A Date With Fate (5 page)

Reg lives on a sweet piece of property overlooking Lake Roberds. It’s outside of a small town called Faribault, located south ten miles down the road from Northfield. The house that came with the lake property is a two-story old relic that defies style classification and needs massive amounts of TLC. He decided not to bulldoze citing the old house has “good bones”, and he has been busy renovating since last spring.

Reggie owns his own contracting company and has many friends in the different trades. Whenever I come to visit there is usually a guy or two helping him work on the latest project. It gives me warm fuzzies watching this anachronism of the bartering system in action. Keeping a fridge stocked with good beer and occasionally returning the favor seems to be all the payment these men require of each other. I won’t even get started on the assortment of women ‘just dropping by to help’, and I don’t mean my sisters or other female relatives. My brother’s a very popular guy.

Since I am always an exemplary role model of a sister, I drive over to Reggie’s once in awhile on a weekend day with sustenance. I like to check out the ongoing progress on the house. Reg and I have always been close, but with both of us being so busy lately we don’t hang out as much. It was easy and convenient to do something together before he moved out from my apartment to the lake this past summer. Now it takes planning.

Sometimes, I’ll pitch-in and work around his place. Having no prior experience, I’m not exactly DIY construction worker material. Honestly, I suck  real bad. My little brother is being surprisingly cool with my tool-challenged ineptitude. He’s an awesome teacher, and so are most of his friends. I never thought in a million years I’d get pumped being taught my latest handyman lesson, but I am really getting into it.

It makes me proud that my baby brother no longer screams like a woman and ducks when I have the nail gun in my hand. It’s true what they say about men; they have no tolerance for a little pain. It was only the one time, and the nail I pulled out of Reggie’s thigh was a short, tiny thing--a finishing nail is what I believe he shrieked when correcting me. Yes, okay, he did bleed. But, sweet Jesus, the way he carried on you would think I punctured his femoral artery instead of the back of his leg. It was totally unfair to blame me for the resulting infection.

I met Luke Drake on the third Saturday back in September. I’d woken up early to an idyllic, late summer Minnesota day. I hadn’t seen my brother for over a week, so I decided to whip up some banana bread to bring over to his house. My plan was to soak up some sunshine for an hour on Reg’s new deck overlooking the water. I had plans later with a man I’d met a couple weeks back in the store. We were going to the Renaissance Festival in Shakopee. He was a very nice guy, but you can’t force the love. I knew after our first date it was friends-only on my part. Still, he was fun and a girl can always stand another friend.

After taking care of some business down in the bookstore, I arrived at the lake house around eleven in the morning. Turning my aging Jeep 4x4 into Reggie’s graveled parking area, I saw a black and white SUV was pulling out. Driving was Jack Banner, Chief of Police in Northfield.

My parents had died together in an airplane crash when I was six. My dad had been a cop in St. Paul. Jack was my dad’s young, rookie partner and good friend. My folks were flying home from Jack’s Canadian border cabin in a small plane when the engine malfunctioned and they crashed. I don’t know if Jack felt some misguided guilt about orphaning my siblings and me, or if he was simply a glutton for punishment, but he’s been a fixture in our lives ever since. I consider him part of the family and torment him accordingly.

He slowed alongside my Jeep. I smiled a greeting through our open windows.

“Morning, She-Devil.” Jack takes great pleasure in calling me defamatory names. Although, She-Devil was pretty mild compared to some doozies he’s thought up over the years.

He calls me these names as a result of my actions from when I was only six. After we’d heard the news of our parent’s death, Jack found me off crying in a corner by my lonesome. He attempted to pull me onto his lap to comfort me. I took a hunk out of his shoulder with my bite and told him to “keep his stinking hands to himself or I’d report him to my school principal”.

I was a second-grader then, and fresh from learning all about sexual harassment—I knew my rights as a woman.

In my teens, and whenever he was around, dear Jack made a habit of trying to embarrass me in front of boys while intimidating them into behaving. He would take my date aside. First, he’d warn them not to even think of messing with me. Then he’d tell the boy I may look like an angel, but inside I was feral with a bite much worse than my bark. He had the scar and rabies shot to prove it.

