Hart & Stocker

by Max Ellendale

  "Will, what you girls up to?" Drew gave my shoulder a squeeze and I patted his hand.

  "Just hanging out."

  Dax's gaze locked on mine, and her lips pressed to thin lines. As if my body picked up on her energy, my heart thundered in my chest.

  "Well, good to have the two of you back in our ranks." Drew reached for Dax's shoulder the same way he had mine.

  Before he could make contact, movement exploded in front of me. Dax shot off the stool, grabbed Drew by the throat and shoved him so hard that he crashed into the table behind him.

  "Fuck!" he shouted, catching himself before he fell. "What the fuck, Stocker?" He pushed himself up, taking a fumbling step toward her.

  The room burst to action, voices shouted, and Andy leapt over the bar. "Hey. Hey!"

  "Don't you fucking touch me." Dax, despite her dwarfed frame in comparison to Drew, got right in his face. She trembled with rage. Anger seethed when she clenched her teeth. "Don't fucking put your hands on her either." She pointed at me and I held up my hands.

  "Hey, Dax. Calm down." I shifted to stand between them, holding my hands up near their chests.

  "What's wrong with you?" Drew spat while eyeing Dax, his hand falling on top of mine which I interpreted as a gesture of assurance. "Back off, Dax. Shit." But when he raised his hand toward her, it ended the freeze.

  She grabbed his wrist so hard that the slap sound rang out, and before I could understand what happened, he cried out when she twisted his arm so viciously that he fell to one knee.

  "Dax!" I shoved myself between her and Drew, grabbing her elbow as the room erupted with shouts around us. "Let go. Let him go!"

  Her eyes fell on mine and instead of anger, her vast pupils and shimmering nature spoke of only one emotion: fear. Like a trapped animal bound to a stall, awaiting the next lash of a whip. Andy moved behind her and I held my hand up to stop him.

  "Easy," I breathed out the word before I even intended to choose it. Instinct took over and my energy stilled the same way it did when I met Carol for the first time. Dax's eyes locked on mine, her chest heaving. "Let him go," I spoke softly. "Let go."

  She relinquished her hold on him after a moment, and Andy helped him up.

  "Get her out of here," someone said.

  "No." Drew held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Leave it alone." He turned and waved at everyone to move away. "Just leave it."

  "Show's over folks." Andy ushered the busybodies away from the scene.

  Everyone left the two of us there, save for Sage and Jake who looked on with worry.

  Dax stood there frozen and staring at me, though the shimmer in her eyes turned to mist. She blinked once, her gaze flickering to the grip I had on her elbow.

  I let her go, but held my hand up after. "Want to get out of here?" I whispered, pointing to the door.

  Her eyes flickered in that direction and finally, her stance broke. She moved away from me, the hard heel of her boots thudding on the floor, and headed toward the exit.

  I followed her, until Sage called out, "Will?"

  "I'm fine." I held my hand to her, urging her not to follow. "I'm fine."

  "Okay…" She glanced at Jake and I hurried out after Dax.

  She stormed off toward a black SUV parked beside my truck in the crowded parking lot.

  "Hey, Dax," I called after her, nearly jogging to catch up. "Dax."

  The alarm of her car clicked, but before she could pull open the door all the way, I swung in front of her, slamming it shut.

  "Move," she said, her voice barely there.

  "Let me drive you." I held my hand on the door, shoving it closed again when she made to open it. "Stop."

  "Fuck off, Hart."

  "You're drunk."

  "You think one of these bullshit sheriff's are going to pull over a fucking marshal? Move the fuck away—don't fucking touch me!" she shouted, nearly an inch from my face.

  "I'm not touching you!" I hollered right back. "Quit acting like a lunatic and get in the truck." I reached across the space between us and yanked open the door of my truck. "Get in the fucking truck."

  Her face blanched as if no one had ever yelled back at her before. She stood there, her wicked glare attempting to drive me into the ground. I crossed my arms and cocked a brow. After a tense standoff, she sighed and climbed in.

  I slammed the door, closing her in as I made my way around to the driver's side to get in. Dax said nothing, her elbow leaning against the window, and I drove her home.

