— She came to a complete halt. Jesus fuck, that woman was nearly clenching his balls.
Chapter Thirty
“Mathematics is not a deductive science—that’s a cliché. When you try to prove a theorem, you don’t just list the hypotheses, and then start to reason. What you do is trial and error, experimentation, guesswork.”
—Paul Halmos
Hungarian-born American mathematician and statistician who made fundamental advances in the areas of mathematical logic, probability theory, statistics, operator theory, ergodic theory, and functional analysis
* * *
Alec politely removed Marybell’s fingers, along with her creepy-as-fuck fingernails, from his arm.
But no sooner than when he extricated himself from potential bloodletting, she leaned against him using his arm as a scratching post and whispered in his ear. “You sure are looking mighty fine tonight, Alec.”
“Appreciate the compliment, Marybell.” He refrained from rearing back from her sugary sweet perfume.
“Why don’t you be a gentleman and buy me a drink? Or are you gonna play hard to get tonight?”
“Ah, now, I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I bought you a drink while on a date.”
Which, by the way, where was his date? He had watched her saunter to the bar with hooded eyes and had to remind himself that tonight was to re-establish a truce. Nothing more. And suddenly, he caught Gus’ shit-eating grin at his dilemma as he leaned against the back of the bar while drying his hands with a bar towel.
Maybe she went to the restroom. He looked over Marybell’s shoulder and finally found her mid-discussion with Lenore and Henry.
He suddenly flinched as those nails found their way to his thigh.
“Everyone knows you don’t date.” Leaning closer to him, she said, “You only do hook-ups.”
“I’m here with someone, Marybell.”
“Where is she, then?” She looked around the bar, failing to find what she deemed as viable competition, smirked, “I don’t see anyone here.”
While her fingers worked their way higher, he saw his pint-sized date making her way toward them. And if looks could kill, she looked no less than a trained assassin holding a grudge and something sketchy behind her back.
Once again, he yanked on the talons securing his thigh. Good Lord, the woman had some upper-body strength. Nothing compared to his date, but enough to make him hiss as her nails scraped against his jeans, refusing to release.
“Well, hey, y’all.”
Alec’s eyes widened at Loren’s change of demeanor, and impromptu Southern accent. She stood directly in front of them with a strange smile on her face as a clueless Marybell continued to sit in his date’s chair.
Loren reached out to shake the woman’s hand that had been holding his thigh hostage.
“I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’m Loren Ingalls. Your daughter and my sister, Cara, are friends.”
“Oh, yes,” Marybell purred, giving her a quick once-over. “I remember seeing her new little friends at the house the other day.”
“How is Levi?”
Marybell’s eyes narrowed. “You know my father?”
“I do. He’s dropped Amarilla off at the house a couple times.”
“He’s doing just fine. Ornery as ever and far too involved in my life but doing fine.”
Alec watched in fascination as his date expressed the epitome of southern gentility.
Loren continued, “Would you like to have dinner with us? I know you’ve been out of town for past couple of months, but I would love the chance to get to know you better.”
“Oh, you’re with Alec?” Marybell’s eyes once again scanned her competition, her smirk indicating she found her inferior.
Loren continued to smile without responding, and to Alec’s amazement, without giving the
offensive woman an upper-cut to the jaw.
Marybell began to languidly disentangle herself from Alec’s side. “That’s such a kind invitation, but I’ve got plans, just dropped by to catch up with some friends and pass some time.”
“Well, that’s just too bad.” Loren lied, “Maybe next time.”
Marybell draped herself over the table to grab her purse that sat on the other side of Alec, managing to rub her tits against his arm, before standing straight and placing the strap over her shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you later, Alec,” she said with a wink. Then, turning her back to Loren, she leaned down and gave him a kiss on the cheek and whispered, “Call me.” She exited behind Alec’s chair toward the front doors, not giving Loren a backward glance.
Alec’s focus remained on his date. “I must say, that was alarmingly civil of you.”
Loren’s grin became wider and a bit scarier as she continued to look over his shoulder.
Alec turned to see what had her attention just in time to watch Marybell open the door, unaware that her thong was in clear view due to a clean split from her waist to the bottom of her gaping dress.
Alec turned back, squared his elbows on the table and fisted his hands over his mouth, watching Loren look everywhere in the room except at him.
“Loren, did you do that?”
Moving to the now empty chair to the left of Alec, she sat in her seat with what looked to be smug satisfaction.
“Do what?”
“You know what.”
His hand moved below the table, landing lightly on her knee. Alec heard and felt her intake of breath as his hand made a torturous path down a well-toned right leg and into her boot, lifting the weapon from its hiding place and tossing it on the table in front of her.
“You carry this with you on dates?”
“You never know if things will get weird,” she explained, gingerly placing her napkin in her lap. “Or if you need a dining utensil.”
Her eyes began darting around the room, as if looking for a swift diversion.
Alec also made a quick sweep of the room. Those sitting nearby were busy snickering at Marybell’s grand exit, missing the tactical knife spinning in a circular motion on the table.
Alec continued to glower, knowing it was making her all the more uncomfortable. “You’re gonna tell me that you use a Zero Tolerance combat knife to cut your food?”
“Sometimes,” she shrugged, waving for Gus, as she slid the knife from the table into her lap. “When there’s a lot of gristle.”
Gus appeared and she visibly relaxed and smiled wide as he wrote down their long-awaited drink orders and dropped off menus. Alec side-eyed his date as she leveraged the slight disruption, slipping the knife back into her boot.
“Oh,” Loren popped up with a wide grin, “I almost forgot, I just got a job.”
Being with this woman was like riding a rogue roller coaster and white-knuckling the safety bar. Frankly, he was barely hanging on.
“Today?” he asked.
