Beauty and the Mustache

Then I noticed that I wasn’t wearing my jeans.

I twisted my neck to get a better look at my surroundings. The other three walls were lined with bookcases, which, if my eyes could be believed, were stuffed with books to the point of overflowing. Other than the shelves, the room was outfitted with the brown leather couch I was laying on, a large wooden side table, two big leather club chairs, and a thick wooden coffee table. An acoustic guitar rested on a stand in the far corner.

I decided I liked the room. It felt like a real place, a place where I could knit and read, or lay in the moonlight and watch shooting stars as I gazed out the wall of windows.

I was covered with a sheet, which I tugged to the side, blinking as I sat upright and listening for a sign as to where I was and what I should do next. I heard a noise and spotted light from under a door I’d initially failed to notice. Feeling like the door was the obvious choice, I gained my feet and walked to it.

Once opened, I followed the sounds of dishes and pots, which also happened to be the source of the light. Tiptoeing around the corner, I found Drew at a gas stove stirring a steaming pot of something that smelled delicious before tasting it and adding salt.

He asked without looking up. “How are you feeling?”

I leaned against the doorframe. “Thirsty and…confused.”

Drew’s eyes flickered to mine, his brows drawn together. “Let me get you some water.”

I watched him as he moved around the kitchen, grabbing me a glass and filling it with tap water. He was wearing dark blue jeans that fit him quite nicely, low around his hips, accentuated by a thick brown leather belt. Regrettably, he wasn’t shirtless; he had on a white T-shirt that also fit him quite nicely. He walked toward me holding out the cup of water.

I accepted it with thanks and downed its contents, fresh and pure as a mountain stream, and felt instantly better. He stood in front of me, his hands resting on his hips. I felt his eyes moving over my body, which was still shrouded in his giant (and now dirty) T-shirt.

His belt buckle was rather big; the entire thing was the word SAVAGE. He was also barefoot, and I noticed that he had nice feet.

“Do you want more?” He asked as his eyes moved from my feet to my neck then to the purple bruises on my arms.

“No, thank you.” I licked my lips and glanced around the room.

“Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you.” My eyes were consuming the sight of his kitchen. It was perfect. The counters were thick butcher block; his sink was oversized porcelain. The cabinets were painted a slate gray, almost blue, and the walls were pale yellow. It was uncluttered and charming and spacious. It looked like it should have been part of a movie set.

“I love your house.” I said this without knowing I was going to say it.

Drew took the glass from my hand, our fingers brushing. The contact startled me and brought my attention back to him. His hand loitered, covering mine for several seconds as our gazes clashed.

He cleared his throat before responding. “Thank you. It’s a good spot.”

“A good spot?”

“Yeah. We’re on Bandit Lake.” He tipped his head toward the window above the sink where nothing was visible except an inky night sky.

“Whoa…really?”

He nodded. I noted his expression was one of hesitant pride. He should be proud; owning a place on Bandit Lake was more difficult than convincing a pig to take a shower. The houses were deeded to families and couldn’t be sold. If the owners wanted to leave, they had to sell to the federal government because the land was part of the national park.

Each house sat on several acres and surrounded an exceptionally pristine lake at the summit of the mountain just ten miles from the parkway.

The lake used to be a gold mine in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It was eventually abandoned, and the gaping hole was filled with water. The lake allowed only trolling motors—so no gasoline engines—and had no runoff from fertilizers or other chemicals. It was on the top of the world and was one of the cleanest lakes in the United States. It was also very well stocked with fish.

How he’d managed to nab the house likely made for a fascinating story.

“We’re facing west. The sunsets are momentous.”

I quirked a smile at his use of the word momentous to describe a sunset.

“I’ll have to check it out sometime…” I said, and with these words I remembered where I was and who I was with and why I was confused by both. “Hey, so, why are we here?”

Drew stared at me for a beat and seemed to struggle—like he was restraining himself—before he turned back to the stove.

“What you do you mean?” His attention was once again focused on his pot of steaming something.

“I mean, why didn’t you take me home?”

