Striking Read online

  I couldn’t help but grin back at her. Especially now that I knew she wasn’t Stockton’s girlfriend. I would think about that later. Right now I was just happy somebody was being nice to me. “Nice to meet you. Willa is a gorgeous name.”

  Stockton, the party pooper, just had to interrupt, “But everybody calls her Will.” He was adamant, daring me to contradict him.

  “God, Stock, she got that,” Will interrupted, rolling her eyes at her older brother.

  A bubble of laughter escaped before I could stop myself. “Is he always this cranky?”

  “Yes, always,” Will confirmed on a smirk. I was already in love with this girl.

  “Where were you Will?” Stockton asked, tearing his eyes away from me, although I got the distinct impression it took some effort.

  “Drugstore. I needed girly stuff,” she explained, swinging a plastic bag from the local drugstore around.

  “That’s enough. I don’t want to know,” Stockton held up two hands in a gesture for her to stop.

  “Oh stop,” she groaned. “It’s just hair product and some mascara.”

  “Since when do you wear mascara?” Stockton demanded gruffly.

  I took this as my cue to jump in. “Oh my gosh, I use that too!” I exclaimed and grabbed the bag out of her hand. I held up the cheap hair product and waved it around. “Their styling mouse is the best out there!”

  “You use…. this?” Will asked, sounding desperately confused.

  “Yes! I mean, I know it’s cheap, but it works the best. And I am not one to argue when my hair finally turns out frizz-free.”

  “Right!” Will squealed, obviously feeling much more comfortable around me.

  I got the distinct impression that Will was a tomboy. Clearly she didn’t put a whole lot of effort into her appearance and God bless the girl, she didn’t need to. She was simply effortlessly gorgeous. But frankly, if Stockton was one of her role models, she needed a good dose of female in her life.

  “You obviously have good taste,” I smiled down at her and she grinned right back at me.

  But of course, Stockton was eager to interrupt with his crankiness, “Why is it you were here again, Cami?”

  I shivered when he said my name. I couldn’t help it. The way it just fell off his lips with that deep southern accent…. holy hell I wanted him growling that in my ear while I scraped my nails down his back.

  Oh no.

  Ahem.

  There were children present. Because now that I’d spent some time around Will, I could see how young she really was.

  I cleared my throat and explained.

  “My aunt sent me over with some canned goods. She promised you actually wanted them, but if you don’t you can always just toss them. I’m sure she won’t-“

  “We want them,” Stockton and Will spoke up simultaneously.

  “Oh,” I replied, dumbfounded. “They’re in the passenger’s seat, Stockton. They’re a little bit heavy for me. Since you know, today was my first day of work and all.” I waved a dismissive hand toward the truck and then turned my attention on Will. “So, show me your mascara. What color did you get?”

  “Ruby?” she answered like a question. “I just followed this picture….”

  I could sense her insecurity so I quickly reassured her while Stockton walked silently away, “That will be a gorgeous color on you! And it won’t be too strong. Nice and subtle.” I smiled down at her.

  She relaxed some and then shot a nervous glance back at her brother. “He doesn’t mean it.”

  I cleared my throat and asked, “Excuse me?”

  She powered through, “He’s not quite sure what to do with you yet, is all.”

  “Oh sweetie,” I sighed sympathetically. She was so innocent about boys and girls still, that much was obvious. “There’s nothing to do with me but enjoy the ride.”

  By this time Stockton had rejoined us on the porch, his arms full of the heavy box-although the weight didn’t seem to bother him at all. He shot me an obnoxious glare at the end of my statement and I wondered if he had heard the entire thing.

  “Nice to meet you, Will. We better hang out sometime soon! I’m really good at painting toe nails and I don’t want my skill to be lost while I have no one to practice on!”

  Will’s smile grew so that it was practically ear to ear and she mumbled a reply. My teeny, tiny heart swelled a little bit with her reaction. It was just nice to know that I wasn’t surrounded completely by people who had no respect for a well-painted toe.

