At Peace (33 page)

Surprised, Cal glanced at Colt. That was
cold, Colt wasn’t like that.

Colt didn’t take his eyes off Cal’s yard as
he kept talking. “Had years of that shit, tryin’ to fix her,
bustin’ my ass to figure out what was in that fuckin’ head of hers,
wonderin’ where I was goin’ wrong,” Colt’s eyes slid to Cal. “Then
I got a woman doesn’t need fixin’, not anymore, and now life’s
sweet.”

“Colt –” Cal started.

“Mike’s into her, Cal, but Vi’s into
you.”

“You think she don’t need fixin’, you’re
wrong,” Cal told him.

“Patchwork, man, not major fuckin’ repairs.
Been there too, the job doesn’t last long and it’s worth the
effort.”

Cal looked at the yard and took another pull
of his beer.

“
We do our own thing,” Colt continued. “The
day starts with Feb in my bed then we go our own way and, Cal, man,
you wouldn’t believe how sweet it is knowin’ at the end of the day
she’ll crawl right back into my bed.”

Cal was pleased Colt had that. Good man like
him deserved it. Good woman like Feb deserved it too.

But after what went down with Bonnie, Cal
quit thinkin’ about what he wanted, his mind focused entirely on
the end game. Retire early, kick back, do his own thing in his own
company. He’d take his fill of women along the way and after he got
where he wanted to be but all he’d ever wanted growing up was a
family and, what Bonnie did, he wasn’t going to go back there. He’d
given too much the first around, he was empty.

There was no way he was telling Colt this so
Cal stayed silent.

Colt didn’t take his hint.

“You fixed her garage door opener.”

“Yep.”

“It back on?”

It was none of his business but Cal repeated,
“Yep.”

“Cut her loose, Cal.”

Cal looked at Colt and
with the way he did most men would
cringe.

Colt just held his gaze.

Cal stayed silent.

“You should cut her loose,” Colt reiterated
quietly.

“Not your business, Colt.”

“It works out with Mike, it’ll be good for
them both.”

Cal knew that, he knew Haines, not well, but
he knew him. Haines was a good man. Haines would shovel her snow.
His wife was that big of a bitch, Haines would appreciate what he
had in Vi and he’d let her know it.

Cal looked away and stared at his yard.

“
In a minute, we’ll sit and drink beer. Now
I’m tellin’ you, you’re all kinds of crazy, havin’ her next door,
into you and not makin’ some effort to see where it’d lead. You’d
be good for her but, better, she’d be good for you. You don’t wanna
make that effort, your call, but you should stop fuckin’ with her
head and let her get on with her life and find someone who’s
willin’ to put in the effort.”

When Colt stopped speaking, Cal continued
contemplating his yard.

After awhile, he asked, “You done?”

“Yeah,” Colt answered.

Cal didn’t do anything, not even nod. He just
looked at his yard and took another pull of his beer.

Colt did the same.

* * * * *

I walked up to Mike’s townhouse, a new
build but not that new. The trees had filled in a bit, it’d been
around a few years; with a discerning eye I decided maybe five,
maybe a couple more.

It was a development, a few detached or
duplex ones but mostly rows of townhouses, party walls. In Mike’s
row, Mike was in the middle. There was a narrow two car garage at
the front, most of the house on top of the garage but there were
rooms to the side.

I knocked on the door and didn’t wait long
for Mike to answer.

“Hey honey,” he said, stepping aside, letting
me in.

“Hi,” I replied, walking by him.

He closed the door, I looked up at him at the
same time his arm hooked me at the waist, pulling me to his body
and his head came down.

He obviously saved the stealth kisses for the
first date or maybe special occasions. He didn’t give me a stealth
kiss, patiently building the heat. His mouth opened over mine, his
tongue slid inside and, essentially, he threw a kiss Molotov
cocktail and I ignited.

When he lifted his head, I’d plastered myself
to his front and again had both my hands in his hair.

“Wow,” I breathed.

He smiled, I gave him more of my weight,
that’s how much I liked his smile, and he took it, his smile
getting wider.

