Within a Man's Heart (3 page)

“Is there anything I can point you toward?”

Turning to the left now, I had all I could do not to jump two steps back. I was that shocked, because standing behind a small, three-stool snack bar, in front of a pizza oven, was one of the most striking women I’d ever seen. New York City may well have more beautiful females than any other place on earth, but I’d never seen one quite like this one. Plainly dressed in blue jeans, a plaid flannel shirt, and, believe it or not, a green John Deere cap perched on top of her head, she still looked absolutely elegant.

I was
so entranced by this woman that when I spoke, I stumbled over my words and could hardly hear them. To my ears, my voice sounded like a short succession of distant distractions that had no meaning at all. 

“Well,” I said, “I
. . . I was just going to see what you had in the cooler. Thought I, um, might get a sandwich or something.”

The amiable smile on her face began to widen then. So did her eyes. They were sleek, gray eyes—more captivating than any I’d ever seen before. The more they opened, the more they put me to mind of glistening silver.

But she was studying the top of my head now, and that was why she’d become so wide-eyed. Suddenly she looked as if she was about to lose her composure and crack up laughing about something. I didn’t know why, but I couldn’t help feeling a bit foolish. You’d have thought that a second nose or a third ear had sprouted up out of my hair. Then she lost it. She couldn’t fight it any more. She started laughing hysterically, as if I were the funniest thing to come down the pike in a long, long time. She tried to stop herself but couldn’t, and finally, as she was still breaking up she said, “I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry, But it’s your hair! It looks like somebody took a vacuum to it. It’s all standing straight up. What happened? Did you just go through a wind tunnel or something?”

Now feeling like a little boy whose pants had just fallen down in front of the prettiest girl in the class, and
also
feeling the blood rush to my face as well, I hastily patting my hair down and said, “Ha, ha, very funny. It just so happens that a few minutes ago I was almost about run off the road by a logging truck from hell. I had my window open and when he passed by he was so close that . . . .”

“I’m sorry,”
she cut in, shaking her head, “It’s just that you look so neat and tidy.  The doo didn’t work with the rest of you.”

“Cute, real cute,” I said, reaching into the back pocket of my jeans for my comb. Then, as I ran it through my hair, I said, “Let me tell you something. I’m not the only one around here who looks kind of funny. I don’t know if you know it or not but just around the bend, coming into town here, there’s a jolly old guy in a Speedo who looks kind of funny too.”

No longer laughing, but still with a smile wide enough to dimple her lovely cheeks, she brushed aside a long wisp of black hair that escaped her Deere cap and said, “Oh, you mean good old Bobby Bard. Nooo, he’s okay. He’s Mountain Step’s answer to the Welcome Wagon is all. As a matter of fact, he owns this store and used to be the town’s first selectman. But he had a serious accident a while back, hasn’t been the same since. His son, Hank, runs the store now. I just fill in for him two days a week.”

“Hmm, that’s too bad about the old guy. What was that you said? He was a
first
selectman
? What’s that?”

“I knew you were from away.”

“Away?”

“Yes, up here
away
means from another place.”

There was a pause in the conversation then. And as neither of us spoke
, our eyes locked together. This silence only lasted a second or two, but it felt far longer. Those two silver jewels of hers didn’t just hold my eyes, they seized them. And while that made me more than a little uncomfortable, I was enjoying the connection we had made. It was one of those rare, intense moments when two virtual strangers know exactly what each other is thinking, and they allow the connection; welcome it, savor it, and lust for more. I might have been
able
to look away. And I thought I should have. But I didn’t. Instead I let it continue. And the longer it did, the more I felt like I was committing an adulterous act.

Finally we both fought back the intensity. As if she had snapped out of a deep thought, actually looking a little embarrassed, she said, “A selectman! Well, a selectman does pretty much the same things a big city councilman does, probably a lot more. And a
first
selectman, he or she is like a mayor.”

