CHAPTER 12

Ben

“You won’t need the space heaters,” Jim says, when I find him in the master bath, installing the showerhead. “Furnace is up and running.” He turns to me with a big grin on his face.

The guys have been working like mad these last couple of days, running lights along with their power tools off of the generator, so they could keep working into the night.

“No shit?”

“We’re out of here tonight. I’ll leave the furnace running overnight to get the chill from the house, and I’ll come back around noon tomorrow to do a last walk-through with you; make sure everything is working as it should. But other than that, we’ll be out of your hair.”

“Make sure you stop at the trailer before you head out. Isla’s gonna be pissed if she doesn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”

“Will do.”

She would be too. She picked up the prints a couple of days ago, signed and left a personal message on every one of them. I’m sure the guys will get a kick out of them. I asked her to pick up a bottle of scotch for each of them as well, my way of saying thanks. For nearly two months, we’ve seen these guys every day, ate with them, worked side by side with them—it’s going to be quiet when they’re gone.

I get the feeling winters are going to be long up here. Not sure how we would’ve fared if we’d had to wait for spring to build, but I’m glad we don’t need to find out. As it is, it’s been a little tense with Isla and me.

They say purchasing a house, or in our case building one, can make for the most stressful times in a relationship. I don’t really have much experience to draw from, but I’d have to say it certainly doesn’t help. Nor does the fact that we’re no closer to figuring out who sent that picture. I wish we could brush it off, but it’s too damn personal for that. It hit Isla right where it hurts, and it has me racking my brain to come up with a person I can attach to it. Other than that I agree with Damian, it’s got to be a woman, I’m no further on that front.

Then this morning, when I popped back into the trailer to grab my phone I’d forgotten, Isla startled and slammed her laptop shut. Not sure what that was all about, but it sure as fuck made for an awkward moment. She’s hiding something, and although I’m tempted to sneak onto her computer to find out, I can’t do it. Not when I’ve been preaching trust to her. It’s messing with my head.

Tomorrow is Sunday. We’ll have three days to get painting started, and then Wednesday morning; we leave for Albuquerque. I’m hoping that trip will be good. Get away for a bit. Besides, it’s been too damn long since I’ve seen Stacie and Mak, who’s probably grown another foot.

I leave Jim in the bathroom and walk-through the master suite and down the short hall into the living area: a big, open living/dining space, with the kitchen on the other side of it. The master bedroom, the great room, and the kitchen are all at the front, facing the reservoir. The roof over the center of the house has a steep peak over the great room, making for high cathedral ceilings inside and massive windows that showcase a fantastic view. The entire house is one level with three bedrooms, or in our case, two bedrooms and one study. The spare and the study plus the second bath are on the backside of the house. There’s a main entrance behind the kitchen, off the side of the house. We opted for a small basement, just below the kitchen, with a set of stairs leading down beside the main entrance. The furnace and water heater are down there, as is a cold storage room. Laundry is on the main level, on the backside of the house, with a door from the main entrance.

It’s not huge, but it feels big because of the high ceilings in the center of the house. I’m planning to build a deck in front of the big windows of the living room and a small porch off the master bedroom. All plans for the spring.

I slip outside through one of the doors on either side of the living room windows. Pretty sure tonight will be another frosty one, the air is cool and crisp on my face as I make my way to the four-wheeler, but I can smell evidence of Isla’s cooking from the trailer below.

“How much did you make?” I ask her, when I step into the trailer a few minutes later. She turns from the stove to face me, a curious smile on her face.

“Why? Are you hungry?”

“That,” I admit, “and I told Jim to stop by before they take off. They’re done.”

Isla’s smile breaks wide open.

“For real?”

“Jim’s gonna come back to walk us around tomorrow and sign off on the job. Looks like we’ll be painting.” I chuckle when she starts jumping up and down. Suddenly she stops and her face falls.

“I’m going to need more garlic bread from the freezer.” She turns her back and starts pulling things from the fridge and cupboards, her movements rushed and slightly frantic.

“All of them?” I ask.

A sharp nod and a mumbled “Uhhuh” is the only response I get.

By the time the wheels of the two pickup trucks crunch over the gravel path, there’s a fire burning in the fire pit. The venison stew Isla was making has been expanded with potatoes and vegetables, and the last of the garlic bread is coming out of the oven. Grudgingly, I dive into my beer stash on Isla’s instructions, to grab a twenty-four for the guys, just as they come sauntering up to the picnic tables.

