Except for the wheels and fixing the backplate once the paint dried, Gable’s wagon was ready. The wagon itself had received its final coat, and all Vince needed was the new set of wheels he had ordered, and the work would be finished. He would drive over to see her on Saturday and deliver the wagon.

There were so many projects he wanted to start. Some called out impatiently. Some, like the carousel horse sitting quietly in the shadows, remained enchanting and demure. He’d carved a sign for a B&B in town, and now two other businesses asked him to meet and discuss new signage. It was the sort of work he loved. It paid well and satisfied his creative side, but he needed to concentrate more on meeting deadlines.

He’d set up his drawing board at the bench beneath a window that allowed him a view across the yard. Glancing out the window, he wondered on which track Lulah and the dogs would appear. She had left on her mountain bike this morning, so she could return by a number of different routes. Needing a focus, he decided to finally uncover the carousel horse and make a plan for its restoration.

Minutes later, the barking dogs grabbed his attention, and he searched for Lulah with that tricky mix of eagerness and apprehension. He’d had this picture flash of her in the vehicle with Mike as they passed him on the road when they drove into town the other night, and they looked right for each other.

With that image came the knowledge that they were the ones spending each day together. He recalled how Mike made her laugh and how the storm clouds rolled in on his mood as he’d watched.

If there was one thing he knew, it was that anything emotional for him was the IED—Improvised Explosive Device—on the road. One little bump and he’d detonate. Right then, he decided to shut down all of these niggling attractions he felt for Lulah. What was he thinking? Mike was perfect for her.

What the hell? Since when had Lulah’s personal life become his concern?

He went back to work on the sketch for the broken trappings on the carousel horse. The damaged fairy was almost wingless, so he’d start with that. He reached for his pencil as the door pushed open with an initial creak, and the way the sunlight spilled through cleaved the shadow on the floor of the barn. It illuminated a path between him and Lulah, and she stood there at the entrance, giving him a simple smile.

He wanted to go to her. He really wanted to but...Hell, IED, remember? He gripped the pencil, forcing all his energy—his thoughts about Mike, his anxiety—through its tip, while keeping his gaze on her.

Looking at her was a banquet. Both greedy and nourishing in one hit.

He thought she would break the spell with a quick, ‘Hi, what are you up to?’, but she did something so different, so unlike the way other people treated him. Mostly, others dealt with him quickly, using that awkward give the beggar a bun and make him leave before he creates a scene method.

But not Lulah.

She was still smiling, although she did more than that. She had hooked into his gaze, then beyond his gaze and right into his eyes. She took him in, slowly, gently, with no retreat, until he felt as though she watched his soul. Scanning it, seeing the hurt, assessing him like a paramedic’s on-arrival summing up of an accident victim. The smile slid from her mouth until her lips pursed in this little way, curious, because she kept on reading, seeing his soul scars, making an inventory.

She sees the scars.

Lulah kept watching, and he stayed locked in, because throughout that strange eternity of only a few moments, she made him feel more human than he had experienced in a long time. She identified his soul, and even though he couldn’t get near it himself, she made him believe maybe it was still there.

She blinked, her eyelids like the slow drift of a curtain, withdrawing gently from the intensity of what they’d shared. He watched as her gaze made a steady sweep of the workshop, fixing on the carousel horse. Smiling, she walked over to it. “Oh, wow,” she murmured, sliding her fingertips over the crest of the neck, carefully, as if not to disturb any flakes of paint.

Now she stood in the cross of two shafts of sunlight as if illuminated on a stage. He stepped up to her, gripped her arms, and pulled her against him. “I don’t want to need you.” His mouth pressed against her hair, his whisper fierce, the words delivered and spaced with care so that there could be no chance of misinterpretation.

“I understand. I feel the same,” she replied.

The heat of her breath warmed his chest. Holding her against him like this was so fantastic that he never wanted to let her go. But that one little admission from her brought him back to reality. He liked her way too much to make this anxiety part of her daily life.

IED, remember?

They released each other, and Lulah moved to the wagon, running her fingertips over it the way she had on the horse. “It looks finished?”