It was now my turn to try to appear calm and collected.

“Oh, I see . . . interesting.”

“I’ll bet you’re from a big city. You sound like you’re from New York.”

“Yes, I am. I was born in Brooklyn, but I’ve been in Manhattan for quite some time now.”

Not wanting to get too deep into my personal life
, I quickly changed the subject. “I just stopped in for a bite to eat.” Glancing at the cooler to my right now, I asked, “Do you have any sandwiches or anything in there?”

“Sure do, but they’ve been in there since this morning. I’m about to take a pizza out of the oven. Want a slice or two? They tell me they’re pretty good.”

Looking back at her now, just beginning to get over the look we’d exchanged, I thought,
Small town, general store pizza! Yeeesh! How good could that be? Probably tastes like cardboard
.

I was about to tell her I’d check out the sandwiches instead, but she’d already spun around and was sliding the pie out of the oven with a big aluminum pizza peel. Since she was a few steps away from the snack bar now, and more of her was visible, my eyes suddenly acted as if they had minds of their own. I couldn’t help it. I had to take a better look. And boy what a site she was. The way all her curves and rises were wrapped tight in that plaid shirt and faded jeans, each and every one of them was as spellbinding as her face, possibly even more so.

”This one has cheese only.” she said, sliding the pie onto a flat pan before me.

I was amazed. It really looked good.

“You know what,” I said, as she began slicing it with a steel roller knife, “I think I just might try a couple of slices.”

Smiling again now, she nodded at the snack bar between us and asked, “Are you going to have them here?”

“No, no . . . I can’t stay. I’ll take them with me. I’ve been on the road all day and have to head back to Conway.”

I could tell she was disappointed. Her lips were still pulled into that smile but it was gone from her eyes.

Oh.” she said, looking down at the pizza now, picking up the first slice with a sheet of waxed paper, sliding it into a paper bag. “Are you staying there with relatives?”

“No, I have to get a motel room. I’m planning on spending a few days up here, poking round a little.”

Laying the bagged pizza on the counter before me now, she said, “Oh,” as if it were a question. She was also looking at me again.

Keeping my eyes on the bag, fumbling around with it, I said, “Yupper, I just might be relocating to the area. Thought I’d come back up this way tomorrow and take a closer look.”

Looking back up at her now, I could tell she was thinking about something. I thought there was a hint of relief on her face. Dismissing the thought as silly, I said, “How much do I owe you?”

“What? Oh, sorry
. . . two-fifty even will do it. Let’s go up front to the register.”

As I walked along the wooden floor in front of her, I felt self conscious and clumsy. I thought for sure she was looking me over. 

When we got to the front of the store I laid the bag on the counter and she slid around to the back of it. I was reaching into my back pocket for my wallet when she said, “You know something? You don’t have to go all the way to Conway for a room.”

Oh Lord
, I figured.
You’ve got to be kidding me. This can’t be hap . . . .

But she quickly severed that thought by saying, “My Mom rents out cabins. They’re all neat, clean, and cozy. And they’re less than three miles from here.” She then turned to the window, pointed and said, “You just go back to the four-way
stop there and make a left. It’s only about five minutes up Portland Road.”

“Hmmm, really? You know something
. . . I just might take you up on that. Do you know if she’s got anything available?”

“Let me give her a quick call. Being it’s a Sunday she should.”

She then reached past the register, picked up a phone, punched in the number, and gave me an assured smile as she waited. I smiled back politely, and my eyes started in again. I glanced at her left hand. She was holding the phone to her ear with it, and I could plainly see there was no ring. Quickly, I looked to the left, acting as if I was checking out the pickled eggs for the first time.

“Hello, Mom.” she said, as we looked at each other again. “I’ve got a nice fella here at the store that needs a place to stay tonight, maybe longer. Do you have a cabin for him?”