Despite the fact everyone is tired, the mood is celebratory and it isn’t until we’re well into my second case of beer that Jim gets up and calls it a night.

“Wait!” Isla jumps up from where she’s been huddled under a quilt by the fire, listening to the guys talk, and surreptitiously snapping a picture here or there. “Give me a hand, Ben?” I follow her inside and grab the tote with bottles before letting her load me up with a couple of her prints. She carries the rest outside herself.

After handing out the scotch, shaking hands, and slapping shoulders, I stand off to the side and watch Isla as she says her goodbyes. If these guys didn’t love her already, they certainly would after tonight. She knows something about every one of them—the name of a spouse, a sick parent, a child’s performance—she has them all eating from her hand. The prints are a big hit and every last one of the guys promises to come back during the summer and bring their families.

“You good?” I ask; slipping my arm around her as we watch the trucks drive off.

“Gonna be quiet,” she says, tilting her head back, giving me a watery smile.

“I know,” I acknowledge. “But we’re gonna be too busy to notice,” I remind her. “We’ve got a house to paint and floors to lay.”

-

“Ben?” Isla’s fingers trail through my chest hair, drawing lazy patterns.

I’m almost asleep after she rode me hard and fast, my hands holding onto her hips, and my mouth on her perky tits. What little energy I had drained away with every spurt of my cum inside her.

“Hmmm.”

“Do you really want a dog?”

Isla

I flinch at the loud gurgle of my Keurig when I hit the button for my coffee.

I was up early and left Ben snoring in bed. I’m eager to get this day started; head up to the house and slap some paint on those walls, but he’s been working hard––seven days a week, ever since the house went up, so I figure he deserves to sleep in for once. The paint will wait till he gets up. My need for caffeine has run out of patience.

When my cup is brewed, I peek around the corner, fingers crossed he’s still sleeping, otherwise I’ll have to hand off my coffee. Satisfied he’s still down for the count, I take my cup and snuggle in the corner of the couch, my laptop within reach.

He’d laughed last night when I asked him if he was serious about a dog. At first, I was worried he’d changed his mind, but then he told me that he wouldn’t mind one, if that’s what I wanted.

I flip open my laptop and look at the picture I’d found when I was searching the breed he’d mentioned. Bernese Mountain dog. It popped up, a shelter in Farmington, where a seven-month-old male had been put up for adoption. A black face with soulful liquid eyes, and little tan patches for eyebrows, the narrow strip of white fur running between and ending in a white snout. His name is listed as Atsa.

I called the shelter yesterday. The lady who answered was very friendly. She told me he’d been there for a month already, the owners had given him up when they discovered he was getting too big for their apartment. It pisses me off when people don’t think ahead when they see a cute little puppy. In the end, it’s the dog that gets hurt. Just like those dumb people who buy kittens or puppies for Christmas, only to discover that they don’t stay that cute forever. Ugh. I confessed to her I was interested but that it wasn’t just up to me.

“What has you smiling?” My head snaps up at Ben’s raspy voice, and my hand is already poised to slap the laptop shut. A frown appears between his eyes when he notices my movement, so I drop my hand back in my lap.

“This,” I say instead, turning the screen toward him. The frown smoothes out and a little smile lifts the corner of his mouth.

“Who’s that?” he asks, making his way and sitting down next to me, pulling the laptop closer.

“His name is Atsa, he’s seven months old and the rescue shelter in Farmington is looking for a permanent home for him.” Ben turns his head and looks at me with his eyebrows raised.

“Yeah?”

“Yup.” The P pops between my lips, drawing his gaze down, before his eyes drift back up to my eyes, humor shining in them.

He reaches out and taps his index finger on my nose.

“And it just so happens, we’ll pass close to Farmington on our way to Albuquerque,” he points out.

“So it would seem,” I admit, feigning innocence, which doesn’t fool him for one second, judging by the growing smirk on his face.

“Manipulated already, and I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”

I jump up and rush to jab a mug under the Keurig—but I’m smiling big.

-

“I can’t believe how toasty it is in here.”

I strip off the big sweater I’m wearing and toss it on the kitchen counter, next to the trays and rollers I just brought in, along with a can of paint.