Vince exhaled. Reality. “I’m waiting for the wheels, and it’s done. They should be ready to pick up tomorrow.” Reality, to be honest, was that he wanted her fingertips trailing over him.

He leaned back against the workbench. “How did little Calliope perform today?”

Lulah’s grin broadened. “Oh, Calliope is such a star. Mike thinks she’s one of the best dogs he’s dealt with. She has such an affinity for this work, but I guess that showed the first day she hooked up with you. Calliope saw what a hot guy you are and decided she wasn’t letting you go.” She winked.

As if on cue, Calliope wandered into the workshop and sat at his feet, her warm body resting against his legs. He reached down and stroked her head. Although they joked around now, he still couldn’t quiet the chaos. “She sees through the damage.”

“Through the rubble,” Lulah added. “She’s a rubble rouser!”

Vince laughed.

Lulah stepped back from the wagon. “I’ve some work to finish writing up. Do you have time this evening to go over it? Tonight’s bribe is arugula, goat cheese, lentils, walnuts…that sort of stuff.”

“Sure. I’ll be over in an hour.” I’ll settle myself down. Check myself off that little fantasy flight I took.

Calliope stayed at his feet when Lulah and Joker left the workshop. “Thanks, babe,” he said as he touched her head. Little jabs of concern plagued him that, because of her daily training sessions without him, she might shift her alliance to Lulah or, worse, Mike.

Lulah was sorting her mail when he arrived on her porch, so he took a seat and waited. Quiet was something he was good at, and he used the time to take in Lulah’s stuff, the things she surrounded herself with in her daily life. On the floor by her bed lay an old folk art rug with a primitive-looking creature, probably a dog, featuring in the center. The chairs were an assortment, a couple of Mission pieces in varying states of repair. He could fix those for her. The table was a Stickley, and the entire cabin and porch were like a step back in time.

Lulah pushed her mail aside and smiled at him. “What?” she asked.

“You have some great furniture here. Are they family pieces?”

“That’s a joke. The only thing my father will leave me is his name and debt.” She gestured at her mail for emphasis.

“Bad news?”

“I guess. You see, this one,” she held up an envelope addressed in a spidery hand, “this is from my father who has now taken his emotional blackmail from phone to paper. He has a large gambling debt that seems to double in size weekly. And this one,” she held up an envelope from the bank, “this is my savings account statement which, by cruel coincidence, roughly matches my father’s gambling debt.”

“Oh, crap.”

“Crap, indeed. If I were a good girl, a loving daughter, I would pay off my father’s debt to keep the loan shark or the repo man or whatever they call that sort of scum these days from his door. That way, Daddy can set off on another gambling spree under the pretense that he’s actually earning the money to pay me back. Rest assured, previous experience says I won’t see a cent of that money again. Are you with me so far?”

“Right there.”

“Many would call me all kinds of names thinking my loyalty should first be for my father.”

Vince shook his head. “Not that many.”

“Play the game with me here, Vince. For fun, I’m going to beat myself up a bit so that I can justify my actions and ditch the guilt.”

“I’m playing with you, babe.” Babe? Shit, where did that come from?

“Beyond my selfishness, I really want this money. I’ve honestly earned every cent and gone without stuff to gather it all together. I’m trying to buy this cabin before Albert’s family sells it.”

“Albert. Is that the guy you used to visit at the Veteran’s Home?”

She nodded. “Yeah. God, I miss him like a dad. I fell in love with this place when I first moved here. Albert wanted me to have it, and we agreed on a price, but now that he’s gone, it’s all in the hands of attorneys. His sons have it on the market. I guess I’m lucky that out here, close to nowhereville, isn’t exactly a hot spot on the real estate radar. But if I don’t raise the money soon, I could miss out.

“Vince, I’ve never had a stable home. Moving up here, working at the Sanctuary, is the most stability my life has ever had. You’ve no idea what it’s like to know, on a daily basis, where you’re going to be, in a physical sense. That you’re not going to come home to a moving truck or a thug wanting to go through your schoolbag in case the kid has the money.

