C H A P T E R  T H R E E

MILLER

Most of my redeeming qualities I get from my mother.

The need to remind myself of this comes nearly every morning when she calls to offer her motherly opinions and suggestions on whatever’s been swimming around in her mind from the night before. 

I grit my teeth until my jaw clicks and pops. She’s chirping at me from the other end of the phone while Carson, my assistant and apprentice, smiles at me from his perch on my kitchen counter, drinking his third cup of my coffee.

I flip him the universal sign for fuck off, but it only broadens his condescending smile. He’s been here plenty of times as I take Mom’s morning calls. I’ll always take her call, but fuck if she won’t drive me to drink one of these days.

Carson hits about six feet six, so he has me in height by about an inch. But he’s lean to my broad. I’ve filled out even more from my years of pounding the hammer and working the forge. My upper body is every bit as solid as the steel I strike and shape. I eat like a madman but burn it off in sweat and blood.

Although, my diet consists mainly of frozen pot-pies and Hot Pockets.  I have a chest freezer I usually keep full but it’s been a good month since I did a stock up run and I’m down to crumps in the cupboards.

After another couple texts from mom this morning, my head was pounding.  I dialed her because we need to have an actual voice conversation about this trainer situation.  As soon as she answered, she was off to the races barely allowing me to get out a ‘Good Morning’.

“Mom.” I wait, but she is on a roll and she doesn’t even pause for a breath, so I lower the timbre of my voice with the next one. “Mom.” On the other end of the phone, a split second of silence which is my opportunity and I jump in. “Please, I’m begging you. Come and meet with this trainer today. I have so much fucking work to do.” I grip my forehead with my fingers and squeeze. 

“Watch your mouth, Miller Darcy Rhodes.” She knows I hate my middle name, but she’s feeling more mom-ish than usual this morning. “All you do is work.” She admonishes me, and my opportunity is shot so I try to relax and hold on for the ride. “This is the universe speaking to you, Miller. Sit up and take notice.”

I roll my eyes and try to take comfort in a long draw of steaming coffee. I’m leaning on the corner of the kitchen island as Carson hops down from his perch and saunters over to fill his mug yet again.

This is our morning routine. We meet here in the house, drink too much coffee, plan the day, and hit it hard, then work long and late. He handles most of the client contact side of things—the phone calls, scheduling, travel, keeps me on task, etc.

Only this morning, my mother and her puppy plans are messing with my usual program, and that sets me on edge.

I like order. Routine. From the moment I rise to the time I hit it at night, my days are planned.

My mom, on the other hand, is more a fly by the seat of your pants type. Right-brained. Artist. Free spirit. She’s mucking with my program with all her listen to the universe, Miller talk.

She’s got a puppy trainer coming this morning, and she told them they could stay in my guest cabin.

For a week.

I’m not a fan of strangers at the best of times, and I’m certainly not a fan of them staying at my place, even if it is in the cabin out back.

Her voice takes on a softer tone as she continues. “No one stays in that cabin, you won’t even notice. And besides, you need help to be a good puppy daddy. So you make that trainer comfortable there, you understand me? They are going to be staying for the week, that’s final. You’re lucky to have someone this highly recommended. You can take a few hours a day to do what’s right for your new puppy daughter.”

Letting go of my head, I bring my mug to my lips, hoping the bitterness of the coffee might dull a little of my mom’s saccharine. I’m also struggling to remember where the bottle of bourbon a client gave me as a gift last year might be.

I’m allergic to guests. They give me brain hives or something. I do demos all over the country at shows and fairs, but this is my place. I picked this spot because it’s isolated. It’s me and my two apprentices here, and I like it that way.

I do get a few clients doing pickups here now and then. And then there are my mom’s occasional visits, but rarely does anyone else come here.

As it should be.

Carson and Leonard are here from morning to night six days a week, but we know how to stay out of each other’s way. They try to get me to go to town and hit the bars on Fridays, try to score for the weekend, but I never go. I’d rather be here. Working or doing just about anything other than hanging out in a bar looking to hook up.

Not that that sort of thing was ever in my wheelhouse, but now even thinking about it I break out in actual hives—there is one woman for me, and I’m afraid I missed my shot.  I think she was the only one that could have pulled me away from my obsession with my work.

“I built that cabin for you, Mom. But you never come for more than a few hours.”

