Epilogue
Vanessa
I gave the couple some time to browse on their own before I went over to ask if they needed any help. They were vacationers, but they seemed really interested in the art. I wondered what their story was as a couple. Then, I grinned to myself. The more pregnant I got — and I seemed to be ballooning bigger and bigger every day — the more I just wanted to know what everyone’s personal story was.
“Can I help the two of you find something in particular?” I asked.
“Oh!” said the wife. “Oh no, we were just browsing.” She glanced over at her husband. “We’re on an anniversary trip, actually. Our fiftieth, if you can believe it! We’re staying at the little B&B up the road, the Berry Hill Farm, and I think it would be really sweet to pick up a piece of art to commemorate our trip with. But Barry here isn’t so sure.”
“Is this all local art?” Barry asked dubiously, peering at a couple of the pieces. “Janet, that’s all that I’m worried about. I know that a lot of these boutique shops import artwork from around the world and then sell it for far more than it’s actually worth. If we’re going to get something that reminds us of this trip, I would at least like for it to be something special and locally-produced.”
Janet rolled her eyes. “But we’re always going to remember that we picked it up here, even if it isn’t locally-produced,” she said exasperatedly. “It will remind us of this trip regardless of what its actual origins are.”
I decided to interject before they could start bickering. “Actually, all of the art in the gallery is locally-produced,” I told them. “What’s more, all of the artwork that you see here in the gallery is done in the local styles. So, for example, this painting that you were looking at is done by a local Chippewa artist, in traditional style. And this beading is all authentic, as well.”
“See, I told you,” Janet said, shaking her head fondly at her husband.
“Well, that is certainly a pleasant surprise,” Barry said. “And, you certainly seem knowledgeable about what you have in here.”
I smiled at him. “I’m the curator of the gallery,” I told him. “It’s a co-op, but I personally select all the artists that we feature in here, and I get a lot of say over which of their artworks we feature, as well.”
The man nodded.
“Let me know if I can answer any questions that you have about specific pieces,” I told them.
I looked toward the door as it swung open, bells chiming merrily, and I couldn’t help but smile as Trethan swaggered in. He was dressed in his Western finest, with a blue checked shirt, jeans, and the oft-worn hat and boots.
“Hey there, missus,” he said to me, swinging me into his arms and kissing me, not paying any attention to the looks that we got from some of the other customers.
I laughed and steadied myself against his arm, my hand coming up to rest against my stomach. “Still trying to get used to having a different center of gravity,” I complained.
“And how are you and John feeling today?” Trethan asked.
I shook my head. “Just as fine as we were at brunch this morning,” I told him. “Did you come by just to check on me?” It wouldn’t surprise me if he had; he had proven nothing but charmingly concerned throughout my whole pregnancy. But usually, he left his checking-in to a daily 10 a.m. phone call.
“Not just to check in on you,” he said. “I just got done meeting with John.”
“Oh,” I said, already knowing what the meeting would have been about. Dad had approached me about the topic a couple weeks ago, tactful and uncertain, much to my amusement.
“You were keeping secrets from me,” Trethan accused. “You already knew that he was planning to hand the Lazy J over to me.”
I smiled at him. “Well, he wanted to ask my opinion first,” I said. “And, he wanted to make sure that I didn’t mind, even though I think I’ve made my opinions on the place pretty clear. I love the ranch, but I don’t see a future for myself there. Anyway, it isn’t really transferring out of my hands anyway, as long as we’re still married.”
“But I would be taking over sole proprietorship for the place, meaning that I’d have a lot of work on my hands.”
“True,” I agreed. “But you’ve already basically been running the place for a few years now, haven’t you?”
“I suppose I have,” said he admitted, shaking his head. “I don’t know why, but it still just came as kind of a shock.”
“It shouldn’t have,” I said softly. “I know you still have a giant chip on your shoulder from everything in your past, but my dad believes you’re a good man.”
“And what do you think?” Trethan asked, but from the way he was smirking at me, I knew he was teasing.
“I think you’re distracting me from work right now,” I said, noticing suddenly that Janet and Barry were both watching our exchange, smiling. They looked like they probably had some questions, though. “How can I help you?” I asked them.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to stare,” Janet said, shaking her head. “Just, you both sure remind me of Barry and I when we were young.”
“How so?” I asked in surprise.
