Bear Creek Road Read online

  I was really just curious as to what he could be doing. What could possibly need fixing that took precedence over this lovely summer morning? Didn’t he have anything better to do than poke around my house with one of his many colorful screwdrivers?

  I found him in the kitchen, his back to me and those big arms of his adjusting one of the loose cabinet doors.

  Leaning up against the doorframe, I admired how his T-shirt stretched across his shoulders, the fabric bunching over his muscles with every twist of his wrist. I felt the need to offer to pay him not only for the service he provided, but the view too.

  Clearing my throat, I attempted to get his attention. “I’m heading to the store in search of food and an ATM,” I informed him. “How much do I owe you for all this extra time you’ve been putting in?”

  Cranking away, he spoke to the cabinet doors in front of him. “No charge,” he said.

  I held back an unbelieving scoff. “What do you mean, no charge? I can’t just not pay you. That’s not how this works,” I told him, crossing my arms over my chest.

  Was he kidding?

  Ignoring me, he continued on with his task while I gaped at his stubborn backside.

  No charge, my ass.

  “Is five hundred enough?” I pushed. “How much for the material? I can tack that on, too. Just give me a number.”

  “Zero.”

  Oh my God!

  “How ‘bout you be reasonable and just tell me how much I owe you?”

  His hands froze mid-screw, and he craned his neck, not quite meeting my eyes. The tightness in his shoulders spoke for him—there was no charge, so drop it.

  When he turned his attention back to the cabinet, I pushed off the frame of the door and took off on my errand. There may have been no arguing with him, but this wasn’t over.

  ***

  Mayes Market was a tiny place, set in the center of the small town, and the only grocery store for forty miles. They had exactly five shopping carts, but one was currently out of commission, so I guessed that made it four shopping carts.

  “Watch out for the one with the bum wheel,” Mona had warned me. “You think you got it, and then before you know it, you’re crashing into the toilet paper teepee.” She turned to me seriously then. “And you don’t want to crash into the teepee, Laney.” She shook her head. “Toilet paper”—she waved a hand in a circular motion toward the floor—“everywhere.”

  Stepping through the sliding doors, I noted two carts sitting just inside.

  It was a toss-up. A fifty-fifty chance, but I would get the bum wheel, for sure. The other two had most likely been carefully chosen and tested before being used. Having been forewarned by Mona and being the only new person in town, I was fairly certain everyone else was well aware of the catastrophic consequences that stemmed from choosing the wrong cart.

  I wasn’t so hard up for a perfectly functioning cart that I would sink to getting down on my hands and knees and inspecting for any obvious defects. No. But I did check them.

  Scanning from side to side, I made sure no one was watching as I rocked them back and forth. Neither snagged or pulled. Both sets of wheels seemed sturdy and symmetrical. So, I didn’t worry myself too much when I finally picked one, placed my purse in the upper basket and pushed on.

  First stop was the fruits and veggies section. Coming from a small family of meat-eaters—just my dad and me—I didn’t eat a lot of fruit. But I grabbed a bunch of bananas anyway, content with knowing they would just end up sitting on the kitchen counter to rot. Knowing myself like I did, I passed the veggies all together.

  I grabbed a loaf of wheat bread and moved to the next aisle, feeling an unsettling stir sink inside my stomach when my eye caught a package of bottled water, the same I had offered Joe so many nights ago.

  God, that man was so infuriating, with his no charge and that forceful finality in his big frame. He was completely in control, and he knew it, and that drove me crazy.

  Ugh!

  By the time I made it to the frozen foods section, I was fuming, grabbing handfuls of fully prepared meals as I went. It may have been sad, but this was my bag—quick food that required little effort on my part. There was no point in cooking for one anyway.

  Passing the tempting garlic bread, I turned out of the last aisle and headed for the dairy section. I was checking the expiration date on a gallon of one percent when I heard the two of them bickering.

  “Put that fancy shit back. The boys will only drink Bud, Brenda. You know that.”

