Page 8 of Summer Holiday Lifeline

“Well, now.” Steven leaned forward, jerking the swing out of its rhythm and making the cat brace herself, an irritated mewl accompanying her claws extending into the wooden seat. “That explains the huge car, yeah?”

He faintly heard someone call “Uncle something”—he didn’t catch the name—from the car, and the man ducked back down to stick his head inside.

It really wasn’t realistic to think he wouldn’t take a moment to appreciate that view. People didn’t wear jeans that fit like that if they didn’t want to be noticed, did they?

A moment later, the man straightened, a gnarled but polished and sturdy branch in his hand.

“Wow.” The man’s shirt and jeans fit his body as though tailored to show off every plane and sculpted mound of lean muscle. Not that he was overly bulky, just toned to perfection, and easily a head taller than Steven. It was difficult to gauge age accurately from this distance, but he was not young, nor was he particularly old. Maybe in his forties, with short-cropped hair and a stiff bearing, and perhaps a shadow of stubble across his chin and jaw.

“Do you think?” he asked the cat. “I mean, a lot of the B and B guests are gay, right?” He turned to glance at his feline visitor. “So he could be.”

And maybe it was wishful thinking, or the stuff of daydreams, but still, the man was not hard to look at. And after the last person he’d dated had decided she didn’t have the patience for Steven’s homebody tendencies, maybe a vacation fling was exactly what he needed.

Then a car door slammed, bringing Steven’s attention back around to watch this lovely new idea stump around the front of the car and up the walk towards the B and B. He clearly relied on the cane to support his forward momentum, though Steven couldn’t tell which part of his anatomy wasn’t pulling its weight.

Then Lucky came bursting out of the Oaks, arms wide, and the man all but melted into the solid circle of the smaller man’s embrace.

A small, wistful sigh escaped, defiant of Steven’s attempt to hold it back. What he wouldn’t give…

Shaking himself, he leaned against the hard slats of the swing, forcing his spine against the unyielding wood. A sip of cold tea prompted a grimace. “It’s fine,” he whispered, pulling the front of his cardigan closed slightly. “I’m fine.” He glanced at the cat. “Right? We’re fine.”

He snorted and sighed. She wasn’t even his cat, though she kindly refrained from pointing that out as she snuggled a little more deeply into the cushion he left on her side of the swing.

While Lucky was still hugging his new guest, two kids emerged from the car. The smaller of the two, dressed in eye-watering brightness, held onto the leash of what was probably a dog, but was so tiny Steven wondered what kind of dog it could possibly be.

The older kid, dressed in black, slouched and moped, though they did keep a hand on the smaller one’s shoulder as they stood on the lawn, waiting.

As he watched the reunion—because that kind of smile and embrace had to mean Lucky knew the guy—the B and B door opened again and Scratch came hurtling out, taking flight to thud against the stranger’s chest.

Steven winced as man and dog went down the stairs in a barely-guided heap onto the lawn. He sprang from the swing, worried for the guy, but stopped at the porch rail. He should go see if he was all right. See if he could help.

But the teenager who’d followed him out of the car helped him up and handed over his cane. So he was fine. But who was the kid?

Steven sighed. Because of course someone that delicious could not be both single and gay. Then again, someone in the car had called him “uncle,” so…

“That isn’t the life you live, Stevie,” he muttered to himself, though it was nice to dream that he could have the kind of life where a handsome stranger blew into town and swept him off his feet.

He watched the scene a little while longer. The kids and dog went inside first, while Lucky kept chatting, as he did. Finally, they started to move towards the porch again when Lucky tipped his head to one side, grinned, and leaned around to wave. “Hey, Steven!” he called, making Steven blink and shake himself, surprised by the greeting. “Okay?”

Of course he was, and he loosened his grip on the handrail to prove it. Not that Lucky could see his death grip. Just his curiosity and nosiness. Shit. Not embarrassing at all, being caught out like an old fogey watching the neighbours from his porch.

“Not hurt?” he called back, to show he wasn’t a complete troll, spying on this newest arrival at the Oaks.

“No.” The man’s response was faint, but his gaze was not. Steven shivered under it, thankful he was too far away for that reaction to be noticeable. “No, I’m good,” he called a little louder, and lifted his cane in a distracted wave.

Steven nodded. “Good.” Though his response was far too quiet to be heard across the street. Frazzled by the man’s stare, he fumbled through half-formed thoughts, searching for something to say that didn’t sound unhinged. Before he came up with “Welcome to Griffon’s Elbow” or managed to make his lips connect enough to his brain to say it, the man turned sharply and stomped back up the steps of the Oaks.

“Lots of stomping there, big guy,” he muttered, and once more uncricked his fingers from the porch rail. He turned to the cat and winked. “Married or not, he likes a good ghostly pallor, huh?” He sat back down and pushed the swing about as high as the old thing would go.

As he swung and speculated, he heard the couple he’d observed earlier emerge from whatever shop they’d been in. The big car sat silent on the curb.

No wife appeared. Interesting.

The house approved, clearly, since she’d opened up her doors to both the kids and the man. Even more interesting, since it was no secret that Kreed and Lucky’s establishment was notorious for its matchmaking.

“And just who might you be setting that nice hunky guy up with, Mildred?” he asked the B and B. Of course, he got no response.

Beside him, Emma the cat meowed and rolled onto her back, all four paws in the air, claws conspicuously sheathed.