Strung (30 page)

“Is that what you call him?” he smirks then gets serious again, his whole body hardening in readiness for a fight.
  “Help me understand.  You draw a feeble salary from the shelter – half of what you’re entitled to.  You have barely touched the trust fund your parent left you, other than to buy that death trap you drive, when you left college and you were given a fifteen million dollar divorce settlement – which can I just say, you’ve invested wisely – and you haven’t touched that either.  I’ve seen your pathetic collection of possessions.  Why?  Why survive on so little when you have so much?”

“How do you know my financial details?”  I feel dizzy.

“Gathering information is what Willow does best.  Using that information, is what I do best.”

“But why?  And what are you going to do with it?  Are you still looking for the stolen money?  You still think I had something to do with that?”  I can’t mask the horror from my voice.

“Calm down Acacia please.  I’m sorry.  This isn’t about the stolen money, I just thought...”

“Thought what?  That it’s okay to pry?  On what level, please enlighten me!”
 

“I thought that maybe you had debts you were too embarrassed to tell me about and I wanted to help you settle them.”

“You arrogant piece of horse-shit!  So now I’m your latest charity!?”  I’m aware that I’m almost screaming. 
Do what the man says and calm the fuck down.

“
Christ no...yes...no!  Acacia don’t do this!  I would not have acted on any information without discussing it with you first.  I might have negotiated for an interest free loan or something.  I just wanted to take some of the pressure off you.  You deserve it.  Shit this is not going well.”  He sinks onto the edge of the bed and buries his face in his hands.  I stare at him a moment, wondering if I’m over-reacting about his misplaced desire to help me.  There is one thing, I know I’m not over-reacting about and it is not acceptable. 

“Chayton, why didn’t you just ask me about my financials?”  The calmness in my voice surprises even me.

“Would you have told me?” he asks, turning to look at me.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Promise me you won’t pull this shit again Chayton.”

“Unless I think your life is at risk...I promise, if you help me understand why you live like Mother Theresa, when you could easily afford a more comfortable life.”

“I don’
t think Mother Theresa would even dream of doing some of the stuff I’ve been indulging in recently,” I smirk.  “The trust fund and the Beast are all I have left of my parents.  I guess I’m scared that when those are gone, my parents will be gone forever.  The divorce settlement is a little harder to explain, but for me it’s like blood money.  It was his, even though he deserved to lose it, it was still his and I can bare to touch it about as much as I can bare to touch him.  One day I’ll heal and move on and put the money to good use, but for now it just makes me ill.  And as for the rest, I don’t know.  I guess I feel liberated having less stuff.  Did you know I can move in under an hour if I put my mind to it?  I also have less to worry about protecting or losing.  I suppose there is a part of me that is still rebelling against been forced to dress like a trophy wife, draped in his wealth for the entire world to see.”

“Okay.”  He says sounding relieved.  “I think I understand.”  He leans forward and kisses me soundly on the mouth.  “Forgiven?”

“Working on it.”  It’s all I’ll promise at this stage. 

“Thank you.  Get up, the day is passing and there are things to do,” he smiles sweetly and leaves the room.
  

~.~

I wonder what I did or said in my sleep that gave my scandalous dream away, remembering his earlier comment.  I'm still blushing several minutes later as I wash and dress, using Chayton's attire to decide what I should wear. 

I'm not overly thrilled, at having no idea what the plans are, for the weekend. 
It is unnerving not knowing what occasion to dress for, how to manage my time, generally being clueless and out of control.  Well it is his fault if I'm not dressed right for whatever he has planned!  I throw on a pair of good jeans, a black camisole and a thin turquoise blouse, tying it at the waist.  I search under the bed for my boots, and tie my hair up into a simple pony.  I am still running lip-gloss across my lips, when I stride purposely into the kitchen ten minutes later.

Chayton is seated at the breakfast bar eating toast.  "Perfect."  He runs his eyes over my attire.  "Breakfast?" he asks.

"Thanks.  I'll just have toast."  I grab a slice and settle down next to him, reaching for the marmalade.  "So are you going to give me any clues about what we're doing this weekend?"

"Nope!"

"I'm guessing there will be fireworks?”  I pry.

"And what makes you think that?"  He raises an eyebrow.

"Er...hello!  It's the fourth of July!"  I roll my eyes at him.

"Smart arse!" he mutters with a suppressed smile, and we finish our light breakfast in comfortable silence.
  I clear our plates away and we both grab our jackets and phones, heading out to the garage.  I'm hoping we're going out on the bike but hide my disappointment as Chayton heads to the Jeep and helps me in. 

The roof is off and I lose myself in the mottled light filtering through the forest above us, as we wind down the mountain toward the highway.  Instead of turning west toward the coast, we turn
east toward Darrington, and my curiosity really goes into overdrive. 

We pull into Darrington Municipal
Airfield and Chayton parks the jeep outside a small office.  A lanky sun bronzed man with an easy smile and an impressive moustache strolls out to meet us, as Chayton opens my door and offers me a hand down. 

"Acacia, this is our pilot James." 
Flying!?

"James," I smile, taking the pilots offered hand.

"Please Ma'am, everyone calls me Smiley."

"I can see why," I murmur, and his
infectious smile widens.

"I'll see you inside in a few minutes?" he asks Chayton, who nods quietly.

"We're going flying?”  I ask.  The airstrip looks impossibly small and only light aircraft dot the apron.

"Just making the trip to Seattle a little quicker." 

