The Dead of Summer (3 page)

“I always take him off. He’s really well trained, but he loves squirrels. He always comes back. Sometimes with the squirrel,” Boy Wonder replied, still smiling. I could feel my own cheeks throbbing from my desire to smile.

“Oh, well—” Lindy started to say, but at that very moment we heard the sharp sounds of barking coming from the woods. All three of us turned our heads just in time to see a large black dog charging at full speed.

“Oh my God,” Lindy gasped as she jumped behind me, using my body as a shield. She was petrified of all dogs, big or small. She had once been bitten by a Chihuahua when we were walking on Main Street and had never been the same since.

I, however, loved dogs. I always felt extremely passionate about them, but my mama had adamantly refused to let me have a pet. Apparently her fear of people also extended to the animal kingdom. She claimed I would get over my love for animals, but, so far, it had only deepened over the past few years.

Boy Wonder’s grin spread even further on his face as he bent forward and slapped his knees. “Come on, Colt!” The giant dog lumbered toward his owner, floppy pink tongue lolling animatedly out of his slobbery jaw. Lindy’s sharp talons dug into the flesh on my ample arms. The dog sailed into Boy Wonder’s waiting arms like some dopey Valentine’s Day advertisement, but damn it, it certainly tugged at my heartstrings.

“Good boy,” Boy Wonder said affectionately, roughly rubbing the dog’s mane. “Good job, Colt, getting that big bad squirrel.” The dog covered Boy Wonder in wet kisses.

After a moment or so, he straightened himself up, and like the polite southern boy that he was, stuck his hand out at me. “Carson Tyler,” he said.

Damn it. He has a name. I can’t call him Boy Wonder.

I accepted his hand, despite its slobbery nature, and nearly melted once more as a result. And no, I doubt it was from the ninety-nine degree heat swirling around us. It was from the near thermonuclear reaction in my body from his touch.

“And you are?” Carson asked, eyebrow arched in amusement. My God how that made my heart race…he looked like some lovable villain that you just couldn’t hate. I realized my mouth must be gaping open and quietly ordered myself to shut it. He was still holding my hand and I found that I couldn’t speak.

Suddenly, I was being shoved aside, tripping over my own two feet and collapsing to the ground as Lindy pushed forward, sticking her own hand into Carson’s. “Hi,” she practically purred. “I’m Lindy Lincoln.”

Carson seemed shocked as he remarked, “Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you.” He quickly dropped Lindy’s hand like he had personally witnessed her picking her nose with it. He reached back down to me. “Are you okay?” he asked with seemingly genuine concern on his face.

“
Pfff
!” Lindy said, waving her hand in front of her face. “That’s just Kennedy being Kennedy.”

Carson turned to stare at her with bewilderment as he pulled me to my feet, my tingles returning.

“Kennedy?”

“I’m Kennedy,” I explained. “Kennedy Ryan.”

Carson laughed, snorted almost. Most girls would think that was crass, but I found it even more endearing. “That’s hilarious.” He pointed to Lindy. “You’re Lincoln and she’s Kennedy. That’s really ironic.”

I waited for Lindy to shoot back her usual sarcastic remark of how we’ve “never heard that one before” but she was silent as Carson shook my hand and said, “Very pleased to meet you, Kennedy Ryan.” Our eyes met, his deep chocolate pools boring into my own hazel green eyes.

“Oh my God!” Lindy squealed. “Oh my God!” she repeated before Carson and I broke our gaze. She was being enthusiastically assaulted by Colt’s tongue.

“Oh, crap,” Carson muttered as he dropped my hand and pulled the dog off of her. He quickly clipped the leash onto the dog’s collar. “Damn, I’m sorry about that. He just loves everyone. It’s really annoying.”

Lindy straightened out her twisted hot pink tank top and patted down her ponytail that had gone askew in the brief melee with the dog. “It’s fine,” she purred, smoothing down the white shorts that accentuated her pert little butt that I would kill for. “I love dogs. In fact, I want to be a vet when I grow up.”

I nearly choked on my tongue as I watched Lindy brush Carson’s shoulder lightly.

Liar!
She couldn’t stand animals! In fact, she refused to even be in the same room with her cousin’s cat because it “looked at her funny”. And what was the deal? She originally seemed like she wanted Carson to take a hike and now she was being all friendly? I didn’t know what game Lindy was playing, but I sure as hell wished that she would knock it off.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Carson said politely. “My mama was a vet.”