  Throwing the milk in the cart, I grabbed the closest tub of butter, swift to make my way to the front of the store. I wasn’t in the mood to see them, let alone hear them. Not to mention, I’d been ignoring Mona’s phone calls all day. I was embarrassed by whatever the hell had happened between her brother and me the other night. I didn’t care if there was no way she could have known. I knew. And just the thought was humiliating.

  As I sped up in hopes of missing them, the bum wheel chose that moment to show its ugly face, swiveling and swerving before it crashed right into the piled packages of toilet paper. I looked on in horror as they flew in every direction, a few conveniently falling into my cart. That was the one thing I had forgotten—toilet paper.

  Gathering as many packages as I could, I threw them on top of the remaining pile, kicking a few out of the way.

  I couldn’t believe this was happening.

  No, wait.

  Yes. Yes, I could.

  This was exactly the kind of thing that always happened to me. And if I were smart, I would have just left it.

  “Laney?” I dropped the last of the scattered rolls on top of the pile just as Mona and Brenda rounded the corner. “Laney, what did I tell you?” Mona failed to hold back her laughter. “This is just too funny and absolutely perfect,” she said, shaking Brenda by the shoulder.

  Rolling her eyes, Brenda slapped Mona’s hand away. “What she means is she’s been trying to get a hold of you all day,” Brenda clarified. Leaning against the handle of the cart, her questioning brow reached a record-breaking arch. “So, where the hell have you been?”

  Well, damn.

  “Brenda,” Mona warned. Turning back to me, she waved her friend off. “Ignore her. You’re here now, and I … well, we”—she gestured between her and Brenda—“can invite you to the cookout we’re having tomorrow night. We’re having it at Brenda’s place. So, you’ll come, right?”

  One look at Brenda’s raised brow and I nodded. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Why not?”

  After Mona and I made plans for me to meet her at her house so I could shower and get dressed—her insisting on providing me with something to wear—we parted ways, them back to the beer section while I cautiously wheeled my cart to the front.

  ***

  I turned over Joe’s and my conversation the whole drive home, trying to determine the best way to readdress the issue of payment.

  Maybe I could stick it in his toolbox, or sneak it into the worn back pocket of his jeans. I didn’t know. All I knew was that I wasn’t going to not pay him. But how to go about getting him to take it, that was the dilemma.

  The rest of the crew was all there by the time I made it home. Joe was out in the field, shirtless again, those stubborn muscles of his vying for my undivided attention. I ignored him and them the best I could, gathering what few bags I could carry in one trip.

  Patrick was leaning against my car when I came back out for the second.

  “Need any help?”

  Taking the steps, I offered a smile as I passed by him. “No, I’m good.”

  Crawling into the back seat, I grabbed the rest of the bags. He was still standing there when I crawled back out again.

  “It’s nice out today,” he said, and I nodded, squinting out the sun.

  “Yeah. Beautiful.”

  “Just what I was thinking.”

  His bright blue eyes lit up with his smile. I stood there in discomfort as they roamed the length of my body.

  �
�So, have you thought about it?” he asked, and I adjusted the bags I was holding.

  Uh …

  The truth was I hadn’t thought about it. Not about the date. Not about him. Not about anyone or anything other than Joe Boone and why he couldn’t be as adamant as his friend here.

  I was saved from answering when one of the other crew members yelled for him. “Yo, Pat! Let’s get a move on. Phil needs us over at the Nichols’ place. Something about shingles.”

  Patrick cursed under his breath. “Knowing our luck, the confused old lady probably has shingles,” he said. Waving his friend to go on, he was still facing me as he started walking away. “We’ll talk about this later, yeah?”

  I nodded, turning back toward the house to catch Joe watching me from out in the field. He didn’t seem bothered by the fact that I had caught him, only stared back, unwilling to waver until Phil walked straight into his line of sight. With the spell broken, I made my way into the house to put the groceries away.