“I stopped by your house. Cletus packed a bag for you; it’s in the bathroom.”

“Why didn’t you just leave me there?”

Drew sighed. “Because someone needs to take care of you, and your brothers have their hands full right now with your momma.”

This logic made no sense at all.

“I can take care of me,” I said, pointing out the obvious.

His gaze lifted from the pot where he’d just added a pinch of mystery spice, and pinned me where I stood. His expression was unreadable and unnerving. I felt like he’d decided something about me since we’d last exchanged words. He was much cooler and more reserved now. The light in his eyes had dimmed considerably.

Finally, he said, “I know.” Then he looked back at the pot.

“You do?” I asked the room, making no attempt to hide my confusion. “Then why am I here?”

This elicited a sigh. “Because you need to eat, and I need to eat, and I have soup and bread and pie.”

“You have soup and bread and pie?”

He nodded, still studying the pot.

I sniffed the air, realizing that the room smelled like chicken soup, fresh bread, and mystery pie of the dessert variety. My stomach noticed too, because it rumbled. Suddenly I was starving. Soup and bread and pie sounded really, really good.

“What kind of pie?” I stepped farther into the kitchen and searched the counter for pie.

“Pecan pie.”

I shrugged to hide my pleasure. I loved pecan pie. So did my momma. Suddenly, I felt guilty for having pecan pie. Maybe I could bring her back a piece. Maybe she could have a bite.

“Your stuff is already in the bathroom. Go take a shower. Then we can eat.” Drew basically dismissed me by turning from the steaming pot and busying himself with the dishes. I stared at his back for a few seconds and noted that his hair was damp. He must’ve already showered.

I glanced at my hands. They were dirty and scraped. In fact, I was dirty all over. I hadn’t really noticed.

On autopilot, I shuffled out of the kitchen and down the hall. I had made it ten steps when I heard his voice call out, “It’s the third door on the left.”

With these instructions, I found the bathroom easily. He was right. Cletus had packed me a bag. It contained exactly two pairs of underwear and three sets of tank top pajamas. Unfortunately, he’d neglected to include anything else, like appropriate clothes, a bra, or toiletries.

I leaned out the bathroom door and hollered to Drew, “Can I use your soap?”

There was a brief moment of silence before he called back, “Yeah, sure. Use whatever you need.”

I surveyed the shower-tub combo, found soap and shampoo. I also found his razor by the sink and shaving cream. For no good reason other than the satisfaction I would get by dulling his razor, I decided to shave my legs. Besides, what did he need a razor for? Didn’t Vikings manscape using knives?

I snooped around the cabinet looking for conditioner. I was pretty sure he used conditioner. His blond hair was long and wavy and lustrous. It looked soft to the touch….

These thoughts made me mentally facepalm, because I shouldn’t be thinking about Drew’s lustrous locks when I was about to get naked in his house. In fact, I made a mental note to never think about Drew’s lustrous locks.

I was about to shut the cabinet when several bottles of dark brown glass caught my eye. I picked one up and read the label.

“Ketamine….” I whispered to the bathroom. I glanced up at the mirror and saw that my eyes were large and wide. Ketamine was a controlled substance and was used as an anesthetic. The fact that he had multiple glass bottles of it stocked in his bathroom cabinet only served to solidify his image in my mind’s eye as a marauding man of mystery.

I wasn’t exactly made anxious by the discovery; more like creeped out and uneasy. Not helping matters, an owl chose that exact moment to hoot. It gave me a shiver and an intense sensation of hootiedoom.

I fought another shiver, telling my overactive imagination to hush, and abandoned my search for conditioner.

Stripping naked, I jumped into the shower. I soaped and rinsed twice. I washed my hair twice. Then I shaved my legs. When I was finished, the faucet was running cold. I had used all the hot water.

It felt good to be clean.

I frowned at this thought because my shower earlier in the day hadn’t felt nearly as cleansing or necessary. Even though, one could argue, I was dirtier this morning after a showerless week than I had been after a rabid raccoon attack.