“Oh really? That is so interesting,” Lindy gushed.
What the hell, was she batting her eyelashes? Oh, Lindy Lincoln, two can play at this game.

I tried to bat my own eyelashes, but I must have looked like a cat about to have a seizure.

“Are you okay?” Carson asked with concern. “Did you get something in your eye?” He stepped away from Lindy and once again toward me, practically sending Lindy toppling over.

“Uh, um, no I’m fine,” I managed to mumble, not sure if I was more embarrassed that he caught me looking like a fool or by his attention. This was completely new territory to me. Usually when I was with Lindy, boys didn’t even see me. Okay, let me be honest. . .always. As the prettiest (not to mention, richest) girl in Novella, Lindy Lincoln was well sought after by the boys at our school. Sometimes even full grown men tripped over curbs when Lindy swished by them on the street with her tiny hips and bouncing perky breasts. And who wouldn’t love a blonde with model-worthy proportions, a boatload of money, and a vixen-like attitude? The boys fell over each other trying to help her reach the books on the high shelf in her locker (which she could totally reach herself) or held doors for her, while she simply rewarded them with a smile or occasionally a kiss blown in their direction. She had never claimed to be “in love” or have a “crush” on anyone. Lindy didn’t seem to be interested in the boys themselves, she was interested in what the boys could do for her. Like President Kennedy’s speech, ask not what Lindy Lincoln could do for you, ask what
you
could do for Lindy Lincoln. When she had no further use for you, she would toss you to the curb like scraps.

But for some reason, it seemed that Lindy’s normal black magic wasn’t grabbing hold of Carson, which was a first. That was definitely going to have her panties in a bunch.

“You live nearby?” Carson asked as he tightened the collar around Colt’s neck.

“I told you, this is my daddy’s land,” Lindy replied indignantly, even though it was clear that Carson was not speaking to her. I was just waiting for her to stomp her foot like she did with her mama when she wasn’t getting her way. I could tell she was beside herself that this boy was not succumbing to her wily charms.

“I know that. I asking Kennedy,” Carson explained, not even turning to face Lindy. He smiled at me and I felt my limbs melting like butter…maybe it was from the heat. Or maybe it was Lindy’s death stare at the side of my head.

I could almost feel her wrath vaporizing my body as I replied, “I live on the, um, other side of town.” I quickly clarified, “Not the trailer park, though.” I wouldn’t want him to think I lived in the place where you could count on a neighborhood nightly call to the police for your entertainment when your cable got cut off. I may not be rich, but I wasn’t trash.

“Oh, hey me, too!” Carson said as Colt jerked on the leash and headed toward the trail that ran behind Lindy’s house. Carson jogged slightly to catch up to the dog as he pulled.

Like an idiot, I tagged after him with Lindy following us, huffing loudly to voice her displeasure. I ignored her as I watched Colt bury his nose in the grass as he walked, feverishly ferreting out a scent.

“What kind of dog is he, anyway?” Lindy asked, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“He’s a German Shepherd,” Carson answered without looking at her. He was actual looking at me.
Why is he looking at me?
I felt my cheeks getting hot.

“But he’s all black,” Lindy said as if Carson had some control over this fact; like Carson had personally colored him. “Aren’t German Shepherds supposed to be brown, too?”

“He’s a mutant,” Carson said with a laugh, just as Colt stopped short, nearly sending Carson flying. “His great granddaddy was also all black. His great grandma was actually red.”

“A red German Shepherd?” Lindy said as if he had told her the sky was made of Swiss cheese.

“German Shepherds can be black and tan, black, red, and even all white. Though anything other than black and tan is a genetic mutation,” I said, sounding like I was reciting it from a textbook. I wanted to stick my foot in my damn mouth the second those words escaped my lips. I lowered my eyes. “I read a lot,” I mumbled.

Carson, however, did not seem to mind my know-it-all-ness. In fact, he seemed down right impressed. “That’s right!” He smiled. “Colt here is
my
dog. My dad was a K9 cop for years and he always had black and tan dogs. When his last dog died, I told him that I wanted a dog I could actually play with. The K9 dogs aren’t really allowed to play and interact with the family until they retire. So even though Duchess—that was my dad’s last dog—lived with us, I wasn’t allowed to play with her or anything. Tell that to a kid.”