“I live a full and busy life, Miller, you know that.” She stifles a girlish giggle, and I shake my head, trying to cast off the images of her and her current man friend. “If you’d start giving me some grandbabies, I’d come visit more often.  You are almost thirty Miller.  Time to settle down.  Can’t you just imagine it?  I can. Daddy.  I can hear it now.”

“Mom. Stop.” I grunt, putting my mug down and looking to the ceiling for help. A low thunder of a headache rages in my temples.

After spending all her years devoted to raising me, once I was out and on my own, she dove headfirst into having her own life. Especially her own private life.

Don’t get me wrong, there haven’t been a ton of men, but enough, and she’s always traveling or doing her senior exercise classes at the Y or the senior center. I swear she’s more active now than most people in their twenties.

“Okay. Love you. Gotta run. Norman’s here.” She tosses out a flirty “yoo-hoo” sound at someone, and I grumble and push off the edge of the counter, arching my back and stretching out the kink that settled there from sleeping stone-still, hoping to not wake the little shit after I put her in the bed with me.

“Okay. But, Mom, don’t text me, okay? I hate that shit—” She’s already talking to someone else in the background when I end the call. “Bye, Mom.” I disconnect and shove my phone back into my back pocket shooting a glare at Carson. “Don’t even fucking start.”  He’s back on the counter, trying to hide his smile behind the coffee mug at his lips. Suddenly, the solution to all of this puppy trainer non-sense hits me. “As a matter of fact.” I point at him and raise my chin. “You are going to deal with this trainer. You do this puppy stuff, and then when the thing is all trained up, you tell me what I need to know to maintain order. I have to finish these goddamn swords for this fucking egomaniac. He wants them for some fucking awards show, and I hate rushing shit. So you’re up, my friend. Puppy duty.”

Carson opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off with a loud slap of my hand on the counter.

“Don’t start.” I lift my hand and jab a finger toward him. “You’re my apprentice. ‘Duties as assigned’ is right in your contract. So I’m assigning you some duties.”

He sets down his coffee mug and jumps off the counter, hitting the floor with a thud and raising his hands in surrender. “Fine. But—”

He’s cut off by the sound of a muffler that needs replacing. We both turn to see a rust-colored Ford pickup pulling up to the front of the cabin. I say “rust-colored,” but I’m not sure it’s just colored that way. That truck has seen better days.

“Looks like you’re up.” I nod toward Carson, who huffs at me.

I finish the last of my coffee and set my mug in the sink. Feeling very pleased with myself for finding the perfect solution, I fight a little smile as I turn up the sleeves on my flannel, ready to head out the back door and escape the dreaded interaction with the dog trainer.

My kitchen looks out into an open great room with windows all along the front. The pickup parks off under some pine trees.  I see it clearly from behind but I can’t see the driver because the entire back window is nearly covered in stickers.  Carson steps grudgingly toward the door. I take one last glance out the front squinting at the back window of the truck and I see the stickers from every roadside stop and tourist trap across the country. There’s a Route 66 sticker, one from Gatorland in Arkansas, and the last one I see clearly is “Asphalt Junkies.”

A chuckle tickles the back of my throat as I run a hand through and turn toward the back hall, pausing for a moment to open the pantry and see if there is anything I can grab quickly to eat when I get to the shop. The cupboard is pretty bare, and my irritation rises, thinking a run to the store is becoming inevitable.  I don’t cook.  I’m a grab and go kind of guy.

Socks and food.

Just then it dawns on me, am I supposed to feed this trainer for a week as well? 

Jesus, Mom, I can hear you laughing from here.

The knock on the front door is my cue to beat it out of there before I get caught,so I slam the pantry door shut and duck around the kitchen table.

I hear Carson open the door as I’m hoofing it in the opposite direction. “Hi. Um, is Shirley Rhodes here?” A woman’s voice.

Not just any woman.

The sound hits me like the sledge on the anvil. Sparks fly around inside my head, and it’s difficult to take a breath. I spin on my boot, but I already know before I look just what I’m about to see.

My future.

Light is streaming in from over the pines, creating a halo around her in the doorway. My heart is in my throat. This is impossible.

It’s the universe speaking, Miller. You need to learn to listen.

For once, I consider that my mother may be onto something with all her cosmic grace mumbo-jumbo.

Lela’s sandy blond hair is tied in a messy knot on the top of her head, her face glowing with the same natural beauty that nearly brought me to my knees a few months ago.

She’s makeup free, dressed in a blue North Face jacket and khaki shorts that show off those legs. I remember those legs so well.