  Crickets and tree frogs filled the sky, the sounds of spring wrapping around us as we headed into Dax's house. She remained unspeaking as she dropped her keys on the table beside the door after flicking on the lights.

  Unlike her harsh exterior, there wasn't anything harsh about her house. Warm honey-hued wood greeted us. Cozy patterns, fluffy blankets, and rustic wall hangings made walking into the home like a well-earned hug. When we wrote out the estimate, all I saw was the modern styled kitchen, but the dining room and living room were something else.

  Dax pulled her badge from her pocket along with her phone and dropped both on the floor obnoxiously. The gun from her hip followed. She pulled off her boots, nearly tipping over when she tossed one across the room.

  "Enough with the tantrum." I held my hands up to catch her in case she fell.

  She spun and smacked my arms away. "Don't fucking touch me."

  "I'm not touching you. Sit yourself down before you faceplant." I pointed to the sofa and she dropped down on it, huffing and puffing like Macie does when she isn't allowed another cookie. She tore off her other shoe, then pulled her foot up on the sofa where I watched her fiddle with an ankle holster.

  "I'll get you some water," I said, to which she shot me a glare.

  I made off to her kitchen, then snagged a clean glass from the dish drain, filling it from the dispenser in the fridge. Dax reminded me of something quite feral, and it took me until I found myself carrying sustenance to her that I realized it. Like an unbroken, untethered horse left alone without contact for years.

  When I returned, she slouched on the sofa with the small firearm at her hip. I offered her the water and her gaze shot to mine.

  "Sip it first."

  "What? Why?"

  "Just do it."

  "Okay, Mad-Eye Moody, shit." I took a gulp of the water then handed it back to her. "Good enough?"

  "Yeah." She accepted it now, with much less disdain after that, and downed it in a few quick gulps. I observed her as she set the glass down on the end table. Her eyes kept averted as always.

  Again, more quiet.

  I sat beside her and she shifted away from me, recoiling as she had before. "Don't touch me." Her words came out slurred as the alcohol seemed to take its toll.

  "I'm not touching you, Dax. And I won't touch you if you don't want me to. Okay?"

  She nodded, and her slouch became more prominent.

  "Will you lie down on your side? You're about to pass out," I said, pulling one of the knitted blankets from the woven basket beside the sofa.

  She didn't fight me on that, and turned on her side. She curled up in the pillows, tucking her knees to her chest. I tossed the blanket over her, noting her mismatched socks; one pink, one green.

  It took her all of a minute to fall asleep, and I watched as she tucked the gun under the pillow by her shoulder.

  "Worst. Drunk. Ever," I muttered, and sighed as I leaned into the cushions on the opposing side of the sofa.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket to see a few missed texts from Sage.

  Are you okay? What happened?

  Dax is wasted. Passed out now at her place.

  Are you still there?

  Yes.

  Will…

  I'm just making sure she doesn't aspirate in her own sick.

  Be careful. Drew says she's crazy.

  Drew needs to keep his hands off women.

  He said they slept together before, Will.

  I pursed my lips,
frowning at the way she decided to tell me that. I'll leave when she wakes up. I'm fine, Sage. Not a kid.

  Just be careful.

  I will.

  ***

  Dax remained asleep on the sofa when the furry paw of a calico cat swatted me in the face, rousing me from my doze. "Hey. Rude." I huffed at the cat who sat on my stomach, bullying me for an introduction. "Shh, c'mon."

  I nudged the cat to the floor, and I stood after fixing my shirt. Dax's soft breaths told me she wasn't dead so I let the cat lead me to the kitchen.

  In the early morning, sun beamed into the kitchen, illuminating the cat's empty food bowl on the floor like a beacon from heaven. "I see," I said, pointing to it. "This the issue?"

  The cat meowed at me, weaving itself in between my shins.

  "Suck up."

  I found the box of cat food on top of the fridge and poured some into her bowl. Immediately, we became friends and she let me pet her. The jingle bell on her collar, one that matched the three belonging to the goats, twinkled when I scratched her neck. Tags dangling from her neck bore the markings of Hart's Veterinary Clinic, and it made me smile. I turned one of the tags over to see the name Rudy engraved into the metal.

