Wingman: Just a Guy and His Dog Page 12

  "Did you float over here on winged shoes? I didn't even hear you walk up." I sat next to her.

  "I'm just like a butterfly." I could tell something was off in her tone.

  "Bad day?"

  "Patty is apparently working on her Scrooge impression. She's monstrously grumpy. She actually docked me five minutes of pay because I was late today. It will take her way longer than five minutes just to calculate how much that is. But I'm done with my work day so on to better topics. I was going to whip up some macaroni and cheese."

  "That sounds amazing. Especially because it's getting pretty damn cold out here."

  Ella looked up at the sky. "You should call it quits soon. When these early summer storms roll in, they are fast and brutal." She hopped up. "In fact, I'm going to start pedaling before the first drop falls."

  I took hold of her hand and kissed it. "I'll be there in the next hour. I just need to put stuff away."

  "I'll be waiting." She winked and wiggled her ass a few times as she walked away.

  I was packing up my tools and collecting the used sandpaper as Richard walked up with a man with a slight hunch in his shoulders. "Hey, Fynn, this is Carl. He owns Harrold's Market."

  "Nice to meet you."

  Carl obviously had back problems. He had to awkwardly move his whole body to look around at the park. "She sure looks beautiful. Brings back memories." A sad smile followed.

  Richard patted Carl's shoulder. "I think it's going to help the wounds. Especially since the town never really got closure."

  With the word closure, my mind shifted to the impeccably kept cemetery and the question popped out. "How is that?" I asked, unaware that I was stepping into a land mine.

  Carl was quick to answer. "We never got closure because that lousy drunken bus driver was never charged with murder."

  Boom.

  I'd driven into Butterfield with every possible motive for doing so in my head. I had wanted to see the people of the town, to see who they were and find out what the hell drove them. But when I'd discovered a town, not filled with angry, reactive people but a town filled with genuine souls who had suffered enough to let everything in their town fade to gray, I'd let some of my own anger go. Then Ella stepped into the picture, and my rage had been smothered. All I wanted to do was help give the town a few rays of light. And, up until now, that had all been made easier by avoiding the one topic that I knew would rekindle the anger I'd felt since that day when I walked into the garage and found my dad sitting dead in the front seat of his car.

  I wasn't going to slip up. I didn't want Ella to find out. I would find the right time to tell her, but that time wasn't now. Unfortunately, I knew I couldn't just smile and return to my task.

  "The police must have had good reason not to charge him." My unexpected comment earned a sharp scowl from Carl and a wide-eyed, stunned look from Richard.

  "The police didn't do a thorough job," Carl snapped back. "If they had, they would have hauled the drunken murderer off to jail and thrown away the key."

  Richard placed his hand on Carl's shoulder again. "With all due respect, Fynn, this just isn't your business. The town has been through a lot, and you're an outsider who doesn't understand the depth of our pain. The police were careless with evidence. The man wasn't charged, but that doesn't make him any less guilty. And if he wasn't drunk, he had decided to kill himself with a bus full of kids because there were no visible tire marks on the road, which meant he drove straight off the cliff. Ironically, he survived because he was thrown from the bus."

  "The coward took his own life a few years later because he couldn't live with the guilt." Carl's face was as red as the glow of rage in my chest.

  I needed to step away. If I didn't want to lose Ella, I had to turn away and leave. I kept that reminder in my head as I pulled myself away from the two men. There had always been so many unanswered questions. Even my dad had no explanation for what happened that day. His lack of memory had haunted him for his last days. The only thing he knew for sure was that he wasn't drunk. He was allergic to the stuff. I never remembered him taking even a sip of beer.

  All the shit was coming back at me like the storm hovering in the distance. Fixing things in the park and spending so much time with Ella in the past few weeks had made it easy to forget the fractured, tragic history behind the accident.

  I shoved my tools into the toolbox. While Richard seemed to sense something was wrong, Carl, who had only just met me, seemed oblivious.

