fifteen
peyton
I was chilling in my room. The television was on, but I wasn’t paying attention. I took a sip of coffee; my thoughts on Rutledge which did more to get my body going than the caffeine. I smiled into my coffee.
Rutledge’s absence had been longer than a few days. He’d been gone for five days. I smiled to myself because he’d be gone longer than he’d been here, but I missed him, couldn’t stop thinking about him. I wanted a great love story, and I had a feeling I might just be at the beginning of one. If I was a more superstitious person, I would say there were powers at work here.
Our texting last week had been silly, rife with sexual tension, and the exact exchange I was coming to crave with him. I never would have imagined the man I spoke to that first day could be silly, laughing with me over The Great Martin and Bloody Mary.
Some of the happy dimmed because there was more to Rutledge’s story, more even than that sad excuse for a father. What secrets hid in his past? And he had secrets because there was something dark buried in his eyes. I rubbed at my chest because I suspected only something really vile would put that look there.
I pushed those unpleasant thoughts from my head and climbed from bed. I needed to focus. I was purchasing a house, one I had done no research on. I had to get my act together, but focusing was difficult because all I wanted to think about what Rutledge Raines.
I grabbed more coffee and settled at the desk in my room. I needed to prepare for the inspection, but even as I pulled out my laptop and notebook, thoughts of him kept me company as I got to work.
***
I walked down Main Street, my head filled with the information I had spent the past few hours reading up on. It had been an impulse buy, but now I had to be smart, so I researched everything from what to expect during the home inspection to what kind of paint one used for houses built near the sea. With all that information circling around in my head, I needed fresh air.
It was colder today; there was a bite in the air. I was heading for the cafe, the one I visited when not with Rutledge. I heard The Great Martin before I turned the corner. He was in purple today. From head to foot, sequins the color of an eggplant. I stopped to watch him. He was singing a title I didn’t know. Engaging those, who like me, stopped to watch him. There were some who snickered, but most just enjoyed the show, and it could definitely be said he knew how to put on a show. What did he do? He wasn’t making money, there was no bucket out asking for tips. His outfits must have cost some coin. The Great Martin had them in every color of the rainbow. Did he perform on stage? Had he? Rutledge had said he was a staple, so whatever he did, he had stayed in Ogg’s Point.
My thoughts drifted to Rutledge. I could see him rubbing his forehead to the point of indents, even while smiling. Hoping to get that reaction from him again, I took out my phone and snapped a picture of The Great Martin.
Continuing to the cafe, I grabbed a cup of coffee and settled at a table near the window. I reached for my phone, but my attention shifted when a gust of wind pulled an orange leaf from the maple tree; it danced on the air before settling on the grass. A smile touched my lips. If Rutledge knew where my thoughts were, he’d grumble out a few sentences laced with the word fuck, but I had found my Mr. Rochester. He had that dark, brooding, tormented almost antihero quality about him. He was the kind of man you never really got to know, but one you hoped for an ending that was better than his beginning. A man you longed to know all of his secrets, even knowing he’d never share; someone who was more than what you saw, and it was trying to discover what he hid that kept you coming back for more.
He was the kind of man you couldn’t help but fall for. And I was falling, despite the warnings, I was so totally falling. Something forged him into the man he was, something dark, something he faced alone but like Mr. Rochester, under the rough exterior, I suspected there existed a heart of gold.
I pulled up the picture of The Great Martin, and was thinking about what witty comment I could make, one I hoped would bring not just a laugh but a reply, when a shadow fell over me. Glancing up, it was an elderly gentleman with a full head of white hair. He was dressed in brown corduroys and a tweed jacket. He looked like a college professor. All he was missing was the pipe. Warm brown eyes bore into mine.
“I know every pretty lady in town. At least I did until I looked over and saw you. I needed to remedy that immediately. I’m Oggs.”
I didn’t hide my surprise. He was another Ogg? The cop had been one too. He understood what I didn’t say when he laughed. “It’s not as glamorous as all that. You can’t walk down the street without tripping over an Ogg or two.”
As a founding family, that made sense. “I’m Peyton Morgan. It’s nice to meet you.”