  “Where’s my jacket?” Stockton demanded, ripping to shreds our happy little girl-bonding moment.

  “Your jacket?” I asked, purposefully confused. “Oh, you mean the thing you tossed at my head right before you manhandled me across a muddy field? I forgot all about that.”

  Stockton’s eyes narrowed into slits and I watched his yummy throat work to swallow against his frustration. “But you still have it, don’t you?”

  “Mmm, I think so,” I replied with more airhead in my voice than necessary. “I’ll look for it and let you know.” I winked at him, knowing it would piss him off and then climbed as gracefully as I could-which wasn’t at all-into the cab of Mallory’s truck. “Bye, Will!” I waved and then as brightly as I could manage while his intense glare was fastened directly on me, “Bye Stockton!”

  Then I peeled out of the driveway before I walked back up to that boy and slapped him right across the face just seconds before I attacked his mouth with mine.

  I gripped the steering wheel tighter, knowing no boy should be this confusing. I wasn’t supposed to be simultaneously pissed off and turned on. And I really wasn’t supposed to be having all these mixed up emotions for some country bumpkin that could moonlight as a Calvin Klein model if Calvin Klein sold coal.

  Chapter 8

  Stockton

  I slammed the hammer down one time too many and the base of the trellis Mrs. Calla ordered snapped, landing on the toe of my boot.

  The second time it happened that day.

  And whose fault was it—her.

  I tried—I swore I tried to concentrate on the task at hand but her words snaked into my head, along with the way she mouthed off—not to mention the mouth by which all mouths should be judged. She didn’t have regular lips, the bottom one was more plump than the other. And the crown of her top lip created the dip of a perfect heart shape.

  There I go again, obsessing over pieces of her when I should be working.

  Instead I’m turning this project into pieces.

  Damn her and all her smart-mouthed sexiness.

  I reformed the trellis which took three hours more of my precious time—time I really didn’t have to spare. I’d have to run the trellis straight to Ms. Calla’s house since I’d taken so long to make it.

  I quit for the day, my skin fully branded with the soot of coal and work. I went inside and passed an unusually happy Will. She’d been flitting around the house since she stopped by last night and Will had gone to the Macon’s to see if Cami wanted to go to the creek later on. She’d gone on and on about it ever since coming in from school.

  Since when was the creek such a big deal?

  It was water and rocks—I’d seen more interesting hymnals.

  Although Cami in a bikini—shit, there I go again.

  Letting the screen door slam behind me, I rushed around, in a hurry to get to Mrs. Calla’s place before nightfall. My father would never have been this late with a delivery—never. Then again, he wouldn’t have even a second’s thought about the duchess—and I couldn’t stop thinking about her at all.

  Maybe it was just me. Maybe she had a personal vendetta against men in general, or was generally not in good standing with men who worked for a living. Rambo—she called me Rambo. I didn’t look anything like Rambo. The guy had a mullet and spoke as if a team of bullfrogs had taken residence in his gullet—and one of them was stuck.

  But then she shocked the hell out of me. As rude as I’d thought she was, she intro
duced herself to Will and they’d chatted it up about hair gel or something. And the excitement on Will’s face was something that had been missing from this house for a long time.

  And in so many words she’d accused me of cave-manning her through the field—and that’s what I’d done—man handled her dainty self.

  And I wanted to manhandle her through a lot more than a field and for a lot longer than a few minutes.

  I showered and changed. After throwing the trellis in the back of the truck, I drove the few miles down the dirt road to Mrs. Calla’s house. She was a short woman, old fashioned, who always wore dresses—the woman had never worn a pair of pants in her life. Her white hair was always rolled into a perfect bun at the nape of her neck.

  She came out the front door of her small cottage-type house as I pulled up, “Always knew you’d be just like your father one day. You’re right on time, Stockton.”

