Chapter 20 Rose
ROSE
We walked another few minutes in silence as he surveyed the edge of my property that faded into the woods. Him, soaked to the bone in nothing more than a T-shirt, and me, looking like a cartoon character with an oversized rain coat and his leather jacket draped over my shoulders.
A shiver caught me and I wrapped his jacket tighter.
“So, you’re looking for footprints?” I asked.
“Footprints, boot prints, broken twigs, breaks in the pathway, any sign that someone has passed by here recently. Would be a lot easier if your motion-activated flood lights weren’t out.”
“I don’t have a motion-activated floodlight.”
“Exactly.”
I rolled my eyes. “Message received. What else?”
He slowed. “Your backyard is small, which is a good thing, but it backs up to miles of woods, which is not a good thing. You need to get a security fence, and get all the underbrush trimmed and cleared.” He stopped mid-stride, clicked on his cell phone light and kneeled down.
I squatted next to him. “What’s that? Dog tracks?”
“Coyote.”
“Coyote? Out here?”
He flashed me a you’re-kidding-me look.
I cleared my throat. “I meant, a coyote in my yard?”
“Not uncommon. Especially with the rain and cooler temperatures. They’re hunting for food.”
“How are you sure it’s not a dog? I saw this cute little stray on the road a few weeks ago. Tried to grab him but he ran off.”
“You shouldn’t pick up strays by yourself.”
“It was a dog. Not a human.”
“They could be rabid.” He cut me a glance. “Dog, or human, for that matter.”
“Fine. I’ll ask for their veterinary records first… the dog’s, not the human’s.” I smirked. “Anyway, how do you know this isn’t a dog?”
He picked up a twig and pointed to the tracks. “Coyote tracks are narrower and more oval than a dog’s, but even then, it’s hard for the untrained eye to tell.”
“Train me, then.”
He handed me the light. “See here? The gait?” He trailed the stick along the prints in the mud. “This is called the overstep trot, distinctive to coyotes. See how the front and hind feet are on the same side of the body? And see how they land close together? Almost in a straight line?”
I leaned closer, our faces inches apart.
Butterflies… despite everything going on… butterflies. Just being that close to him.
He took back his cell phone and stood. “They’re coyote tracks.”
“I guess I need to keep a tighter lid on my trash then.” I stood.
“No, you want them around.”
“Why?”
“More wild animals, less wild people. And if a coyote has been here recently, it’s a good chance a human hasn’t.”
He shined the light into the trees. “This pine is dying.”
“Dying? Really?”
“Yep. I’ll get it taken care of.”
“What do you mean? Cut it down?”
“You’ve got a better idea?”
“Yeah. Uh, not cut it down.”
He turned to me. “How tall do you think this tree is?”
“Fifty feet?”
“Close to a hundred, Stevie Wonder.”
I slapped his arm.
“And how deep is your backyard?”
“At the risk of being chastised, I’ll say thirty feet.”
“Exactly. If that tree falls, it’s demolishing your cabin and everything inside it.”
“How do you know it’s sick?”
He picked up a handful of needles from the ground. “See how these aren’t only brown, but have thin, black stripes in them? And look at the pine cones. See the black spots? This tree is infected with a fungus called Diplodia. It’s a bitch, ’scuse my language.”
“Can you save it?”
“Nope. Too far gone.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sure it will survive the spring.”
“No. It will make good firewood for you for the rest of this cold snap.”
“I don’t do fires.”
He turned fully to me and blinked as if I’d told him whiskey and scotch were the same thing.
“You do now.” He replied simply.
“You sure are good at telling people what to do, you know that?”
“Yes.” He shifted his focus from the dying tree to my cabin. “You got a trimmer?”
“Trimmer for what?”
“The shrubs that line your house need to be either removed or cut back. All of them.”
“No way. They just flowered. I don’t know what they are, but I love them.”
“Forsythias. You can plant them somewhere else.”
“I’m leaving them.”