  The remainder of the afternoon crept by. With no TV or internet, I was a sitting duck, having chosen to put off the dreaded renovation of the house. Even though I’d wanted a distraction, it didn’t mean I was ready for one this big. I didn’t know the first thing about restoration or making a house a home. What I knew was how to wait tables and mix drinks, strong ones, like the one I needed when Joe walked into my kitchen at the end of the day.

  Not saying a word, he walked right on past where I sat at the kitchen table. I cringed when I heard the soft squeak of his toolbox being opened, bracing myself for the fallout I knew was coming.

  “Thought I told you th’smorning,” he said from somewhere behind me. Somehow, I kept from cowering as the heavy soles of his boots scuffed closer. I did flinch, however, when he dropped the small stack of twenties down on the table in front of me. “No charge.”

  The scuffing retreated, and I felt the muscles in my shoulders relax. Gathering the bills, I stood and turned to face him.

  “And I thought I told you.” With a cautious step closer, I tossed the money back into the open toolbox. “I can’t just not pay you.”

  Standing my ground, I stared down his hunched backside. Hands in tight fists, he dipped his head in aggravation, leaning onto the counter and sending a ripple of silent frustration up the backs of his flexed arms. The anger that radiated off of him had my heart racing. I could feel it in my fingers, my stomach and my toes.

  It wasn’t that I was afraid of him. I didn’t think he would physically hurt me. What worried me so much was why he was acting this way. Who or what was he so mad at, because it for damn sure wasn’t me.

  Minutes passed before he started collecting loose tools and turned to put them away. Taking the money back out of the toolbox, he handed it out to me. “Take it,” he demanded quietly, those eyes of his never quite reaching mine. “Please.”

  Staring down the wad of cash, I swallowed my pride for once and plucked the bills from his fingers. “Fine.” Turning, I grabbed my purse off the back of the chair. “But you’re letting me buy you dinner at that nice little diner down by the water.” I hated to dine alone, and I’d been wanting to try the place ever since Patrick suggested it. I just didn’t want to go with him. I wanted to go with Joe. It was the least he could do.

  “Okay then, let’s go,” he said, surprising me. Taking off toward the front door, he was sure not to touch me when he passed. “I’m driving.”

  ***

  It was considerably easier getting Joe to agree to a free dinner than to get him to accept payment for his own time and labor. I couldn’t complain because it was also considerably cheaper, and I got to spend time with him. As stupid as it may have been, no matter how crazy he drove me, I liked Joe. I was drawn to him. Not only for his looks, but for his laid back demeanor.

  Damp with a day’s worth of sweat and covered in dirt, Joe seemed at home in the confines of our window view booth. I had to admit, the lack of cleanliness didn’t bother me either. In fact, I kind of liked how he owned the filth. Nothing seemed to bother him—aside from me. He didn’t seem to care about anything. However, the time and attention he spent on my house proved otherwise.

  “So tell me, how long have you been fixing things? Did someone teach you, or have you always been good with your hands?”

  Either I was imagining things or I actually got the hint of a smile. It was hard to tell with all the hairy camouflage covering his face.

  “Since I was a kid, I guess.” He shrugged.

  “You guess? Who taught you, your dad?”

  Meeting my eyes, he nodded once.

  “That’s nice. Mine tried to teach me all he knew. Only child and all. The only thing that really stuck was how to check my oil.” I sniffed a small laugh and caught Joe’s eye. He held my stare before looking out the window.

  This was what infuriated me about Joe. It was impossible to hold a conversation with him. It just figured he was the only one I found interesting enough to have a conversation with.

  I didn’t know what to say after that. I didn’t want to keep prying, and if he wasn’t interested in my past, I wasn’t going to bore him with it. Since he wasn’t all that forthcoming with a lot of information himself, it seemed I’d hit a wall.

  “So … I ran into your sister at the market today.” I tried a different approach. Present day things. Maybe he just wasn’t too keen on the past. I could understand that.

  Apart from the nod, he didn’t seem particularly interested in that little tidbit either.

  “She invited me to a cookout tomorrow at Brenda’s. You going? Sounds like it could be fun.”