I don’t think Jack ever quite got this didn’t scare off the boys, but made me more fascinating. Maybe it was fascinatingly scary. My dates were never one hundred percent sure why I bit Jack, a cop and twenty years older, in the first place. Being a laconic man, he never mentioned that part. If they asked me, I’d shrug and smile mysteriously.

At forty-nine, Jack is a fit and handsome man in a tough and craggy way. To be fair, he has always been tough and craggy, so he hasn’t changed much over the years. His white blonde hair is touched with a little silver now, his skin is ruddier and lined from years spent fishing on lakes in the sun and wind, but his deep-set, gray eyes are sharp as ever. They miss little.

Jack is a macho man. He’s the real deal, not a poser like many men who act tough. Jack’s no swaggering dude compensating for insecurities or serious woman-bashing issues. Chief Jack likes women. He’s just clueless understanding anything about us.

Jack’s got that cop stare down. The one that makes most people nervous and want to confess to crimes they hadn’t even thought of committing. Add that to the physique of a powerful bull in his prime, speaking only when he has something to say, and wearing a default facial expression so flat it makes a shark look animated, and you have one very tough hombre. Anyone with half a brain would think twice before crossing him.

Happily, I am immune to all that. I’m not sure if that means I have more or less than half a brain, but Jack’s always been a pussycat in my eyes.

“Well, good morning to you, Chief. Do you have to go and protect the unsuspecting public, or can I tempt you with some yummy banana bread?”

“I’m heading into the office. Paperwork.” His eyes were shaded by the clichéd mirrored aviators all cops seemed to wear. He made a curt motion with his left hand draped over the steering wheel. “Gimme some to go.”

I tilted my head to the side and waited.

“What?” he barked, after the silence dragged on.

“Please Anabel, sweetest of all women and best baker on earth. Isn’t that what you were about to add?”

This earned a fleeting tightening of the lips. For Jack, that was tantamount to a belly laugh. “Damn, are you going to make me lie for food, Junior?”

I tapped my forehead. “Oh, that’s right. You are getting up there in age, aren’t you? I don’t want you lying when you’re so close to meeting your maker.”

Jack gave me “the look”. I chuckled and reached for a foiled wrapped loaf of bread from my wicker basket. I nodded to him, tossing the bread between our trucks. Reflexes lightening fast, Jack snatched it out of the air, cradling the loaf as gingerly as an infant in his ham-sized hand.

He nodded back and took his foot off his break. “You just made an old man very happy.”

I am very conscious of my civic duty. I consider it part of my voluntary contribution to community service hours to give the bachelor Chief Jack a hard time.

“Oh dear, Jack, I’m truly sorry.” Sad lips, I was mournful. “From some of the…er…females I’ve seen you with over time, I suspected it didn’t take too much to make you happy. Seriously though, a little loaf of my bread is all it takes?”

Jack braked abruptly. He stabbed a finger at me. “Listen, Miss Thing, you couldn’t handle what it takes to make a man like me happy. Not after all those pansy-assed boys you’ve had jumping through your hoops over the years.” Seeing my grin, he shook his head and bit off something about smart-mouthed women under his breath. “See you tomorrow night.”

This wasn’t really a question, but I saluted sharply. It was a standing invitation that I hosted a family dinner on Sunday evenings at my place. It was my way of atoning for doing my best to avoid most of them the rest of the week

I caught the quirk of his lips again before he drove off down the bumpy driveway to the main, black top road that circled Lake Roberds.

There were three other vehicles parked at my brother’s that day I met Luke. One was my brother’s red truck with the white “Axelrod Contracting” logo on the door. I made a sour face at the next car; I knew who drove the light blue Honda Civic with the vanity plates. I didn’t have a clue who owned the third vehicle. I let out an appreciative whistle. The owner may be unknown, but I definitely recognized the brand spanking, Mack Daddy of a new truck.

I love my jeep, Lady Liberty, but she’s getting up there. I’d been circling around this identical truck for a couple of weeks now at the Apple Ford dealership. I hadn’t yet decided if I was going to move in for the kill. I was deeply in want, but trying to talk myself out of crippling truck payments. Not to mention the very real possibility of crippling myself trying to get up into the front seat. I would need to carry a stool for entry assistance into a truck this size, especially after a meal and a couple of glasses of wine made me weak.

