Wingman: Just a Guy and His Dog Read online

  I pushed open the screen door leading out to the back porch. It was an especially quiet night under a rich blue and silver blanket of stars. Crickets had started their evening symphony, and the only other sound was the low murmur of my neighbor's television set.

  "Wow, an entire wall of tall shrubs," Fynn noted as he sat on the top step. "Lots of privacy, which means you can sit right here." He took my hand and led me to sit down in the circle of his long legs. I leaned back against his hard chest, and his arms cradled me like a shawl.

  Boone trotted down the back steps to take a tour of the yard.

  "My dad planted these shrubs for ornamental reasons back when I was a kid. He thought they'd lend a nice green border to the yard. It turned out this particular shrub grew at warp speed and could reach twenty feet in height." I laughed, thinking about my dad out in the yard with his clippers, furiously trying to keep control of his monster shrubs. "Eventually, we kind of liked the idea of having a thick wall of shrubs between us and the neighbor's house. So my dad retired his hedge clippers and let the shrubs grow."

  Fynn casually slipped his hand under my shirt. I had no intention of stopping him. I wondered if he could feel my racing heart beneath his palm. "This is my favorite kind of night and my favorite setting. And crickets are my favorite tune. My grandfather always says that he can't sleep unless the crickets are singing. I took that to heart once and decided to make a recording of crickets for those nights when they weren't chirping. I gave him the disc for his birthday, but it was an epic fail. He said crickets coming through the shoddy speaker of his radio were just noise. He really can be a grumpy old man sometimes, but he's my favorite grumpy old man."

  Already bored of the yard, Boone rejoined us on the steps. He stretched out on the bottom landing, extending his back legs out behind him like a bear rug. He lowered his head and fell right into a snore.

  "And there goes the peace and quiet," Fynn noted.

  I rested my head back against his chest. Whatever soap he used, it was quickly becoming my favorite scent. "Is your grandfather the reason you're so grounded at the age of—" Without lifting my head from his chest, I turned my face up to him. "How old are you, anyhow?"

  "I'm twenty-four. And yeah, Grandpa had a lot to do with it. But I've really only recently found my grounding. For a lot of years, I let anger affect my decisions. Working on the farm helped me cool my heels."

  I reached up and rubbed my hand along the worn denim on his legs. "What were you angry about?"

  The question rattled him enough that I felt the muscles in his arms and chest tighten. "Everything," he finally answered.

  A squirrel in a tree temporarily startled Boone from his sleep. He lifted his head and wiggled his flat nose for a second, then dropped back into a deep slumber.

  "When I think about it"—Fynn's muscles relaxed again—"Boone had about as much to do with me finding the ground under my feet as my mom and grandfather. About eight years ago, I was driving my truck along the stretch of road leading to the farm. It had been raining for days, and mud crept along the road like a river. The wipers on my old truck were hardly able to keep up with the downpour, but somehow I caught a flicker of movement on the road. Boone was just half the size he is now. He was sitting patiently in the icy downpour, hoping that someone would pick him up. I pulled over, hopped out of the truck and walked cautiously toward him, not wanting to scare him into the raging river of mud flowing right behind him. His tail wagged and he smiled up at me with those big eyes, and I could swear he was telling me—I was waiting for you, buddy. He was tiny and hungry and nearly drowned by rain, but he never lost hope that things would get better. Whenever things don't go the way I want, I always think of that day."

  "I love that story." I wrapped my hands around his iron hard biceps and brought his arms closer around me. "And I love sitting here with these incredible arms wrapped around me."

  Fynn lowered his mouth to my neck and kissed it. "That's good because I was just thinking that I could hold you in my arms all fucking day and night."

  I rested my head back and lifted my chin to give him more access to my neck. His facial hair tickled me provocatively as his mouth pressed against my skin. The hand he had resting under my shirt swept up and cupped my breast. His thumb rubbed my nipple beneath the bra. He hooked his thumb on the fabric and pulled it down to free my breast. My bottom was nestled against his crotch, and I could feel his erection pushing urgently against me as his thumb stroked my nipple into a tight bud.