“Yeah, Jim really cranked it up, trying to get the chill out. Let me adjust the thermostat,” Ben says, as he follows me into the kitchen, carrying six cans of paint. Show-off.

“What time was he going to be here?” I call after him when he walks out of the kitchen.

“Noon,” he calls back.

It’s just past nine now, so we have plenty of time to tackle one of the rooms before he gets here.

“Which one first?” I ask Ben when he reappears.

“Master,” he says without hesitation. “Get the bedroom ready first so we can sleep here and then move out from there.”

“We don’t even have a bed,” I point out.

“We’ll bring the mattress up,” he says with a grin. “Not gonna squeeze in that damn shower any longer than I have to. Besides, that dog will need the room.”

We’d discussed Atsa over breakfast and Ben called the shelter himself with some questions. We’re going to stop by the shelter on the way to his sister’s, and if we click with the dog, we’re going to have their vet neuter him before we pick him up on our way home after the weekend.

The kitchen floor is tiled with a deep gray slate, matching the beautiful concrete countertop Jim’s guys put in. The stainless steel appliances are enough to make me drool: the fridge, about five times the size of what we have in the trailer, and the gas stove is almost industrial sized. The bathrooms have similar floors but the counters are a lighter gray composite. It is odd, moving through the house when most of the flooring is missing and only a layer of primer covers the walls. Very stark, until you look out the humongous ceiling to floor windows and all the beauty of the outdoors is right there.

It’s one of the reasons why we decided on a fairly neutral palette inside, just a selection of warm gray tones for the walls and floors. I’d wanted real wood floors, but Jim had convinced us to go with a high-end laminate that looks like old barn boards. The subtle differences in color and ridging detail makes it look like real wood, but with the convenience of being scratch resistant and easy to clean. Something I’m sure we’ll appreciate now that it looks like we’ll have a dog.

-

I’m up on a stepladder, cutting in the top edge of the wall with an angled brush, when Jim walks in.

“Wow,” he says, looking around at the walls, which already sport one coat of the odorless, fast drying paint. “Ben wasn’t kidding when he said you were hustling.”

“He wants to sleep here tomorrow night, so the walls have to get done today, and the floor has to go in tomorrow.”

“Ambitious,” Jim mumbles, grinning.

“You doubt we can do it?” I challenge him with a smile of my own, to which he vehemently shakes his head.

“Oh, hell no, I don’t doubt you can do anything you put your mind to.”

“She sure can,” Ben pipes up, from where he leans against the doorpost, smiling at me. “Got a minute to do a walk-through with us?”

“Sure.”

It doesn’t take long before we’re waving as Jim’s truck rattles down the brand new road, and we are alone. When I walk into the kitchen and see the stack of paperwork and manuals, along with a pile of keys, lying on the counter, the full impact hits me.

“We have a home.” I slap my hands over my mouth to hold back the semi-hysterical giggle bubbling up as I turn to face Ben, who is right on my heels.

“That was the plan, right?” His lopsided grin belies the dry tone of his voice. He’s excited too; he’s just too much of a guy to show it.

That was her.

I can’t believe the gall.

Right in the middle of Main Street, she’s putting her lips on my goddamn man. I spotted him right away, pushing the greedy bitch away from him, right outside the hardware store. But then seconds later, she is wrapped around him, his arms lifting her up like she belongs there. Not if I have anything to say about that.

It was a stroke of luck, which brought me to Cortez at that exact moment. Divine intervention, if you will.

Yesterday I finally had enough money to buy that picture she took of him. The flashy guy at the gallery wasn’t very forthcoming about her, but he willingly gave me the name of the printer. That’s where I was headed, when I saw him. I almost ran into the car in front of me. I panicked, there’d been nowhere to park, and traffic was thick, so I pulled around the block. By the time I got back where I’d seen them, they were gone. I waited thirty minutes on that corner but they never showed up. Sure that I’d lost him again; I drove to the printer and found parking in the alley across the street.

I’d barely said hello to the young guy behind the counter when SHE walked in. I can’t remember exactly what I said, but I made some excuse and hurried back to my car. My heart was pounding in my chest. What are the odds?

No sign of him, so when she crossed, right in front of me, I reacted.

Stupid. That had been stupid. I have to be more careful, but she was taunting me.

Touching what belongs to ME.

The father of my child.