Foothills Pride Stories, Volume 2

by Pat Henshaw

  “She’s making us presents?” Ricky looked shell-shocked as he asked the question.

  “If you’re anywhere near her during the holidays, you get a present.” I just hoped she’d only bring the hats and scarves, though I knew those were the headliners. They’d both get Christmas bread, some homemade jam, and probably fruitcake too.

  “We don’t have anything for her.” Ricky’s voice sounded like it was on the way to wailing.

  “Oh, uh, yeah. She doesn’t expect anything in return from you.” I grinned. “But if I don’t get her something, she’ll act really hurt. Even though she understands that I’ve just graduated and will be starting a new job.”

  “Would she like a cookbook?” John looked as worried as Ricky.

  “Sure. She collects them, reads them, and is always experimenting from them. Why?”

  “I could give her a copy of my cookbook.” He muttered so softly I almost missed it, but he was watching me as I caught his words.

  “You wrote a cookbook?”

  “Yeah, when Adam was writing his, the agent asked me if I’d write one too. It’s called Everyday Hints from a Master Sous-Chef.” He looked unsure. “Or I could get Adam to sign one of his books.”

  “No. She’d love to have a copy of your book. She’ll brag that her son, the plant doctor, has a famous landlord.” I looked him straight in the eyes. “I’d like to have a copy too. If you’ve got a spare one.”

  Ricky was squirming around us. “What can I get her?”

  “What do you usually get older women relatives?” I asked.

  He blinked at me as if it was an impossible question.

  “Nothing. I don’t have any of those. I don’t have any family.” Ricky sounded okay with his reality.

  I’d put my arm around John who was studying something on the ground. I gave him a squeeze, and his eyes popped up to meet mine.

  “What about your family?” I asked him. “Other than your aunt.”

  He shook his head. “Adam’s my family now. And David, I guess. And… you?”

  “Absolutely.” I gave him a kiss, my heart about to burst with happiness.

  Then Ricky started getting antsy, and the mood shattered.

  “Look, I gotta run.” I told them. “I’m supposed to be meeting David at the Star.”

  John sighed. “Yeah. We need to drop Ricky at the police station, and then I’ll go with you to the restaurant.”

  AT THE Silver Star, David hurried toward us, a flamboyantly dressed guy following in his wake.

  “John, the Thug kahuna’s been looking for you already.” David eyed the two of us.

  John snorted a laugh and then turned and kissed me. “He’s always looking for me. See you later.” John moved from my side to veer off toward the kitchen.

  “So I wasn’t far off about boyfriends, huh?” David asked me.

  I shrugged. I guess we were a couple. Maybe. Probably.

  The man in the bright red pants and garish Christmas plaid sweater had sidled over to me as I watched John standing inside the kitchen. Suddenly I felt his eyes boring holes in my neck.

  “Hey! What do you want?” I jumped away from him. I’d seen him a time or two in the nursery and around town. He never bought anything from Cuttings, I didn’t think. But he looked around a lot.

  “Fredi, quit it! You’re making Fen nervous,” David chided him.

  The guy turned to me with a charming grin on his face. “Sorry. The ink is so beautiful.”

  He looked like he was moving toward me to get even more up close and personal about my tattoo, but fortunately David separated us as if he were a sheep dog.

  “Fen, I’m not sure if you know Fredi Zimmer. He’s an artist and designer.” He turned to Fredi and eyed him with a frown. “Fredi, this is Fen, Beth’s nephew. He’s working for her at Cuttings.”

  “Just for the holidays,” I broke in. Beth had told me about Fredi and the amazing houses he’d designed from scratch and those he’d renovated in the area. She and Kate swore they were going to get Fredi to renovate their tiny two-bedroom home when they won the lottery.

  “I asked Fen to come up with a new decoration design for the Star, but he felt uncomfortable doing it. So I thought since he makes beautiful wreaths and swags, you and he could collaborate. What do you think?”

