ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT? (Running Wild) (22 page)
Read ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT? (Running Wild) Online
Authors: bobby hutchinson
“Your head still looks pretty well covered to me. And you and Fletcher have it made, single, no women breathing down your neck and giving you a hard time about commitment.”
“Yeah, no hot chicks like Nema hanging around, either.”
“What about Chloe?”
“That’s history.” Rocky had hired Chloe to do some paperwork for his plumbing company, and they’d been going out for months. “She joined the Hare Krishnas, says she’s decided to be celibate. She’s in that temple down on Marine Drive.”
Eric whistled. “Wearing those robes and all that, dancing at the airport?” Chloe had always been a little left of normal, but this was extreme.
“The robes, yeah. I don’t know about the airport.”
“She’s a good-looking lady. Smart, too. Go figure.”
“Yeah. The celibate thing sorta smarts. I thought that part was going okay, unless she was faking.”
“They all do that sometimes. Nobody else on the horizon?” Apart from being tall and well muscled, Rocky wasn’t what anybody would call handsome, but his broad face and chocolate brown eyes shone with goodness. Eric had known him since high school and would have trusted him with his life, and several times, he’d come pretty close. He’d certainly trust him with his sister Sophie, if Rocky would only wake up and smell the antiseptic, which on Sophie took the place of perfume. For years now, they’d been out of step. When Sophie wasn’t in a relationship, Rocky was, and vice versa.
“Not at the moment.”
“Give it time.” Which maybe wasn’t the best advice in this case. Rocky married his high school sweetheart, Melanie, right after graduation. Mel died in a car wreck two years later, and a month to the day after that, Rocky’s mother dropped dead of a heart attack. So Rocky moved in with his dad, Fletcher. The two of them had grieved together and stayed together. Fifteen years later, they were still the odd couple.
“Your sisters feel bad about giving you such a hard time when they were growing up.” As usual, Rocky didn’t want to talk about his foibles when Eric’s were available for dissection. And with no brothers or sisters of his own, Rocky loved hearing about Eric’s.
“Yeah, well, they have good reason to feel guilty. I learned too much about the worst of the female gender from them. It’s a wonder I’m not alcoholic and bald after what they put me through.”
Hell, it was a wonder he wasn’t gay; raising them was enough to put anybody off women. He shuddered even now, remembering that with three of them, somebody always had PMS, which meant that three weeks out of every month were unbearable, and the one left over was no picnic either. It was no wonder a lot of his relationships hadn’t lasted twenty-eight days.
“I really wish they’d stay the hell out of my love life. I wouldn’t exactly say any of them are experts on relationships. I don’t see Sophie galloping to the altar.”
Although she might if you asked her, Dumbo.
But then again, maybe Rocky just didn’t find Sophie appealing.
“She still with that surgeon?”
He did keep up with the men in Sophie’s life, though.
“Nope. That ended a couple weeks ago. She said he had no sense of humor.”
Rocky nodded enthusiastic agreement. “What about Anna and Bruno? They’ve been married what, a year now?”
“Fourteen months. They’re doing okay. ”
“She getting any clients yet?”
“Not that I know of.” Anna had just given up a pensionable job teaching high school to do private consultations in astrology. Eric figured she could benefit from private consultations with a shrink, but at least that was now Bruno’s problem and not his. He’d spent enough time watching Anna take classes in everything from tarot card reading to past life regression. He’d thought marrying a steady guy like Bruno might straighten her out, but obviously it hadn’t happened.
“How’s Karen doing?”
“Pretty good.” His baby sister was a single mom with two rambunctious little boys. She was the one Eric worried over the most. “You coming over there for dinner tonight?”
“Nope. Karen called and invited Dad and me, but we figured it’s best if we meet you guys afterward at the pub. Birthday dinners oughta be just family.”
“Too bad. With the three of my sisters in one room, there’s way too much estrogen for Bruno and me to handle.”
“You’ll manage, you’ve got a Ph.D. in estrogen.” Rocky finished his beer and got to his feet. “Gotta go, I’m putting in a hot water tank this afternoon. See you later.”
After he left, Eric swilled the rest of the beer, tossed the bottle in the trash, and reached for his welding mask. With Nema gone and a fresh supply of plumbing parts, thanks to Rocky, he had the whole afternoon to finish the dog. The party wasn’t until six.
His spirits rose. He put on his protective glasses and sparks flew from the welding torch, and after a few minutes he started to whistle.
What was Anna’s latest litany?