“Then you’re leaving a perfect place for someone to hide before breaking into your house again.
The tree by your carport also needs to be removed.
Same reason. Come on. Walk behind me. There’s a mud puddle here.
” I kept ahold of the back of his shirt as he walked and continued, “You’ll need motion-activated lights on all four corners of your house. I’ll order them from Tad.”
“Who’s Tad?”
“Tad’s Tool Shop.”
“I’ll get them.”
“I’ll get them cheaper. What’s that?”
I squinted. “Oh, that’s an old shed.”
“What’s in it?”
“Nothing.”
He shook his head.
I cocked mine. “I have a feeling your dream woman wears a tool belt and carries an M16.”
“I have a feeling your dream man eats Kale and smells like patchouli.”
“Oh because all therapists are beatnik hippies?”
“How does it feel to be labeled?”
Touché.
“When was your last girlfriend, Phoenix?” I asked despite myself.
No response.
“Ah, the Lone Ranger can’t remember. Let me guess, the moment a woman tries to get too close, you bolt. Why? Because the playing field becomes blurry. You have to be in control at all times and the only way to do that is to keep a relationship at arm’s length.”
“Who says I’d have to give up control in a relationship?”
“Uh, every woman on the planet.”
“Wrong. Every woman who’s never had a real man take care of them.”
“I thought we established that you need to accept that you can’t control everything—”
“Wrong, again.” He turned on his heel, stopping inches from my face. I barreled into his chest. Strong hands gripped my hips, rooting me to the ground. He looked down at me with an intensity that had my heart slamming against my ribcage.
“If you were mine, it would be my job to control you, Rose Flower. To keep tabs on you, know where you’re at, where you’re going.
It would be my job to keep you safe, to keep you happy.
To keep you comfortable, content. Satisfied.
It’s my job, as your man, to control all that. It’s my job to keep you mine.”
My eyes rounded, goosebumps racing over my arms. I searched for words, for any coherent sentence, but came up short as he stared down at me with piercing blue eyes that dared me to question him.
In nothing but a breathy whisper, I finally said, “If I was yours.”
“… Of course.”
He turned and walked away, leaving my pulse racing, mouth open, and a rush of heat between my legs that had me trying to remember the last time I’d bought triple-A batteries.
Holy shit, was all I could think.
“You coming?”
Oh dear God, yes.
The voice in my head. Thorn. That perv.
I snapped out of it and chased after him—in my six inch heels, in the rain, I literally chased after the man.
He was checking the shed when I caught up to him, and to no one’s surprise, he’d popped the chintzy lock I’d attached to the rickety double doors.
“There really is nothing in here.” He said almost in disbelief.
“Yeah. I don’t have tools.”
“Who mows your lawn?”
“I have a lawn service.”
“I’ll need their names, too.”
“Okay.”
“I’d rather you handle your yard yourself, or have me or my brother do it.” He surveyed the yard. “You could plant clover this season. Stays green all summer, requires less mowing, less water. And it’ll attract deer, good insects.”
“And maybe bring me some luck?”
“How about you make your own luck and let me install those flood lights ASAP?”
“Yes, sir.”
His brow cocked and a grin tugged his lips.
I smiled wanting those lips on mine. STAT.
A moment passed as he checked the inside of the shed. For what? Who knew.
I ducked inside, out of the rain. “How do you know so much about nature and animals?”
“Grew up in the woods.”
“When you weren’t busy raising your brothers?”
No response.
“I’m right, aren’t I? I have to admit I know a bit about your family.
Everyone around here does. And it makes sense, then, the guilt.
You’re the oldest son and you’ve always been the leader of the pack.
Right? Your brothers idolize you. The unbreakable Phoenix Steele.
And now, you’re the one needing help, and you can’t stand it. ”
“Am I going to get a bill for this later, Doctor?”
“No. I’m just trying to crack open that shell a bit.”
He turned toward me, a black outline against the darkness.
“Might want to get a jackhammer, Miss Flower.”