“No, just now.” She motioned behind her. “I start work Monday morning working for Henry.”
“At the hardware store?” Now that was a surprise. Lenore Sterling had made it her life’s mission to discredit the moral compass of the Ingalls sisters.
She nodded enthusiastically.
“And Lenore was okay with that?”
“I know, right? She apologized to me,” she said, sitting tall. “Can you believe it? She said she shouldn’t have made assumptions regarding our character based on our attire.”
He nodded, thinking how he was guilty of the same and how Loren and Mercy had slowly wormed their way into the hearts of the townspeople.
Even into the heart of Lenore-the-town-gossip Sterling.
And if he was honest, he, too, was getting sucked into their mysterious yet pleasant orb.
He rubbed at his own chest.
“How ’bout you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, how’s the new job?”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Going well.” His turn to be elusive and non-forthcoming.
“What is it you do, exactly?”
“Back office admin stuff.” He responded, looking down as he unfolded his napkin.
“For a private security firm.” She added.
“A private security firm slash collection agency.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So, your company provides mall cops as well as payment collection services. What an odd combination.”
An astute observation, as he’d just signed up as a private security contractor for M2M.
“What back office stuff do you do for them?” she asked as Gus dropped off their drinks and moved on to the next table. “Accounts receivable, payables?”
“I.T.”
Actually, Alec’s area of expertise was in exposing weaknesses in communications systems. A skill set honed while he was part of MARSOC.
But that specific job description was only to be given on a need-to-know basis. And the individual deemed “in need” had to be approved by his supervisor.
She took a sip of her drink. “And you can do that remotely?”
“I can.” For now, anyway. Thanks to a widely respected expertise while enlisted, he was able to negotiate working undercover from home. The plan was to eventually lead a tactical team once Ally graduated high school and started college. But for now he was going to lay low, work on gathering intel and soak up all the information he could while keeping a close eye on Ally.
“Are you still planning to move closer to town?”
At that moment Gus showed up with his order pad, and grabbed the pen resting on his ear. “Sorry, guys. Busy night. It’s like someone crop-dusted pheromones all over town. I swear the sexual tension in here could etch glass.” He pointed his pen toward Edgar who was making his way to the jukebox and raised his voice. “Edgar, you play another Marvin Gaye song, and I’m gonna break your fingers.” Shaking his head, he looked up. “What would y’all like?”
Alec also felt uncomfortable thanks to the local bar turned sex dungeon environment. Not to mention that his nerves were strung tight with the feelings he had for his date.
One minute she was light and disarming; the next, she was brandishing a knife he’d only seen used during a particularly unexpected and brutal skirmish in an Afghani village.
Despite his efforts, Lucky’s didn’t appear to be the place to keep a clear head and have a friendly dinner.
He turned to Loren, lifting the napkin from his lap. “How ’bout we take dinner to go?”
“Where are we going?” she asked. “Cara is out with Ally and Amarilla, but I have two houseguests and one nosy sister at the house.”
“My place.”
She smiled tentatively. “Okay.”
He rubbed his thumb along his lower lip in doubt. Maybe going back to his place wasn’t such a good idea.
They placed their orders, and while waiting, made their way around the room saying their goodbyes, a life-long habit for Alec who lived in such a small town that bore his last name.
While shaking hands, Alec would glance at Loren, who was hugging people and owning the room with her sweet smile and red embroidered cowboy boots.
His mayoral trek was out of obligation. Hers was because she was, simply put, a people magnet. And the fact that the townsfolk’s regard for this sinewy bleach-blond was the result of a hard-won victory made her appeal all the more heartfelt.
Shrouded in mystery, ridiculously fit, and intrinsically kind, with a side of crazy.
He was totally fucked.
Finally, Gus brought out their order, which included a Gus’s Special that Loren quietly placed next to a sleeping Jimbo before heading out of town.
Chapter Thirty-One
“A mathematician, like a painter or poet, is a maker of patterns. If his patterns are more permanent than theirs, it is because they are made with ideas.”
—G.H. Hardy
English mathematician, known for h
is achievements in number theory and mathematical analysis
* * *
Loren removed her coat and placed it on the hook next to the door where remnants of Alec and Ally’s outerwear rested.
Searching for inner bravado and feeling as sexually savvy and as painfully horny as a reluctant nun who never got to sow any wild oats, she began to recite some of her favorite mathematical functions to temper her libido.
It didn’t help that Alec smelled like eau de homme with notes of testosterone-infused pheromones.
She followed him into the kitchen as he turned on the lights and set the bag of Styrofoam containers on the counter.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked while opening one of the cabinet doors and setting a couple glasses on the counter.
She soaked him in, finally getting a good look at him as he was no longer veiled by the dim lights of the bar but rather starkly lit by the light fixture over the kitchen table.
His curly dark hair was getting a bit long, and she twisted her fingers together to keep them from reaching up and wrapping them around her index finger. He was his usual stoic self, with crystal-blue eyes edged with a color of indigo she couldn’t quite recall ever seeing in Mercy’s paint lineup.
“Loren?”
Oh right . . . drink.
“Yes, please,” she said, diverting her eyes from his physical goodness, to the elements of the old-fashioned kitchen that looked to have never been updated. Nothing like the contemporary farmhouse styles that were all the rage on Pinterest.
“All I’ve got is scotch, but it’s good.”
“That’s fine,” she said, barely turning his direction as she took in the white refrigerator with the curved lines and the walls covered with an old-time strawberry print.
Her body felt strung tight and hyper-sensitive as well as inexplicably drawn to the other body mass in the room. In an effort to dampen the electrical arcs coursing through her body she focused on her physical surroundings. A trick she learned to ground herself, and as a result, avoid drowning in sensory overload.
