“Thanks everybody!” I yelled, they turned, called their goodnights and happy birthdays.

I waved with pretend happiness. I even blew a few kisses (which was not good for a head-crackin’ mamma jamma to do but for once I was amongst friends) and then we were gone.

Chapter Sixteen

You Wanna Talk Now?

We took Sixth Avenue west to I-70, Vance driving fast. Me pressed against him from crotch to shoulders (dress stretched to the max); arms tight around his waist; backpack on my back; Harley roaring between my legs; my hair flying behind me; my legs freezing in the cold. I alternately pressed my cheek into his shoulder or gazed over it, not quite sad, scared or cold enough not to enjoy the ride.

We went into the foothills, passed the end of the city lights, strip malls and suburbs where the skies became a bit clearer and you could see the stars a whole lot better.

He exited I-70 and I memorized our route just because, letting myself pretend that I might take it again one day. It was major thoroughfare left to minor thoroughfare. Minor thoroughfare right to a one lane road. One lane road left to a dirt road. I was guessing we were somewhere between Golden and Evergreen. What I did know was that we were in the middle of nowhere.

Finally he pulled off into a gravel lane and his headlight flashed on a small, one-story log cabin surrounded by pine trees except for a clearing to the north where there was a major outbuilding.

In the drive there was an oldish Ford pickup truck, not ancient but it had at least ten years on it. It was blue, it was dusty and you could tell it was well-used. Next to that was a horse trailer.

Vance stopped the bike, cut the light, I got off and pulled down my skirt. So did he (without the skirt part). We did the whole backpack whirl thing again and then he grabbed my hand and walked me to the house. All this was done in silence.

I was finding it hard to deal with silence. “Do you have horses?” I asked.

“One. Stable two for my neighbors in exchange for them feeding, watering and exercising mine when I’m in town which is most of the time,” he replied in a way that didn’t invite further questions.

He walked right up to the house hand wrapped around mine and opened the unlocked door.

“You don’t lock your house?” I asked, shocked. Vance, security expert, didn’t lock his own house. He was in the middle of nowhere but still.

“Got nothin’ to steal,” he said.

We walked in and he flipped on a light and with one look around I realized he was right. He indeed had nothing to steal.

He dropped my hand, closed the door and walked through the house, leaving me at the door and disappearing down a dark hall. Then a light came on from there.

I looked around more, came forward and took my blazer off, wrapping it around the back of a chair.

It could be cute, his cabin, definitely cozy. The walls were made of well-sealed logs. The floors were wood with some rugs thrown over them, mostly multi-colored and braided, not tatty but not designer-cabin-chic either. The front room was one biggish room incorporating the dining room, living room and kitchen. There was a big stone hearth on the side wall of the living room, a smaller one on the opposite side, next to the dining table.

To the right was the living room. He had a couch, over it thrown a colorful Native American blanket. A coffee table in front, cluttered with books, some opened and placed face down, some stacked even on the floor and under the table. A floor lamp made of a twisted branch was beside the couch, buffalos dancing across the shade. The back of a beat up leather armchair faced the dining room/kitchen area.

And that was it. No television, no stereo, no pictures, nothing.

The kitchen was a u-shape, back and side walls had top and bottom cabinets, a counter delineating it from the dining area with only bottom cabinets. The cabinets were made of a fantastic knotty-pine. They’d look great refinished and with a gleam to them especially if granite or concrete counter tops replaced the old worn brown one he had. A coffeemaker and a toaster were the only things on the counter except for a stack of mail. The dining area held an old, round, oak four-seater. Like everything else it was in good condition but worn, maybe bought secondhand because it was old enough to pre-date Vance’s ownership and too worn for stuff that had little use if he wasn’t home very often.

Vance came back into the room and I looked at him.

He stopped in the entryway to the hall and leaned a shoulder against it, eyes on me.

“If you don’t stay here very often, where do you stay when you’re in town?” I’d asked out of curiosity not able to help myself mostly because I wanted to know.

It wasn’t a good decision.

He stayed silent for a beat after my question then his face changed and not in a good way.

“You wanna talk now?” he asked, voice low. “Get to know me a little better?”

Um.

Not good.

Someone was not in a happy mood.

“Crowe, I’m just trying to make conversation,” I said quietly, deciding not to spit in the eye of the tiger at this juncture.

He pushed away from the wall and started toward me. “I don’t wanna have a conversation. I wanna f**k.”

My body prepared to flee but my mind stopped it and I held my ground. “I’m beginning to hate it when you say it like that,” I said sharply.

I didn’t really hate it, not before. It was kind of a turn on. But I did hate it now especially the way he just said it which was not nice.

He stopped in front of me and just at the edge of my space. The whole time he approached me, his eyes were on mine.

“I work when I’m in town. If I need to sleep, I sleep on the couch in the down room. If I need to shower, I use the shower there. I keep clothes in my locker. A lot of the time I’m out hunting and not in town at all. I come up here when I have time off which isn’t very often,” he answered my question.

“Why do you work so much?” I asked but wished I hadn’t. Again I couldn’t help myself. I just wanted to know.

“It’s what I do,” he replied.

“But why?”

He stared at me a second, leaned forward and took my hand. “Question time is over.”

Oh crap.

Then he turned and pulled me across the room and down the hall.

It was undignified to struggle especially in high heels and a little black dress. So I didn’t but my belly flutter, coupled with the stomach twist, made me feel a little queasy.

He pulled me into a room off the left of the hall, his bedroom.