“Oh, you know, just the way he’s stopped by to check up on you, and the way you talk so familiarly about your lives. It’s sweet.”
I smiled over at Trethan, wondering if we were ever going to be a sweet older couple celebrating their fiftieth anniversary, but I wasn’t as worried about that now as I had once been.
Trethan and I seemed to have settled into life together pretty well, doing sweet things like brunch together on Sunday mornings before I went to the gallery or long walks around the ranch on sunny afternoons. Things were obviously going to change once the little one arrived, but I was no longer worried about the type of father he would make. I had seen him with kids who came to ride horses at the ranch, and he was starting to remind me more and more of my own father, rather than his.
“How many months along are you?” Janet asked me.
“Six and a half,” I said, unable to keep from smiling just thinking about it.
“Getting close now,” she said. “Do you know what the sex of the baby will be?”
I shook my head. “Trethan’s hoping for a boy,” I said. I rolled my eyes. “Really hoping for a boy. But I’m happy with whatever we have.” I wrinkled my nose. “Except twins. I watched a documentary on twins the other day, and I don’t think I’m ready to handle that just yet!”
Janet laughed. “Well, I wish you all the best,” she said. “Barry and I raised three hellions, ourselves. Of course, none of them live anywhere near home at this point, and it’s hard for them to travel now that they’ve got their own broods, but we visit them as often as we can.”
“That won’t be a problem with us,” Trethan said, shaking his head. “I’ve been working for her father for years; he owns the Lazy J Ranch. You might have heard of it. It’s one of the main riding ranches in town.”
“As a matter of fact, we’re going for a ride there tomorrow,” Barry said.
I laughed. “Trethan will be taking you on your ride tomorrow, then,” I told them. “He handles everything to do with the Sunday nature rides at this point!”
“Oh, great!” Janet said, shaking her head with a smile on her face. “So you both grew up here in White Bluff?”
“We’re high school sweethearts actually,” I told her, smiling over at Trethan. “We took a few years off while I went to college to study art, but we got married less than a year after I came back, and we’ve been happy together ever since.”
“That’s just so sweet,” she said, shaking her head. “Well, now we absolutely have to buy something to bring home with us.”
Barry snorted. “Knowing you, you’d like to buy every last thing in this gallery,” he said good-naturedly.
The two of them moved off, still debating which piece would go best in which part of their house. I watched them, still smiling.
“You’re thinking about us,” Trethan guessed, observing my face.
I blushed but shrugged at him. “Don’t you ever think about our future?” I asked, actually curious to know whether he did or not.
“Of course, I do.” He reached up to brush back a lock of my hair. “Every morning that I wake up next to you, I roll over and just look at you, and you know what I’m thinking then?”
I glanced over at the customers wandering around the shop and then lowered my voice. “Knowing you, you’re probably thinking about how horny you are,” I said, smirking at him.
He burst out laughing. “That comes after,” he said. “No, when I first wake up, and I roll over and I see you lying there in bed next to me, my first thought is always how lucky I am to be there and to have you there with me. And then my next thought is to think about the fact that I get to wake up to you like that, wake up with that beautiful, perfect, peaceful view, every morning for the rest of my life. And, I feel like the luckiest man in the world.
“And then I think about how horny I am.”
I laughed and shook my head. It had taken a while for him to open up about his feelings for me. Although to be fair, it had taken me just as long to open up about my feelings for him. But by now, I knew that Trethan was a secret romantic, underneath it all. Poor circumstances in his past might have led him to hide that away from me for a long time, but it was obvious to me now.
I couldn’t have picked a better man to spend the rest of my life with. And I couldn’t have picked a better father for my child.
“So, I was thinking that, now that I have the ranch all to myself, maybe I’d start a bull-riding school at the Lazy J,” Trethan said suddenly.
“No way in heck,” I told him succinctly, not even having to think about it for a moment. Where once I would have been worried about crushing his dreams by telling him that he wasn’t allowed to do something that he wanted to do, now I realized that the only way for us to really cooperate as a couple was for us to be upfront about the fact that our future was, in fact, our future, rather than his future and my future as separate entities.
And there was no way that I was letting him have anything to do with bull riding again, not after his accident.
But Trethan was smiling and jostling my shoulder lightly. “Just joking,” he said. But then, his look turned serious. “What do you think about circus riding, though? We could be teaching acrobatics on horseback. Wouldn’t that be something?”
