Chapter 8- Inclination
H elen spent most of the day in the greenhouse. Thus far, she’d attempted to sketch the images in her notebook, sadly realizing freehand art was not in her wheelhouse of crafting talents. She used her phone and smart travel printer to snap photos and print on demand. She knew the peppermint plant, since she often dried it at home to use in her tea. She'd never seen echinacea in person and marveled at the medicinal purposes of the plant. However, she discovered the Holy Grail when identifying the elecampane.
She used her phone to look up the uses to discover it could aid in skin issues like eczema and itching. She immediately thought of the boy Jeffrey, living at Bad Apple's place.
“Maybe I can learn to make something like Lemon used on Micah's tattoo to help him with that dry skin,” she mumbled to herself.
Continuing to read, she learned the root of the plant could be used as an expectorant in a tea to help treat colds and loss of appetites and intestinal worms. “Dear God, I need a fucking greenhouse to get these plants for myself. Making a note.”
A wicked thought came to mind. “Which of these plants can be used to make a love potion?”
“Start with chamomile and lavender,” Lemon answered. “You will also need some of this. It is Shatavari.”
“It's what?”
“Shatavari is kind of asparagus and would be the equivalent of a woman's version of ashwagandha. You can also use Damiana, which is this one here, as an aphrodisiac, but there is no scientific proof,” Lemon said. “Are you planning to use this on your man?”
“Why does everyone keep thinking I have a man?”
“You aren't giving any vibes you're into women, and that dreamy look I see you having is the same thing Micah picked up on when he was observing you,” Lemon said. “Question, why is the first thing people think of when they see a greenhouse and plants is to use the contents to make shit to have sex?”
“Because at the end of the night, you want to squirt one, roll over, and call it a night,” Helen said, and chuckled.
“Squirt one?”
“Only if he's hitting it right,” she said with a wink.
“Oh, Dear Lord,” Lemon said, laughing. She stopped and pressed her lips together. “It's been a while since I laughed.”
“By the look of the tightness around your mouth and me catching you watching Jared's ass, it's been a while on a couple of other things, too.”
Lemon picked up a spray bottle to spritz a few leaves. She spritzed Helen with it as well. “Helen, this is a lonely life. The Archangel sent the girls to save me from myself as well as to prevent me from being alone, but there are times you want the company of a person who understands what we do.”
Helen, continuing to work on the plants, asked, “Can I ask the last time you had like-minded company?”
“It's been about a year,” Lemon said, shocked at her honesty with Helen. “Wrong Way, she's a Direction and the cleaner for the Southeast Directions. She would stop through when she needed a re-up on supplies. Between me and Mr. Merge, her supplier of work chemicals, the frequent stops made her a person I looked forward to seeing. She recognized the loneliness in me and gave me the affection I needed. She was, or rather is, a friend.”
“I didn't see that...you and a woman,” Helen said.
“Are you judging?”
“Not caring whether if it’s One Way or a Wrong Way.”
“One Way is a scary dude; don't talk that ninja star throwing fool up,” she said. “I caught him off guard once and ended up with a ninja star in my shoulder. Thank God it didn't have any venom on it. He uses Tai Pe venom on his stars. Nasty cuts which rot away the tissue.”
“Good to know,” Helen said. “What happened between you and Wrong Way?”
“She got temporarily blinded by The Glitter Man, who stole her van of chemicals that Mr. Exit had to blow up,” she said. “She's back to work and going home at night to her husband and son, neither of which anyone knew she had. Speaking of secrets, what's your deal?”
Helen turned to look at Lemon full on. She was an attractive woman with deep brown eyes that scanned everything around her for tidbits of data. Each time she looked at Helen, it felt as if the woman was dissecting her on a cellular level. “Pardon me?”
“Technicians aren't plucked off the street and told ‘Hey, come learn how to kill people and make poisons.’ So, I ask again, what's your deal?”