  I pulled the trellis from the back and though it wasn’t my best work, she oohed and aahhhed over it anyway. She’d ordered a plain trellis for one of her vines to twirl in but I’d added some decorative effects at the top.

  “I dare say this work rivals your father, Stockton. It’s a beauty,” she complimented me.

  “Thank you, Ma’am. Why don’t you show me where you want it and I’ll go ahead and get it into the ground for you.”

  She walked me to the south side of her yard where a lonely vine crawled up the side of her house and was creeping into the screen of her window.

  “Somewhere in here, that vine wants to be my roommate, but I don’t want one.”

  I dug a small hole and tethered the trellis down with some stakes and thin rope I found in her workshop. Her husband was once the town lawyer but he’d had a heart attack when he was only forty seven years old and she’d chosen to be a single widow ever since.

  I made sure the trellis was sturdy and looked to her for approval. She nodded once and then pulled a wad of cash from her pocket—she paid well and this job alone would tide us over for the rest of the month, maybe more.

  I turned to go but she caught me, “That niece of the Macon’s sure is pretty.”

  It was said with an intonation that felt more like conversation starter than simple statement.

  “Yes, Ma’am. I saw her in church Sunday.”

  “I’m sure you did. Good night Stockton.”

  “Good night and thank you.”

  I closed the door inside the silent abode. I slapped peanut butter and jelly on two slices of bread, poured a glass of milk and sat in front of the TV and looked at the vacant, shiny screen. We didn’t have cable and really it was just a piece of furniture, dormant, trying its best to make us look normal. I pulled off my now sweaty shirt and inhaled the sandwich since I hadn’t eaten since lunch. The Jeep was missing from the driveway still, which meant Will was still with Cami. I conjured a million scenarios that would justify finding Will and stepping in on their time. But I couldn’t do that to Will. She was too excited to have an older girl around.

  Not to mention Cami loathed me.

  And I couldn’t blame her—I’d been a royal ass.

  I’d given her the third degree when all she did was bring the promised payment for Henry’s gate over. And I scared the shit out of her—and then I berated her for just being on my porch.

  Who in the Hell did I think I was?

  And I no longer had any room to speak about her manners when I’d shown none.

  My mother would be ashamed.

  My father would’ve slapped me on the back of my head.

  Two hours later, I still sat there, half asleep, dreaming of her, in that field, in that dress and my hands were on a lot more than her calves.

  I heard the Jeep come up the drive, I knew it was the Jeep because it needed a front end alignment and it made a telltale racket as Will pulled it up the drive. The front door opened and shut, keys and purse thrown on the table and she plopped down beside me.

  “Have fun?” I asked my little sister.

  “Yes, Jesse is always busy lately. I like Cami. She’s very nice but you wouldn’t know that.”

  I huffed acknowledgement through my nostrils, “I know. She just brings out the bastard in me.”

  “She doesn’t put up with your crap. And she’s not intimidated by you like everyone else around here. She thinks you hate her.”

  I rolled my eyes, “I doubt very seriously she cares enough to notice if I hate her or not—which I don’t.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  Will got up and took my plate and glass with her, but I didn’t let her get far.

  “Will?”

  “Yeah?”

  “What else did she say?”

  She sat down on the arm of the chair our mother once sat in to read us scriptures every night.

  “She wants to be a writer, but everyone expects her to be a receptionist or just have some fluff job. She’s afraid there’s nothing good in her—that she’s just trouble. She thinks you’re hot.”

  “Liar.”

  “Well, she didn’t say it, but I know she does. I could practically see the steam coming off of her yesterday.”

  She got up to leave again, “Stock?”

  “What Will?”

  “You should apologize. I don’t want her afraid to come around, for me?”

  She knew my weak spot. I’d do anything for her.

  “Ok, I will. I promise.”

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Will.”