As her mother answered, the woman bobbed her head and gave me an affirmative little wink. A moment later she said, “Good. That’s great. I’ll send him right over. He’s tall, has nice,
neat,
dark brown hair, killer blue eyes, and is quite handsome.”

Feeling my face heat up again, totally disgusted with myself now, I turned my head and stared at the beef jerky this time.

You’re almost forty years old, shit for brains. That’s twice in ten minutes you’ve blushed in front of this woman. You are one hopeless case!

But that was okay. Even though I was almost positive that she’d noticed, she didn’t mention it after hanging up the phone. Instead she just took my two dollars and fifty cents
; then introduced herself as Gina. After that, when I opened that vengeful screen door to leave, she told me one last thing.

You won’t be able to miss my Mom’s place. There’s a sign that says The Contented Moose Cabins. And just before it, there’s a small dirt road running back into the trees. That’s where I live
  . . . way in the back.”

After I left the store, that last sentence kept playing in my head. Over and over like a skipping record, I kept hearing, “That’s where I live
. . . way in the back.”

Though there are times when a man can’t quite grasp the intentions of a woman’s words, I couldn’t help myself. I knew that what she’d said certainly hadn’t been a loud and clear invitation to visit her or anything like that, but part of me couldn’t help thinking it might be an invitation just the same. It seemed like she had opened a door for me. It was as if she’d said, “If you stay a while, we just might get to know each other better. And I’d like that.”

But as I passed a few scattered houses on the way out of the village, and for the rest of the five miles through a treed canyon on the Portland Road, the other part of me was thinking of something else. As always, Elyse was on my mind, too. Here it was, my first day out of
our
apartment—not even twelve hours since I’d left, and already I was curious about another woman.

“Was I actually flirting with her?” I asked myself
, as the sign came into view.

Right after it did, I glanced at myself in the Volvo’s rearview mirror. Deeply disgusted with who I saw, I smirked at him and slowly shook my head. By the time I looked back out the windshield, I saw that I was quickly drifting toward the road shoulder. I jerked the steering wheel and straightened out just in time. Approaching the sign by now, I saw that is was the one I’d been looking for. And that dirt road was just before it. It was only fifty yards away, and I
ordered myself not to look down it as I began to slow down. I
refused
to allow myself to. And when I came up to it, I forced my eyes to the opposite direction. Then I lowered them, to the road atlas alongside me—to that most recently highlighted yellow line.

Settling In

The Contented Moose sign was framed with timbers, and just below the lettering there was a picture of a female moose with a wide, toothy grin. The moosette was wearing a pretty pink bow on top of her head, and beneath her it said, “Connie.” Once I passed the sign
, I turned left into the gravel driveway and drove to the top of a small hill. Six log cabins were sitting in a semi-circle up there, and to the far right of them, a slightly larger A-frame. All of them backed onto a forest of dense pines, and as I approached, I could hear a chorus of chirping, early-evening crickets. When I reached the level clearing in front of the structures, there was a wooden arrow sign that said “office.” Turning there, I slowly idled toward the A-frame.

Two pickup trucks were parked out front. One had dual wheels on the back axle and, like Gina’s truck back at the store, a snowplow harness mounted on the front. They
, too, were big Chevy’s but somewhat newer. I pulled in alongside them; then went to knock on the cabin’s screen door.

“C’mon in!” came a woman’s voice from somewhere inside.

I opened the spring-loaded door, stepped in, and this time was very careful not to let it nail me in the behind.

The log walls and overhead beams inside were light and cheery, and the high cathedral ceiling overhead made
this only room feel more spacious than it really was. As the lady approached, I noticed a stone fireplace on the far wall behind her. Above it I saw a loft and figured it was the sleeping area. To my immediate right was a small kitchen area and two, blue jean-clad legs with boots on the ends of them were splayed out on the wooden floor. There were tools scattered all around, and the top half of whoever they belonged to was all scrunched up inside a cabinet beneath the sink. Some serious grunting and groaning was going on in there.