Matt lounged back in the Adirondack chair on his deck, looking out across the lake and listening to his dad and grandpa discuss the farm. He sipped on water while the older man enjoyed one of Mason’s batches. He’d be partaking if he wasn’t on call.
“Did Charlie get that part in yet?” Matt asked his grandfather since he hadn’t given him a call yet, and he wouldn’t put it past the old man to try and install it himself.
“Not yet. Damn thing is on backorder. Do you believe that? I’ll be dead before we can get it up and running.”
“You let me know when it comes in.”
“Why? Don’t think I’m capable of fixing it myself?”
“I didn’t say that. I told you I would help and that’s what I’m going to do.”
“More like babysitting me,” Harold grumbled.
“You’re getting cranky in your old age.” Matt laughed, thinking of how Shay called him a cranky old man. That girl… No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She was in his head at night when he went to bed, interrupting his sleep, and there again in the morning when he was in the shower. He’d masturbated so many times, he was beginning to feel like a teenager again. Every time he hoped for some relief, and he’d get it for a couple of hours before Shay popped back into his mind with her big eyes and pouty lips.
“I’ve earned my right,” Harold responded, and Matt shifted in his seat, trying to focus on the now and let the thoughts of Shay naked in his bed, in his shower, on this deck, float away.
“Can you two stop bickering like two old maids? I’m trying to enjoy the night,” Jonathon said with a laugh.
Harold pointed a finger at Matt. “He started it.”
“And you wonder why you need a babysitter,” Matt joked.
Jonathon kept his eyes closed as he spoke. “He’s got you there, Dad.”
Harold mumbled under his breath, and Matt smiled. These were the moments Matt would remember when the time came and Harold would no longer be with them. He cherished their weekly get-togethers when they drank beer and shot the breeze.
“Too bad Mason couldn’t come tonight,” Matt said, thinking how it felt a little strange without him.
“He’s neck deep in getting the brewery up and running,” Jonathon said.
Matt had offered his help a few times, but Mason shot him down every one of those times, saying he had it all under control. Matt was the control freak in the family, and while he should have understood Mason’s desire to do things on his own, it was killing him not to be able to help.
“Maybe I’ll stop by there one day this week and see if he needs help,” Matt thought out loud.
“Leave him be,” Harold said. “He wants to do this on his own, then let him. If he needs help, he’ll come to you.”
“That’s not Mason’s style.”
“He came to me, didn’t he? Just let him know you’re there if he needs you, but don’t suffocate the poor boy.”
“Your grandfather is right,” Jonathon said.
“Of course I’m right. When am I not?”
Matt’s radio went off before he could respond with a smartass remark. Matt excused himself to take the call. He wasn’t surprised to find out old man Simpson was riding his tractor down Main Street in his underwear again singing America the Beautiful.
“I have to head out.”
“You go on. We’re going to finish our beers and enjoy the night a little longer.”
“If you’re not here when I get back, I’ll see you at Sunday dinner.”
“Speaking of…” Harold said. “Your grandmother wants to know if you’ll be bringing Shay.”
“Shay? Why would she think that?”
“Heard you two were cozy at the movies the other night.”
“We were the only ones in the theater. How does she even know about that?”
“I don’t ask questions. You learn that after sixty years of marriage.”
“You and Shay, huh?” Jonathon asked.
Matt held his hands up in front of him. “I don’t have time for this. I have to go stop a drunk man from driving his tractor into a tree.”
“That’s a yes,” Matt heard Jonathon say as he walked off the deck and toward his car.
Matt pulled onto Main Street expecting to see the headlights of the tractor lighting up the road. Instead he found it dead in the gutter with no sign of the old man.
“Great,” Matt mumbled as he pulled his cruiser next to it and got out. He climbed up onto the tractor and noticed the keys still in the ignition. He gave it a turn, but it didn’t start up. Out of gas.
Now not only did he have a dead tractor in the middle of Main Street, but he also was missing its driver. Matt got back into his car and drove toward the only gas station in town.
Old man Simpson might have been a drunk, but he wasn’t a dumb man. If he was out of gas, Matt would guess he’d be on a mission to get it even though the gas station had closed over an hour ago.
He drove about a quarter of a mile before he spotted the old man walking on the side of the road in nothing more than a pair of house slippers and tighty whities with a red gas can dangling from his hands.
Matt pulled up beside him and rolled down the window. “Hey, Bert. Need a lift?”
Bert stopped and looked down into the passenger window. His hair and beard were long and tinted yellow by years of cigarette smoke. “Matt, is that you?”
“Sure is. Looks like you could use a ride.”
“I sure could.” Without another word, he opened the door and slid right in, placing the gas can at his feet.