Whatever is happening now is right for you
, that was it. Maybe she was onto something there.
By seven that evening, Eric knew for certain Anna was, as usual, dead wrong.
Family tradition dictated that gifts were opened when the birthday cake was served, and along with the double-chocolate layer cake Sophie handed Eric a plain white envelope. He looked down at it, and then up at his sisters.
Three sets of nearly identical wide blue eyes were fixed on him. The girls—all over thirty, but always the girls to him—were all back to their natural blonde at the moment, and there was no denying the fact that they were pretty, even though Karen was way too skinny and Anna had gained a few pounds.
More than a few, and although she claimed it was a side effect of rapid spiritual growth, Eric knew it had more to do with her passion for pecan caramel ice cream.
“Open it, big brother,” Karen said.
They were all smiling at him with the straight, white teeth that had cost a fortune, and his heart sank, because he saw through those smiles right away. They’d used them way too often when they were trying to put something over on him.
Even Bruno had a nasty smirk on his face.
“What’d you get, Uncle Eric?” Five-year-old Simon bounced up and down in his chair. “Mommy wouldn’t tell us. She said it was a surprise.”
“A ’prise," mumbled three-year-old Ian around a mouthful of cake, sending chocolate crumbs spraying in all directions.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full, idiot,” Simon admonished, punching his brother on the arm.
“Simon hit me,” wailed Ian, spraying even more and letting half-chewed brown lumps slide out of his mouth and down his chin to plop onto the white tablecloth. “He called me idiot. Idiot your own self.” He doubled up a fist and returned the punch.
“Don’t fight. Simon, don’t call your brother names.” As usual, the boys paid no attention to Karen, and punches flew. They’d figured out long ago who ran the household, and it wasn’t their mother.
Over their screams, Karen hollered, “Eric, speak to them, okay?”
“You guys want to leave the table now and go to your rooms?” Eric gave his nephews each a withering look, and in turn they shook their curly red heads and pretended to look scared. Eric didn’t appreciate being cast as the boogeyman, but Karen was out of her depth with these two.
“Sorry, Ian,” Simon offered without prompting.
“Sorry your own self,” Ian responded, sticking his tongue out.
Peace finally reigned, and Eric turned his attention to the envelope, ripping it open and extracting the single sheet of paper inside.
He had to read it twice before it sank in. The typed message was on heavy bond with a stylish letterhead that read
Synchronicity,
and it said that Eric Stewart was the recipient of a gift membership. He was asked to come in for a personal assessment, after which he would be matched with suitable companions.
The letter was signed,
Clara Beckford.
Underneath, in capital letters, was printed,
PROFESSIONAL MATCHMAKER
******
If you enjoyed the preview,
And
The other two books in the RUNNING WILD series
Bobby Hutchinson was born in a small town in interior British Columbia in 1940. Her father was an underground coal miner, her mother a housewife, and both were storytellers. Learning to read was the most significant event in her early life.
She married young and had three sons. Her middle son was deaf, and he taught her patience. She divorced and worked at various odd jobs, directing traffic around construction sites, day caring challenged children, selling fabric by the pound at a remnant store.
She mortgaged her house and bought the store, took her sewing machine to work, and began to sew a dress a day. The dresses sold. The fabric didn’t, so she hired four seamstresses and turned the store into a handmade clothing boutique.
After twelve successful years, she sold the business and decided to run a marathon. Training was a huge bore, so she made up a story as she ran, about Pheiddipedes, the first marathoner. She copied it down and sent it to the Chatelaine short story contest, won first prize,
finished the Vancouver marathon, and became a writer. It was a hell of a lot easier than running.
She married again and divorced again, writing all the while, mostly romances,
(which she obviously needs to learn a lot about,) and now has more than fifty-five published books.
She decided she needed something to do in the morning in her spare time, so she opened her first B&B, Blue Collar, in Vancouver, B.C. After five successful years, she moved home to the small coal
-mining town of Sparwood, where she now operates the reincarnated version of the Blue Collar.
She's currently working on three or four or eight more books. She has six enchanting grandchildren. She lives alone, apart from guests
and two rabbits, meditates, bikes, walks, reads incessantly, and writes compulsively.
She likes a quote by Dolly Parton: “Decide who you are, and then do it on purpose.”
Try some other books by Bobby Hutchinson:
LOVE MEDICAL ROMANCE???
TRY THESE:
AND A FUN, EDUCATIONAL KID’S BOOK:
DEETER, THE DOG WHO DIDN’T LISTEN