“No deal. The Collector kidnapped me for a week and cut up my feet and my breast. Cherry came to find me, and when my feet healed, I went and found him,” she said, lowering the top of her blouse to show off the cheloid flesh. “In the interim, while The Cherry on Top was on the bottom, there was work to be done. To repay the favor, I took her truck and weapons to finish the assignment. Saw a creep standing next to the target and shot him too, not knowing The Company had been looking for the wily bastard. I shot the turd for the sake of him being a predator and got offered a training slot.”
Lemon's mouth hung open. Helen enjoyed shocking her. She continued to water plants as she spoke.
“I went to Bad Apple's place to learn intake, budgeting, and setting up a new home for the life of a Technician. He was also to assess my skill sets and fit for purpose, I guess you could say,” Helen said. “I'm here early because I shut down, with the help of Mr. Yield, three Fields of Flowers in Milwaukee. Tonight, I'm probably going to hunt locally to see if there are any in the area that I can fuck up and shut down while I'm in Ohio.”
“You're scary,” Lemon said.
“No, I am a woman tired of being a victim,” she said to Lemon. “In this life, that bullshit about eat or be eaten is a crock of malarkey. We make connections, we care for others, and we look out for the little guy. In between all of that, you find yourself another warm body who is okay with your weird shit and makes you moan like a back-alley whore, and you make that person a meal when they walk in the door from work and let them know someone is happy that they made it home.”
“You make it sound simple,” Lemon said. “The caliber of men out there is low. They want a hole to stick in their junk, and if they have more than one available, they are happy with that too.”
“Not true,” she said. “I have been around a few men as of late who aren't like that. Trust me, I asked if that was their intention, and they were honest that it wasn't. A prime example is the man you've invited in to warm himself by the fire tonight. He's been here for ten days. He hasn't said an out-of-place word to you or the girls. Jared even showed Bria and Ayanna how to change a tire, check the oil and fluids in a vehicle, and use basic self-defense moves, without making body contact with either of them.”
“He's gay,” Lemon said.
“Not the way he watches your ass when he thinks no one is looking,” Helen said. “Hell, at one point, I saw that man taking a moment to let the bulge in his pants go down before he came out from behind that tractor when he was talking to you yesterday. He's very much hetero and very much wants a night in your arms.”
“The Devil in Hell wants a cold glass of lemonade, and I am not the one serving,” Lemon said, laughing. “Seriously? He's not gay?”
“Not in the least, but his aura is dark. He's running from something, and here is where he's hiding, but whatever it is, Lemon, it's about to catch up with him,” Helen said. “Did you notice how antsy he's getting?”
“No, now I'm wondering what I can whip up to make him last long enough to make me squirt,” she said, pressing her hand to her chest. “Why did you say that? Now I'm going to be antsy. You suck dirty nipples, Helen!”
“Sorry, don't go that way, don't care if you are cute and smart,” Helen said, laughing. “Whatever you create, make enough for me to take home for date night. At this rate, I may need a weekend off. Let me calculate the drive time from here to home.”
****
T HE NIGHT BEFORE THE big show, his hair, which he often wore loose when he wasn't working, was kindly cornrowed into four large braids which fit neatly under his cap. In the bathroom, he used his fingers to loosen the braids so he could wash his hair. It had been nearly twenty-two days since the hair had been braided, and since then, he'd sweated like an old workhorse, not to mention being tossed around by a tornado. Adding insult to the many injuries sustained by his body over the years, the shower in the barn was shit. Today, he stood under the showerhead in the bathroom inside Lemon's home, simply allowing the water to beat down on his skull, enjoying the full heat from a hot water heater and the wonderful water pressure.
Jared lathered up his hair, looking at the grey suds on his fingers, not expecting them to be white after nearly 22 days of sweat. He stood under the water as it rinsed away the yuck, and he lathered again, rinsed, and lathered once more to be sure. When and if time allowed, he'd stop in to see his oldest sister who ran a beauty salon, but that would be no time soon, all things considered. He applied a generous amount of conditioner to the tresses, saturating the coils from the follicle to the end of the hair, allowing it to sit while he scrubbed his body.