He seems a little off.  "What's wrong?"  I ask searching his face for clues.  Surely he is still not piqued about our earlier disagreement.  I thought we had settled that, besides I’m the only one with a right to be peeved about his inappropriate prying.

"Nothing Angel," he breathes into my hair, as he wraps his arms around me and
pulls me close.  "Don't mind me; I'm just a little distracted."  He tilts my head back with a long finger under my chin, kissing me gently as the sound of a plane engine starting, drifts over the apron. 

"That's our flight," he mutters against my lips, but maintains the sweet contact a few delicious moments more.
  We stroll, arm in arm, toward a small, sleek, maroon and white plane on the tarmac.  It reminds me of a mosquito.  Its single engine propeller, fans out from the extended nose, and the wings are only just above waist high. 
It is so tiny!
  I'm not entirely sure how I feel about flying in a plane so small, it should be a toy.  Chayton must feel my tension because his arm tightens around my shoulders.

"It's as safe as a commercial plane, don't worry."

The Piper Mirage is surprisingly luxurious and spacious inside.  Four soft, cream leather seats face each other in the passenger section of the plane, across an impressive floor of plush, deep pile, biscuit carpet with ample legroom.  I scramble in and take a seat facing forward while Chayton settles in next to me and helps me with my seat belt.  He seems tense.  Is he a nervous flier?  I would not have thought so.  After all, he just told me the plane is safe and not to worry. 
Crikey
, i
s this what it's like being with me?

Smiley is already on board in one of the two pilot's seats up front and a really
good-looking young lad, barely older than sixteen, clambers in after us and pulls up the steps, closing the door. 

"C.J., Ma'am."  He nods at us with smiling green eyes.  Chayton returns his nod politely and I offer a gentle smile.  The boy squeezes between the two empty seats facing us and settles into the empty pilot seat next to Smiley.

"Nice.  Yours?"  I say looking around.

"One of three.
”  He answers blandly.

"You fly?"

"No." 

"You want to?"

He gazes toward the flight cabin, considering my question for a moment.  "I've never really thought about it.  I guess it would be fun to try."  He shrugs dismissively, and I know his mind has already raced back to whatever is bothering him. 

I watch and listen in awe, as the pilot and his young co-pilot, go through the
motions that will soon have us defying gravity.  I definitely want to learn to fly one of these things!  Soon we are airborne and I gaze awestruck out the window as we skirt the mountains.  The snow capped peaks of Three Fingers, stretch up to reach the sky.  It's beautiful up here and the weather is so clear, we can see for miles.  I smile at Chayton who returns my smile half-heartedly and squeezes my hand.  I wish I knew what has him so distracted. 
He seemed alright this morning.  Oh yes – perfectly alright!
  Right now though, this is fantastic and I am going to enjoy every minute.  That's what I promised to do.

The flight is disappointingly short and half an hour later the Seattle spread, and the Puget Sound carpet the landscape below us, as we descend.  We land at King County Airport, and roll to a stop outside a large white hanger. 

Chayton has become quieter and unusually fidgety, and I'm getting frankly agitated with him as we clamber from the small aircraft, but I choose to say nothing for the time being.  We bid Smiley, and his young companion, farewell and Chayton leads me so the side of the hanger where Morgan waits with the gleaming Bronze Maserati Kubang. 

"Good afternoon, Morgan," Chayton mutters.

Despite Chayton's tone, Morgan smile broadly at us and I return his smile.

H
e is informally dressed today, in shorts and a very rude printed T-shirt, his customary sunglasses perched on his head.

"Ma'am," he says theatrically, holding my door for me while, Chayton skirts around to the other side of the car.  Chayton and I meet inside, and he studies me with a look that gets my pulse racing.

"What?"  My voice is a little too high pitched and I flush.

"Nothing," he smirks.

Stressed distracted mountain man is much better than stressed distracted city man.

Arggg!  Could he be any more frustrating
? 
"Kiss me then," I demand.

And he does.  Before I've even finished the sentence, his lips are on mine, bruising me, melting me.  I feel something in his kiss I've never felt before.  Fear?  Anxiety?  Guilt?  He is keeping something from me, and I am going to find out what it is. 

He pulls away, leaving me wanting, as his thumb brushes over my bottom lip.  "I hope you like water," He mutters and presses a button on the console between the two front seats. 

"Water?" 

"Water!"  He smiles cryptically and the now embarrassing sounds of a Spanish guitar floods the spacious interior, blanketing us in its caress and ending all conversation.  I remember this tune...it's the same one Morgan played the night Chayton did rude things to me on this same back seat.

"Are we still waiting for anyone, Morgan?
”  Chayton asks.

"No Boss.  It's just us."

"Good."

"Party?
”  I ask.

"Just a few friends for a small garden party.  I hope you don't mind
, Angel?" he whispers into my hair.

"I guess I can live with that," I shrug although I
do not really relish the thought of spending the afternoon surrounded by strangers. 

"Try to relax.
”  He smiles tightly and pulls both my hands to his lips. 

"I could same the same to you," I frown.

~.~

Chayton leads me to the expansive grounds of Falcon's Lodge
.

The party is in full swing and there has to be at least thirty people of various ages, spread out across the lawn and
patio.  The first familiar face I see is Grace, who waves at me from under a parasol at a garden table, which she is sharing with our guests from the shelter.   

"You invited Grace and
...?" 
This, I did not expect
.  Nearly everyone from the shelter is here.

"Of course!  Why not?" he smiles.

"Thank you."  I beam at him. 

"My pleasure."  He returns my smile.  He appears a little more relaxed than he did earlier, and I wonder if he was just nervous about my reaction to the party.