The Bears of Blackrock, Books 1 - 3: The Fenn Clan (17 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

The blipping was back.

Why in Sam hell can’t these bastards remember to shut the damn thing off?

Joe shifted in her bed, feeling the same brutal stab in her side as her muscles contracted to move. She could just hear Frances’ syrupy tone, ‘I’d rather you press the button and bother me than hurt yourself, if you don’t mind.”

God damn it, I’d like to throttle that pleasant bitch, she thought.

She glanced around the room, refusing to acknowledge the blipping machine at her side, as though they’d had some verbal disagreement and were no longer on speaking terms. Joe spotted the water jug by her bed, and reached for the cup of water, the tape and needle tugging at her arm as she moved. She could wait for Rory to get back from the bathroom, but she didn’t want her daughter to see her helpless.

“Mrs. Little? You have a visitor.”

Joe startled, dropping the cup down the side of her bed. She felt the ice cold water drop down over her hip and the pain seared through her leg as her muscles tensed. “God fucking damn it.”

Frances gave her a stern look, like some Victorian nanny who couldn’t truly scold the spoiled children in her care. Joe met the glare just as a massive man appeared in the doorway beside her nurse. Joe was taken aback by not only the sight of him, but the feel of him. The room felt almost smaller in his presence. He offered his thanks to Frances, and without introduction, her nurse skedaddled out the door, leaving her with the giant in red flannel. The startlingly handsome giant in red flannel.

“Ms. Little?”

She stared up at him, fighting to keep her brow set. He was dark, his hair curly and somewhat wild about his head. His jaw and lip were lined by a well-kept mustache and beard, framing a jawline that seemed to travel for days. He moved across the room with trepidation, as though he half expected to break things simply by standing near them. He pulled a chair over to the side of her bed and sat down.

Joe watched him warily, waiting for explanation of his presence. She’d met with several people that day, all of them specialists and experts, all of them with bad news –
you’ve a punctured lung, a broken collar bone, a fractured tibia, you suffered a concussion, you’ve been in a coma for two months, your daughter is in protective custody, we’ll need to do further tests, we can’t legally let you leave without a caretaker.

Load of bull shit, she thought. Still, the rest of them were dressed in lab coats with stethoscopes and clipboards. This one looked like he just came from chopping wood.

What the hell did this guy want?

“You don’t remember me, do you?” He asked.

She raised a brow. “Should I?”

He exhaled. “No, probably not. I’m Kirk Fenn. I’m the one that found you guys – after the crash.”

Joe swallowed. She took a breath, silently scolding herself for her immediate judgment of the man. She’d heard from the doctors and nurses – that her car had dropped twenty feet off the shoreline, that she’d been almost killed on impact, and that had she not been found when she was, she surely wouldn’t have made it.

Joe glanced down at her hands, lying half useless in her lap. “Well then. Thank you – for that. I’m told you’re my guardian angel.”

She cringed at her own sarcastic tone. It was practically reflex now.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that. I’ve had Rory for the past couple months as well.”

Joe’s eyes went wide. She took in the size of the man anew. Dear God, if anyone could protect her child, it was this bulldozer of a man. “Oh my god. Is she coming back?”

Kirk nodded, glancing back to the door.

“When? She should be done by now, no?”

He frowned, leaning forward, his hands perched on his elbows. “I was sent in to speak to you first.”

“Why? What could you possibly have to say that is more important than my being with my daughter?”

He shot her a strange, almost foreboding look. “Well, that depends – Josephine.”

Joe’s jaw dropped, and she stared at him. Her breath began to shake in her throat, but she fought with everything she had not to betray her fear. “Why did you call me that?”

Despite her battle to show only calm, the man seemed to sense her upset. He reached for her arm, touching her wrist in a gesture of camaraderie. Joe snatched her arm away, sending a stabbing pain down her side as reward.

“The hospital says they’ve been unable to find any family or home address for a Theresa Little. Rory says you two left your apartment back in Portsmouth. Do you have any idea where you were headed?”