“Sounds pretty brutal,” I said at the same time that Lindy chimed in behind us with, “Oh, that is just too sad.”

I really wanted to turn around and tell her to scram. In the optimistic recesses of my brain, I thought that maybe she believed she was helping me out with Carson, but for once I didn’t need her assistance.

“Well, not really. If I had to choose between all the lives she saved, including my dad’s, over me being able to play with her, I have a feeling I’d still choose not playing with her,” Carson said, glancing back at Lindy’s spacious mansion, which we could still see. “Life isn’t always about having what you want.”

I bit my lip to stifle a giggle as that was clearly a dig at Lindy. Carson had just met her and I bet he could already tell my best friend didn’t often hear the word “no”.
Lindy blushed and then rolled her eyes, signaling her disdain for his statement. Carson was obviously not afraid to tell Lindy how he really felt. Most boys wouldn’t dare cross her like that, even if it was subtle.

We were walking along the marshes now, a place Lindy absolutely despised. I was never sure if it was because it was plain old creepy with the fog seeping off the shallow water or because the humid air wreaked havoc with her hair, and, let’s face it, there were no good shoes to wear here unless you owned a pair of galoshes, which Lindy did not. She found them fashionably unforgiving. She was now making squeaking noises as she hopped from dry spot to dry spot, avoiding the mud.

The mushy ground squished under my own feet, oozing over the tops of my tennis shoes, but I didn’t care. Carson was still talking about his daddy and how he had to retire as a cop because he was shot in the leg during a botched drug bust. I could hear Lindy let out exasperated sighs as she huffed and puffed to catch up with us. I wasn’t sure if she was sighing because of the squishing noise in her sneakers or the fact that Carson was boring her with his tales of his daddy’s valor and she couldn’t insert something about herself.

“How far are we walking exactly?” Lindy asked as she popped over my shoulder like the perfect pixie that she was. Lindy was average height; probably five foot six or so. She weighed about a hundred pounds soaking wet, most of which was in her perky B-cup chest.

I, on the other hand, was definitely a little more disproportioned. Weight-wise, while I wasn’t necessarily
fat
, I was on the chubbier side, easily 125 pounds. I don’t know for sure because once I saw
that
number about a year ago, I refused to get on the scale for any reason whatsoever. As long as I could button my jeans, I didn’t need to know my weight, right? And what I was blessed with in weight, I lacked in height. I was lucky if I was actually five feet tall. Add in a nearly double D chest—one could hardly hope to find a cute bra with that size—and you had lopsided ole me.

“Oh, I was going home,” Carson said as if he hadn’t actually considered where he was going at all and he had no idea why we were following him. In his defense, he never asked us to come with him. We just tagged along like little lovesick puppies.

“Well if you live on the other side of town that’s like three miles!” Lindy said. Honestly, I’m pretty sure she was exaggerating by at least a mile. Maybe more. It was probably a mile and a half at best. Lindy didn’t often walk anywhere. She had David, her chauffeur, to tote her wherever she wanted to go.

“You don’t have to come,” I hissed as I craned my neck so my mouth pressed to Lindy’s ear. “I have to go this way anyway.”

“It’s fine,” Lindy said in a bubbly tone. “What kind of friend would I be if I left you alone in the marshes with this strange guy we just met?”

Um, the girl who
usually
leaves me alone with strange guys we’ve just met? If Lindy wasn’t interested in what a guy had to offer, he got the consolation prize of hanging out with her best friend while she went to find someone that could give her what she
is
interested in. I resisted the urge to tell Lindy as much as I returned my attention to Carson.

“Have you walked this way before?” I asked casually, hoping he would continue to talk about himself so I could learn more about him—without seeming nosy of course. There is a magic way to find out about people without seeming nosy; people love to talk about themselves, but are also wary about those who inquire. It’s a trust issue, or so I’d come to learn in my fifteen short years on earth.

“A few times, yeah,” Carson said while stooping to pick up a long and thick stick that was lying haphazardly on the ground in the middle of our path. At first, I thought he would just toss it aside, but instead, he snapped it in half with almost no effort whatsoever, his taut biceps rippling in the process. I swear I started to drool as I watched him.