Slow Dances Under an Orange Moon (Colors of Love Book 4)

by V. L. Locey

  “Take Kirk with you,” I immediately said then began sweeping.

  “I thought you disliked Kirk.” He dumped the first pile of broken glass into the trash.

  “I did until I met his girlfriend.”

  “Ah.” He was all smuggy again. “He could be bi, you know.”

  “Shut up, take Shiny Teeth with you. Be careful. You’re important to me,” I warned, sweeping up the tiny bits of glass, a lingering sadness settling over me. Mother. Fuckers. If I found out this was one or more of the Markson’s, I would personally punch them in the face multiple times. I was good at tossing the gloves. Maybe I could make a quick run to the lumber yard to find something to cover up the fucking bullet holes in my goose coop. Yeah, just an innocent trip for wood putty…

  “You’re important to me as well.” He gave me a weak little kiss. We swept and vacuumed then stood staring at the big hole that used to be a door-sized panel of glass. “You’re going to have to cover that with plastic until you can get a new one installed.”

  “Yeah, I’ll make a tape and plastic run after breakfast.”

  And there was my reason to visit the lumber yard. Sure I could get plastic at Alf’s, tape too, but I was emotionally distressed and a long drive would soothe my stress right away.

  “You look like you did the night you coerced me into going over to Brian Brubaker’s place and filling his dirt bike helmet full of peanut butter.” I blinked innocently at him. “I mean it, Kye. Do not go to the hollow today looking for trouble.”

  “I promise I will not go to the hollow looking for trouble.” I might go to the lumber yard looking for trouble, but he’d not specifically mentioned that so there we go.

  Within an hour, Davy was off to work, Dunny had been fed some oatmeal, and I’d moseyed down to the pond and let the geese out. Sampson led the little fluffers to the pond. I watched them bathing and racing around the water, smiling at the antics of the goslings. I’d really enjoyed having those little ones around. If something would have happened to them or mama goose…

  “Nope, don’t go there,” I told myself then tossed a handful of old bread that Dunny had cubed out to them. They snarfed it up. “That’s all, just a little bread. You’ll not eat your goose food if you fill up on bread,” I told them and got a honk from Sampson in reply. After my morning visit, I slid into my car, cranked up Dave Matthews “Satellite,” and rode my ass across the county. The day was a nice one, warm but the humidity had been dropping off, making it feel more like fall coming than summer lingering.

  When I pulled up in front of the office doors of Chicory Lumber Supply, I smiled to myself, turned off the engine, and sat thinking of the previous night I’d had. Angry didn’t even begin to cover how irate I was right now. Sure, exhaustion played a part in my cranky mood, but mostly it was having my house shot up. So when I entered the shop part of the mill, I entered like a twister looking for a mobile home park. Lo and behold, there stood Joey Markson behind the register, sipping coffee as if he didn’t have a care in the world. His smoky eyes met mine. He lowered his mug and gave me a welcoming smile.

  “Morning. How can I help you today?” he said without missing a beat. The shithead.

  “I find myself in need of a roll of heavy-duty plastic and some good strapping tape.”

  “Break a window?” His inquiry was the very model of innocence. Someone exited the back room, Mike Miller, and he called a ‘Morning!’ as he toted buckets of nails to the proper aisle.

  “Yeah, you could say that,” I replied, leaning an elbow to the counter. “Some assholes shot out my sliding glass door and my goose coop last night.”

  “Huh, darn shame about that. Kids nowadays. Pastor Pete says it’s that rap music the blacks listen to and the homosexuals that are corrupting the morals of the American fabric. Oh, sorry, no offense meant to you and Officer Aguirre, you are fine upstanding queers.”

  “We support you gays,” Mike shouted from aisle three. “Even flew a rainbow flag in June!”

  “Good on you, Mike,” I yelled back to the owner. “Did you fly a rainbow flag too?”

  The simpering look on his face fell a bit. He leaned in so close I could smell the menthol chewing tobacco on his breath.

  “No, I don’t fly fag flags.”