She set her brow. “Is that any of your business?”

“It is, yeah. It’s just recently become my business, anyway.”

Joe’s lip curled. “We were heading north. Canada.”

Kirk Fenn nodded. “That’s what she said. No particular place though, I take it?”

There was something authoritative about the man, almost cop-like in his demeanor. “I don’t see why my travel plans are any of your business.”

Kirk leaned back in his chair, taking a deep breath. “Because the hospital has informed me that they will not discharge you unless you have somewhere to go and someone to keep an eye on you.”

“I have that. Once I get to Canada, I have that just fine.”

He nodded. “Rory says differently.”

“Well, she’s a child. She doesn’t know any better.”

He scoffed at that. Joe seethed to see him react in such a familiar way. Who was he to know her daughter?

“Look, I can tell you’re pissed at the world right now, but I’m trying my best to help you.”

“Oh, is that what this is? I thought I was being interrogated.”

Kirk’s eyebrows shot up. His expression softened. “I’m sorry if I came across that way. It wasn’t my intent.”

The two of them sat in silence a moment.

“Alright, the thing is – see,” he paused, glancing around the room as though he’d hidden cheat sheets for this conversation on the walls. “I have an apartment – it’s over my garage. It’s nothing massive. Just two bedrooms, but it’s there and it’s free. Enough to help you until you get yourself settled – and the hospital says they’d be willing to discharge you at the end of the week if they knew that’s where you were heading.”

Joe shook her head, vehemently. Jesus, why was this random stranger so hell bent on saving her day? “I couldn’t. I couldn’t impose. I’d just as soon climb back in my car and head north, just as I was planning.”

Kirk furrowed his brow. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused, betraying the weight of his coming words. “The car was totaled.”

Joe took a sharp breath. She’d heard word of the accident half a dozen times that day, but somehow the reality of it was only sinking in now. Those were some damn good drugs she was on.

“Can it be fixed? I have some money. I could have it fixed.”

Kirk shook his head. “It’s totaled. The engine caught fire shortly after impact. By the time the fire truck arrived, the front half of the car was burned.”

“The front half -?”

Joe’s words caught in her throat.  The place where she’d been lying, helpless and bleeding - unconscious. It had burned. Her daughter had been safe in the backseat, but alone. Had someone not come, her baby would have been helpless there – unable to save her mother as the car caught fire around her. Joe fought to still her lower lip, but lost control. Before she could wipe her eyes, tears were streaming down her face. She felt a warmth at her shoulder. Kirk’s hand was massive and gentle.

“Hey. You’re alright. Everybody is safe.”

Joe heard his words, patient and kind even after her gruff treatment. Now, she succumbed in front of him, sobbing in her hospital johnnie, realizing just how dire her circumstances had been. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and thank him, to squeeze him so hard his bones cracked, but she knew such would only cause her pain. She reached for his hand, taking it and clutching it tightly as she cried.

“Momma? You ok?”

Joe’s heart cracked open, and she began to cry twice as hard as Rory appeared at the foot of her bed. She held her arms out to her baby, who hustled around the bed, sheepish at the sight of her mother’s tears. Rory came to the side of the bed, leaning over to her mother to be held. Joe pressed her daughter’s head against her chest, ignoring the pain she felt in every muscle just for the chance to smell her daughter’s hair. She stroked her daughter’s hair, humming to herself, an old trick her grandmother used to still her tears.

“Will you come home with us?” Rory asked, her voice muffled into Joe’s chest.

Joe took a deep breath. “Did anything get salvaged from the car?”

Kirk, who had distanced himself from the bed, turned back, nodding. “We got a couple suitcases from the trunk and your phone.”

Joe blew out through pursed lips, her breath still shaky. “My purse? Our passports?”

Kirk shrugged. “If it wasn’t in the trunk, it didn’t make it.”