  "Fran mentioned the painters will be adding a nice coat of paint to the pavilion." Richard spoke to me even though my back was turned.

  I nodded. "Yep. Well, I want to avoid the rain, so I'll catch you later." I whistled for Boone and left a puzzled Richard standing outside of the pavilion.

  I gripped the handle of the toolbox hard enough to feel the plastic crack under my palm. I tossed it into the back of the van. The tools clanked inside as the tin box bounced over the floor of the van.

  Boone sensed my anger and decided to climb into the back instead of sitting up front with me. I patted him once to assure him he wasn't in trouble. Then I climbed into the van and drove down Main Street. I had a fleeting urge to just keep driving and not ever look back at this place. But I couldn't. It wasn't Butterfield anymore. It wasn't the town filled with broken, rage-filled people who skewered my dad with baseless assaults on his character, the media naturally siding with them to amplify the attacks. It wasn't that town anymore. It was Butterfield, the hometown of Ella, the girl who had stolen my heart.

  I turned sharply around the corner, and Boone chirped in protest as he was thrown off balance. I slammed the brakes on in front of her house, no longer giving a damn about who saw me pull up or how long my van would sit there. Boone curled up in his bed and bid me a silent goodbye, letting me know he was staying in the van.

  The first drops of rain fell on my head as I walked across the small front lawn. Lightning lit the sky behind me as I climbed the front steps. The raging storm was an all too perfect background for my mood. I briefly considered turning back around, giving myself time to cool down before I saw Ella but then she opened the door and greeted me with those eyes that I could no longer erase from my mind.

  Her dark brows pushed together when she saw my face. "Fynn? Is everything all right?"

  I stepped inside and pulled her into my arms. "It is now."

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ella

  The man who walked into the house just seconds before seemed almost a stranger. Fynn had hardly said two words. It was more than obvious that something had upset him terribly. His jaw was tight and his amber eyes nearly glowed with an emotion I couldn't read. I saw fury there in the dark gold of his gaze, but I saw something else too. Something akin to what I felt everyday when I woke and remembered that Ethan was gone.

  Fynn's arms stayed circled around me as I peered up at him. I placed my hand against the side of his face, and he closed his eyes at the feel of it.

  "Do you want to talk about it? Was it Brent?"

  "Don't want to talk about anything. I'm holding you and you are the only right thing to happen to me in a long time." He lowered his arm, took hold of my hand and led me down the hallway. He pointed to the doors. I knew which room he was searching for.

  We reached my door. "Yes."

  His foot tapped the door hard enough that it swung open and hit the wall behind it. He led me into my room and slammed the door shut. My Black Beauty poster crinkled behind my back as he sandwiched me between the wall and his hard body. Heat flowed off him in waves as his hands fumbled with the buttons on my shorts. They dropped to the floor with my panties, and I lifted a foot free. His kisses were rough and punishing, causing moisture to surge in my pussy. It was a different Fynn standing against me, devouring my mouth with his and stripping me naked. But it only made me want him more.

  His strong arms took hold of me. With his mouth still tight against mine, he thrust into me. The door rattled and the wall shook as Fyn
n pounded into me. This wasn't just sex. This was raw lust, a release of energy that had nothing to do with love or relationships or anger. This seemed to stem from some latent emotion that had been released and needed quelling. I felt it in the way he jammed his cock into me and the way his arms held me.

  "Ella," he growled. "You're all I need. You're all I ever fucking need."

  The erotic passion of the moment brought us both quickly to orgasm. Then his movements slowed and the tender kisses returned. I could feel the tension that had seized him earlier, flow from his body.

  "Ella," he said in a low, deep voice as his mouth grazed over mine. "You don't know how badly I needed you just now."

  A tiny laugh escaped me as I curled my arms around his neck. "Actually, I kind of do know. I don't think my Black Beauty poster will ever be the same."