  Fredi gave me the once-over, like he was going to hit on me. But I saw the wedding ring on his finger and knew it would never happen between us even if he tried. He was only a few inches taller than I was and willowy thin. I could take him down in a second.

  “You made the live wreaths and swags at Cuttings?” His eyes lit up as he looked from my tattoo to my face.

  I nodded.

  “Honey,” he said, grabbing on to my arm, leading me to a table in the corner, and pulling back a chair for me, “we must get to know each other.”

  He proceeded to gush over my work, and within minutes we’d become BFFs—at least on his side—and Beth suddenly had a lucrative new customer. Not only did he want me to make the Star’s holiday decorations, for which he’d bought antique sheriff stars, stirrups, and other hardware, but he had talked me into selecting plants and making decorations for his other clients. I was caught up and whirled around in the vortex named Fredi Zimmer. I noticed when David and John passed by us, they both grinned at me. David also winked, and John just shook his head.

  THAT NIGHT after dinner, when John and I had gotten Ricky calmed down and he was watching TV, we snuck upstairs to my place. We kept the inside doors open so we could hear Ricky if he needed us.

  We were lying in the tower room at the foot of the tree, two short guys cuddled up together.

  “I’m still pissed you never told me about the inside stairs between our floors,” I told him.

  “Why? Did you think I was sneaking up here and going through your stuff while you were at work?”

  “Nah. Why would you? I’ve got nothing to hide. But it would have been nice to know about when I was walking up and down in the snow and ice.”

  He snuggled into me and gave me a boner-inducing kiss.

  “That’s what I like best about you,” he said when we broke apart. “You’re so honest and pure.”

  “Yeah, pure honest bullshit, that’s me.”

  He was again running his fingers over the leaves on my neck.

  “Take your shirt off. I want to see the rest of the plant.” When I did, he resumed his exploration. “Why English ivy? Why not something exotic?”

  “Yeah, I thought about getting some ginseng—you know, man root—particularly Panax ginseng, on my shoulders, but Mom was horrified when I talked about it. Guess there was too much sexual innuendo for her. I considered a few more things I found in the Jepson Manual, but in the end I liked the statement of the ginseng relative, the Hedera helix. I can keep adding to it as my life changes.” He was starting to tickle, so I slapped away his hand.

  “And the statement is?” He purposely dove in for tickling, so we ended up wrestling around for a couple of minutes. When we stopped and were again lying side by side and panting, he turned and looked at me. “So what’s the English ivy saying?”

  I shrugged. “It’s considered a guardian and protector and is a symbol of friendship and fidelity. Kinda like a super superhero. One that’ll take root and grow around someone and always be willing to protect him.”

  He gave me a long look, his finger tracing the plant vine as it went from behind my ear to my waistband.

  “So what you’d really like to be when you grow up is someone’s protector?” he asked softly.

  “Only if he protects me,” I whispered back. “I’m no superhero, but I wish I were.”

  We lay for a long time watching the tree lights twinkle inside and the snow fall behind the window glass. I was humming “Silent Night” when John turned to me.

  “I want a tree. A live one like yours. You’ll pick it out with me?”

  Was he kidding? Hell yeah.

  10

  WE GOT the tree th
e next day, as well as swags and mistletoe and holly and ivy, and decorated the hell out of his half of the house. I even talked him into stringing twinkle lights along the white picket fence and over the archway spanning the gate. Above the gate itself, we hung a huge pine wreath and added another one on the front door. In a single day, we turned Scrooge’s cottage into a holiday home and a showplace for Old Town Stone Acres.

  With only a few days until Christmas, Cuttings went from zoo to madhouse. Wreaths and swags disappeared faster than I could make them. Fredi and his clients descended like bees on a flowering bush.

  I would hit the house around midnight every night, so tired I could barely make it up the stairs. Like a diligent 1950s housewife, John was waiting with a hot meal, a massage, and festive cheer—after he’d been working some of those nights at the restaurant. David remarked that he’d never seen John so happy and young-looking. On the other hand, I shuffled around like I belonged in a nursing home.