Joe closed her eyes. There was no way to flee for the border now. There was no car to flee in. Even a bus ticket would offer naught. It would take 90 days for new passports, at least a few weeks if she could afford to expedite. And above all, as long as she was cooped up in this hospital bed, she couldn’t protect Rory.

Jesus, what was she doing?

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be putting you out?” She asked.

The massive man’s face cracked in the whitest, most perfect smile she’d ever seen.

CHAPTER SIX

Kirk drove with excessive care, keeping a rather elderly pace as they rolled down the backroads toward Blackrock. His passenger was quiet, staring out the window at the passing houses, seemingly determined to avoid all manner of conversation. He tried a couple of opening lines – ‘beautiful weather,’ ‘not too much further,’ ‘where are you from originally?’

She offered one word responses – ‘Yes,’ ‘ok,’ ‘Portsmouth.’

Kirk turned down a side road, the familiar landmarks appearing all around them. The truck rolled down the dirt road like a tank, the ground clearing with an unexpected late February warmth. Looks as if winter might be teetering out early, he thought.

He glanced at his passenger. How surreal it must be to go to sleep during a blizzard in January, only to wake up to the crocuses popping up in late February. He swerved around a frost heave, keeping the truck steady. The gate appeared at the side of the road up ahead. Kirk pulled over and hopped out.

“What is this?”

Kirk glanced back to the truck, pulling the metal gate aside to drive onto the Fenn property. “Just keeps hunters and the unwanteds out. My grandfather is a bit touchy about unannounced visitors.”

Theresa Little shifted in her seat uncomfortably, eyeing the gate with suspicion. Kirk climbed back into the driver’s seat and rolled through the gate, taking a moment to close it again before heading on.

“Is it secluded?”

He chuckled. “Uh, well - this property spans from here to Blackrock on one end, and to the Atlantic on the other. There’s an Indian reservation down toward the Southeast as well, but that’s several miles away. I think secluded is an understatement.”

“Several miles?” She asked, still staring out the window.

“Yeah. My grandfather’s been buying up any free scrap of land around here for years. Pretty much owns everything as far as the eye can see.”

She glanced at him, her first real movement since she allowed Kirk to help her into the truck. “Your family’s wealthy, I take it?”

Kirk’s brows drifted up as he considered this. “I suppose he is, yes. The family owns a few businesses around town.”

“Like the tavern?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He’d mentioned their owning the Blackrock Inn and Tavern when Theresa began to get cold feet a few moments before being discharged into his care.

‘I can’t be beholden to a stranger. Who knows when I’ll have any ability to get a job and pay you back, or buy a new car and be out of your hair?’

Kirk had waved off the concerns, assuring her she and Rory were welcome in his home with or without payment. He also mentioned The Blackrock Tavern was in need of new wait staff.

“My brother runs the kitchen there, and my sister is a waitress. If you want the job, it’s yours. It’s a bit bigger now, since we relocated it to the main drag.”

Her expression had softened at this, but it was fleeting. “They relocated?”

His eyebrows shot up, but he nodded.

“Someone should tell GPS.”

“Huh?”

She shrugged. “That’s where I was heading when I – when we crashed. Blackrock Inn and Tavern.”

“Down by the water?! God, it hasn’t been down there in almost five years.”

Theresa Little – Josephine - went quiet again, and Kirk rolled past Aunt Janice and Uncle Carl’s place, waving to his aunt as she glanced up from her flowerbeds. He gave her a wave. It certainly was warm if Janice was in the garden. He began to contemplate putting the boat in the water early this year.

Kirk revved the engine to pull up the hill, coming into view of the Atlantic up ahead. Theresa gasped softly.

He smiled, but didn’t say a word.

He took a sharp right and revved again, pulling up the long driveway that led to his two story T-frame house. As the house came into view, Theresa gasped again.