  He lifted his face and titled his head to see the picture behind me. "Sorry about that, Beauty." He reached up and touched my cheek. "And you too, Beauty."

  He picked me up, carried me to my bed and stared down at it. "That is a small bed." He lowered me down and I scooted over so he could slide in next to me.

  I had no choice except to curl into his embrace and cling to him. I rested my head against his shoulder. "I guess there’s something to be said about small beds. Where's Boone?"

  "He wanted to take a nap in the van. I'll have to go out and drag his butt in before the thunder moves closer. He's not a fan." He grew quiet again and pulled the edge of my bed quilt up over us.

  "That storm came in fast. It's a good thing you climbed down from that ladder before the lightning struck." I slipped my hand under his shirt and trailed my fingers over the hard muscles of his chest. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

  "Not really. It's just something I have to deal with. I've been working hard at getting past some things. I knew if I saw you, I'd feel better. And I do."

  "That's nice to hear, especially after I was told this morning by my boss that I could easily be replaced by one of the high school kids."

  Fynn reached up and stroked my hair. "Why the hell would she say that?"

  "She's just been in a sour mood. It'll pass."

  "Well, shit, Ella, let her replace you."

  I peered up at him. "I need that job."

  "Not if you leave with me. Think about it, Ella. My savings are running out, and I've got to find a job. I'll be leaving Butterfield soon. I don't want to go without you. I know you don't want to leave the safe arms of this town and your parents, but I promise to take care of you, Ella. I'll find a job, and we can make a life together."

  I knew exactly which direction my heart was heading, but there was so much to consider. And I worried that I might not survive out in the real world, away from Butterfield. My throat ached at the thought of leaving my parents. It ached more when I thought about leaving behind everything that reminded me of Ethan. But it felt like a stake driving through my chest when I thought about Fynn leaving me. "I'll think about it, Fynn."

  We lay quietly in each other's arms and listened to the rain patter out a rhythm on the roof. My head was resting on Fynn's shoulder, but I could feel him looking around the room.

  "Boy, you really do like horses."

  "Damn right. A horse obsession is not anything to take lightly either. So if I leave with you, I expect you to teach me to ride."

  "That's a promise."

  "Good." I rested against him again.

  "Hey, Starshine?"

  "Yes?"

  "Why is Justin Timberlake staring down at me wearing a funny wig?"

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Ella

  Whatever had upset Fynn the day before remained a mystery to me. I could tell there was still something off, but he never brought it up again. My first guess had been Brent, and especially with Patty's cryptic mention of Brent finding something out about Fynn that would upset people. But I hadn't seen Brent in town for two weeks, so it was easy to dismiss that theory.

  In the meantime, Fynn's enthusiasm for his park restoration project hadn't waned in the least. The painters had arrived to spray the pavilion with glossy white paint, and while they worked, Fynn started on the pond. Just like with the fountain, the pond had been clogged with mineral deposits. Fynn had been working all morning to unclog the drain.

  I had opened the store at six, which meant I'd be off at noon. I'd planned a picnic lunch by the river. I decided it would be another way to help Fynn push away whatever was troubling him.

  With a cooler of sandwiches clutched in my hand and a blanket tucked under my arm, I hiked to the north end of the park. The painters had just finished taping off the cement floor and steps of the pavilion so they could begin spraying the outside. I couldn't wait to see it in all its shiny, pearl white glory again. I had walked past the park for years, watching it fall further into decay. It shamed me to think that I'd never once considered it a terrible waste. Now, seeing it come back to life, I realized that even though all of us had been swallowed by sorrow, we should have taken care of the town's shining jewel. We should have taken care of the park. It held so many wonderful memories. With the fountain running and the grass growing, it felt as if someone had breathed life back into Butterfield.

  And that someone was bent over the center drain of the pond.

  "Ella," Fran called as she walked across the grass to meet me.