He'd added a load to the laundry before taking the shower as well, happy that everything would be clean for when the brown delivery van arrived with the parts to his vehicle in the morning. He would put the parts on the truck, and by noon, he'd be on his way toward Cleveland. In more ways than one, he was ready to leave. The girls were getting under his skin, and he sort of, kind of, almost liked them. They reminded him of his two youngest sisters, mischievous and sneaky. It wasn't his place to tell them that sneaky often resulted in an unwanted dick inside of you.
“Not your place,” he said softly, washing his body, rinsing, and washing again. “This water pressure is amazing.”
He washed one last time, rinsed his body, then his hair, before turning off the taps. He rotated his shoulder, hoping to have at least a few more acetaminophen tablets in his bag. The leg wound was healing nicely, and he'd actually put on a few pounds of muscle and meat on his bones in the past ten days. The seat of his jeans wasn’t sagging, and his belly didn't seem to be sunken in and trying to touch his spine.
Toweled dry and wearing a loose-fitting pair of loungers and a white tank, he exited the bathroom with a towel around his hair. It drew the attention of four pairs of eyes. He gave a tight smile.
Ayanna, the outspoken one, stayed true to form, asking, “Mr. Jared, how much hair do you have under that towel?”
He removed it, showing off a head full of black hair, standing on end. “I have $50 for the person who is willing to braid it for me.”
Lemon spoke up, “I got you. Any preference on oils, or do you trust me to use what I have?”
“Nope, don't trust you at all,” he said, looking at Helen. “Ms. Helen, can you braid it for me?”
“I can, but she offered,” Helen said.
“She is also still angry and resentful of me over Larry and Curly; therefore, I don't want her hands in my head,” he said. “Forgive me, but I have sisters. I know the stuff pissed off women do to men. My trust meter is always on red. Thanks for the offer though, I appreciate you.”
“Well!” Lemon huffed, crossing her legs.
Jared, nonplussed by her snit, asked, “Helen, floor or a chair?”
“Chair is fine,” she said, thinking him on the floor between her legs would be a bit too intimate. “You have a comb?”
“No, not on me,” he said.
“No worries,” she told him, heading to her room for the jar of hair oil she used on her own tresses.
With the damp towel draped around his neck, she went to work, sectioning off the hair, as he sat. Lemon watched him and the interaction. He had this done often.
“Does your wife normally braid it for you?” Lemon wanted to know.
“No wife,” he said. “My sister has a salon. Usually, she does it.”
“When you're on the road, you what...just let it go?”
“Pretty much; it has been braided for dang near three weeks, and I was starting to hate the smell of it,” he said.
“Three weeks,” Lemon repeated.
Jared reached up and touched Helen's hand, asking her to stop. He turned in the seat, making direct eye contact with Lemon.
“I left Guatemala about twenty-five days ago, driving up the Pan American Highway to Cleveland. A tornado picked me and my truck up and I found myself here,” he said. “The job I got sent to do was completed. I was headed to see a friend. Nothing more.”
He turned around in the chair. “My parts will be here in the morning. I will put them on my truck and be gone by the afternoon. We depart as friends. The job here is done as well.”
Ayanna and Bria took exception to his words, rising and leaving for their rooms for the night. Helen made quick work of adding five braids to his hair where four used to be and also said goodnight. Lemon took a blanket and a pillow from the linen closet and placed them on the couch. When she made eye contact with him, he understood what she wanted. He wanted it too, but he needed to get moving. A night with her and he’d build in trenches to defend a life on the farm with her and the girls, but he couldn't. The Devil on his heels would be closing in, and he didn't need that noise in her ear.
“Listen, Doc Myrtle,” he said, walking over to the couch, the towel from his hair, bunched in his hands. “Life is hard and unforgiving. I try not to leave a mess wherever I go. Let me be the nice guy here. I'm trying desperately to be the good guy.”
“I understand, but every now and then, a woman just needs a bad man to be the alpha and handle some shit,” she said, looking at his mouth.