  I grinned and patted his cheek. He danced back as if a leper had touched him. “I wasn’t sure. My gaydar always pings so loudly when I’m near you.” I stood up, clapped my hands, and strolled off to find tape and rolls of plastic. Joey was gone when I returned to the register. Mike rang me out, chatting about the new fall hockey schedules at the rink, how my old team would do this year, and if I would entertain the thought of coming out to speak to the guys at the V.F.W. to which I told him I was all about the vets and to call me to set up something.

  Then I stepped out into the day, feeling better now I’d baited Joey a little but still lacking that contentment slugging the asshole would have brought me. I tossed my rolls of plastic and tape into the back seat, turned over the engine, and frowned at the low tire pressure warning light.

  “Joey, you dickhead, did you really?” I asked myself before exiting the car to check. Sure enough my driver’s side rear tire was not only low that bitch was flat as a dime. Dropping into a crouch beside the tire, I immediately saw the issue. Someone had snapped the tire valve stem clean off. “Oh, Joey, you immature little cock snipe.”

  After I changed the tire there in the dusty parking lot, I limped along on the donut to Chicory Tire Mart and spent thirty bucks to have the valve stem fixed. Joey Markson and I were going to do a light fandango one of these days, I could see it coming. And my goodness it would be a sweet little dance of bloody knuckles and busted lips.

  That night at dinner I told Davy about the tire valve incident. He slapped his fork to the table in a tiff. I continued eating my rigatoni because it was good, and I was hungry.

  “What part of do not go to the hollow did you not understand?”

  “I wasn’t in the hollow. I was over at the Chicory Lumber Yard to purchase that pretty plastic and tape.” I waved my saucy fork at the sliding door.

  “And you couldn’t have found plastic and tape in town? You had to drive thirty minutes out of your way to buy what you needed?”

  “Well, no, I didn’t need to drive out there, but I was stressed and the drive sounded like a wonderful way to unwind. It’s really lovely country here in Maine. The woodlands are especially calming.”

  He eyeballed me before taking a swig of the nice white wine he’d brought home. “I’m well aware of how calming the woodlands are being a game warden and all. You’re poking a hornet’s nest, Kye. Just leave it be. The police have evidence gathered and will probably be moving to arrest someone soon—I hope. If you keep taunting the Markson’s they’re going to keep retaliating. They’re bullies. That’s how they operate.”

  “I wasn’t taunting, I was shopping and discussing pride month and rainbow flags. Is that now illegal in the great state of Maine?”

  “Stop it. You’re being an asshole. Jesus, you’ve always been such an instigator,” he said, his voice wavering on the edge of a chuckle. The ire had left his gaze, so I kind of knew I had him in my camp. “Seriously, Kye, step back and let law enforcement handle it.”

  “Is this coming from my worried boyfriend or a concerned wildlife conservation office?”

  “I’m both.”

  I sat back in my chair, the sounds of the night beginning to come to life and drift into the windows. The meal would have been delightful on the patio but who wanted to cart food around the house?

  “Okay, that makes me feel kind of soft and fluffy inside. Oh my God! I think I might be gay or something!” I feigned a swoon and slipped over the side of my chair to rest my head on his chest. “I fainted and need some mouth-to-mouth,” I whispered then went back to being unconscious.

  The moment his lips brushed mine, all the silliness ceased. I reached up to card my fingers into his hair. His tongue skipped along my lips, testin
g the seam and then sliding in to stroke mine. We kissed for a long time, his mouth moving over mine, the pull of his teeth on my lower lip making me gasp and groan. The pasta was forgotten. We left the table behind, touching and kissing our way into the bedroom. His hands were moving downward when his phone rang out by the wine. He snarled. I cussed. Our lips met again. The phone chirruped insistently, and I could feel the moment sliding away from us.

  “Go get it,” I huffed, stalking out to the table we’d brought in from the patio. His cell vibrated into his dinner plate, making the summons twice as annoying. Davy was right behind me, reaching around me to snag his phone.

  “Sorry.” He kissed the side of my neck then took the damn call. “Right, okay, yes. When was she last seen? Okay, yep, give me thirty and I’ll be there.”

  “You have to go?” I asked, knowing the reply before I’d even asked.

  “I have to go. Lost hiker in the Caribou Creek game lands.”

