A little after five she pulled into her driveway, the nose of her jeep barely made it to where she could fully see her entire back yard. Bag of food in one hand, her tote in another, she shimmied herself out. No sooner did her pumps hit the asphalt did Eva hear it – a loud thumping noise coming from her back yard.
Groaning over what Mrs. Bachman could be up to early evening, Eva entered her yard – the contents she was holding almost slipped from her arms at the sight of half-naked Ben, ax in hand, chopping her wood.
Chapter Eight
He sensed her behind him before he heard her. “What’re you doing here?”
Wiping aforearm across his forehead, Ben flung the ax aside before turning around. Eva looked……stunned. About the same way her snooty neighbor did when he proceeded to shed his t-shirt and flannel halfway through. After punching out at the mill around three, he had felt restless. Their upcoming meeting with Emilio Santagio and possible outcome gnawed at him. Going back to the clubhouse wasn’t an option nor was going home where his quiet surroundings, normally what he craved, would drive him crazy. He needed to do something. He needed to hit something. He needed to be useful outside of pulling a trigger and ending a life.
Remembering the sign on her store that it closed at six, he was sure he’d be done and gone before she got home. But there he stood, caught by the very person whose property he trespassed on asking the same question she had asked him twice previously. “Thought I’d save you a limb……or two.”
He watched her place the bag on the steps of the deck, glad for the evening air cooling his damp skin as well as the growing discomfort behind his fly as she walked towards him. The skirt she had on was shorter than that blue dress, and just as snug. Coupled with high heels, her legs were as wicked as the rest of her body. A short-sleeved black sweater covered halfway up her neck, but clung to every glorious inch below it. “Don’t trust the instructions you gave me?”
Arms folded, hip out, she threw the gauntlet down and he did what she had a knack for making him do – smile. “Don’t trust a female with sharp objects.”
“No comment,” she replied, surveying the progress he made which was quite a lot. “Don’t want this to sound lame, but you keep coming to my rescue here.”
He shrugged it off, placing the last piece of wood on the base. “Clocked out early, drove by your street and got a flashback of you almost maiming yourself.”
“You forgot looking like a mess,” she shot back.
He carefully looked her over. Oh, she didn’t look a mess now. She looked good enough to eat and probably smelled better than what was wafting over from that bag on the steps. “Least you clean up right.”
“Stop it before I swoon.”
He flashed her a grin. “Didn’t think I could be so charming, huh?”
She hadn’t a witty comeback for that, instead trying hard not to look him over, but Ben knew better. He wasn’t vain – not in the least. But he was naked from the waist up and twelve years hauling wood at Owens and keeping his fighting skills sharp in the club gym kept him in tremendous shape. And like any red-blooded male, he was soaking in every ounce of non-chalant checking-out Miss Eva was trying hard not to do. Catching her staring, Eva quickly averted her eyes over to the cement walkway where his bike was parked. “You rode that back here?”
“Stopped it in the driveway then wheeled it back,” he said, picking up the ax. “Didn’t wanna take up anyone’s spot on the street. Though got to say, your neighbor lady didn’t look too thrilled.”
“She should be,” Eva said. “You’ve provided enough fodder for gossip. So…..you almost done?”
He lifted the ax high behind him. “Last one,” he grunted as he brought it down, splitting the wood into two perfect sections. He then added them to the ring where all the other wood had been perfectly, neatly positioned. “All set for the first cold night.” He looked down at his filthy hands before grabbing his t-shirt, flannel and holster draped over his bike. “Think I can score an invite inside and wash up?”
“Sure,” Eva said, going over to get the bags on the steps. “Least I can do.”
Ben’s mind went elsewhere a bit, watching her enticing bottom in that skirt as she walked ahead of him, thinking of what else she could do. But he wasn’t going there. He couldn’t. Hell, he didn’t know what even possessed him to do this for her? Maybe because she was by herself. Maybe because he needed to feed his ego. Maybe because he liked it in her backyard surrounded by firewood and a big, ol’ house. He had suppressed the need for attaching himself to any kind of ‘home’ life that he weirdly found himself wanting to experience some of it through this woman. If he didn’t check himself back to his reality, his rules of attachment were going to fly out the window.
He followed her through the slider into the kitchen and froze. Her unpacked stuff was still everywhere and there was barely a square inch of visible space on her counter. Putting the bags down on the dinette table she regarded him. “Sorry about the mess. Wasn’t expecting company.”
“How the hell do you function, darlin’?” he said, still looking around.
She crossed her arms and smirked. “I’m guessing you’re a neat freak.”
“I don’t like……..stuff.”
“I’ll even go as far as saying you’re claustrophobic.” He inwardly flinched. She was teasing him. She also might be right. “Monday when I got on your bike, you looked….uncomfortable. Like your space was invaded.”
Wrapping his holster in his flannel as not to freak her out, he laid it on the seat of a dinette chair before shoving his arms into his t-shirt. “I’m a big guy,” he said, raising his arms to pull the shirt over his head. “I need space.” He then hooked a finger inside the bag and peeked in. “Chinese?”
She nodded. “Long day. Didn’t feel like cooking.” She then paused for a moment of thought. “You want some? I have enough.”
He boldly began to pull the plastic containers out of the bag. “You sure do. Got quite an appetite, darlin’.”
She snatched the waxy bag containing the eggrolls out of his hand. “I got enough for lunch and supper tomorrow,” she defensively said.