Legs I need to spread apart, tasting what I’ve known is mine since I saw her for the first time.

I note Carson inspecting her up and down. It’s a natural reaction, I’ll give him that. But in my head, it’s utterly unacceptable that his eyes are on her. An irrational, barbaric thought hits me in that moment like a cannonball.

If he touches her, I’ll kill him.

“Well, weeeeelcome.” Carson draws out the word, and his voice hints at an appreciation for the perfection standing in the doorway. I half run up behind him with fury in my steps as his next words start. “I’m Carson—”

Before he can finish, I’m behind him, my hands planted on his shoulders, physically moving him out of the way, out of her line of sight.

“What the—” Carson’s body is no match for the force of my grip. He nearly loses his footing as I put him to one side.

“I got this,” I grunt.

My eyes are locked on her. She’s even more beautiful than I remember. 

I’m hard.  So fucking hard.

“Miller, what the—” Carson’s irritated voice pings my ears.

“I said, I’ve got this, Carson. Go stoke the fire or something.”

Can this be real?

She’s been delivered here to my doorstep like an angel.

Grace or divine intervention.

Or...Mom. Jesus. Mom.

I take two more steps forward so I’m only inches from her. Before I know what I’m doing, my hand comes up to stroke the side of her head, feeling the softness of her hair.

Her eyes widen as the realization hits her. We may have only met for a few minutes, but it may as well have been a lifetime. Certainly for me. Because those few moments have become my life.

“It’s... It’s you.” The blue in her eyes twinkles, and she looks down at the folder she’s gripping in her hands, then at me, and back down with a squint. “Your name is Shirley?”

My cock is fully erect, weeping for her. Even her calling me Shirley can’t slake the desire flowing through me. Her tongue comes out to lick her bottom lip, and all I can think about is how amazing my cock would look sliding into her perfect mouth.

“Shirley’s my...” I shake my head not wanting to take even a moment to explain. “That doesn’t matter. I’ve been waiting for you,” I mutter, unable to keep the truth from spilling out. The other word pounding through my head replaces the headache with vapid lust that threatens to split my skull.

Mine. Mine. She’s fucking mine.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’ve been waiting? Am I late?” She looks down again, turning her hand this time to the black sports watch on her wrist. Her thighs are full, and I need them slapping against my ears as I sink into the warm wetness there with my tongue. “Oh my, I’m actually early. I’m sorry, maybe I should have called. I don’t text. I hate texting. I apologize. Should I come back later?”

She hates texting.

My cock is bulging against the front of my jeans, but I don’t give a shit. Let her see the effect she has on me. I’ve been hard at the memory of her for months. Now she’s right here, and there will be no settling the beast below the waist. I just have to accept the fact that it’s only a matter of time before she sees the visible erection.

My hand is still on the side of her head, and I’m a bit shocked that she’s not only not slapped it away, but I swear to Christ, she’s even leaning ever so slightly into it as she looks back up from her watch.

“No. You’re not late. Or early. You’re right on time.”

My finger moves to curl into a wavy tendril of her hair, a lock that’s spun loose from her bun, and she doesn’t even flinch. Her lips fall open. “This is crazy. I mean, it’s you.” She blinks and scans my face. There’s not a hint of fear or question in her eyes as they stick on mine, and we both take a deep breath at the same time. “Do you remember me?”

“You have no idea just how much I’ve remembered you.”

The way her eyes take me in sends my possessive brute in me nearly crazy. It feels intimate. Like we are doing things I don’t want anyone else in the world to see. Or know. I want her all to myself.

Mine.

With that, I realize Carson is still standing to my left, taking in the scene. I swear I’m going to chain him to the anvil outside if he doesn’t move the fuck along.

“Go,” I grunt the single word, flipping my head toward the back hall and the exit. I need him gone. I need his eyes off of her. I don’t even want him breathing anywhere near her or catching a hint of her scent. Because that’s all mine.

He retreats, shaking his head, and my eyes are right back on her.

“Is your name really Shirley?” she asks with a tip of her head and a squint of her nose which is decorated with the cutest few freckles I’ve ever seen.

“Miller,” I answer.  “My name is Miller.”

A look of shock crosses her face. “Are you kidding me?” Her question is full of a revelation bigger than the knowledge of my first name. Her eyes glisten, and she bites her lip before continuing. “I can’t believe you’re here.” Her wispy voice sends fire through my veins.

“Yes. I’m here. And this time, nothing and no one is dragging you away.”