  I nodded and grabbed a passing kiss. This was all part of being involved with a game warden. They didn’t only catch naughty bears and give talks to school kids. They oversaw a range of other things that made a normal family life difficult at times.

  “Be careful. You’re running on zero sleep,” I warned. I’d been out to Caribou Creek several times. Great hiking trails but many were for experienced hikers only, and one, the Bee Line Trail, climbed up a rocky ledge that took you right beside a waterfall. At night those wet rocks were probably twice as treacherous.

  “I grabbed a nap earlier.” He stuffed his phone into his pocket, took another forkful of cold rigatoni, and slid a hand around the back of my neck. “I’ll be safe.”

  “If you don’t find her and decide to begin a bigger search, call me. I’ll come help.”

  His lips were soft and warm as they settled on mine. “I’ll call but let’s hope we find her quickly. She’s been missing from her camping group for over six hours now. Get some sleep. I’ll call later.”

  “Mm, love you.”

  He brushed his nose against mine. “Love you too,” he whispered then he jogged out the door, heading to his SUV. He’d make a pitstop at home, change into his regulation hiking gear, grab one of several backpacks he kept loaded for just such emergencies, and be off to Caribou Creek. I sat down at the table, poured myself some wine, and raised it in a toast to Davy’s bravery in saying he loved me back. I took the wine to bed with me but never finished it. I fell asleep in my clothes, coming awake at dawn. I rolled away from the sunlight and slept for another four hours. Someone rapping at my door finally pulled my tired ass from the bed.

  Dunny stood on my stoop in Rose’s robe and tennis shoes with a rolled-up newspaper in one hand and his cane in the other.

  “It’s near ten,” he said, peeking around me into the studio. “Thought maybe you died down here. What did them bastards do to Rose’s paintings?”

  Fuck. I’d try to downplay the ruination of several of her oils to spare him the upset.

  “Just a few were lost, Dunny,” I mumbled, stepping aside so he could shuffle in. He moved from one oil to the other, touching the rips and holes in the ones that were now trash. “Lots of them were in the closet, I’d been moving them there until I could get them framed for us to hang.”

  He lifted one from an easel, a landscape that had the pond and a purple morning sky. A smaller oil, maybe twelve by twelve or so, he tucked it under his arm and left without saying another word. The poor soul. I closed the door, the hinges sighing softly, and took a shower and got dressed, following the path his slippers had made in the dewy grass back up to his place.

  “Dunny?” I called from the kitchen. I padded ‘round the place, climbing the stairs finally to find him in his bedroom, trying to hang the pond picture with the bullet hole in it on his wall. “Dun, hey, we have nicer ones to hang up if you want.”

  He shook his head, took to his bed, and laid there until lunch staring at that painting, living some old memories in his mind perhaps, or maybe just mourning Rose all over again. I’d probably never know as he’d fallen into a funk that lasted all day and into the night. Davy called around eight, sounding exhausted, to report they’d found the missing hiker, lying in a ravine with a broken leg. She was in pain and dehydrated but fine, resting now in the Chicory County Memorial Hospital with her family.

  “I’m going to crash here tonight. I’m too tired to drive. I’ve got tomorrow off if you’d like to do something?”

  “Sure, yeah, we’ll do something tomorrow. No worries about coming over. Dunny’s having a really bad day, so I might just crash on the couch in case he needs me.”

  “You’re a good grandson,” Davy whispered in my ear.

  “Not so sure about that, I should have been here for him more than I was, but I’m trying to make up for all that lost time.”

  “I know you are and…” he said then the line went silent. I thought maybe we’d lost the connection but then I recalled I was on the cordless landline. Then I heard his light snores traveling down the line and smiled to myself.

  “Night, babe.” I hung up, stretched out on the sofa, and watched some Mannix until I dropped off around eleven. What a glamorous life I was leading now. Wouldn’t change it for the world.

  Chapter Eleven

  A week later, we were standing beside a pen filled with geese. Adult geese, some white and some gray and some with funny knobs on their bills. Dunny was taking forever to choose a darn gander for Sampson, and I was bored. Poultry isn’t really my thing unless I’m elbows deep into a bucket of fried chicken, then I’m all about the poultry.