  She surveyed the park with a wide grin, and she had every right to feel proud. "The painters said it should take two days. We're bringing in a new playground set that is bigger and more weather resistant. The engineer said he wouldn't put his kid up on that rocket. Not necessarily because it's unsteady, but because it doesn't have any of the safety features of the new equipment."

  "That's too bad. It'll be sad not to see the rocket anymore, but I'm sure he's right. I guess you're really digging deep in the budget for this park."

  "I'm hoping we can return the whole darn town back to the tourist stop it once was. Even Jilly is sitting in her shop right now deciding how to paint it. And we owe it all to Fynn. He started the dominos falling. I suppose that's what we needed all along—an outsider to take an unobstructed view of this town and see it needed a face lift." She looked up to the north corner of the park. "How is he doing? Richard said that Fynn and Carl got into it a bit and that Fynn left looking pretty upset."

  "Carl? When did he talk to Carl? Patty never said a word to me. What was it about?"

  Fran tamped her hat down on her head to secure it. "Somehow or another, the topic of the accident and how the bus driver was never charged came up in conversation and it set Fynn off."

  "That's weird. But then Carl has been pretty grumpy since he hurt his back. And Patty too, for that matter. Now I walk into work holding my breath, wondering what I did wrong that might earn a morning lecture."

  "Well, Ella, we all know the source of Patty's discontent. Don't take it personally."

  Boone trotted over and set about sniffing the ice chest in my hand.

  Fran motioned toward it. "Are you taking Fynn lunch?"

  "We are hiking up to the river."

  "Sounds fun." Fran reached forward and pinched the end of the blanket tucked under my arm. "And romantic. I'll let you go then. By the way, I'm forming a committee to plan a party to celebrate the new park. Fynn, will, of course, be honored. If you have time, why don't you join? But don't mention anything to Fynn yet. It's still in the works."

  I ran a zipper across my lips. "I'll see you later, Fran."

  Fynn looked up from his work and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. "Great. I'm starved." He took hold of the ice chest and blanket.

  We wasted no time heading up to the river trail with our lunch fare. The day before had been marred by a short-lived, turbulent storm, but today, the sky couldn't have been bluer if someone had painted it with a cerulean colored brush.

  Boone immediately picked out his toy for the day, a ten inch branch that was already smooth and ideal for a game of fetch. Since Fynn
was holding the lunch items, the tossing end of the game fell to me. I threw the stick. It flew end over end and landed a disappointing five feet away. Boone didn't even bother to run to retrieve it. He trotted it back and dropped it at my feet.

  I laughed. "I swear to you that dog just rolled his eyes to show me his disgust at my pathetic throw."

  "Yep, Boone's real good at showing his disapproval. Throw it sideways, like a Frisbee, and it'll go farther."

  I stopped to take my time with the throw. Boone's whole body tensed with anticipation. "Oh my gosh, I better not let him down this time or he'll be calling me loser behind my back."

  "Nah," Fynn said. "He won't bother to do it behind your back. Just bend your arm and let the stick fly."

  I curled my arm back and let go at the perfect moment. The stick spun through the air like a disc and landed a good fifteen feet away. I patted myself on the shoulder.

  We continued up through the trees, following the scent and roar of the water. After the rain, the river would be much deeper.

  "So, you've started on the pond."

  "Yes, it doesn't need much. I just need to clean the mineral deposits and get the pump working like the fountain." A noticeable pause followed, which made me look his direction.

  I could read his next words on his face. "I'll be finished with the park, Ella. I need to move on."

  "I know. Are you sure you couldn't find something to do right here in Butterfield?"

  "I think you know the answer to that, Starshine."

  "I do."

  We reached a flat clearing that was just twenty feet back from the river. Fynn put down the ice chest and kicked away some of the forest litter with his foot. We stretched the blanket out, and Boone promptly dropped the stick on it. I grabbed it before Fynn could.

  "I want to try it again." I got up and turned so that I was looking along the river and not toward it. I tossed the stick and it spun through the air. Boone's short legs carried him quickly toward it.