Mosquito Chase (8 page)

I got out of my bed and focused on my morning routine, albeit earlier than normal. It was too hard to stay in bed with Angela.

I left the house and got to the station earlier than I needed to. The streets were bare on this Thanksgiving Day. I sat behind the dispatch desk; alone at the station while everyone was off visiting their families and eating turkey. I watched the parade on a little television; large inflatable cartoon characters soared above the streets of New York City as I sipped the decent decaf I’d brewed for myself. My cell rang, flashing and vibrating on the desk.

“Hey, asswipe,” I greeted my brother as I answered the phone.

“Lance said you’re not coming out to the farm for dinner,” he replied. There was no warmth in his voice.

“Oh, yeah. I have to work.” I flicked a pen on the desk and watched it spin in a circle.

“I know you get off at six. You work every year. What bullshit are you spewing?”

“It’s not bullshit. I
do
have to work.” I was not going to offer up knowledge of my houseguest. The less people who knew she was here, the better. I couldn’t trust anyone—not even my brother—to keep her whereabouts quiet. It was for her protection.

“Is this because Steven and Tabitha are in town?”

Fuck
. “She’s in town again?” I stared at the spinning pen as it slowed to a stop.

“You didn’t know?”

“Nope.”

“Have you not been going out?”

“Nope.”

“Dude, are you sick or something?”

“I’ve had a lot on my plate.”

“Uh huh … okay then. I’ll tell Tom you’re working, but everyone thinks you’re full of shit.”

“That sounds like your problem. Have a good Thanksgiving, asswipe. I’ll come see my nephew soon.”

I hung up and my thoughts went immediately to Angie. A trace of guilt fluttered through me knowing she was alone in my house on Thanksgiving. A fabricated image of us having dinner with everyone at Tom’s house crossed my mind, but I shook it right out of my head. That would never happen in a million years. How could I share a table with two men who’d been with her? I closed my eyes and took a deep breath as my chest clenched with jealousy.

The day wore on with only one call from someone asking if there would be trash pickup tomorrow. I kindly explained that they needed to contact a different office. My life as a small town cop in a nutshell.

When two officers came in for night shift, I left for home. The sky had darkened with the setting sun and I could smell food in the air. Instead of crossing the street to my cruiser, I walked around the corner. The café was closed and I knew the restaurant at The Inn was also closed for the holiday, but the diner was always open. I pulled open the door and bells chimed my arrival. There were a handful of tables occupied and a few truckers at the counter. An older waitress approached as I sat a few stools down from the truckers. The waitress’s dark hair was streaked with grey and pulled back from her face. She peeked at me over the rims of her glasses set low on her nose.

“We have our Thanksgiving Day special today which comes with either pumpkin or pecan pie.”

“I’ll have two to go, please.”

“Pumpkin or pecan?” the waitress asked. I stared at her for a moment, not knowing which Angie would prefer.

“One of each will work.”

She nodded and placed a glass of sweet tea in front of me. I shrugged, knowing I didn’t order a sweet tea but drank it anyway. I passed the time watching the football game on the little TV. The Panthers weren’t playing so I didn’t really get into it. The waitress soon returned with a brown bag filled with a boxed feast for two. I placed twenty bucks on the counter and headed back out into the chill. The roads were clear as I drove up the hill. The sunset gave the Blue Ridge Mountains a shade of rusted orange, serene and peaceful; a peace I needed to absorb since my head was in a fog over Angela Butler.

I parked the cruiser beside my truck and stepped out into the mountain wind, making my way to the front door. Angie peeked up from her book when I entered. A fire blazed in the fireplace, and the football game played on the TV, the sound muted.

“Whatcha got there?” she asked as she placed a book face down on the sofa.

“Turkey dinner.” I lifted the bag to show her. I sniffed the air.  “What am I smelling?”

She smiled as she stood up and walked around the sofa. “Well, I couldn’t leave the house, so I made turkey sandwiches and peanut butter cookies.” She took the bag from my hands and added, “Which you can take for lunch tomorrow since you’re so awesome for bringing me dinner.” Her eyes lit up as she looked inside, and gasped. “Oh my God! Is this pecan pie from the diner?”

“It is, or there’s pumpkin if you prefer.”

I shrugged out of my jacket and took off my cap, laying both on the sofa. I headed to the table and gazed at her. Her smile was for me.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My eyes landed on her lips. I wondered if she had any clue about what had happened this morning.

“A pregnant woman shouldn’t be given these types of choices,” she said as she went into the kitchen and pulled out two plates from the cabinet. She searched the drawer for utensils and brought them to the table. I continued to stare as she moved around my kitchen as if she was supposed to be there … like she was always meant to be there. I exhaled an inaudible sigh and pulled out her chair when she returned with a glass of water and a beer for me.

We both transferred the food from the container to our plates. It was Thanksgiving. I refused to eat out of a to-go box. I stared at a feast of turkey, dressing, corn, green bean casserole, and yeast rolls and wondered where all of this was going to go. It seemed like too much food for two people. I looked over at Angie, who’d already begun wolfing down the food on her plate. I couldn’t help but smirk. She looked up at me.

“I was a little hungry.”

I laughed and asked, “Have you been watching the game? How’s it been going?”