I laughed and shook my head, holding up my hands. “It’s your ranch,” I said, knowing that he wasn’t actually planning on going through with any of these harebrained schemes.
“Our ranch,” Trethan said firmly. Then, he cocked his head to the side, coming around behind me and wrapping his arms around me, resting his hands on my stomach. “Our ranch,” he repeated fiercely.
“Our ranch,” I agreed quietly. Then, I laughed a little. “I guess before the baby is born, I’ll need to give you a run-down of all the mischief that a kid can get up to when growing up on a ranch like the Lazy J.”
“You never struck me as the kind of girl who got up to a lot of mischief as a kid,” he said, sounding amused. “What’s the worst thing you did? Kick over a pail of milk?”
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” I said, shaking my head. “I can tell you a lot of the stories, but I’m sure Dad has a lot of tales he’d love to tell you about my delinquencies, as well.”
“I look forward to hearing them,” Trethan said. “And even more than that, I look forward to seeing what this kid gets up to that we could never even imagine him getting up to.”
I smiled and tilted my head back for a kiss. “Me, too,” I agreed. I paused. “He or she is going to be a very lucky little kid,” I mused after a moment. “Growing up there on the ranch, surrounded by a loving family. You may think you’re the luckiest man in the world, but I suppose that growing up like I did and finding you as my man, maybe I’m the luckiest woman in the world.”
Trethan kissed me gently, his hands lightly stroking over my pregnant stomach. “I guess maybe you are the luckiest woman in the world,” he agreed.
DADDY NEXT DOOR
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Vivie
I switched the station when the opening riff of Guns 'n' Roses' Sweet Child O' Mine hit my ears. It had always been one of Dad's favorite tunes — one he played on guitar a lot and one he'd sang to me as a kid. It didn’t matter that he'd been gone for four years; not a day went by that I didn't miss him or think of him. And something like that song reminding me of everything he’d been as a dad and how he loved me; it was just too much to take after the day I’d had. Not to mention, I sure as hell didn't want to break down and start crying in the middle of five o' clock traffic.
I kept one hand on the steering wheel as I flipped between stations, stopping on a local talk show where the radio host, Arthur Valley, was interviewing a local detective. I pricked my ears and fine-tuned the radio so I could hear more clearly; crime stories always fascinated me, and it sure wasn't as if we had many crime sprees here in Irvine. So, my interest was piqued.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to the show, Sam,” Arthur said. “I want to point out to our listeners that 'Sam' isn't our detective's real name; he needs to remain anonymous since he is working undercover, and if his identity is discovered, that would put Sam in serious danger.”
“That's true, Arthur,” said the man. “I deal with some very unsavory people on a daily basis.”
“And that, ladies and gents, is why we've also put a filter on Sam's voice. He doesn't actually sound like Darth Vader in real life.”
I chuckled at that. The guy did sound a lot like Darth Vader was coming through my speakers.
“Unfortunately, no, I don't,” Sam commented with a laugh. “But how cool would it be if I did?”
“Well, why don't we get started? First of all, thanks for coming on the show today, we really appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule to be here with us.”
“Not at all, Arthur. The residents of Irvine need to know what's happening behind closed doors in this town, and some of it ain't pretty… it ain't pretty at all.”
“What exactly is going on here in Irvine that's got you working undercover?”
“I’m afraid we've got a problem here, Arthur. No, not just a problem: a crisis. And I'm not exaggerating when I say that. We have a serious, serious problem affecting our youth,” Sam said.
“What is this problem?” Arthur asked.
“Drugs. Local high schools – and middle schools as well – are riddled with a new drug that's been sweeping across Southern California.”
“What are we talking here, Sam? Simple pot, or cocaine, or is it something as bad as meth or heroin?” the talk show host questioned.
“While those remain problem drugs not only here but across the entire United States, what we've got here is something entirely new. The kids are calling it Rocket because it gets you very high very quickly. We're fairly confident it's being cooked up in a mobile lab out in the desert or perhaps up in the mountains, as distribution seems to be limited to Southern California. Although, it's starting to spread to other parts of California, and it won't be long before it crosses state lines and makes its way into other states.”
“Tell us more about the drug itself,” Arthur urged. “What does it look like? What effect does it have? Who's using it? What are the dangers?”