  No one saw hide nor hair of Leo, although Lloyd came around a few times to ask if we had. I worried that Leo was practicing his kind of Christmas cheer in the Bay Area, or maybe another city, and was exploiting and abusing another group of homeless guys. I just wished there was something I could do about it.

  However, the longer Leo stayed away, the more buoyant Ricky became. He was the kids’ and moms’ favorite at the nursery. In the growing chaos, Beth set aside a kids’ area and splurged on craft items so the kids could color poinsettia pictures with Ricky while their parents shopped.

  The day before Christmas, my mother appeared like a whirlwind and took over my rooms. After meeting John and Ricky, she went into full-on mom mode and took charge of the whole house. That night when Ricky and I got home, him covered with glue and glitter and me covered with sap and pine needles, we walked into my mother’s version of an adequate Christmas.

  “Why are you two home so late?” she complained.

  “Oh, Mrs. M! Today was so exciting!” Ricky’s energy level flattened me. I was trying not to slide off my chair and fall under the table. All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and wake up without aching in every joint. It could happen, maybe.

  I tuned out their chatter as John gave me an upper-back rub, his fingers sticking to my shirt every once in a while. My mother eyed us with a speculative gaze that said she was watching me do something amazing. I wondered if she was tuning Ricky out until she answered him, finally taking her eyes off me and John.

  CHRISTMAS DAY I creaked and moaned since my body ached. I swore I could feel the English ivy tattoo heavy on my skin. I even had to take out the eyebrow ring before it pulled my forehead to my chin. Ricky, in contrast, jumped out of bed raring to go. You’d think guys in their early twenties would be immune to the idea of Santa. Apparently, I was wrong.

  Fortunately, we’d agreed to have dinner and the unwrapping of presents in my living room and not John’s, so I didn’t have to try getting downstairs.

  My mother presided over the table like a queen and we her minions. Mom preened while we shoveled down food as if we hadn’t seen the stuff in years. We complimented her on the meal and on the knit goods, wearing our hats and scarves as we opened the rest of our gifts. She loved the cookbook from John, vowing to make us a better meal next year and insisting John help. And she cried when she unwrapped the pot Ricky had decorated for her at the nursery.

  When we stood among the holiday debris, she clapped her hands to her chest and sighed.

  “This has been the best Christmas in a long, long time,” she chirped.

  Before he knew what she was doing, she’d grabbed John in a bear hug.

  “Thank you so much for the cookbook!”

  The look he shot me over his shoulder screamed that I’d better get her off him now. Before I could act, she let him go and took a step back, one arm still around him.

  “Thank you for being so wonderful,” she told him as if Ricky and I weren’t there. “You’ve been good for my son.”

  She gave him a shy kiss on the cheek and an extra squeeze before she let him go. As she turned, she wiped a tear from her cheek.

  John’s eyes registered shock when he looked at me.

  I was about to give him a reassuring hug when she turned and eyed all of us.

  “All right, boys. We have our work cut out for us before Beth and her wife get here. Ricky and Fen, your job is to get this living room picked up and the plants watered. John, you and I are the only ones qualified to put the kitchen in order.”

  Not giving us time to argue, she turned and marched into the kitchen, where the dirty dishes and unconsumed food were stacked on every available surface. After giving me an amused glare, John followed.

  Beth and Kate arrived seconds after we’d finally finished cleaning up. Mother had heated some wassail, so the apartment smelled heavenly. She’d put a plate of Christmas cookies and a dish of red-and-green striped candy on the coffee table, as well as two wrapped gifts.

  I hadn’t thought to get either Beth or Kate something, so I felt like a fool when they handed me their gifts.

  “Oh, Fen! You want me to get their presents?” John asked.

  He didn’t wait for my answer, but disappeared downstairs, coming back after Beth and Kate had taken off their coats, greeted me and my mother, and had cups of hot wassail in hand. I couldn’t imagine where he found the presents, but I owed him big-time when Beth and Kate unwrapped new-looking cookbooks. Adding Elegance to Your Everyday Meals by someone I’d never heard of for Beth, and Supper on the Run, again by an unknown author, for Kate.