Then I thought, I was
such
a freaking slut.

“Sorry about Wednesday,” he said.

“I was a cop’s wife for fifteen years, I know
the drill,” I told him.

“Your man stand you up a lot?” Mike
asked.

I shook my head. “No, but he liked his
job, he only ever wanted to be a cop and it was important to him.
Since it was important to him and he didn’t make too much of a
habit of it, I didn’t throw a hissy fit when he had to work. You
learn to deal and with two kids it wasn’t like there wasn’t always
something to do.”

His arm got tight but he didn’t reply. Then
he let me go but took my purse, threw it on a chair in the little
foyer and led me to the left into a kitchen.

It wasn’t the greatest kitchen in the world.
Mine wasn’t huge but it was long and had a lot of counter space.
His was newer, better appliances, was in a u-shape, small and had
shit counter space but whoever designed it did the best they could
do with the space they had. There were tons of cupboards; a five
burner stove set in the counter; wall oven built into a unit, a
microwave over it, cupboard over and under the appliances; a huge
double door fridge that would hold enough food for a battalion; and
there was a small table sitting in the bay window facing the front
of the house.

“You eat meat?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“
Good.” He went to a bottle of wine on the
counter. “You drink red?”

I grinned at him. “Yep.”

He grinned back. “Good.”

He opened the wine while I asked, “How long
you been here?”

“
B
ought it with my half of sellin’ the house. Audrey and I
sold before the divorce, she didn’t want me to have it and she
couldn’t afford it. Been here about nine months.”

“You like it?”

“Would prefer livin’ closer to work but need
three bedrooms and this has that, couldn’t find anything in town
that’d work for me and the kids.”

“Where does… um… Audrey live?”

“Apartment in town. Two bedrooms, kids hate
it, they have to share. Jonas is fourteen, Clarisse twelve, they’re
way too old to share…” he trailed off and handed me a glass of wine
before he finished. “She went through her take from the house in
about a month. She drives a brand new Merc but lives in a two
bedroom dump, can you believe that shit?”

I shook my head, not able to believe that
shit, thinking unhappy thoughts for him and his kids, taking a sip
of my wine and noting instantly it wasn’t cheap.

“
Sweetheart,” he called and I focused on
him. “You should know I’m goin’ for full custody. Talked to my
lawyer two weeks ago.”

He said this like a warning, like he’d expect
me to think this was a bad thing.

“Good,” I told him.

His eyes moved over my face, something
working in them, I didn’t know for certain what but it wasn’t like
Joe studied me. I could see plain as day whatever he saw he thought
was good.

I felt my stomach flutter.

When his eyes caught mine, he said, “We’ll
eat in awhile. You wanna see the house?”

“Okay.”

He took my hand and led me out of the
kitchen. “Got an HOA, they take care of the greenspace, doesn’t
look like yours,” he said, drawing me down a hall off his foyer and
looking back to me. “They should hire you though.”

It was a quiet compliment, not effusive but
effective.

“Thanks,” I whispered, my belly fluttering
again.

He showed me the living room at the back, it
ran the length of the house and it was huge. There was a dining
room table to one side set to seat four but you could see it took
leaves to make it bigger, two more chairs at the wall. The rest was
family furniture, big sectional couch, a couple of recliners,
comfortable, sturdy but attractive. Stuff you lounged on with your
kids and watched TV. There were pictures of the kids and Mike and
other photos of other people, his parents (I could tell) and
others, maybe his sisters, brothers, their families, friends and
they were all over the place. There were shelves with books, DVDs,
music, games and a large, flat screen TV, tables everywhere to put
drinks on, a nice stereo. Two bay windows, one by the dining table,
the other in the living room area, French doors in the middle with
tall, slim windows at their sides that opened on a deck. I could
see a huge, electric grill and decent furniture on the deck, not a
bad-sized yard which a dog was lying in, golden retriever, staring
at the doors, tongue lolling, knowing there was company, waiting to
be let in so she could give her greeting.