“Well, Arthur. It's a blue powder, and what makes it dangerous is how quickly it's absorbed by the body – hence the name Rocket. You don't have to snort it; you can ingest it in all sorts of ways. It's tasteless, so it can just be mixed into soda and drank. The effects, which kick in within a minute or two, are feelings of euphoria, extremely lowered inhibitions, mild hallucinations and slowed reflexes and motor skills. The side effects are terrible, though. Not only does it create intense cravings for more – which, of course, leads to addiction – it physically eats away the insides of the user. It's highly acidic in nature, and contains a number of extremely harmful substances that should not, under any circumstances, be inside the human body.”
“Gosh, that sounds terrifying! How widespread is the use and distribution of this drug?”
“Like I said, it's worming its way into all of the local high schools, and—”
I switched stations. Teenage drug use was far too depressing to think about. With kids as young as junior high students getting into this sort of stuff, I couldn't help but wonder what was wrong with the world. I couldn't bear to think of the kids at my daycare getting into this sort of stuff in a few years when some of them headed to middle school. I'd always had a great fondness for kids, and I really loved the little tykes at my daycare, even if they could be something of a handful sometimes.
I pulled into the parking lot of the local grocer and went in to pick up a few items I needed. After a quick trip down the aisles, I went and stood in line at a register. It appeared that only two checkout counters were working. I took out my phone to check up on Facebook, but before I could, a familiar voice interrupted me.
“Vivienne Andrews, how lovely to see you!”
I knew the voice at once. My neighbor, Mrs. Joan Dobbins — a sweet older lady who did little else but sit on her porch with her Maltese poodle, Fluffy, and observe the comings and goings of our neighborhood from sunrise to sunset and often beyond.
“Hi, Mrs. Dobbins,” I said with a smile. “It's nice to see you, too.”
“I love what you've done with your hair. It's still nice and long, but it looks so stylish now! And you've always had the loveliest blonde hair.”
“Thank you,” I said with an appreciative smile. “I just had it layered and textured a little. I've always liked this length, just down around my shoulder blades.”
“It really does suit you. I couldn't stand having long hair myself, but my old Frank, bless his heart, he loved my long hair when I was young, so I kept it long for him. When he passed 22 years ago, though, the first thing I did was cut it, and it's been short ever since!”
I laughed politely – it wasn't the first time I'd heard that story.
“I don't think I'll cut mine anytime soon,” I said, hoping that the line would move a little faster. Mrs. Dobbins was nice enough, but she could talk until she was blue in the face and you were too.
“You shouldn't cut it, dear; you look absolutely stunning. Why, I don't know why some man hasn't come and swept you off your feet yet. They must be beating down your door.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” I mumbled, not wanting to get on the topic with her. Like her story, it wasn’t the first time. “I'm just so busy with the daycare, and I've got those repairs to take care of around the house—”
She cut me off. “And that's why you need a good man by your side, Vivienne!”
I chuckled, somewhat uncomfortably. “I guess so,” I mumbled. Why wasn't this line moving?
“Speaking of men, there's a new fellow that moved in across the road from us this past weekend while you were out of town.”
That piqued my interest. The house across the street had been empty for months.
“Really? The Sanchez place?”
“That's right – someone's finally bought it. And I tell you what, between you and me, he's quite a looker! You should go say hello to him. Maybe bake him a pie. You know, offer a good neighborly welcome,” she said with a wink and a smile.
I laughed. “I thought you said you wanted me to welcome him to the neighborhood. You’ve obviously never eaten any pie I’ve tried to bake,” I smiled at her.
“Well, how about I bake the pie for you, and then you go across the street and give it to him?”
I laughed. “We'll see about that. So, I know you have the scoop. What’s his story?”
“He's the new principal of that high school three blocks away, what's it called again?” she asked.
“JFK High.”
“Ah, yes.”
I felt somewhat disappointed; if he was the principal, that meant he'd be a good bit older than me. Most likely in his 40s or 50s. Not that I was interested or anything, but it might be nice to have someone close to my own age move in near me. I'd been in Irvine for two years now, but still only had a handful of friends, none of whom lived in my neighborhood.
“Well, I actually thought he was just a teacher until I spoke to him. He's so young for a principal,” Mrs. Dobbins said, rummaging around in her purse for something.
My interest was officially piqued again.
