CHAPTER TWO #2
Closing my eyes, I allowed the soundtrack of the island evening to lull me into an almost dreamlike calm.
My eyes were closed. I used my big toe to nudge me into a gentle sway, and I savored the fruity notes of the whiskey on my tongue before swallowing.
Hoot-hoot!
I nearly went ass-over-tea-kettle bolting upright at the nearby sound of the owl.
It had to be close.
Like in a tree no more than thirty yards away.
Carefully, I finished the whiskey and set the glass down on the planked deck, then climbed out of the hammock. Staring up into the trees, I let my eyes adjust to the dark and scanned the branches, looking for movement, color, or big alert eyes watching me.
And then I saw it.
High up in the trees, the distinct shape of an owl. And it was looking right at me.
“Stay right there,” I whispered, backing up to the screen door.
I slid it open and hustled to Mabel’s bedroom door. “Mabes,” I said as I knocked.
“Yeah?”
“Come outside. Now. Bring your binoculars.”
I didn’t have to tell her twice.
The door swung open with vigor, and my bird-pajama clad child nearly bowled me over with her enthusiasm.
“Slow and quiet,” I said, following her through the kitchen to the door. I’d forgotten to close the screen.
She slowed her roll and crept onto the deck, her binoculars already to her eyes. Then came the childlike gasp.
My smile nearly reached my ears.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Hello, my friend.”
I couldn’t see the owl as well as she could, but I wasn’t as bird-crazy as she was. The ability to bring joy and a smile to my daughter’s face was the real thrill for me.
“Dad, could you please run back to my room and grab my notebook?”
With manners like that, how could I refuse?
I darted back into the house and grabbed her notebook from her room, flipping through some of the pages and the beautiful sketches she’d done over the last few months. She sketched birds and made so many notes that I had to get her a new notebook every quarter or so.
I tapped her shoulder with the notebook, and she blindly reached for it. “It’s so pretty. Here.” She handed me the binoculars, but didn’t take the strap off her neck, so I had to duck down and get in close.
It really was a pretty bird, unlike some of the birds she gushed over which, to me, looked like something that’d been reassembled after getting tossed into the wood chipper.
“Can you tell the difference? If it’s a male or female?” I asked.
She flipped to a fresh page in her book and gripped her pencil. “Not usually. Though females are about a third larger than males. But this one is too far away to tell.”
I handed her back the binoculars, and she started what I liked to call her standard “gawk and sketch.” I knew better than to ask anymore questions while she sketched.
I’d scared enough birds away over the years, and suffered Mabel’s wrath, that it was better to just write down my questions—if they were important enough—and ask them later.
So I stayed quiet and just observed my child and soaked up the pure joy she was experiencing seeing and sketching a bird she’d been sure she’d never get to see.
The breeze off the water was chilly, and I shivered, but Mabel didn’t feel cold the way I did, and would probably wear less layers if I allowed it.
“I’m a winter baby, I thrive in the cold,” she liked to say.
That didn’t fly with me, but I did pick my battles. And asking her to put on a jacket because I was cold was not a battle that I would win, or one I felt inclined to even entertain.
We stood there for a solid twenty minutes, observing the statuesque bird as it observed us in return. Mabel was just finishing up on the wings when the feathered phantom let out a chilling hoot, then swooped down from its branch and into the forest.
“Must have spotted a mouse or something,” my kid muttered, scanning the trees a moment longer with her binoculars before dropping them and closing her notebook.
She beamed at me, and my heart swelled.
“Thanks, Dad.” Then she shocked the shit out of me and wrapped her spindly little arms around me in a hug. It wasn’t a long hug because my kid wasn’t big on touching or affection, but it was a hug. A hug that meant as much to her as it did to me.
I wished to hang on to her a little longer, but took her cue and let go when she did, stepping back and smiling. “Your old man is just lucky sometimes.”
She snorted. “You’re not that old.”
“Old enough to be your dad,” I said, grabbing the whiskey glass from the ground and following her into the house. I closed the French doors behind us.
“Barely,” she replied before yawning. “I wonder if these woods are the owl’s territory and we’ll see it again. I hope so.”
“I’m sure there are all kinds of interesting birds in the woods and along the shores just waiting for their fifteen minutes of fame where you sketch them.”
She served me a cheeky eye roll, but then a half-smile. “Birds don’t care about that stuff.”
“Maybe not, but you do, and that’s what matters to me.”
She yawned again.
“Bedtime now, Mabes. You’ve got big kid school in the morning.”
She ignored my retaliatory cheekiness and simply nodded.
I followed her down the hall to her room and hung out in the doorjamb as she climbed into bed. “Thanks again, Dad.”
“Anytime, kiddo. I love you.”
“I know.”
“And I’m assuming you love me too?”
“You know I do.”
“Sometimes I wonder.”
She snuggled down into the covers and reached over to turn off her reading light. “Well don’t.”
“Goodnight, Mabes.”
“Night.”
Then I closed her bedroom door and headed to the bathroom to have a shower.
Now, why was the first thing that came to my mind when I stripped off all my clothes and ducked under the warm water, that mom I met in the line as we stacked the chairs? Naomi was her name. And her kids were Honor and Austin. I made sure to commit all three names to memory.
She was very pretty.
Kind of gave off a bit of a farm-baby vibe with her light-brunette hair in braided pigtails, the curls coming down over her temples, and her denim overalls with the olive-colored, long-sleeve shirt underneath. It was cute, and it suited her.
Did she work on a farm?
Were there very many farms on the island?
Was she single?
Before I knew it, my cock was hard, and I had it in my palm as thoughts of Naomi, smiling at me in nothing but those overalls—no shirt this time—and those sexy pigtails raced through my mind.
I’d never had a girlfriend before, never been in a relationship. Mabel’s mother and I …
Nope.
I wasn’t going to think about her.
Not right now.
Not with the sexy, wanted thoughts of Naomi running through my mind. She was definitely a woman I found myself attracted to, and someone I wouldn’t mind getting to know better.
In no time, my thoughts had turned even filthier, to Naomi on her knees—still wearing those overalls—smiling up at me, her green eyes sparkling.
The pressure in my lower belly and balls increased, and before I knew it, I was coming onto the tile wall of my en suite bathroom shower, then watching it circle the drain.
I exhaled in relief and rested my free hand against the wall, keeping my eyes closed and allowing the aftershocks of my orgasm to ripple through me.
It was just shy of eleven o’clock when I finally crawled into bed, my balls empty, my brain full of what tomorrow was going to bring, and my heart full from seeing my daughter so happy as she sketched the owl.
I plugged in my phone, turned off the lamp, rolled over, and closed my eyes.
I was just drifting off when my phone pinged with a familiar, unique alert.
I sat up and grabbed my phone, seeing Kai’s name at the top of the text message.
I opened it, and my body turned to ice.
Her parole hearing is on Saturday.