  I pulled back the comforter of my bed and slipped inside after taking yet another shower. I drummed through my earlier conversation with Will. Cami wanted to be a writer? She didn’t look like a writer. And a girl like that, determined, head strong, obviously had every advantage in the world—if she wanted to be a writer, what in the hell was holding her back?

  After an hour of tossing and turning, I got up and hit the kitchen for a glass of water. I sat at the table and sifted through the mail and one envelope from Clemmens’ Industries caught my eye. I opened the letter and skimmed the contents. I’d received a letter like this before, but the amount they were pitching was absurd. I turned the letter over and over, wondering where the phrase, ‘this is a damned joke’ was typed in, but I didn’t see it. If this letter was legit, they were offering me more than I made in five years’ time to design new handcrafted items that they intended to mass produce in their factories. And that amount would be doubled, tripled depending on how many designs I could come up with. It was the dream I’d so vainly chased those years ago in college. It was everything I’d wanted and it would pay for Will to go to college and more—much more. But those pipe dreams were what drove me to college in the first place and while I was there, trying to be a big shot, was when my parents died, trying to hold up my end of the chores in my stead.

  I shoved the letter in a drawer we used for junk.

  I walked out to the porch and let the cooling spring air wind a chill in my lungs—it made me feel as cold physically as I did in my core.

  ~~~

  On Friday, I made my runs. I strolled into the grocery store, picked up my regular boxes and stacked them in the passenger seat of the truck. But this time, I put in one more stop. I’d still not fulfilled my promise to Will. And I’d decided this Sunday would be my prime opportunity. After all, who could resist a sincere apology on a Sunday?

  Ellen’s Everything was our town’s gift shop. Those who wanted to know the local gossip need only sit on the bench opposite Ellen’s shop and see whose husband stopped in for flowers, who came out with a pink or blue bag, women who filed in, searching for the perfect birthday card. And here I was, telling the world by the ding of the bell above the door that I was here to buy a gift—for the California Duchess. Maybe they’d think I was buying something for Will. I sure as hell was gonna use that line when I checked out. I tip-toed through the place that smelled like old women until I was blue in the face. Flowers were too much like a date, a card was too much like a pansy, I tried to
flee the place with some of my manhood intact when I spotted a plum colored, leather bound book on the bottom shelf, alone, none of its kin to keep it company. I bent down and picked it up and Will’s words from the night before struck me.

  She wanted to be a writer.

  So a journal made sense, right?

  I went back to a previously scanned display of pens, not regular pens but those emblazed in black with gold lines. I picked one up and walked to the counter. Ellen had been in my high school graduating class. She’d started this shop with the money she’d earned through her years of prize winning blue ribbon 4-H shows.

  “Will this be all?” she asked sheepishly. I always wondered why a girl who was obviously so shy would start a store.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Do you want it wrapped,” she offered.

  “No, this will be fine.”

  I paid for my items and made my way through the rounds. I dropped off groceries and talked to Mr. Lambert. But that day he didn’t talk a lot. And the squirrel, usually on a leash, was in a cage. I asked him if he was ok, if he needed to go to the doctor but he declined.

  “I hate the doctor.”

  “Don’t we all? But if you’re sick, we need to go before it gets too bad.”

  “I’ll let you know, Son.”

  Reluctantly, I left him there but felt sick as all get out about it. But he knew my number and would call if he needed me.

  Friday night, Will was out with Jesse and my disdain for the blond pixie had evolved into something I wasn’t ready to admit yet. Her journal and pen had sat on my bedside table since I purchased it, waiting to let it peel back the ice so I could administer my apology. It went with a side dish of resolve to be—nice.

  Shriver and I went to Mick’s on Saturday night. When I left the house, I felt like I needed a drink but by the time I got there, I couldn’t find a reason to want to escape the thoughts of her which had doubled on the film reel, like a bacterial plague, invading the spaces between. Instead of the time away from her giving me relief, it wrenched my insides and the urge to show up at the Macon house, unannounced and probably unwanted, throbbed between my ears.