Picking my way over the graveled area towards the house brought me closer to the truck. I adjusted the heavy basket on my hip that contained the loaves of banana bread, a pink bakery bag of cookies, and bottles of OJ and chocolate milk. A gust of warm wind off the lake swirled my dress around my thighs when I stopped to admire the truck more closely.

I held my sundress down while I toured around the vehicle. It was a 2012 Ford F-150 Harley-Davidson. The color was called Tuxedo Black. I had bonded so completely with this beauty in the last two weeks; I was half-tempted to prostrate myself on its hood to get some sun, instead of on my brother’s deck.

“Very pretty. Are you Little Red Riding Hood coming to visit?”

I started at the voice, unaware I was being watched. Then I chuckled at the comparison. I guess with a stretch I could be said to resemble Ms. Hood. I carried a basketful of food, my long, blonde hair was held off my face with a black headband, and I was wearing a scarlet red dress.

I glanced in the direction of the low voice, but couldn’t see him. “Let me guess--Grandma?”

The shadows were deep on the old-fashioned porch. Two, towering Red Oaks majestically spread their canopy of leafy branches over the front yard and house. I heard a low laugh. I expected to see a friend of my brother’s, but a stranger walked off the porch. He came down the front steps toward me. He was carrying a mug full of steaming something.

I put a hand to my heart and breathed, “Oh no! It’s the big, bad wolf!”

He flashed a grin, bright white against his tanned face. I wasn’t actually kidding; he really did look like a badass wolf.

Even before I got a proper look at him, something about the confident way he carried himself made me perk right up and pay closer attention. I noticed his eyes were slowly, continuously scanning the yard around us as he moved my way. I peered around curiously to see what had him so vigilant.

It looked like Reggie’s front yard to me. Lady Liberty’s engine still ticked as she settled down. The birds were busily chirping. Crisp, autumn leaves were rustling in the trees from the breeze. Otherwise, aside from myself, there were no terrorists or snipers I could see. All was quiet on the Lake Roberd’s front.

The aroma of his coffee wafted my way and had me salivating. At least, I think it was the coffee. Watching him walk, I was experiencing a strange phenomenon. Everything appeared sharper, brighter, and vividly more in focus around me. This all ready perfect day seemed suddenly to have infinite possibilities.

When he was a few steps nearer, our eyes clashed over his coffee cup. I was jarred to my toes at the impact. I held his intense stare for a beat before disengaging and looking away. I found I had to exert willpower to glance away with a semblance of composure. I was blown away by the insane desire to lean against his chest and stare up dreamily up into his eyes. This was so not like me. I don’t lean, much less do dreamy.

Not looking directly at him, I still felt the touch everywhere his eyes skimmed over me. He didn’t linger too long on any obvious points, but I was thoroughly, expertly checked out from the top of my black headband down to my black, seriously cute, wedge-heeled sandals.

When not looking into his eyes, my mind started functioning properly. My memory clicked into place and I mentally snapped my fingers.

‘Holy Hannah!’

I knew why he looked familiar. I had glimpsed this man once before when he came into my store last spring. I think it was in April.

I was working alone that afternoon. I was sitting on a stool at the long check-out counter reading some report or another.

I had been feeling nervous flutters in my stomach for the last half hour. I was idly wondering if it was the caffeine from the espresso shot in my latte, or if I had forgotten something I had to be excited about that day.

The string of bells on the shop’s door jingled and jangled. I had glanced up to see this man walk in. The sex kitten voice in my head stretched awake from her catnap and purred, ‘
Ah, here’s the explanation for the butterflies.’

Sounds weird I know, but this happens to me frequently enough that I’ve learned to listen to the different voices talking to me in my head. I end up regretting not paying attention if I don’t. Besides, I look forward to the sex kitten voice. That voice is welcomed with open arms when compared to the mean mommy voice reminding me to be a responsible grown-up and do some grunt work.

The man’s gaze had fixed on me. I was twenty feet away, but immediately reacted to the intensity of his look. I had no clue why, but being the focus of his concentration held me electrified on my stool like a switch had been turned on. It was horrible, bizarre, and uncomfortably exciting.