  "It's going to be awfully damn hard pulling myself away from you tonight," he muttered against my ear. "I want to touch and kiss you every damn hour of the day."

  "Stay." My mind went straight to it. Patty was right. I was lacking every inhibition needed to be a proper lady, but the last thing I wanted from Fynn was propriety. He had my mind and my emotions dashing in every different direction and my body was following right behind. "I have the house to myself. You could stay."

  "Something tells me that your neighbors are already sitting at their front windows waiting for my van to leave. I don't want to be run out of town by a posse."

  "I hadn't thought of that," my voice trailed off as he slid his hand down along my belly. "But then, with the way you're holding me and touching me, I'm surprised I can remember my name, let alone my nosy neighbors."

  His fingers fiddled with the button on my shorts. I heard the zipper slide down as my eyes drifted shut. My chest rose and fell with short breaths, and my thighs parted as his hand slid beneath my panties. I clutched at his arms, worried that if I didn't hold on to him, I might slide right down the steps, pooling at the bottom in a hot liquid puddle.

  His fingers slid between the folds of my pussy into the hot moisture that had begun to pool there. I sucked in a breath as his thumb stroked my clit.

  "So exactly what is your name?" His voice was gravelly and low as he whispered against my ear.

  "Huh? Twinkie?"

  "That works." He nibbled my ear as his thumb worked magic on my clit. "You are sweet and tasty." A gasp shot from my lips as his fingers slipped inside of me. "And so fucking beautiful, Starshine. So fucking beautiful."

  His fingers impaled me as the callused heel of his palm massaged my clit. I drew my thighs together to hold his hand tighter against me. My fingers dug into the flesh on his solid arms as I writhed against the pressure of his hand between my legs.

  "Fynn, yes, Fynn." My breathy pleas circled the yard as he brought me to climax. As my pussy clenched around his hand, a groan rolled up from his chest.

  "Fuck, Ella, I'd do that again and again just to hear you say my name like that." The words squeezed out of his throat. Wrapped in his arms, I could feel the tension in his entire body. It sent a thrilled shiver through me, a delicious finish to it all.

  My heartbeat and my breathing slowed as my body rolled back from the orgasm. I crumpled against him like a rag doll. He held me against his chest.

  "You are the last thing I ever expected to find in this town, Starshine."

  Chapter Seventeen

  Fynn

  Boone hopped down from the van and quickly discovered we were back at the park. He looked up at me with his big black eyes and seemed to be asking—why, why are we here again?

  I held out my hands. "What? You know it's the girl, buddy, and can you blame me?"

  He seemed to accept that answer and trotted on ahead of me to search for his choicest nap spot.

  The fountain was still churning happily along and people seemed to be taking their time getting to their destinations as they slowed their cars and feet to admire it.

  I pulled my gloves out of the van and shut the backdoor. I wasn't going to need tools today. Just a good pair of gloves and my own grit and determination. The weed forest on the pavilion made the weeds on the fountain look like dandelions. The intricate iron scrolls had given the invasive plants the perfect trellis for growing. Some reached to the top of the dome, and most had taken the time to weave in and out of the struct
ure, making it impossible to just pull them free.

  My thoughts drifted back to the night before. As badly as I'd wanted to take Ella up on her invite to stay the night, I'd pulled myself away from her sweet body and even sweeter kisses and dragged myself back to the motel. I didn't want her to have to deal with judgmental neighbors, and I didn't want to give them a good reason for throwing me out of town. One thing was certain—after holding Ella in my arms, I knew that I wanted more. I wanted her so badly I'd tossed and turned all fucking night just thinking about her.

  The cowbell sounded in the distance, but it was Patty and not Ella. I knew my attention would shoot that direction every time I heard the bell.