In about another twelve months, I’ll have enough saved to buy the cabin. If I pass my degree and get the promotion at the Sanctuary, I’ll reach my goal even quicker. I try so hard, and Dad comes along and puts the worst trip ever on me.”

Lulah vulnerable. Something new, and awful, to see. “Maybe I can help, lend you some money.”

Lulah shook her head. “No. No way. I’m not borrowing money from you, Vince.”

“The bank?”

“I’m not borrowing money at all. When I buy this cabin, it will be debt free. Nobody will ever have control over where I live again. Each day, I want to know that my home is here because of my honesty and hard work. If I do that, nobody can take that away from me.”

“Yeah, I think I understand.”

Lulah made a broad sweep with her arms. “With all my heart, I want to hold onto this. Albert made these gardens, and I’ve kept them going. Some of this furniture belonged to Albert and his wife. Their kids don’t want it, but I love it, because it’s old, because somebody else loved it. This stuff has history. There’s over an acre, here. I even have a barn with a semi-resident UHT guy.” She kicked back her chair. “All joking aside, this is really a wind-up.” She walked into the kitchen. “Sorry,” she called out, “I’m being pathetic.”

He followed her, stood up close. “No, hey, Lulah. You’re not pathetic. All that emotional blackmail, you know, let it out.”

She dug him in the ribs. “Says the guy who uses silence as his deadly weapon.”

His silence isn’t deadly. She must understand that when the beast is unleashed, it gets loud and ugly. “I keep the lid on my container tight for a good reason, Lulah.”

“Contents under pressure, friend. Just sayin’.”

He moved back to lean against the counter, watching her rinse the lentils, slice red onions, and wash arugula. He would happily watch her read. At these times, he stayed stuck in space, so relieved at not having to think, not having to move.

Her back was to him. “Are you still here, Vince?” she asked some minutes later.

God, yes, more than you can imagine.

“I feel as though the crosshairs of a silent sniper’s sight is trained on the back of my head.” Her voice sounded tight.

She continued to prepare the dinner, and more than wanting to stay silent and watch her, the desire to reach for her, touch her, made his fingers twitch. Several times, he almost took that step, managing to hold back only because, beyond anything, he wanted to keep her friendship. One day, he might need to call on it.

He cleared his throat. “Your assignment, Lulah?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s open on the laptop.”

He sat at her desk and started reading. What she lacked in education, she made up for with passion and insight for her work, yet there was something unusual about the way she wrote her assignments. Her answers were well-crafted, insightful, but they were written in this first-person narrative as if telling a story rather than answering questions. She may have lacked education, but the depth of her perception for animal behavior was immense.

Soon, she stood behind him, watching over his shoulder. Ignore her; keep reading. The moment he tried to pretend she wasn’t there, his breathing went haywire, and he had to consciously inhale and exhale, but he couldn’t manage to work in the right amount of air. Always too much or too little. After a couple more breaths, her hands were on his shoulders, small, strong, kneading at the muscles. He lifted his head and sat stock-still.

“Relax, dude. Let me do this, you need it and I’m good at it. Ask the dogs.”

No doubt about that. The computer screen blurred, and he closed his eyes. Fuck the assignment. This was too good. No one had touched him in a year.

He kept his lips pressed together, trying not to make a sound as her hands worked along his shoulders, up his neck, and down his spine until she reached a point where the back of his chair blocked her way.

Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t contain an occasional grunt when she hit on a particularly rough spot. When he did, she stayed on that place, coaxing him through with clever fingers and words that healed, until his body sent out its own pain relief and repair.

“You should be lying down for me to do this properly.”

“Uh, no, that’s not going to work.”

Her fingers stopped, and she gave him a couple of brisk pats on the shoulder and stepped around to perch her butt against the table, right beside him. “You didn’t like that?”

“Are you kidding me? That was great. No, it’s better than great. But, ah, I’m going to embarrass myself.”

Her eyes widened. “UHT Guy is going to embarrass himself! Oh, I’m all over that for an idea.” That grin had her looking so much like a little imp it made him smile right back.

