Secondary Colors (7 page)

“Can’t you control your dog?”

I love Max. He’s a sweet boy. His master on the other hand—

“He wanted to cool down. I couldn’t deny him alleviation in this heat, could I?” His innocent tone, as if this wasn’t planned, churns my stomach.
He enjoys getting a rise out of me. He admitted it. “I think I might join you both.”

“Don’t you have
work
to finish?”

“Nope.”

He kicks off his boots and sheds his shirt. Before the pants come down, I redirect my eyes away from him, but they drift back. He’s standing there, allowing me to watch him. He’s smiling. He’s amused!

He jumps into the water, making sure to splash Aidan and me. We climb out and dry off while I direct a scowl at Holt for ruining our moment.

“I should probably get going,” Aid suggests.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I have plans at my parents’ club tonight.” He dips down and gathers his clothes. “May I call you soon?”

“I’d like that.”

I love Aidan’s old-fashioned etiquettes. He isn’t pushy, which works for me. I’m not ready to rush into anything.

“I should clean up this stuff before I go,” he says, referring to the plates and plastic containers from our lunch.

“I’ve got it.” I stop him when he kneels down to pick them up. He pecks me on the cheek and then turns toward the house. When he disappears around the front, I focus my sights on Holt in the shallows, trying to pull a stick out of Max’s mouth.

“You did it on purpose,” I accuse him.

“I had no idea you and your boyfriend were swimming.”

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

“Whatever. Anyway, Max ran toward the water and I didn’t stop him. Disturbing you was an added bonus I hadn’t counted on.”

“You didn’t have to be so smug about it. What has Aidan ever done to you?”

He stares at me, the answer somewhere in his ochre eyes. Max swims to him near the shore, nudging his nose into Holt’s hand to get his attention. He takes the stick from his mouth and tosses it out onto the water again, the black Lab bounding toward it.

Why is a guy with a dog so hot?

Wait.

Whoa.

Time out.

I clean everything quickly, not wanting him to see the flush of attraction on my cheeks. I hate to admit it, but he is pretty hot. He’s downright beautiful. That was evident from the start. This makes me despise myself. Usually, it takes more than a handsome mug to send me over the moon.

It doesn’t matter anyway. If he decides to act on whatever’s going on between him and Makayla, I wouldn’t stand a chance. It’s stupid to merely entertain the thought.

Once I’ve collected the trash, I walk back to the house.

“Nice one-piece,” he calls after me, “but I prefer your birthday suit.”

I wince and keep walking, his laughter taunting me.

Jerk.

variations of a color

Over the next few weeks, I procure a part-time job at the local kill-free animal shelter. I love animals, so it’s perfect for me. When I’m not working, I spend my free time with Aidan and Taylor on the lake, hiking, or riding Nightmare. Aid and I have been reacquainting ourselves, taking it one day at a time, even though they’re dwindling. He hasn’t tried to kiss me yet. We just hold hands and flirt. He’s a perfect gentleman.

But sometimes a girl wants to be swept up by lust. Whenever I think of being swept up, kissed roughly, slammed against a wall and taken, Holt’s the one doing it. Every time this happens, I change the direction my mind was wandering.

I don’t like Holt.

I like Aidan
, I remind myself.

I’ve only seen Holt sporadically since he’s either working around the property or I’m out. He disappears into the woods surrounding our lot of land for hours at a time, Max trailing him, which suits me fine.

I’m driving home from an extremely tiring day, ready for the weekend. I scrubbed and washed the kennels today, along with another girl. All forty of them. We ended up staying late to make sure it all got done. It wasn’t bad, though. Megan, the girl helping me, is really nice and really funny. She had me laughing most of the time, so it went by quickly. My sore arms and sagging body would say otherwise. We made sure the animals were comfortable and fed and the kennels were secure before calling it quits.

I’m dead exhausted, but the sense of satisfaction after a hard day’s work makes it worth it.

It’s eerily dark on this old country road, no one for miles. The high beams of my car supply the only source of light, washing the road in its assuring bright glow, everything around it blinding blackness, swallowing the world with one bite of night’s cavernous mouth.