  "Morning!" a deep voice said behind me. I turned around to see the mayor's husband and several other men walking toward me, armed with gloves and tools. "We thought we'd clean up some of the debris and get the sprinklers up and running. Can't have a beautiful fountain sitting in the middle of brown grass," Richard said as he neared.

  I looked around at the expanse of dead grass. "You're right. That fountain would look a lot better against a green backdrop. I'm going to get started on the pavilion."

  "Sounds good. Scott, Bryan, this is Fynn, the guy who fixed the fountain."

  I waved hello and then set to work on the weeds. Boone decided to curl up with a chew toy inside the pavilion. The structure was made up of twelve panels. The bottom third of each panel was made from a honeycomb of wood slats, and the rest, including the part that curved to create a dome, was wrought iron. As expected, the wood sections had not fared as well as the iron. A rounded bench was attached to each panel making a near perfect sitting circle.

  I started on the tallest stalks of weeds at the back of the structure.

  "Looks like you have helpers today." Ella's voice drifted around the gazebo. She had pulled on a pink tank top and khaki shorts, and as far as I was concerned, she was ready for the damn runway. How could anyone look that beautiful standing in a forest of dry, bristly weeds?

  I walked down the steps of the pavilion and looked over at Richard and his friends. They had started at the north end of the park. It seemed they were having a discussion about the sprinkler system.

  "Surprised me, that's for sure. They decided to restart the lawn." I rubbed my foot over the brown scrub on the ground. "Not sure if it's possible."

  "The fountain came back to life. Maybe the grass will too." She had tied her hair up with a bandana, exposing her long, silky neck.

  I took a peek around and kissed her neck. I loved the way she instantly tilted her head to make it easier for me. It seemed she wanted me as badly as I wanted her. I kissed her lips next, but the cowbell interrupted us before I could make it a serious kiss.

  Ella pointed her thumb behind her. "I better get to work. I'm already on the outs with the boss."

  I took hold of her hand before she could scoot away. "I was thinking, since my van is a little obvious, why don't I take you to my place in Langston tonight? I can't cook because there is no kitchen, but we could buy some food on the way."

  "Your place? I thought you were living in a motel."

  "Not just any motel, the Riverton Highway motel. It's not fancy, but who needs fancy when you can have good. And I've got all kinds of good activities planned." She didn't answer right away, and I felt like an idiot. "Shit, guess that was being too forward."

  "Uh, you're talking to the girl who said 'stay' last night, remember?"

  She hopped up and kissed me on the lips. "I'm off at six." She made a show of sashaying away and then smiled back at me over her shoulder. "And save some energy for those activities."

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ella

  I sidled past the group at the window to fill the potato chip racks.

  Harrold's market had found a new purpose in life, other than the expected, a convenient central location to buy butter, toilet paper and cough syrup. Its placement along Main Street afforded it the best view of the town square. And the big front window, which was slightly tinted to keep out the harsh midday sun, made it the perfect place to view the clean up activity in the park.

  Kathryn Mackson might still have had her nose in a crinkle about a stranger just marching into town to take apart the fountain, but she sure as heck spent a lot of her time staring out the shop window. Patty's interest in the scene across the street had waned some since our terrible fight. But she took the occasional free minute to stand with the other women and gaze out at the park.

  Patty's neighbor, Sarah Hobson, stood next to Kathryn. Sarah graduated two years before me. She'd left to go to college, but had returned, degree in hand, to help her uncle run his hardware store. She had decided to take her lunch break at the market window. Her face was glued to the glass as she chomped on her tuna salad sandwich and talked about her wedding plans. She was about to marry Nate Goodson, her childhood sweetheart.

  Every once in a while, she stopped chewing and listing flower choices to comment on Fynn.

  "I still remember the first time he walked into the hardware store." She paused to sip some water. "Of course, first there was the obvious 'oh my, who is this guy' reaction because he was an unfamiliar face and because . . . well . . . that goes without saying." She laughed. "He bought gloves and a shovel and a few other tools. Uncle Graham thought up the theory that he was a serial killer going from town to town looking for victims."

