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I tilted my head, wondering if Muriel was hard of hearing.
“We can fix both of those things. My husband is the mechanic here, he’s home now, but can look at your car in the morning.” She pointed to the parking lot. “And look, you left it in the perfect spot.”
The car was parked sideways blocking the entrance to the big garage door.
“And, I have a guest cabin that we usually rent out, you know like the Air Bee’s, or whatever they call it. But, it’s free for…” she tiled her head. “How long are you in town?”
“Just the weekend.” I breathed a sigh of relief. I had only been in Chance Rapids for an hour and I was already ready to leave.
“Perfect.” Muriel slid out of the booth and flicked off the ‘open’ sign. I noticed the hours posted below and realized that the kind waitress had stayed past closing so that I could drink my coffee. “You’re coming home with me.”
From anyone else’s mouth it would’ve sounded creepy. And, against all of my big city girl judgement, I let a complete stranger take me home.
TWO
JACK
The woodstove crackled,casting an orange light through the otherwise dark cabin. Lying under my mom’s handmade quilt I watched the clouds blanket the sky, covering the almost full moon, darkening the field and pathway between the cabin and the main house.
Rolling over, I pulled the quilt tighter and let the babble of the half-frozen creek outside the window lull me to sleep. No need for a white noise machine, I thought as I drifted off. I don’t know how long I was asleep, it could’ve been five minutes, or five hours, but I was jolted awake by a banging on the wooden door.
“Jack.” My father’s gruff voice yelled from the other side of the door. The wind whistled and a drift of snow tumbled onto the floorboards as my father stepped inside.
“What is it?” I bolted upright. My father respected my privacy, and as a thirty-year-old man, hadn’t been woken by a parent in the middle of the night for over twenty years. “Is it mom?” I had pulled on my wool socks and shoved my feet into my big arctic boots that were beside the bed.
My father shook his head. “Your mother has lost her mind,” he grumbled.
“What?” My father didn’t sound serious, he sounded pissed off.
Taking my plaid jacket from the hook next to the door, my father tossed it to me. “Your mom has brought home a stray. You’re going to have to sleep in the main house for the weekend.”
I glanced at the slept-in bed, the flannel sheets with snowflakes were rumpled, and my wet socks hung over the woodstove. “I cancelled all of the vacation bookings.”
“Take that up with Muriel.” Dad turned and disappeared into the swirling snowstorm before I could ask him any more questions. I ran the vacation rental remotely for my parents. The little cabin next to the creek made more money for them than my dad’s mechanic business, so I felt a little guilty staying there while I was in Chance Rapids – but my mom insisted. Why pay rent to stay somewhere else when we have a perfectly good cabin here? She had crossed her arms, and there was no changing her mind. She said that she’d rather have me in the cabin than some city slicker. Now, I was getting kicked out in the middle of the night – for a stranger – likely a city slicker.
“This better be good.” I stoked the fire and braced myself for the cold winter night, wondering who the hell had convinced my mom to kick the oldest of her four sons out of his home in the middle of one of the coldest nights of the year.
Following my father’s snowy footprints along the well trodden pathway, I made my way to the main house, past the chicken coops, and barn, where the goats were all tucked away warm and cozy for the evening. My pajama pants, handmade by my aunt, fluttered in the arctic breeze. The flannel reindeer-printed pants were warm, but no match for the wind, and my junk constricted into what felt like walnuts. Or maybe even chestnuts. I chuckled and picked up the pace, imagining warming my balls over a crackling fire, as suggested in the Christmas song. It sounded like part torture, part heaven.
Stamping off my boots in the mudroom, I glanced at the cuckoo clock just as that damn bird came out to yell at me one time. One o’clock in the fucking morning. I shook my head and stepped into the heat of the main house, the cookstove in the kitchen kept the main floor hot like a sauna and I started to thaw out – my balls thanking me for not subjecting them to any more inclement weather, or an open fire - returned to their normal state.
For one or two seconds.
“Jack.” My mom stepped aside so I could see the interloper. “This is Henrietta. Please take her to the cabin.”
I hoped that my coat was long enough to hide the instant attraction that surged to my cock. I cleared my throat. “Nice to meet you, Henrietta.”
“Henri,” she smiled and extended her hand. Against all the kitsch in my mom’s folk-art kitchen, the woman looked like a hot blond girl version of Edward Scissorhands – minus the scissor fingers. She was wearing all black, including her hat and fingerless gloves. The tips of her fingers were freezing, and her nails were painted a deep purple shade that almost matched her leather jacket. Henrietta Scissorhands was going to be a hard nickname to get out of my mind.
“Jack.” My mom snapped me back to reality. “Henrietta has had a long day. Please make sure the fire will last until morning.” Mom shoved a stack of towels and a set of sheets into my hands.
Dad had already disappeared upstairs and mom patted Henri on the back. “Jack will get you all settled.” Mom started up the creaky stairs then turned. “I’m sad to say that I won’t be here for breakfast, but if you can make it to the diner, they’ve got the best pancakes in town. Bob will do his best to have your car back on the road as soon as possible.”
“Thank you Muriel.” The girl’s voice was low and husky. And sexy.
“Right this way.” I made a showy gesture to the mud room.
“Concierge service?” Henri gave a sideways smile and I couldn’t tell if she was mocking me.