She swallowed a bite of turkey and said, “The Panthers aren’t playing so I didn’t really get into it. I left it on so I could check the score from time to time.” She scooped up some green beans and added, “I’m pulling for the Packers, though. I have a thing for Aaron Rodgers.”

“Do you always pull for the team with the hottest quarterback?” I laughed at her, or maybe at women in general.

Her eyes met mine from across the table. She bit her lip as her cheeks darkened slightly. “I guess I do.”

“So, that’s why you were at all my games in high school.” I winked, teasing her.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Her eyes never wavered from mine. I stared back into hers. They weren’t as dull as they’d been when she first arrived on my doorstep. I was sure hormones had come into play. It was the only explanation for why she kept looking at me like I was a second helping of pecan pie. Damn, I really enjoyed the way she kept looking at me. I had to blink away in forfeit. I took a pull of my beer and turned toward the TV. The Packers were up by nine. I turned back to her and said, “Your quarterback is winning.”

She smirked and looked back down at her food.

We took our desserts to the living room. It had taken Angie awhile to decide on the pecan pie, leaving me with the pumpkin. I sipped my decaf as we sat in silence, the fire crackled and
It’s a Wonderful Life
played on the television. Christmas was bound to attack eventually. Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed walked across the screen. He was wearing a football uniform. I chuckled and said, “There’s your quarterback.”

“He’d do,” she replied. She swallowed down the last bit of pie and set her empty plate between us. I still had half of mine left.

I chuckled at Jimmy Stewart throwing a lasso around the moon, I could feel her watching me. “What is it you want, Angie? You want the pie?”

Angie smiled, the brightest smile I had seen since she arrived, and used Donna Reed’s line. “I’ll take it.”

I gladly handed over the last half of my pie.

“Good thing I didn’t need the lasso, cowboy.”

“Handcuffs. I don’t do lassos.” I paused when the words came out of my mouth like verbal diarrhea. I glanced over at her. Her fork halted in mid-air. Her lips slightly parted. I got up from the sofa and grabbed my mug. “It’s good pie.”

I needed to get out of that room and away from her. Too much was developing too fast. She couldn’t smile at me like that, and she certainly couldn’t kiss me like she had that morning. It didn’t matter if she was asleep or not; she still kissed me. I was still Caleb
fucking
Harris. I didn’t let chicks do this to me. It had only happened once before, and ended with me alone while my best friend stole my girl. Granted, with all of my current friends either married or gay, I didn’t think this would be a factor, but
still
… It couldn’t happen. I wouldn’t let it happen. I had promised to protect her, and I would, but to allow her to affect me the way she did … No. It had to remain professional. The problem, it seemed, was that I needed to get laid. It had been weeks of nothing but sleeping next to this girl every night. Maybe it wasn’t her hormones that were the issue. Maybe it was my hormones instead.

I stared at the back of her head, the fire glowing around her silhouette, and I leaned my elbows on the countertop. I pushed my hands through my hair and tried to gain some composure.
What is she doing to me?

A knock rapped on my door. Angie shot around to look at me, her eyes widening in fear. I straightened and whispered, “Go to my bedroom and lock the door.”

She nodded, moved through the living room, and down the hall as fast as she could. I walked into the living room and waited until the door closed behind her. I moved to the closet to grab my gun. Hiding it behind my back, I moved to the front door and peeked through the peephole. I exhaled with relief and slid my gun into the waistband of my pants. I opened the door.

“Asswipe, what are you doing here?” I asked, not giving him much room to enter.

He pushed his way in anyway. “I was trying to be nice and bring you…” Paul stopped when he saw two plates on the table.
Shit
.

“Looks like you already ate.” He glanced around the living room and asked, “Where’s the chick?”

“No chick here.”

“Then where’s the dude? Don’t play me, bro.”

I huffed, trying to buy myself time to come up with something. No one ever came up here. My brother’s hospitality was unexpected. He took it upon himself to stroll down the hallway. He tried to open my bedroom door.

“Paul! Stop!” I yanked him away from the door. Nosy fucker.

“Your reasons are invalid for not coming to Thanksgiving. There is obviously someone here and I’m your damn brother. You haven’t been anywhere but work in weeks. What’s going on?”

I pulled him down the hall into the living room, though he was very reluctant to move. He faced me his hands on his hips. We stared down each other; the cop versus the cowboy. I broke first.

“It’s Angela Butler.”

His jaw dropped. I wiped my hand down my face and moved around the sofa. I clicked off the TV. He remained silent. I went back into the kitchen and fished two beers out of the fridge. He took one and poured half of it down his throat.

“You’re seeing Angela Butler?”

“No, but she’s staying here.

“Any reason why?”

“Caleb,” Angie echoed from down the hall. “Since your brother knows I’m here now, can I use the bathroom please?”

“Yeah.”

The door creaked open and we listened as she walked down the hall and into the bathroom.

“Hi, Paul,” Angie said, drawing his attention.

Paul’s mouth fell open. “You got her fucking pregnant, dude?”

The bathroom door clicked shut, leaving me to field this one on my own. I took a swig of my beer. Paul stared at me with the look of someone who had just been punched in the gut.

“The baby isn’t mine,” I explained.

“Okay … So, why is she living with you and not the father?”

“The father’s dead, man. Leave it alone now.” I glared at him.

He conceded with a bow of the head. I lifted my beer and chugged a considerable amount.