Chapter 14 #2
Brooks gave her arm a swing and grinned at her.
“Though it doesn’t reflect well on me, that’s about the truth of it.
The pissant quit then and there—and Ty’s sentiments toward him, delivered at the top of his lungs as said pissant retreated, were suggestions of self-gratification I don’t believe the pissant can manage.
Missy ran out after the pissant, screaming and sobbing.
And as a result of drama and distress, I’m taking half an hour with a pretty woman. ”
“I believe there are people who think the rules, or the law, shouldn’t apply to their particular situation because they’re poor or they’re rich, they’re sad or sick or sorry. Or whatever justification most fits their individual makeup and circumstance.”
“I can’t argue with that.”
“But the court system often gives credence to that attitude by making deals with those who’ve broken the rules and the law for just those reasons.”
“I can’t argue that, either, but the law, and the system, have to breathe some.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Law needs some room, some flexibility, to consider the human factor, the circumstances.” At the toot-toot of a horn, he glanced toward the street, waved at a man with a huge black beard driving a rusty pickup.
“The man who steals a loaf of bread,” Brooks continued without missing a beat, “because he’s starving and desperate shouldn’t be treated the same as the one who steals it planning to sell it at a profit. ”
“Perhaps. But if the law had more uniformity, those who steal for profit would have fewer opportunities to repeat the offense.”
He grinned down at her in a way that made her wonder if she’d said something charming or foolish. “Ever think about being a cop?”
“Not exactly. I really should go back and—”
“Brooks! Bring that girl on over here.”
With a jolt, Abigail swung around, stared at the house with the dragons and mermaids and fairies. And saw Brooks’s mother climbing down a run of scaffolding. She wore paint-splattered bib overalls and paint-splattered sneakers. A bright red kerchief covered her hair.
The minute her feet hit the ground, the puppy who’d begun to yip and dance at her voice leaped so high he executed a midair flip before he tumbled into a sprawl.
The woman laughed, scooped him up as she unsnapped his lead.
“Come on!” she called again. “Come on and introduce Abigail to your little brother.”
“Her favorite son right now, too,” Brooks told Abigail. “Let’s say hey.”
“I really should get back to the market.”
“Haven’t I been yelled at and lectured to enough for one day?” He sent Abigail a pitiful, pained look. “Have some pity, will you?”
She couldn’t be invisible if people noticed her, she thought, and it was worse if she made it obvious that she wanted to be invisible. Though she wished Brooks would let go of her hand—it seemed too intimate—she crossed the short distance to the yard of what she thought of as the magic house.
“I was hoping you’d drop by for a visit,” Sunny said to Abigail.
“Actually, I was—”
“I talked her into a walk before she did her marketing.”
“No point wasting a day like this indoors. Meet Plato.”
“He’s very handsome.”
“And a rascal. I do love a rascal,” Sunny said, nuzzling the puppy, then Brooks. “He’s smart, too.”
“Me or the dog?”
Sunny laughed, patted Brooks on the cheek. “Both. This one sits when he’s told, but he won’t stay put yet. Watch. Plato, now, you sit.”
Sunny set the dog down, kept a hand on his rump as she dug in her pocket for a tiny dog treat with her free hand. “Sit now. There you go, a genius!” She let the dog gobble the treat when his butt hit the grass.
And he was up and jumping, wriggling two seconds later, then scrabbled his paws on Abigail’s shins.
“We’re working on manners.”
“He’s just a baby yet.” Unable to resist, Abigail crouched down, smiling when Plato tried to crawl on her knees, laughing when he leaped and licked. “He has happy eyes.” She closed his jaws gently when he tried to nip and chew. “None of that now. Yes, you’re very handsome and happy.”
As if overcome by the compliment, he flopped down, rolled over to expose his belly.
“And he has good taste,” Sunny remarked, as Abigail gave Plato a belly rub. “Both my boys do. You have happy eyes yourself today, Abigail.”
“I like dogs.” But she looked at the house, shifted the focus. “Your house is so interesting and colorful. It must be rewarding to share your art with whoever passes by.”
“Keeps me off the streets and out of trouble. Mostly.”
“It’s wonderful. I’ve enjoyed seeing what you’ve done and continue to do since I moved here. I like that it doesn’t make sense.”
When Sunny laughed, Abigail felt the heat rise up the back of her neck. “I didn’t say that correctly. I meant—”
“I know exactly what you meant, and you’re exactly right. I like that, too. Y’all come on in. I made some peach sun tea this morning, and I’ve got some of those ginger cookies with the lemon icing you like, Brooks.”