He threw up his hands in surrender. “Sorry. Thought you might have a tapeworm or something.”
Giving him a sly look, she went to the cabinets and took out two plates and glasses. “I have diet soda, wine or water.”
Yeah, she looked like a wine girl. “Water’s fine.”
Grabbing forks, spoons and napkins she scooped him out a bit of each dish plus an eggroll. Feeling strangely comfortable, he pulled out a chair, sat down and dug right in while she sat across from him. He heard the twirl of her metal fork into her plate of lo mein, but felt her eyes scan down the table. “You don’t have a lot of tattoos.”
Not a question he expected. Not that he liked any questions, especially about his ink, but hers was general curiosity. “No, I don’t.” He really didn’t, and preferred it that way. He liked his rental sparsely furnished, his bike simply painted and his body sporting ink that was meaningful. Which was the Skulls symbol on one forearm, an homage to his father on the other, the word
S-K-U-L-L-S
in medieval script diagonally down his back, with an actual skull replacing the letter
‘U’
and barbed wire encircling his collarbone, a metaphor that he is contained within himself, always in control.
“Thought you’d have more.”
He stared up at her from his plate. “Why?”
She shrugged, biting into a piece of shrimp. “Just that guy you were with when I saw you at Clarks, he had them covering both arms.”
She was talking about Aero, who was as OCD with his ink as he was with the length of his precious hair. Ben didn’t care for the ‘sleeved’ look. To him it was, distorted, not being able to distinguish one image from the next. Too cluttered. Too choking. Shit, he really was a neat-freak claustrophobic. “That’s Aero’s preference. So, who’s the suit you were with that day?”
“Girlfriend since childhood. We were roommates after we both finished school until she got married and moved to Morgantown. She and her husband are both attorneys. We try to keep close by meeting once a month for lunch.”
Practically inhaling his food, he dropped his fork then sat back. “How come you ain’t married?”
She practically choked on a lo mein noodle. “
Excuse
me?”
“Too forward?”
“I’d rather you say I’m a mess.”
“Can’t say that about you now, darlin’,” he drawled. “I’m honest, Eva. I say it like I see it. You’re real pretty and….well…..put together. How come no one’s snatched you up, yet?”
She looked uncomfortable being put on the spot and definitely not used to such a personal, direct assessment of her looks. “I’m…….just…..,” she was looking for something to say without saying too much, “let’s just say I haven’t let anyone and leave it at that.”
So, Miss
-I-Can-Do-It-All-Myself
may have a little snag. “Fair enough. Seems like you’re all by yourself, here.”
“Thought you found all that out on me already,” she coyly shot back.
There it was. He knew her that well of wit hadn’t gone dry. “What if I did? Just making conversation, darlin’. Unless, that’s some big secret too.”
She finished, putting her fork down and taking a sip of water. “My dad died six months ago. Had a heart attack on the job.”
He quieted, clenching the fist which raised the tendons under the ink bearing his father’s name,
Thomas Lawson
. “Mine died on the job too.” Shit, why did he just blurt that out? Close few knew about his parents and the cramped, tragic circumstances of his childhood. Something about being in this house, after working off anxiety chopping a ring of wood, after a belly full of Chinese food gave him a comfortable, relaxed feeling. As much as he guarded his personal life, he was rather enjoying this.
“I’m so sorry,” she solemnly replied. “How?”
His eyes shut and he was suddenly fourteen again, remembering how it was Ziggy who was the first person at the door of their small trailer home, refusing to give them the news via a phone call. “Coal mine collapse – twenty one years ago.”
Eva turned white as a sheet. “Oh my God. I…..I remember that. I was in middle school, I think. They announced it over the intercom.” Her voice got very soft. “No one came out of that.”
He shook his head, then opened his eyes to look at her. “That’s right.”
Her eyes held his and Ben swore he saw tears well up in them. “Ben, again, I’m…..”
“s’okay,” he told her, wanting to quickly change the subject. “What’d your ol’ man do for a living?” Like a switch, she went from sadness to a smile of remembrance which lit up those sparkling blue eyes. “Something funny?”
Shaking her head, she laughed slightly. It was a pretty, feminine sound. “No, it’s just, whenever anyone asked what he did, I always quoted the Glen Campbell song – ‘he was a lineman for the county’.”
Ben caught on and smiled. By now he just stopped keeping count. “Ah. And I bet he ‘drove the main road’.
She laughed again. “He loved that song. Loved the country oldies – Glen Campbell, John Denver.” She paused for a deep sigh. “I really miss him.”
“What about your mom?”
And then she stiffened up, casually trying to play it off. “Think it’s my turn for the next question.”
He indulged her, even though he may not be able to answer. “Shoot.”
“
Your
mom?”
He was a little better at playing off something he wasn’t ready to talk about. “Rather not say.”
Surprisingly, she seemed to accept that. “That would’ve been my answer too.”
Another chink in her armor.
“Here,” she stood up, taking the plates. “Let me clean up.”
She put them on the already cluttered counter as she turned the sink on. Ben just sat there, studying her, drinking in her curvy silhouette in that sweater and skirt, the way her calves sloped into a gentle shape before tapering down to her ankles. Pretty. Independent. Smart. Sharp wit. He wondered what those tits and ass would feel like in the palm of his hand. “Thank you, again, really,” she said, finishing the last dish before covering up the leftovers. “But, you know you don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Find a reason to keep an eye on me.” She leaned against the counter and folded her arms.