She must have secret powers. Earlier in the barn, there had been that weird staring thing she’d done, right through to his soul. And now with the massage, she’d made him hard. He couldn’t even remember the last time his dick had stepped up for action, yet there it was, straining for full salute, causing all kinds of pleasurable discomfort.

He swung around on the chair to face her, and without hesitation Lulah hooked a leg over his thighs and straddled his lap. With a hand laid upon each shoulder, she moved right up into his face, wriggled, and settled a little more firmly over him. “Hell, Vince,” she shifted her hips a bit more, “that’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

He dropped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. This is not happening. One of her hands left his shoulder, and she dragged the back of her finger from his chin down across his throat and hooked into the neck of his t-shirt. There had been a groan begging to be heard since she’d started that massage, and he set it free as he used one hand to cuff her wrist. He still had his eyes closed, head back, confused, and he clung to her wrist as if it were the only thing saving him from dropping over the cliff.

He pulled her hand to his mouth and placed his lips against her palm, slipping his index finger around to bend her hand back a little until he found her pulse and worked it with his tongue. A shiver ran through her, and he pressed harder with his mouth so that his teeth dragged across her soft skin. She lifted slightly and settled again on his lap. He took hold of her other wrist, drawing them both down and holding them in his lap, between them.

“My god, you have no idea what I want to do right now.”

“I think I do.”

“No.” He shook his head.

“You tell me, then.”

She was back at his eyes, and yeah, he could stay there with her, because she’d started a fire, and something inside him roared into life. That heat felt amazing. The thaw. Having spent the best part of a year or more suppressing every dysregulated emotion so that he could function, detached but safe, he understood that letting Lulah in was dangerous. And really fucking tempting.

“I want to rip off your t-shirt and study you. Watch your chest rise and fall with quick and shallow breaths, while you wonder what my next move might be. I’ll unfasten your bra and have you topless, still sitting on my lap. By now, you’d be expecting a touch, but I’d make you wait. I like to look. I would take my time to map the terrain of your body so that, when you’re not around, I can close my eyes and have you with me. Every creamy hill, every silken valley, the bump and dent of a scar. I want to know it all.”

He paused, saw her small nod. Not an I told you so sort of nod. Nor was it a nod of acceptance or an invitation for him to go ahead. It was a nod that said she understood.

His mouth became dry, and he moistened his lips with his tongue, his cock growing even harder when he saw her do the same thing in a subconscious act of mirroring.

“I’d take your arms, one wrist in each of my hands, and draw them down to your sides, hold them at your hips a moment, and slip them quickly behind your back. I’d press them together and capture them with just my left hand, because you know, Lulah, your wrists are strong, but they’re tiny. Both of them not even a handful for me.”

Her fingers flexed a little where he had her hands still captured between them.

“I’d have you restrained, now.” Emphasis came with his squeeze of her wrists, and he waited for as long as it took, listening for that different inhalation. “There you go,” he lowered his voice, “that little hitch in your breath. You like that idea, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Just my mouth, my tongue, and one hand free to explore you, tracing the slender line of your neck, shoulders, your breasts, the corrugations of your ribs, the dip of your waist. Running my finger softly around your belly button until you push against my hand, needing more pressure, or less, or for that maddening tease to stop. You’d still have your jeans and panties on. My mouth waters at the thought of your breasts.”

Her head jerked a little, and her voice came out all secret-sharing soft. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

He slipped his gaze to her chest to underscore his words, holding in a smile when he saw the faint pink tinge color her cheeks. Damn, why don’t I?

He wanted to claim her, grab the back of her head, and pull her in for a deep, this-will-never-end kiss. One that started off slow and teasing, and finished up as a total wet and noisy tongue-fuck. And he knew if he kissed her he was gone.

He slid his hand down her thigh and cupped one knee, lifting it to boost her from his lap. Once she stood, he rose, finishing the same way she had begun, by resting his hands on her shoulders. “That’s what I’d like to do, Lulah…for starters.”

She turned to face him. “Wow, nice starter. I guess, we’re, ah, ready for dinner.”