It always makes me nervous taking small back roads, irrationally terrified by the slasher flick vibe they tend to emanate. However, there’s something to be said for the quiet serenity when it’s just you and the road.

I turn the radio on low to keep me company.

Ten minutes from home, a loud clanking sounds from under the hood, followed by a startling bang and seeping smoke.

“No, no, no. Don’t do this to me now.”

She sputters and dies on the grassy shoulder of the road. I watch the swirling steam swell from under the front-end of my car. I rummage through my purse for my cellphone, but luck appears to have taken a smoke break. I must’ve left it at home this morning when I rushed out.

“Isn’t this fan-damn-tastic.”

I get out of the car and slam the door in frustration. With all the smoke, I wouldn’t want to be in there if a fire broke out. I survey the road in both directions. Expectedly, I see only infinite darkness. I pop the latch of my hood to allow more smoke to escape.

I don’t have a phone. I don’t know about cars. And I’m an hour’s walk from home. In short, I’m screwed.

Leaning against the side of the car with an exaggerated sigh, I assess the situation and hatch up a plan, which consists of locking the car up, hoofing it the rest of the way home, and calling a tow truck in the morning.

Taking my purse from the passenger seat, I make sure she’s locked up tight. I haven’t taken more than fifteen steps when headlights appear in the distance. For a tick, I consider flagging them down. Then I remember I’m alone, female, and don’t have anything to protect myself if this person is a whack job psycho killer.

The vehicle comes nearer.

I scamper into the trees and brush neighboring the road, ducking behind a large shrub. It passes a second later, decelerating when it approaches my car down the road. It’s too dark to make out the model of the car or the person stepping out.

They seem to inspect my stranded scrapheap, circling it watchfully. They stop. The night becomes very still. And so do I. I don’t want to step on some leaves or a twig and alert the shadowy figure. It may seem a little extreme, but I’ve seen those crime dramas. Girl stuck on the side of an empty road, stranger appears out of thin air, offering them help or a ride. Next thing you know, they’re discovering the body in some ditch in the middle of nowhere.

Forget that.

I’m not going to risk becoming a headline, so newspapers can sell more issues.

I watch the shadow with great interest, preparing to run if need be, when it calls out, “Evie!”

Holt.

Rushing out of my cover, I jump into his arms without an additional thought. I don’t care if he bugs me to death or if I practically knocked him off his feet. I feel such relief.

I grimace at the eyesore he came in. About a week ago, he bought himself an old white Chevy pickup, so he doesn’t need to borrow my car anymore. Needless to say, I’m happy he did.

My obnoxious knight has come to rescue me in his rusty white stead.

I step away when I realize I’ve been holding him too long, expecting him to look at me as if I’m crazed. My eyes drift to his. He isn’t. Actually, the glint in them seems more adoring.

I’m probably misreading him.

“How did you know I needed help?” I ask.

“Your mother found your phone. When it got late, she asked me to find you…Now, what happened?”

“Beats me. All of a sudden, there was a noise and steam coming from under the hood.”

He ambles over to the old girl and pops up her hood, letting collected smoke escape in a thick gush.

“I thought you were supposed to buy a lady dinner before taking a gander under her top,” I joke.

He lowly chuckles and shrugs his shoulders.

“Women tend to give me what I want,” he says flatly, with a straight poker face. A playful smirk cracks his lips. We laugh and stare at each other as it tapers.

When the cloud clears, he leans over the engine with a flashlight in his hand. “Hm,” he moans, moving the light over the tubes and wires and dingy metal. “You may have thrown a rod through the oil pan.”

He’s speaking gibberish.

“Is that bad?”

“It’s not good. I’ll haul it back to the garage and survey everything. You’ll probably need a whole new motor depending on the damage. Shouldn’t take me more than a few days, maybe a week to repair things if I put all my time into it.”

“How much will it cost?”

“Doesn’t matter.” He shuts the hood. “I’ll pay for the parts.”