  At the mention of the cookout, Joe adjusted in his seat. Clenching his fists, he let them relax, bringing one hand up to stroke the front of his beard. “Don’t really go to those things.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just don’t.”

  With that, the conversation came to an abrupt end. Crossing one arm over the other, Joe rested his elbows on the table and stared me down in an unspoken dare to keep going. Leaning back in the booth, I was unable to look away, my fight or flight response triggered by the threat in his relaxed stance.

  The interruption from the waitress was a welcome one as it broke the hold Joe had on me. I thanked her for the service, and so much more, making the mistake of reaching for my bag before taking the check. Joe swiped it and paid before I’d even had the chance to unzip my wallet.

  I cursed him internally the whole ride home.

  How hard was it to just accept payment for services rendered? It was what people did. It was how the world worked. Otherwise I’d feel like I owed him and I would always owe him until he finally caved and let me pay for something.

  The minute we pulled up, I took off for the house. Joe followed behind, the unconcerned sound of his work boots dragging across the hardwood floor. Pouring myself a drink, I leaned against the counter. I felt it the minute he entered the kitchen, a telling static filling the air and making the hairs on my arms stand on end.

  The worn tips of his boots came into view first, practically lining up with my exposed toes. The smell of sweat and earth filled my nose, a hint of wet cedar lingering just beneath them. I could almost feel his warmth this close.

  Almost.

  When he took a step closer to straddle my feet, his shirt grazed the tip of my nose and my hands snapped up to rest on either side of his waist. My heart sped, my fingers digging into his hardened muscle as my annoyance with him melted. I could feel his warmth now, seeping into my palms and spreading to the space between my legs. His breath was unaffected, unlike mine, blowing against the flyaways surrounding my forehead.

  I felt nothing but foolish when he stepped back, revealing the toolbox that had been sitting on the counter behind me.

  Of course it was.

  I couldn’t believe I reacted the way I had, touching him the way I did and giving in so easily to something he wasn’t even offering in the first place.

  Stupid.

  “Th
anks for dinner,” Joe said.

  I nodded, hearing the underlying note of what he was really thanking me for.

  Tool box in hand, he headed for the front door.

  I was never so relieved to see him go.

  Chapter Four

  The sun set later on the west coast, leaving it light and warm on those nice summer nights. Walking the stone path to Brenda’s backyard, the breeze brushed by my bare arms and legs, reminding me just how little I was wearing for this cookout I’d been forced to attend.

  “Ooh, Laney, you look nice!” Brenda complimented as we rounded the side of the house. She pushed Mona by the shoulder. “I knew you would run back and buy that thing, you sneaky little bitch. I told you she’d look good in it.”

  Looking down at the white flowing fabric covering my body, my eyes snapped back up to Mona.

  “You bought this for me?” I asked, thinking the dress was just something Mona had lying around the house. If I would have known she bought it for me, I would have never agreed to wear it.

  Mona eyed Brenda, once again communicating with loaded stares before Mona broke them off, slapping Brenda on the arm with the back of her hand.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” she asked, peeking over Brenda’s bare shoulder. I followed her gaze, looking past the sea of mingling strangers to find Joe, his hidden lips wrapped around the end of a long-neck bottle of Bud. My cheeks heated, and I slumped back to hide behind Brenda.

  “I don’t know, Mona. He just showed up, grabbed a bottle and planted himself on the tree hugger.” Shrugging, Brenda acted like it was no big deal, which it wasn’t.

  Only it was.

  If memory served, he didn’t do these kinds of things.

  “But he never comes to these things,” Mona said, looking from him to me and then back to him again before grabbing my wrist to pull me into the crowd. Plastering on a smile, she introduced me to everyone we passed.

  I felt Joe’s eyes on me the entire time, his intense attention humming a tune inside of my bones. It ruined the cotton between my legs, an unsettling effect which was heightened when a brisk breeze blew up the end of my skirt. I wanted to look over, but was afraid of what I might find. That smoldering look of hatred was pretty hard to bear. I already felt uncomfortable enough in this poor excuse for a dress with the skirt hem cut up to there.