“Lady, take it easy on me. I'm already fragile and barely hanging on here,” he said. “My truck parts will be here tomorrow, and I drive away. I won't leave any litter in your yard and we depart as nice friends.”
“I have enough damned friends,” she told him, reaching for him.
The towel blocked her view of what she needed to see. She touched the towel, pushing it downward, revealing his burgeoning interest in her. Myrtle sighed deeply, her hand running down the rigid flesh, sliding across the soft cotton of the fabric. It moved when she touched it as a soft sigh escaped his lips.
“Doc Myrtle, let me be the good guy tonight,” he pleaded. “One more touch and I can't promise I will be.”
“Blame this one on me,” she stated softly, reaching for him and pulling him to the couch. Her lips met his as the weight of him landed on top of her, the hardness of him landing between the juncture of her thighs. Calloused hands slid up her thigh, lifting the skirt as he kissed her deeply.
“Not like this, Doc Myrtle,” he said, trying to pull away. She moved suggestively against him, wrapping her legs about his hips. The grinding of her hips against him made Jared move against her as well. The heat of her penetrated the thin cotton of his loungers. “Damn, this feels...hmm.”
Jared moved against her, thrusting as she clung to him. Only two thin swatches of fabric stood between them and a night they would eventually regret. His hands went for the panties. A thick finger slipped inside, feeling the moisture, the scent of the nectar calling to him. She reached for the drawstring of his pants, tugging, slipping her hand inside, stroking the stiff flesh. Jared moaned into her mouth, wanting what she promised, but he wanted a bed, not a quickie on the couch. The feel of the heat of her against the erection was making him lose his ability to think straight.
Heavy footsteps reached the front porch and the doorbell rang. Jared stopped. He kissed her once more, pushing himself off the lady and up righting his clothing. The towel, once on the floor, was draped across his lap to conceal what they'd been up to as Myrtle righted her clothes to answer the door. She peered through the side window, spotting the police cruiser. It was ten at night. Jared said nothing while Myrtle entered the code for the alarm, disarming it before opening the front door.
“Sheriff, what can I do for you?” Lemon asked.
“Just checking in, seeing how things were going,” he said as Jared came to the door to stand behind Myrtle.
Intentionally, he made no physical contact with her but provided silent support.
“You're inside now,” the Sheriff said, looking at Jared.
“It's going to be a cold one tonight. I have a pillow for the couch,” Jared replied.
“For the couch,” the Sheriff replied.
“Yeah, tonight, I'm on the couch,” Jared said, making direct eye contact. “Thanks for checking in on us. Doc Myrtle, I'm going to make some tea. Would you like a cup?”
“Thanks Mr. Bane; that would be lovely,” she called over his shoulder as he walked away, leaving her alone with the Sheriff.
“Have a pleasant night, Sheriff,” Jared called out, humming his way to the kitchen.
“Sheriff, is there anything else?”
“Myrtle, you be careful with that one. Something is off with him. I don't trust that dude,” the Sheriff stated.
“I'm certain you ran a background check on him.”
“I did and it came back too clean. Clean like someone scrubbed his record and made a new Jared Bane,” the Sheriff whispered.
“Including his military records as well? Are you suggesting he's CIA or another alphabet agency?”
“Or witness protection, and he's a bad man.”
Myrtle was tired of the man interfering in her life. “I truly appreciate you looking out for us, but trust me, I can take care of myself and these girls. Relax. Go home. We're okay.”
“Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you. The universe keeps giving you signs that you're ignoring. You might want to start paying pretty close damn attention,” the Sheriff said, touching the brim of his hat and leaving.
She locked the door and reset the alarm. Jared arrived with the cup of tea. She looked at him closely. He was finer than baby chinchilla fur but admitted he was a bad man trying to be good. They’d nearly screwed like teenagers on her couch had it not been for the Sheriff's interruption. Pay attention to the signs.
“Jared, I'm going to turn in for the night,” she said softly. “I shall see you in the morning.”
“Goodnight, Doc Myrtle,” he said, looking at the tea. He knew in his heart that if she made eye contact with him, she wouldn’t be heading to bed alone.