“I’d never ask you to do that.”

“You’re not. Your mom was really nice letting me crash at her house. I’ve saved so much on rent, I want to pay her somehow.”

That’s really kind of him. Maybe Holt isn’t the asshole I originally thought he was.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you in the truck. I’ll hitch this thing up.”

He leads me over to his pickup, an arm securely locked about my waist, and opens the passenger door for me. It gives with a squeal of rusty hinges. Grateful for his assistance, I settle into the cab. I place my hand on the handle to stop him from shutting the door.

“Holt,” I whisper, “how can I thank you?”

“I’ll think of something.”

Once we finally made it home, I told my mom what happened to settle her nerves. She handed me my phone and scolded me about not having it with me when I need it. Before retiring to bed, she gave me a hug and kiss.

Disposing of my stinky clothes, I toss them in the corner of my room, shower off, and change into an oversized shirt, the stretched collar hanging from my shoulder. It’s old, but feels like butter against the skin.

I microwave myself a lazy meal of popcorn and settle in the living room to watch the tube while I chow down on handfuls of buttery goodness. When I switch onto the opening credits of a classic movie, I snuggle with a pillow tucked into my chest.

Ten minutes in—

“What’s this?”

I glimpse at Holt lurking in the doorway, staring at the screen. I turned off every light downstairs, so the hall and room are pitch black. The glow from the TV flashes in the dark room. It flickers in different depths and shades of light across his face.

“Picnic,” I answer, pleased to see him. “It’s a classic.”

He strolls over to the couch and drops onto the cushion on the opposite side, the bowl of popcorn sitting between us. The kernels do a quick jump in the air and land back in the bowl.

“Mind if I join you?”

Well, you’ve already sat down, so that’s a pointless question.

“No, not at all.”

He slouches deeper into the softness of the love-worn couch. “What is this about?”

I give him a speedy recap of the beginning, so he’s caught up. “It’s about this drifter, William Holden, who comes into this small town searching for work at his college friend’s grain mill. He meets this single mother and her two daughters, falling for the eldest, Kim Novak, at first sight. But she’s already with his friend.”

“Sounds like something you’d only find in the movies,” he comments, stealing a handful of popcorn and chucking it into his mouth.

“Yeah,” I murmur, admiring his profile in the warm flicker of the TV.

His upper body leans toward the bowl and me. Thank God for that bowl. He’s already dangerously close to my feet hanging over my side of the middle cushion. With his eyes on the screen, and my eyes on him, he chomps on a mouthful of the salty snack.

We watch the first half of the movie in silence, which seems to be the usual for us. After eating and unwinding, I catch a second wind and become very curious about the man occupying the attic/my old art studio. I know zilch about him.

Not wanting to frighten him off, I start simple. “How old are you?”

He turns his attention onto me, studying my face, perplexed. Probably wondering why I suddenly give a rat’s ass.

“Twenty-six.”

Only five years older than me.

“What’s your last name?”

“It’s the name directly after my first.” He smirks at me.

“Seriously?”

I shove him in the shoulder. It’s an invasive move considering we’re barely on friendly ground. Then again, so was jumping into his arms earlier when he came to my rescue.

“Turner.”

So far, so good.

“Where are you from, Holt Turner?”

“Chicago, Evie Hathaway.”

His answers are short, but at least he isn’t clamming up. I wouldn’t blame him if he does. I’m not fond of personal questions either. Since we’re living under the same roof and my mother did suggest I be sociable, it couldn’t hurt to try.

“If you’re from such a big city, what brought you to sleepy Aurora?”

He squirms.

“It seemed like a good place for a new start.”

There’s an underlining reason he’s carefully avoiding. Could this be the trouble Meredith was talking about?

“People don’t usually need a new start unless there was a bad end. Is that where you got the scar on your back?”

“Why do you have issues with men?” he asks casually. It’s intended to be spiteful.

“How would you know whether or not I do?” I’m offended he would be crass enough to point out my shortcomings. “You have no clue who I am, so don’t proceed to think you do.”