  "Your name is literally Rude-y. Fitting." I stood from my crouch, brushing off my hands as I headed back toward the living room.

  Dax was no longer on the sofa and when I turned to my left, the barrel of a gun nearly met my nose.

  "Holy fucking shit!" I tossed my hands in the air and Dax rolled her eyes.

  "Jesus Christ, Hart." She lowered the gun, tucking it into the back of her pants.

  "You have given me more heart attacks in the less-than-two-weeks that I've known you than anyone ever has in my entire life." I rounded on her, my hands still shaking as I gestured wildly between us. "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you always pull guns on people? How are you a cop?"

  "You're in my house." She shrugged and walked past me back toward the sofa.

  "Do you know why I'm in your house?" I stalked after her, huffing and puffing while she dropped down on the sofa as casual as anything.

  The question seemed to bring her pause and she glanced behind me to the door that stood a jar. "We slept together."

  "What?" Shock dowsed my fire and I dropped down to sit on the cushion beside her. "No we absolutely did not."

  "Oh. Then no." She shrugged, leaning her elbows on the back of the sofa. "Why are you here?"

  "Because last night you got completely trashed at the bar and took down a man who was nearly three times your size for reasons I can't even begin to fathom." I folded my hands between my knees, and watched as her expression fell.

  "Oh."

  "Remember that?"

  "A little."

  "Do you make it a habit of drunkenly assaulting people then attempting to drive home?"

  "It's a new fad. I'm trying it out," she said, dryly, though her tell-tale smirk tugged the corner of her mouth.

  "Not funny. Answer me for real."

  "No." She ran her hands through her hair. "It's not a habit."

  "Okay then. Have a headache today?" I asked, leaning my elbows on my knees. When I moved, she pulled her legs further away from me.

  "You know it." She dropped her head back on the pillows. "I'm fine. You can go."

  "I plan to. First, why do you hate Drew?"

  "You ask too many questions."

  "I'm aware." I waved her off. "Tell me."

  "I don't hate him." She shrugged, watching me with sleepier eyes than before. "He's a buffoon though."

  "I'm aware of that as well." I laughed a bit and turned to sit sideways to face her. "You're very quiet."

  "Sometimes."

  "In all the times I've met you."

  "Does it bother you?" she asked, pulling the blanket over her lap.

  "No. It makes me kind of worried though."

  "Why?"

  "Because when someone is quiet, then out of nowhere nearly chokes out a buffoon who touches my shoulder, I wonder what's going on for them under the quiet. Even if you're a stranger," I said, tucking my hands under my chin while leaning on the back of the couch. "Especially strangers who care so well for their animals. And puts collars on their baby goats. And names their rude cat Rudy."

  No response.

  "Dax."

  "She's my dad's cat. He deserves the credit."

  The sound of farm equipment powering up drew my attention to the window. A few yards from the truck, an older man in a red shirt drove a plow toward the front part of the property. "Who's that?"

  "Farmhand. Esteban."

  "He takes care of this place?"

  She nodded, yawning faintly. "For about ten years. He helped my dad so I kept him on."

  "That's kind of you."

  "Yeah, well. I wasn't planning to live here, but didn't want to sell."

  "But now you live here."

  "For now." She nodded, her eyes lingered on me for longer than usual. "Why are you still here?"

  "Because it seems like someone should be here right now."

  "Well, at least you've got good hair."

  I laughed at that. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "That you have good hair?" She chuckled, but flinched after.

  "Thanks?" I shook my head. "Do you have to work today?"

  "I don't. Do you?"

  "Nope. New hire takes Saturday mornings now unless there's an emergency," I said. "But I should probably go home and deal with this situation." I gestured down myself.

  "What situation?" Again, she chuckled and her flat expression faded slightly.

  "The situation that I've been wearing the same clothes for about two days."

  "Cheers. Me too."

  I stood from my spot, pocketing my phone again. "Your car is still at the bar by the way."