Looking around, I saw that Mike had made an
effort. This wasn’t a bachelor pad townhouse he brought his kids to
when they came for their time with him. This was their home, a
place they could lounge, a place they’d be comfortable and feel
safe. I didn’t know a man could do something like that and I didn’t
know, in knowing it, that something like that could be so
attractive. But it was.

“You have a dog?” I asked.

“Got custody of Layla in the divorce.”

“Layla?”

“
Clapton. Great song,” he looked out the
windows, “great dog.”

He was right, it was a great song. He had
good taste in music.

I looked out the windows to see Layla was now
at the door, her tongue still lolling, her body shaking because her
tail was wagging so hard.

“She do something to be put into doggie
prison?” I asked.

Mike looked at me and asked back,
“Pardon?”

“She’s in the yard, there’s a guest, she’s
obviously being punished.”

He grinned at me and shook his head.
“She’s excitable. I didn’t want her jumpin’ on you,” his head
tilted to the side and he finished, “least, not ‘til I got my
chance to jump on you.”

There it was, that flutter again.

“You should let her in before she explodes,”
I suggested.

“You like dogs?”

“Love ‘em, Keira’s gettin’ her first next
week. An American husky.”

“You should go golden,” he advised, walking
to the door and Layla was watching him and pacing, her tail still
wagging, her tongue still lolling.

“Keira has her heart set,” I replied, he
opened the door and Layla burst in. Completely uninterested in her
Daddy, she ran straight to me and jumped up the minute she got to
me, butting me with her nose, her hind legs bouncing, her front
legs pawing at my chest.

“
Layla, down,” Mike ordered, his deep voice
commanding and she instantly obeyed but she still butted my legs
with her head, her body shaking and moving, even though I was bent
over her, giving her head a rubdown while trying not to spill my
wine on Mike’s nice carpet.

“
She’ll calm down as soon
a
s she gets used to your
scent,” Mike said, coming back to me.

“She’s okay,” I assured him.

He took my hand and I straightened as he
guided me away from Layla and out of the living room, back down the
hall to the foyer that I now saw had a door leading to the garage,
another to a half bath and a set of stairs. Layla followed or I
should say, she eventually led the procession, knocking me into
Mike as she forged ahead of us on the stairs then stood at the top,
waiting for our arrival, her tongue still out, her face set in the
doggie question of, “What’s taking you guys so long?”

We made it to the top and Mike showed me
Jonas’s room, Layla sweeping in and running through it like she was
an enthusiastic tour guide, and I saw his boy was obviously into
music. There was a drum kit set up and a guitar on a stand and the
walls could not be seen for all the band posters on them. The bed
was unmade and the drawers were open with clothes spilling out.

“He’s not big on pickin’ up his room,” Mike
told me.

“I would guess that’s in the Teenage Boy’s
Handbook seeing as it’s also in the Adult Man’s Handbook. Gotta
train ‘em early.”

Mike chuckled and showed me Clarisse’s
room, Layla again running through it even over the bed, which was
made. His daughter’s room looked almost identical to Keira’s except
not pinks and purples, instead blues and yellows and instead of
daisies, there were butterflies and there was not a mixture of boy
band and teenage vampire posters, there were only teenage
vampires.

I looked up at Mike. “You load your gun with
silver bullets?”

“Clarisse tells me that only works on
werewolves.”

I burst out laughing and Mike smiled at me
before he threw an arm around my shoulders and then he showed me a
smaller room with more shelves and a high-backed, black leather
swivel chair in front of a large desk with built-in storage and a
computer on it. There was a comfortable looking armchair in the
corner with a table and a standing lamp beside it. A study for him,
for the kids, a private place to be, to do your homework or read.
It was nice.

Then he led me out of there and took me down
the hall, showing me his room.

That was nicer. It had more French doors, a
small, private deck leading off. The room was huge, so was his bed,
and his bed was cool as all hell, a dark wood, heavy sleigh bed
with a taupe, tan and chocolate paisley comforter. Layla didn’t
play tour guide here. She got to Mike’s room, she ran straight up
and jumped on the bed, settling on her belly, her head on her
paws.