Although still not totally convinced the whole town didn’t suffer from mass hysteria, he finally made up his mind. “I want your help.”
Monica beamed a genuine smile. It scared the hell out of him. After she left, he paid the bill, gathered the torn bread into a napkin, and made his way down the pond to feed the ducks and digest Monica’s words along with his meal.
Junior wanted power. The gifts and phone calls were a means to an end. He didn’t care about Seth. And though Seth hadn’t befriended many townsfolk, he didn’t believe any of them should be forced from their homes. Who wanted an elitist who thought he was better than everybody else running the show? That sounded like some kind of crazed dictator to Seth. Junior didn’t want him for himself. Did anyone?
An image of Michael flashed before his eyes, a man he thought he’d loved at one time. They’d finally agreed on one thing: they really weren’t meant for each other. Michael wouldn’t be content living in Georgia; he liked the city’s nightlife too much. He’d never give up nightclubs, valet parking, and room service to live a quiet life in a farmhouse.
Wait. Live a quiet life in a farmhouse? Since when had Seth decided not to go back to Chicago? He imagined his lonely apartment, empty, awaiting new tenants, and felt not one ripple of remorse. Next, he envisaged the farmhouse, a red and black “For Sale” sign in the yard. His heart ached, particularly when his mind formed images of families tramping through, criticizing the things that, despite the many years of separation, Seth still valued. “The ceiling’s too high,” he heard an imaginary shrew screech. “It’s too far from town! Hardwood floors! Let’s get some carpet in here!” Seth cringed, for the polished floors were the house’s best feature, in his opinion.
But it wasn’t just the farm he’d grown attached to. The image of Dustin lying in his bed, looking like he belonged there, auburn hair fanned out across the pillow, testified that Seth had grown attached to much more than just a house. Yup, he’d fallen for the man who’d hold Seth if he cried, laugh with him when he was happy, and might yet skinny-dip with him again in the pond. The man who didn’t want the responsibility of leadership, but who’d take on the duty to protect the people Aunt Irene had held dear.
Seth tossed a piece of bread to a waiting duck, recalling the group picture on the mantel back at the house. Those people must be the passel he’d heard about, his aunt’s surrogate family. Could he fill her shoes? Well, not alone he couldn’t. Could he fill them with Dustin and Monica’s help and support? That remained to be seen. The only thing Seth could swear to beyond a shadow of a doubt was that he didn’t stand a chance without Dustin,didn’t wantto stand a chance without Dustin.
When had the guy started meaning so much to him? He remembered Dustin’s comforting arms around him the day before his grandmother had taken him away. In a moment of silence, a small voice answered,Dusty always meant the world to you.
SETHwaited until after office hours to call and leave a message on Dustin’s work phone. “Dusty? It’s me, Seth. It’s nothing against you or anything, but I’m working through some issues and need the time to get my head together, okay?” Before he could stop them, out tumbled the dreaded words he couldn’t take back, but had needed to say ever since they’d first occurred to him while feeding the ducks: “I love you.” He ended the call before further embarrassing himself.
I love you? What kind of sentimental mush was that to leave on a voice mail? He wasn’t free to say things like that, not with his future hanging in the air.
He sat on the porch of the farmhouse, idly toeing the old wooden swing back and forth, when he sensed his guest’s arrival. “I could tell it was you from the magnolia tree.”
The plump marsupial body on the bottom step hunched back on its rear paws, its blimp-shaped torso elongating, twisting, and turning until a naked woman stood in its place, skin gleaming ivory by the light of a nearly full moon. “Too close, and I wasn’t even shielding,” Monica replied. “You aren’t focusing.”
Apparently unconcerned by her nakedness, she stalked across the porch to stand before him. Seth averted his eyes.
“Look at me.”
Seth slowly swiveled his head back in her direction, staring fixedly at her face.
“You can’t be bothered by nudity. It’s a body, no big deal. Everybody’s got one. If you’d been raised here and began turning around thirteen or fourteen, you’d be used to seeing the passel naked. To flinch or get a hard-on will mark you an outsider.”
A hard-on! Oh shit! Seth hadn’t thought about that. How could he not get hard seeing Dustin? Though he wouldn’t have that problem with Monica, he skimmed his gaze down, stopping at her ample breasts and flicking back up to her face again. “I can’t.”
“You gotta! Now quit being a child. Look at me!”
Hands balled into fists, brain turned to an off-air channel of white noise static, Seth forced himself to study Monica’s body from the braids that swept over her shoulder to brush over her backside to the brightly polished toenails.
“Nice color,” he said, staring down.
“Good. Your night vision’s getting stronger.”
Still a bit squeamish about seeing Monica nude, Seth appreciated the lesson she meant to teach, and ran his gaze up her body again, honing in on a dark spot above her navel. Was that… was that Mickey Mouse? He fought back a giggle. “Nice tat.” He’d never view drillsergeant Monica the same way again.
Chapter 18
“HOW’SSeth?” Dustin hated asking; however, Monica wouldn’t
volunteer the information if he didn’t.
“He’s fine. A little nervous about tomorrow night, but I’ll be there.” Monica handed over the chart for their last patient of the evening.
“I wish he’d join the passel, let us celebrate his first shifting.” Actually, Dustin would take any excuse to cross paths with the man. Only sheer force of will had kept him from turning down Seth’s driveway when he passed on his way home every day, despite the fact that he had to go past his house to get to Seth’s, then turn around.
“He’s not ready to be ridden around on people’s shoulders and praised as the next big thing. McDaniels aren’t given to public displays.”
“No, they’re not.” Damn the luck!
Monica’s voice softened. “He misses you.”