“It is very nice to meet you. May I call you Peyton?”
“Please.”
He had impeccable manners, waiting for me to gesture to the chair. “Join me.”
He folded himself into it, his gaze sliding over my notes before lifting it to me. “Are you visiting?”
“No, I’m in the process of buying a home.”
A smile curved his lips. “So, I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you around town.”
“That’s the plan.”
“And where might I ask are you buying?”
“Clover Lane.”
Something swept his expression, but it was too quick for me to discern what. “The old Raines estate. Lovely house.” He glanced down, his shaky fingers toying with the crack in the table. The shift in him was strangely odd before he added, “Lovelier property.”
He’d slightly recovered from whatever caused the odd moment and informed me, “They too are a founding family. Did you know that? Unlike the Ogg family, most scattered in the wind.”
I hadn’t known Rutledge’s family was a founding one. They ‘scattered in the wind,’ so Rutledge’s father probably didn’t live in town any more. If his family had been a founding one, and his father didn’t live here, then why did Rutledge leave? He wasn’t the type for pomp and circumstance. Seemed more inclined to make it on his own without generations and a name behind him; still, his family founded the town.
I pulled my thoughts from Rutledge because Oggs was watching and waiting.
“Have you always lived here?” I asked.
“No. When I was younger, I was restless, wanted to see more of the world than Ogg’s Point. I didn’t stay away long though. For me, there really is no place like home.” Why I got a chill when he said that, I hadn’t a clue.
Children ran by the window, his attention shifting. A smile lifted his mouth on the sides as he watched them. He then glanced at his watch. “I have an appointment.” He touched my hand. “It was lovely meeting you.”
“And you.”
He stood, pushed in his chair. “I’ll see you around.”
I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but like The Great Martin, Ogg’s was a little left of center. I couldn’t deny, though, that Ogg’s Point’s residents definitely improved on further acquaintance. And it was with that thought that I pulled up The Great Martin’s picture and texted Rutledge.
Me: For me, this costume screams Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. When you come for the inspection, maybe we can request that. Along with Jesus Christ Superstar. ; )
I was ridiculously happy when his response came back almost immediately.
Rutledge: That outfit screams a shit ton of fucking things. And I wouldn’t hold your breath waiting for me to stand on the corner watching The Great Martin. Because… it ain’t happening. P.S. Why in the fuck when I hear, Sergeant Pepper’s, I always think of sausage and peppers. Fuck, now I’m hungry. Thanks. :P
I read his text twice before I burst into laughter. I could see his face too. He had a point though. I could go for some sausage and peppers now too. I couldn’t see Rutledge Raines watching The Great Martin; still, it was now a mission to get him to, another item for my must do list.
Me: I could go for sausage and peppers now too. I think I’ll be stopping by Geno’s for dinner. ; ) As far as The Great Martin, not even if I offer you an evening of good food, a fantastic view, and decent company in exchange?
Rutledge: You had me at good food. I know the company will be decent, but what kinda view you talking about? Cause I know it ain’t the one I’m thinking. ;)
I stared at his text, heat rushing through me at the implication. I had been talking about the house, but now I was thinking about an entirely different view. My fingers hovered over the keypad. I almost didn’t take the bait.
Me: Whatever view gets you on the street watching The Great Martin.
Rutledge: Wouldn’t say shit like that, sweetheart, when you have no idea what view I’m thinking about. Hate to burst your rainbow bubble, but I don’t plan on spending much time in town when I’m there.
Some of the happy dimmed. Why didn’t he plan on spending much time in town? What was he avoiding? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want to pry. Instead, I texted back.
Me: I’ve spent enough time around you to guess what view you’re talking about and...the offer is open.
Rutledge: Definitely noted! I’ll be back staying over at the Matter’s Inn in the town where we went to Bluffs.
He wouldn’t tell me, but I still asked because if the man intended to oversee the reno, traveling from a town over seemed like a lot of wasted time.
Me: Why not just stay in Ogg’s Point? That’s a lot of driving for you.
Rutledge: I’ll be good, don’t worry about me. Do you have a way to get to the house Friday morning?