The house was Kirk’s proudest achievement, having built it with his own bare hands. Well, his and his brother’s, father’s, his cousin John’s and Deacon’s, and his grandfather’s bare hands. The walls were straight for one story, but at the second floor, the arched roof began, rising another story before meeting in the center. The front wall of the house was glass from first floor all the way to the roof, and the view from almost every room in the house was spectacular, catching miles of blue Atlantic no matter the time of day. Kirk pulled up into the garage and pulled the keys from the ignition, waiting for Theresa to speak. He didn’t want to say anything, but her reaction had just about made his week. It was rare that he was able to show his place to anyone outside the Fenn bloodline.

“How you feelin? You ready to go inside?”

She grimaced, fighting to shift her still booted leg. Kirk threw open the driver’s side door to come around to her, scolding himself for not moving faster. The doctors warned him of her ornery tendencies, and her unwillingness to ask for or allow help. Still, he met her at the passenger door, ignoring her protests as he helped her down from the truck.

Crutches in hand and several expletives later, and Kirk was successfully helping Theresa Little into the house.

The sun was shining over the water to the east. This left the floor to ceiling windows glowing with the cool blue of the sky and water outside. Theresa hobbled through the open house; through the mud room and kitchen, coming to stand in the massive front room – what Kirk called his rec room. She stood there staring out at the Atlantic.

She swallowed. “Jesus, how do you live like this?”

“What?” He asked, taken aback.

She frowned. “I’d never leave the house.”

He took a breath, relieved. “Yeah, it’s definitely worthwhile in the morning. I get some amazing sunrises from up here.

The house was perched on a high hill overlooking a forty foot coastal wall. Theresa moved over to the glass doors, fighting to hold her crutches under her arm as she opened the sliding door. Kirk moved to help, but could only stand by useless as she hopped out onto the deck. The wood deck was stained gray as all seaside houses were, and it stretched the width of the house. From the south side, Kirk and his grandfather, Patrick, had installed a staircase down the craggy slope to the water, allowing boat access. Kirk’s schooner was still dry docked and wrapped in the backyard for the season.

Theresa’s chestnut hair caught a westerly breeze, dancing across her face as she stared out at the water. Despite the view and the soothing rhythm of the waves down on the rocks, Kirk found his eyes set on her. She looked as though she belonged there, rumpled in his massive gray Patriots sweatshirt and a pair of her jeans, loose after two months in the hospital. He watched her tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear to no avail.

“Why don’t you take a picture? It’ll last longer.”

Kirk felt his face flush. “Sorry. Just keeping an eye.”

She shot him a sideways look, and for a moment, he thought he saw humor in the stern gaze. Then Theresa turned back toward the house, her crutches thumping against the deck boards as she went.

Kirk led her down the hallway to the bedrooms, leaning into Rory’s room so Theresa could see.

She stopped, her brow furrowed as she inspected the space. “It smells like her.”

Kirk glanced inside, spotting a few pieces of clothing hanging from the bunk bed ladders. This room was another of his proudest creations. He’d built four bunk beds into one wall, giving each a partition so as to offer privacy to whoever slept in the bed.

“You don’t have kids?”

Kirk startled mid-gesture as he tried to lead her further into the house. “Uh, no. Not yet, anyway.”

“And yet you have a kid’s room?”

He shrugged. “I do, yeah.”

“Why?” She asked, following him slowly.

“I installed the bunks a few years ago when I decided to take the Foster Parent courses. Figured I might as well have a comfortable space, if I ever took anyone in.”

She hobbled past him as he opened a second bedroom door. “And have you? Other than Rory, I mean?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Rory is my fifth time.”

Theresa stopped just inside the guest room door and stared at the queen size bed. Though Kirk’s mother hadn’t lived to see this house finished, this room was based on a guest room Deirdre Fenn kept in his childhood home. The quilt was handmade in diamonds and stars of plum, burgundy, teal and cream, and the dressers were antiques. Theresa pressed her hand to the high mattress, feeling how soft it was.

“I figured you could take this room until the cast comes off?” Kirk said in a half query.