“Really? And just how old is he?” I asked, trying not to sound too interested. If I seemed too interested, Mrs. Dobbins would make it her mission to bake me a pie a week until she was satisfied we were either going to get married, or one of us was batting for the other team.
“He's only 32. Would you believe it, just 32 years old and already the principal of a high school?”
“That is surprising,” I remarked. “I guess he knows his stuff.”
“I guess he does. And like I said, he's a right handsome fella, too. And he seems like such a nice, polite young man. I'm more than happy to bake a nice blueberry pie if you'd like to take it over to him. And I promise that your secret will be safe with me. He'll never find out that it wasn't you who baked the pie!”
I laughed. “Maybe I'll take you up on that offer, Mrs. Dobbins, but not right away.”
The line had finally moved, and I was able to start loading my items up onto the checkout counter while the person in front of me was busy getting their total added up.
“Well, looks like I've gotta sort this out now, Mrs. Dobbins,” I said to her. “It's been nice chatting with you. I'll see you later, I imagine. I have some stuff to do in my yard.”
“And I'll be on the porch with Fluffy, enjoying a nice iced tea. Would you like me to make extra for you if you're going to be out in your yard in this heat? There's nothing like a good iced tea on a warm summer evening.”
“If you've got any to spare, I might take you up on that offer later,” I said with a smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Dobbins. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
“I will, Vivienne, dear. See you later.”
The clerk turned to me as she passed the last of my items over the scanner.
Ten minutes later, I turned onto my street and slowed down as I neared my house. I saw, from a distance, someone in the front yard of the house across the street from mine – the house that had formerly belonged to the Sanchez family, the house Mrs. Dobbins and I had been talking about.
As I drew closer, my eyes widened as I got a clearer view of the man in the yard mowing the lawn. A mundane task, yeah, but he was doing it clad only in a pair of gym shorts and running shoes. I had to make myself look back at the road so I didn’t hit a neighbor’s mailbox. One thing was certain; he didn't look like any school principal I'd ever seen. I might have wanted to go to school if my principal had been blessed with an Adonis-like physique and surfer's tan. I couldn't take my eyes off my new neighbor. The man was ripped.
Mrs. Dobbins had not been exaggerating; he was ridiculously attractive with his strong jaw covered with a five o' clock shadow and stylish black hair that was just long enough my fingers were itching to run through it just looking at him from the road. It’s a good thing the speed limit in our neighborhood was only 10 miles per hour. Otherwise, my gawking would have been obvious.
I pulled into my driveway and parked the car, hoping that he hadn't noticed my staring when I had driven slowly past him. Thankfully, he seemed too absorbed in his task to notice, so I got out the car and took a few more good, long looks at him as inconspicuously as possible while unpacking my groceries.
Things around the neighborhood had just taken an intriguing turn. The really attractive man mowing the lawn shirtless just across the road from me was proof. Not that I wanted to get into anything, but I sure couldn't complain about the view.
Out of habit, I wondered if he was single. But someone that looked like him couldn't possibly be – not unless he was a player. Although, someone in a position of responsibility with such a public persona as a high school principal was probably unlikely to be a player. His job and reputation would depend on him not being one. Or at least being very good at keeping a low profile at it. But in a town like ours, someone would find out.
I shook my head and turned my focus to my groceries. “Doesn’t matter what he does in his free time, Vivienne,” I mumbled to myself. I was not ready to get into anything with a man, not yet, not after Simon. Just the thought of that man sent shivers of revulsion and disgust down my spine. It had been three years, and while I had mostly been able to put my life back together, some things just took time to fix. Longer than I would have ever imagined. So, no, I definitely wasn't ready to let another guy into my life, not in any sort of intimate way.
I carried my groceries inside and couldn't help but throw one last glance over my shoulder at the hot new neighbor as he pushed his mower around the lawn. He looked up just as I looked at him and our eyes met for a second. A jolt of embarrassment rippled through me, and a red heat flushed through my cheeks. He raised a hand and waved at me. I waved back awkwardly and hurried inside, closing the door quickly behind me.
I set my groceries down on the kitchen counter and let out a sigh of relief. That was close! He'd almost caught me ogling him. I started to unpack the eggs and almost dropped them when a knock at my door broke the silence. My heart practically jumped into my throat. I took a few steps back to the door, my heart pounding, and peered through the peephole. My jaw dropped. Standing there in all his shirtless, sweat-glistening glory was my new neighbor.