I was worried about him because a man like Rutledge Raines didn’t do anything without a purpose. There was a reason he wouldn’t be staying in town. Was it the same reason he had left town? And if so, why come back now? Why offer to oversee the reno if it kept him in a place he didn’t want to be? I wouldn’t ask because he’d put up a wall on that topic.
Moving from that thought, though, concern lingered; I couldn’t help the smile because there was that charm again, making sure I was good with getting to where I needed to be. He really was a puzzle, and one I hoped I got the chance to piece together.
Me: I was going to walk. I’ve been consuming my body weight in food. I need the exercise.
Rutledge: I’ll pick you up at 8, be ready.
It wasn’t possible to be ready when it came to this man. He was a force of nature. With luck, I’d survive him.
Me: Thank you, Rutledge. I’ll be ready.
Rutledge: And Peyton?
Me: Yes
Rutledge: Wear a fucking pair of jeans and a sweater…maybe that big hideous fucking orange sweater, ok?
Hideous seemed harsh. But why ask that of me? He hated that sweater, but more, around him my blood burned. In that sweater, I’d ignite. Right there on my soon-to-be property. Toast.
Me: Why on earth would I do that? We’re going to be walking around and getting sweaty.
Rutledge: Just do what I say.
My eyes narrowed at his text. There was that bossy again.
Me: Okay, Rutledge. I’ll do what you say. My big fucking orange sweater. Got it.
Rutledge: Don’t be a fucking smartass, Peyton.
The man irritated the hell out of me, but damn if it wasn’t the best foreplay. An evil little grin touched my lips when I replied with only.
Me: Yes sir.
The ringing of my phone, nearly had me dropping it. It was becoming a habit when communicating with the unpredictable Rutledge. I needed to get a protective box for it. Then I realized he was calling me and my heart moved into my throat. There was a touch of fear and damn if that didn’t make me even hotter. I tried to keep my tone neutral when I answered, “Hey, Rutledge.”
His voice was deep and firm when he asked, “Now, was that so fucking hard to obey what I said?”
There were countless commands of his I had a feeling I’d obey happily. I wasn’t going to share that with him though.
“I’m not sure what you mean. I agreed to bring the big fucking orange sweater even though I’ll overheat. I don’t perspire, I sweat.” What the...? Why did I just tell him that?
He let out what sounded like an annoyed huff and chuckle all in one. “First, I didn’t say bring the fucking sweater. I said, wear it. The likelihood of you overheating in Ogg’s Point in October is pretty fucking dramatic. Also, I have no doubt you can fucking sweat.” He said the last in a low gritty whisper.
I was sweating now. “You’re bossy. Do you know that?”
“I’m well aware of that, Peyton.”
My blood was like fire in my veins, and the need to be contrary had me saying, “I’ll wear the sweater if we stop on the way to the house on inspection day and grab a cup of coffee and a tune.”
“Coffee, sure...a tune, not happening. See what happens if the fucking sweater isn’t on your body when I pick you up on Friday morning, Peyton,” he warned in a smooth voice.
That fire cooled, the teasing smile died on my lips. He was serious. His bossy ways I was growing used to, but this felt like more than control. It felt like being caged. I didn’t like it or the unveiled threat if I didn’t do as he said.
“I’m not sure I like the direction this conversation is going, Rutledge.”
He took a deep audible breath, cleared his throat and spoke in a soothing voice, “You wanna disobey what I say, then fucking fine. But when Herb and Willy are too fucking busy checking out your tits and not doing their job, that’s on you.”
My reaction was knee jerk because there were times, I couldn’t read him, but I should have known my best interests were in his. More softly I said, “Thank you. I should have known you were looking out for me.”
His tone went lower, almost a whisper, when he said, “Yeah, from the second your ass first hit my passenger seat.” Then the line went dead.
I dropped my phone in my purse and left the cafe. I didn’t go far, found a bench and sat down. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Rut’s controlling ways, because I did. The idea of handing over control to someone I trusted and cared about and knowing he would take care of me. I liked the idea of that too much, but another reason for my reaction was Rutledge Raines was just passing through. If I wielded that control to him, when he walked away, I wasn’t sure I’d have the strength to take the control back. Wasn’t sure I’d even want to.