  “I like that white one,” Dunny said.

  I looked at the geese again. “Ninety percent are white, Dunny. Can you be more specific?”

  He pointed at a robust looking fellow—or I assumed it was a fellow—with his cane. “That one. He’s got regal bearing and feathers like an angel wing. I’m going to call him Orifice.”

  It took my brain a second or two to latch onto what he’d just said. “Wait, what now? You want to call him Orifice?” Chickens dashed around our legs. Hens being pursued by a big red rooster that was looking for some loving.

  “Like that angel in the TV show that streamed into my set the other day. You set it up! What? What the shit are you sniggering at?”

  “That wasn’t the angel’s name,” I managed to get out before laughter nearly doubled me over.

  “Yes, it was, dammit! There was Orifice and that devil guy with the funny snake eyes. What was his name? Stop laughing at me and go get my damn goose!”

  I got a poke in the ass with the end of his cane. Once I got myself under control and wiped my eyes, I went on a wild goose chase. Well, not really a wild goose, a damn goose, but the chase was pretty wild. Finally, I had Orifice captured, his wings pinned to his side, and scooted out of the fencing, the lady who we’d swapped gosling for gander with rushing up to close the door behind me.

  “And that was my cardio for the day,” I panted, carting the goose to the back of Davy’s SUV and stashing it into a large dog crate my boyfriend just happened to own. Game wardens were handy to have lying around. “Now listen, Asshole, which is your new name from now until the great goose end times however long that may be from now, do not shit anywhere but on the straw. Got it? If you shit outside the opening, then I’ll have to spend the morning scrubbing goose shit and I’m so not in the mood for that. We good?”

  Asshole hissed at me.

  I spent the morning scrubbing goose shit from the back of Davy’s ride while he, his folks, Stella, and Dunny lounged by the pond, watching Orifice, aka Asshole, and Sampson getting to know each other. They’d seemed to hit it off after some initial hissing and pinching. Typical first date.

  “Okay,” I announced as I strolled down to the new picnic table Davy’s folks had purchased for the pond group to meet and make picnics at next summer. There had even been talk of a pavilion and brick barbecue. “The back of your SUV is clean. Oh, are those tiny wieners and cheese?” I pluck
ed one off a plate and smiled at Davy seated beside Stella. Everyone was nursing glasses of iced tea. “I’m heading over to the rink to meet the new team. I’ll be back around dinner time. You cooking?”

  “Yeah, I’m hungry for some meatloaf.”

  “Sounds good.” I grabbed a quick kiss, waved to the family, and jogged up the hill to my Tesla. The ride to the rink was a nice one filled with tunes from Dave as well as some Jon Mayer and Pearl Jam. “Jeremy” was blaring when I pulled up to the Bower County Ice Palace.

  Thankfully, my team was the same age group just a different sponsor. Chicory Lumber Loons they were called, and Mike from the lumber yard was my associate coach. This was our first team meeting so most of the time was spent handing out jerseys, breaking up squabbles, and seeing how much skating skills our mini mites had. Some were wobbly, some not. Tiny Tina Glassman fell down and cried because she fell. I fell down beside her, flailing my arms in wide circles. She stopped sniffling then and gave me a meek smile. Crisis averted. From that moment on everywhere I moved, Tina was there, filling my ear about her cat, her new sister, the way her daddy says bad words when he watched hockey.

  Our allotted ice time was over quickly. We didn’t like to keep such young kids out there for too long as they got cold and bored quickly. I pulled Mike aside. “Hey, do you want to take them for ice cream? I did that for the summer league, and it was a big hit. My treat.”

  “Sure, I’ll tell the parents.” He grinned and slapped me on the back. I dallied around, talking to a group of dads about the old days, the old plays, and the old fights. Soon we had a large group of kids, parents with hockey gear and oversized bags, and two happy coaches heading to our cars. The day was a bluebird kind of day, low humidity with sunny skies and nary a cloud to be seen. Fall was definitely right around the corner. I was looking forward to spending autumn with Davy. Maybe someday I could broach the moving in topic again.