Theresa turned to him, her brows up. “I thought I was above the garage.”

“You will be, but for now, they’ve suggested you don’t spend a lot of time hobbling up and down staircases. The door locks, if you were worried.”

She startled at the comment, shaking her head. Despite quickly deflecting his comment, he could see full well that he’d been correct - that was exactly her worry. He watched Theresa Little a moment longer. What was this woman afraid of?

Kirk moved around the bed, opening the door to the en suite bathroom. Good grief he was proud of this house. “I thought you might like having your own bathroom, as well.”

Theresa visibly softened to see it. He imagined two months of lying in a hospital might inspire a desire for showering by one’s own steam.

“I put my Mom’s old bath seat in the tub so you can shower with your cast. Kinda hang your leg out the side or something.”

He made a silly gesture, kicking his leg out like a pissing dog. He caught a smile on her face from the corner of his eye.

“Alright, but only until my cast comes off, yeah?” She said, a half request.

“Absolutely.”

There was a pause again as Theresa glanced around the room. “Your Mom - was she disabled?”

Kirk shrugged. “Oh, what – the seat? No. She just needed it toward the end there.”

Theresa took a breath. “Oh. God, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

The two of them stood there in silence a moment. Finally, Kirk turned back for the door. “I’ll grab your bag out of the truck, leave you to it. There are towels in the cabinet, and the fridge is full if you’re hungry. Also, let me know if you want me to fix you something. Rory will be home around three.”

“Rory? Are you going to get her?”

Her tone shifted to a more urgent place, suddenly.

Kirk stopped in the doorway. “I pick her up at the bus stop. She gets picked up and dropped off up by the gate.”

“No, no. We have to pick her up from school. She can’t take the bus.”

Kirk furrowed his brow. “She’s taken the bus for the past two months or so and done just fine?”

“No! I’d prefer that we pick her up. I don’t want her coming home all by herself like that.”

Kirk stared at Theresa a moment. Her energy, demeanor – even her smell had changed instantly at the mention of the school bus. Despite his usual relaxed manner, even he began to feel anxious in the wake of it. “Alright. We can pick her up.”

“Thank you,” she said, turning to sit down on the high bed.

Kirk made his way out into the hallway, staring out at the Atlantic as he searched the air for something to say, to calm this strange electricity that seemed to follow Rory’s mother.

“Theresa?” He called, softly.

There was no answer. He moved back down the hall to her bedroom door. “Theresa?”

The woman sat there, just feet from him, seemingly deaf to his calling her name.

“Josephine?”

The woman’s head perked up instantly, then she visibly cringed as though scolding herself.

He raised a brow. “May I just call you Josephine, then?”

“My name is Theresa.”

He snorted, softly. “Yeah, and I’m Alexander the Great. I’m gonna make a couple sandwiches for lunch. You want one?”

Rory’s mother, Josephine, swallowed, her eyes fixed on the floor at her feet. Finally, she looked up to meet his gaze and nodded. “Yes, please.”

Kirk turned back toward the kitchen, whistling to himself as he pulled the ingredients from the fridge. Despite Josephine’s dower demeanor, Kirk found himself smiling.

A moment later, the sound of the shower turning on echoed down the hallway. Kirk slathered mayo on a several slices of cracked wheat bread. He set out the fixings for four turkey sandwiches, slicing tomatoes and lettuce up as he listened to a low rhythmic lilt coming from through the wall – Rory’s mom was singing to herself in the shower.

Kirk set two sandwiches on each plate and set them on the kitchen table, starving, but unwilling to eat without his guest.

She took one of the longest showers he’d ever witnessed.

Thirty minutes later, he heard Josephine milling about in her bedroom, huffing and fighting with something as she tried to maneuver her casted limb. Kirk was slumped down on the living room couch, channel surfing to pass the time. Finally, she emerged from the bedroom, her uneven footsteps making their way down the hall toward the kitchen. Kirk hopped up from his seat to greet her.