  The choices were perfect. I probably looked as stunned as they did but accepted their thanks as graciously as I could. My mother smirked at me. John seemed to be holding back a laugh. Only Ricky and the women looked pleased.

  Before she and Kate left with their cookbooks and knitted hats and mufflers, Beth said, “Be at the shop at least an hour early. It’s going to be awful with the after-Christmas sale. Be ready to work harder than you’ve ever worked in your life.”

  She turned to Ricky. “It’s going to be really, really busy. Be prepared for lots of kids.”

  Ricky grinned. “No problem. I love playing with the kids.”

  No one doubted him.

  To finish up the night, Sheriff Campbell knocked on the door shortly after John and I finally found a second to ourselves. Mother was getting ready to go to bed early in my guest room, and Ricky was watching another Christmas special on John’s television.

  John and I were sitting on the floor in his part of the turret.

  “What do I owe you for the cookbooks?” I asked with a sigh.

  He laughed. “Your firstborn child. Or maybe a back rub.” He stopped and put a finger to my lips as if to shush me. “Yeah, back rubs sound good.”

  “Can I ask where they came from so suddenly?”

  He shrugged. “People give me stuff. No, actually, chefs give me stuff. Mostly they want me to mention them to Adam.” He turned and gave me a quick kiss. “Those were holiday gifts from a couple of guys who work in the Bay Area and who want me to get Adam to eat in their restaurants and give them rave reviews.” He grinned at me. “Now I have two less books to donate to the library.”

  “Wait. So you got rid of a couple of unwanted books, and you’ll get some back rubs out of this deal?”

  He giggled and nodded, then started laughing. Funny guy. Here he was making me feel bad that maybe he’d made a huge sacrifice. I laughed.

  That’s when Sheriff Campbell showed up.

  “Had a little problem at the Limelight Bar, so I thought while I was in the neighborhood, I’d stop by and see if Leo Waterson has shown up lately.”

  The sheriff looked tired, as if the holiday spirit had passed him by.

  “No, I haven’t seen him. Have you?” John asked me.

  “Nope.”

  “Well, keep an eye out for him. There’s an armed-and-dangerous warning out for him.” He turned to go, but I stopped him.

  “C’mon in a second.
We’ve got something for your kids—and you too if you like cookies.”

  “Nah, guys….” He wavered.

  John had turned and was walking back toward the kitchen where my mom’s decorated goodie bags were.

  “We’ve got people looking for Leo all over the state,” the sheriff told me. “He’s dangerous and doesn’t give up ground easily, so be careful. Be sure to tell your….”

  “Boyfriend,” I supplied.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Mr. Waterson really wants your boyfriend and Ricky. Don’t fool yourselves that he’s given up and dropped them.” The sheriff shifted from one foot to the other. “Just be careful. And if you do see him, get in touch with my office immediately.”

  John was back with one of my mom’s decorated bags of cookies, which he handed to the sheriff. With a tired “Merry Christmas,” the sheriff walked through the snow toward the department office across the street.

  11

  THE NURSERY doors opened at nine the next morning, and locusts in the form of bargain shoppers swooped in, plucked almost everything off the shelves and walls, then swarmed the checkout counter, forming the least structured lines in the history of modern-day merchandising.

  I’d met and trained ten high school kids before we opened and was instantly made their floor manager, fielding questions from “Can they pay by check?” to “When do we close today?” Another favorite seemed to be “Is there a layaway plan?” Fortunately, the questions were all ones I’d been answering since the beginning of December when I first walked into Cuttings.

  By noon, the hoard had moved into the greenhouses, scooping up the leftover Christmas ivies and miniature trees.

  At the end of the day, the gift area and the greenhouse drooped, their festive air eliminated by the vacuum of the after-Christmas sale.