“I could use a cookie.” Reaching down, he skimmed a hand over Abigail’s hair.
“Thank you very much, but I need to get to the market, and home to my own dog.” Abigail picked up the puppy as she rose, handing his wriggling body to Sunny. “It was nice to see you again, and to meet Plato.”
She moved as quickly as she could, trying to judge the line between busy and running away.
They’d charmed her, seduced her. The man, the mother, even the little dog. She’d let herself be swept along. Conversation, invitations, pie, sex.
People had seen her walking with Brooks. Holding hands with him. Talking to his mother. And people would talk about it. Her.
Just because she wasn’t part of a social network didn’t mean she was oblivious to how it worked.
She couldn’t be the unexceptional, hardly noticed woman who lived on the fabric of Bickford if she became part of the fabric through Brooks.
Why wasn’t he behaving per the basic male profile? They’d had sex. He’d conquered. Now he should move on to the next challenge.
When someone grabbed her arm, she reacted without thought. Pure instinct had her swinging around, leading with a backfist fired by waist and hip, the follow-through of jab already primed.
Brooks slapped a hand on her fist a half-inch before it connected, had to brace, push back.
“Whoa.” He managed, barely, to block the jab as well. “Excellent reflexes, Xena.”
“I’m sorry.” The simple trip to the market took on the quality of a nightmare. “You startled me.”
“At least. Fortunately, my reflexes are pretty good. Otherwise I’d be sporting another bruise on my face.”
“I’m very sorry.” She spoke stiffly now. “You came up from behind and grabbed me.”
“Got it.” As if to soothe, he stroked a hand down her hair. “Baby, you’re going to have to tell me who hurt you eventually.”
“Don’t talk to me that way. This isn’t going the way it’s supposed to. You had sex.”
“I think that’s we, and yeah. Why don’t you clue me in on how it’s supposed to go?”
“You’re supposed to go away.” Agitated, she pushed a hand through her hair, glanced around. “I can’t discuss this now, here. I don’t understand why it needs to be discussed. You’re not supposed to be interested now.”
“For someone as smart as you are, you can be thick as a brick. I had sex with you because I’m interested. And since we slept together, I’m more interested.”
“Why? No, don’t answer. You always have answers. You confuse me. I don’t want to feel like this.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know! I need to go to the market, and I need to go home, and I need to finish my work, and—”
“You need to take a breath.” He laid his hands on her shoulders now. “Take a breath, Abigail.”
“I need to take a breath.” She closed her eyes, fighting the panic attack. Oh God, oh God, why hadn’t she stayed home?
“Good, just take another breath. Take it easy, that’s the way. Now, here’s what we’re going to do.”
“Don’t tell me what we’re going to do. There’s not supposed to be any we.”
“Apparently, there is. How about here’s what I suggest we do? Why don’t we go over to my office. You can sit down, have some water.”
She shook her head. “I have to go to the market.”
“Okay, you go on to the market. Later, should be around six or six-thirty, I’ll come out. I’ll bring a couple of steaks and grill them up. We’ll have some dinner, see if we can sort this out.”
“We don’t need to have dinner or sort anything out. I just need to—”
Very gently, very quietly, he laid his lips on hers. When he lifted his head, her breath shuddered out.
“I’ve got the sense that’s what you don’t want to feel. But you do, and I do. So we ought to sort it out.”
“You won’t go away.”
“Let’s see how it sorts out. If it comes down to that, I’ll go away. I’m not going to hurt you, Abigail, and I’m going to do my best not to make you unhappy. But when two people feel something, they ought to respect that enough to try to figure it out.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, honey, I don’t. But I want to. Let’s get you to the market.”
“I don’t want you to walk me back there. I want to be alone.”
“All right. I’ll see you tonight.”
One more conversation, she told herself, as she hurried away. One more where she’d remain calm and rational. She’d simply explain that she wasn’t interested in or inclined toward a relationship. Her work kept her too busy for the distractions of dinners and company and overnight guests.
She would be firm; he would be sensible.
They’d end whatever this was that should never have begun amicably.
And everything would be quiet again.
As soon as she got home, she’d practice what she’d say and how she’d say it.
She’d be prepared.
* * *
She put off the practice, reminding herself her priority was, and would always be, the work. Maybe compartmentalizing proved a little trickier than she expected, but she carefully reviewed all the data she’d gathered, made a few small adjustments. And composed her e-mail.
Information you may find useful. Thank you for your attention and any action deemed appropriate.
Tvoi drug