  "Esteban will take me later," she said, shrugging. "Will you come by Monday for Carol?"

  "Of course. Three still good?"

  "It is."

  "See you then, Dax," I said, smiling as I made my way to the door. "No more drunken bar brawls. Or pulling guns on vets."

  "Not this week." She smirked, and slid further into the sofa before I shut the door.

  Chapter Three

  "Where were you all night?" Mom asked when I waltzed into Sage's kitchen, and stole a muffin off her counter.

  "Out and about." I tore into the confection. "Where were you?"

  "Asleep. Do you ever go home?" She shoved a cup of coffee in my hand.

  "Living above the clinic wasn't the smartest idea, in retrospect," I said, frowning at the inquisition. "Am I on trial?"

  "A smidge." Mom smiled, sipping her coffee. "So, who'd you go home with?"

  "Mom, did you know Mr. Stocker's daughter?" I asked, avoiding her question.

  "I did, yes. Her mother grew fields of lavender back in the day. She was featured often at the Lavender Festival and sold soaps and lotions. We were both on the PTA."

  "What was her daughter like back then?" I nibbled at the muffin then sipped the hot beverage.

  "Sweet girl." Mom pushed herself up to sit on the stool at the island counter. "Very friendly and outgoing." She shrugged. "But after the divorce, Rowan took Dakota when she moved to Seattle. Mr. Stocker stayed here and ran the farm until his dying day."

  "She's not very outgoing now. Or friendly or sweet for that matter."

  "Life changes people, Will." Again, she shrugged and sipped her coffee. "It changed you, too."

  "How has it changed me?" I leaned my hip against the cabinets while picking at the muffin.

  "You used to care more about your social life. Putting yourself out there." She met my gaze, and her sharp stare tore me up as usual. "I blame that Kari woman you dated."

  "Mom. Kari cheated on me while she was already cheating on her long-time girlfriend with a guy. That's a reason not to want to dive back into another relationship. She cheated on both of us. At least I found out after a few months."

  "I know, love, but it
's been years now. First that, then your father's death and I'm worried you'll end up an old spinster in this town with nothing to make you happy." A big sigh left her, as exaggerated as the rest of her.

  "I'm perfectly happy with my work, Mom. And you should be happy that your daughters are best friends. And that my niece wants to grow up and be a veterinarian. I matter just as I am." I gripped the mug in my palms tighter than intended. "A relationship isn't going to magically make everything brighter and greener."

  "Not a relationship, no. But falling in love will, little girl." She reached across the marble counter and squeezed my hand. "At least be open to it."

  "I am, Ma," I said, forcing a smile to my face. Mom's intentions weren't purposely grating by any means, and deep down I knew that, no matter how much she pushed, it came from a place of care and worry. "I'll be okay. Are you happy?"

  "Very much so. I miss your father dearly, but we had our best days. And I'll be with him again," she said, softening with the sentiment.

  I smiled around my bite of muffin. "We all will."

  "I know." She gave my arm a squeeze. "I'm off to Zumba at the rec center."

  "Have fun." I chuckled and watched as she headed out.

  I thought about Mom's words while foraging in my sister's fridge. Had she always believed I would end up a spinster with nothing in my life? Coming out to Mom as a teen wasn't easy, and she wasn't always open to it for typical reasons back then. Over time, things changed, though in a way, my gayness somehow dashed her hopes for my happiness. Maybe she believed in only one kind of happiness—falling for a man, dating, engagement, big fancy country wedding, kids. The thing of it is, none of that necessarily equates to happiness. Plenty of the big fancy country weddings I went to turned into big expensive divorces soon after. Heterosexual didn't mean happiness. It might've meant easiness, but certainly not happiness.

  ***

  "Give him these drops twice a day," I said, setting the eyedropper down on the exam table beside the Chihuahua puppy that used his back leg to scratch his ear. "It's not uncommon for these guys to get ear infections now and then."

  "Thank you, Doctor." Mrs. Young stroked the puppy's head while it nibbled her finger. The veterinary assistant packed up the drops and the sheet with instructions on it. She handed the leash back to the owner as well.