Normally Matt would just drive Bert home, but he still had a tractor in the middle of Main Street he had to deal with. He pulled onto the road and headed toward his parents’ farm where he knew he’d be able to find a couple of gallons in the shed.
The shed was set far back from the main house, so he didn’t feel guilty about not running in to say hello to his mother. Once he got the gas can and placed it onto the backseat, he headed to Bert’s place.
Matt turned to Bert to try to gauge how drunk he was, but his head was hanging forward, his arms crossed over his chest, and he was snoring.
It took a little extra muscle to get him in the house, but Matt managed before heading back to the tractor.
While most cops wouldn’t put up with Bert’s antics, most likely throwing him in the cell to sleep it off for the night, Matt had a soft spot for the old man. He had nobody other than a daughter who had long since moved away. Loneliness could make you do some crazy things. Bert had always been a known drinker, but in the past few years it had only gotten worse.
Matt was about to call it a night when he noticed a light on in Sweet Dreams Bakery. Instincts kicked in as he moved toward the place, but when he spotted Shay’s red Mini Cooper, he knew he wasn’t going to be dealing with another break-in.
Not in a rush to head home, he walked over to the bakery and cursed under his breath when the front door opened with barely a push. Would it kill her to lock the damn door? He understood that in their town no one locked their doors, but no one else in town was being targeted by some unknown suspect either. How the hell was he going to make her understand she needed to take a little precaution?
His lip quirked at the corner as a plan formed in his head. If she wasn’t going to take this whole thing seriously then he was going to have to take actions into his own hands.
He slipped into the shop. The bell above the door rang, and he waited a moment, but no Shay. If she didn’t even hear the bell… Anger and frustration bubbled up inside him as he made his way around the counter. He peeked into the kitchen to find Shay with her back to him, earbuds in her ears and her hips swaying back and forth.
The round curve of her ass was highlighted by a pair of black leggings that he loved so much. His pants tightened and desire caused his fingers to twitch, begging him to grab her, haul that sweet ass up against him, and finally give into what his body craved.
The temptation was strong, but he needed to teach her a lesson first. He went up behind her and covered her mouth with his hand, pulling her tight against him. She let out a scream, but it was lost to the mass of his hand. She bucked back and forth, struggling and kicking… doing everything she could to get away, but it was no use against his strength.
Anger pushed past the desire as he realized if he was anyone else, she’d be as good as gone. He ripped the earbud from her ear, his mouth breathing hot against it. “This is why I told you to lock the damn door,” he growled before loosening his grip.
Shay slid out of his hold and spun around, her eyes wild and furious. “You son of a bitch!” she screamed then slammed her hands into his chest, leaving streaks of flour on his shirt. “You scared the shit out of me.” She shoved his chest harder. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He grabbed her wrists, halting her from hitting him again. “Proving a point.”
“And what point is that? That you can come in here and give me a freaking heart attack?”
“No!” he barked. “That anyone can come in here and hurt you. You didn’t even hear me come in. It’s bad enough you left the damn door unlocked, but to have these in your ears.” He flicked at the wire dangling from her ear with his finger. “You’re lucky it was just me.”
“Lucky?” she spat. “You’re crazy. You know that? Downright crazy.”
He stepped toward her until he could see the green specks in her irises. “If it gets you to lock the damn door, then go ahead and think that.”
“I’ll think you’re crazy whether or not I lock the door.” Her eyes locked with his, challenging him to say another word. Her breathing still hadn’t evened out, causing her chest to rise and fall with each hot and heavy breath.
Not one to back down, he went to say something when her cell phone rang. She rolled her eyes and stepped away, picking up her phone and looking down at the screen. Her eyes slid shut as if she was trying to find strength.
“You plan on answering that?”
“I don’t feel like dealing with my mother right now. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“That’s surprising. I thought you jumped when she called.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Just saying I bet if she told you to lock your doors and to put up cameras you would do it, no questions asked.”
Shay’s eyes widened, and if he wasn’t mistaken there was a slight sheen forming.
“Don’t stand here and act like you know me or anything about my relationship with my mother because you don’t. Not anymore.” There was ice in her tone and fury in her eyes. He’d overstepped, and if it made her think about everything he’d been saying then good, but it wasn’t enough to take away the guilt he felt for provoking the tears she was barely keeping at bay.
“Shay, I’m—”
She held her hand up. “Don’t.”
“But—”
She shook her head. “I think you should leave.”
He hesitated, caught between the desire to pull her close until the pain eased from her features, or to do what she’d asked.
She rested her hands on the counter, staring down at the stainless-steel tops. “Please,” her voice was a mere whisper, making him powerless.
“I’ll lock the door on my way out,” he said before walking away.