  Patty and I exchanged amused glances.

  Kathryn placed her hand against her chest for dramatic effect. "My Brent still thinks there is something very untrustworthy about the man. I know he was going to do some snooping around to see if he could find out more about him." Kathryn then leaned closer to the window, apparently wanting to find out more about him too. It was hard for me to keep my lips sealed shut. But I'd always found it was easier to let Kathryn have her say and then let the words fritter away to be carried off by a breeze.

  "But never would I have expected him to clean up the fountain," Sarah continued. "And he did a great job. I hear the seniors are already plotting the bubble bath prank for graduation. I can't believe school will be out in two weeks. Hey, maybe if the pavilion is all shined up, the sixth grade could . . ." Her words fell off, and she shoved her sandwich back into her mouth.

  "Are my eyes deceiving me?" Fran pointed to something. "Is that Jilly walking across the park with a plate in her hand?"

  Patty stretched up to see over the heads. "Do you think it's her chocolate donuts?"

  Now they had my attention. I tossed the bag of chips back into the box and joined the others at the window. A foil tent covered the plate in Jilly's hands.

  "Too tall. Blueberry muffins maybe," I surmised.

  Patty's eyes gleamed as she stared out the window. "Remember those savory popovers she used to make for the holidays? Maybe she made popovers. God, what I wouldn't do to have one of those melt in your mouth popovers right now."

  "I'm still thinking about the donuts." I hopped up on my tiptoes to get a better view. Jilly was a good ten years younger than my mom, but she normally looked ten years older. Only not today. Today, she'd brushed out the long hair she normally had tied up in a school teacher bun and she'd even put on some blush to cover her usual stay indoors pallor. I couldn't help but notice that her stride looked younger and less plodding than usual as she crossed the dead lawn to where the men were working.

  Fran was holding her straw hat in her hand. She stepped away from the window and popped it on her head. "I'll go find out what she has and report back." She sighed. "A mayor's work is never done." She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a hushed tone even though there was no one else in the store. The rest of us instinctively calculated that a gossip nugget worthy of hearing was about to follow and leaned in.

  "I'm sure you all recognize Russell's younger brother, Scott. He's going to be staying with us indefinitely. He's going through a nasty divorce. Anyhow, as you may or may not know, Jilly has always had a slight crush on Scott." She straightened. "And mystery sol
ved. I just remembered that Scott loved her blueberry muffins the last time he was in town. I'm sure that's what she has on the plate."

  With the possibility of Jilly's chocolate donuts removed, I returned to my task. "I'm going to finish this display and then take lunch, Patty."

  "The new shipment of soda is coming in today so plan on stacking refrigerators this afternoon." Since our falling out, Patty had taken on a more managerial tone with me. At first, it had rubbed me the wrong way, but I'd decided to take it in stride. I'd also decided not to tip toe around about my friendship with Fynn. The more time I spent with him, the more attached I became. As thrilled as I was about having something new and different to look forward to each day, I was equally terrified about what would happen when Fynn and Boone climbed into their van and drove away. My heart felt heavy just thinking about it.

  Sarah walked over and picked up a bag of corn chips from the display. "So, Ella, rumor has it that you and the gorgeous fountain fixer are engaging in some heavy duty flirting."

  I kept my focus on the chip display but couldn't stop a smile. "You could say that."

  "Good for you." She pulled out her phone. "I haven't shown you my dress yet." I figured the topic would quickly switch back to the wedding. I was relieved. I had no desire to talk about my relationship with Fynn because I knew it would become a central topic in town. So much of my life revolved around things that happened in town, in fact nearly all of my life was Butterfield focused, it was nice to have something that wasn't solely connected to my family and neighbors.

  I smiled and made nice comments about Sarah's dress as she scrolled through the hundred million pictures she had of the gown.

  "I wonder if it's warm enough outside for him to take off his shirt?" Fran asked as her gaze returned to the window.