Kiss Me Hard Before You Go (13 page)

He held on tighter. The vein that ran up the side of his neck throbbed. “Stop fighting me!”

As Evie raised her knee to his groin, wisps of her hair blew. The tip of a bowie knife plunged into the shed directly adjacent to her head and barely missed the tips of Todd’s fingers.

“What the hell!” Todd shouted. He spun on his heels and released Evie from his grip.

Evie’s eyes darted to her right, seeing the blade. She scooted out of his reach. Finch stood a few feet away from them.

“You better go on home,” Finch said in a cool, commanding tone and with an “I mean business” expression.

Todd’s mouth was agape, and as Finch passed him by and pulled the knife out of the wood, Todd backed up against the shed.

Finch moved himself between Todd and Evie, standing defensively, with his legs wide apart and the muscles in his arms flexed. His jaw twitched. “You need to get going. That was just a warning shot. Next time I’ll aim for your head,” he said it evenly and smoothly, with command. “And I don’t miss.”

“Yeah, right,” Todd scoffed.

Finch let out a deep sigh. “Man, you really are stupid, aren’t you?” He lifted his arm back and held the knife like he was holding a hammer. He gripped onto the handle and stiffened his wrist, and he flung the knife forward, aiming at Todd. It landed within a centimeter of Todd’s head.

Todd’s face turned scarlet and sweat trickled down from his forehead. His eyes peered up, and he reached his hands up to the knife, touching it to really see if it was there. Once he felt the pearl handle, he turned to dash away but stumbled to the ground. He got up and looked back over his shoulder.

“My aim is perfect. I only miss when I want to. You better start hauling ass,” Finch said.

Todd flew out of there, and Finch turned to Evie. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone gentle and soft.

She nodded slowly, still unsure of what she had just witnessed. She looked at the knife, then at him, and then back at the knife again.

“You sure?” he asked, tilting his head to the side and biting his bottom lip.

Her mouth was wide open, and confusion filled her. She touched the sore spot in her back, and he moved around her. “Mind if I take a look?” he asked.

“No,” she whispered, still trying to collect her thoughts and understand what had just happened.

He lifted up her shirt and inspected the mark on her back. “It’s red, but not bleeding.” He pulled her shirt back down and moved back in front of her. Her eyes were still wide, and her mouth was still partially open. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” she said and gave him a slight smile. She bent down and unlaced her skates and took them off. She held onto a skate and started running in Todd’s direction.

Finch raced to catch up with her. “Where are you going?”

“To throw this skate at his stupid head!” She held the skate up in the air as she sprinted up the hill.

Finch grabbed her by the waist, slowing her down. He didn’t have time to think about the fact that his hands were touching her, that her hips were just the right size, and that she had a natural pleasing sway when she ran. “That skate can kill him.”

She came to a stop. “And a knife can’t?”

“My aim is perfect. I chose not to hit him. You, on the other hand, may not be so kind,” he said.

“I just want to hurt him a little,” she said, pinching her fingers together. “Just enough to scare him.”

“Did you see the wet spot on his pants? I think I put enough fear in him for one night,” he said.

Evie paced back and forth and swallowed several times, her blue eyes blinking constantly. “Fine!” She tossed the skate to the ground and threw her arms up in the air. She looked at it, and then at Finch, who had a smug expression.

“I’m not saying anything,” he said, laughing quietly to himself. He picked up the skate and gestured for Evie to follow him back to the rink.

“How’d you know?” she asked as they made their way down hill.

He gazed at her curiously.

“How’d you know I was here?” she clarified.

“I was on one of my walks, and I heard people shouting,” he said.

The crackle of the needle amplified, and Evie turned off the record player. She picked up the other skate off of the ground. Finch took it from her hands and placed the pair back on a shelf.

“How were you able to throw a knife like that?”

“I grew up in the carnival,” he answered. He pulled his knife out of the wood siding of the shed and placed it back in his leather sheath.

“And?” she said.

“And...,“ he sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “My mom was a knife thrower, and she taught me how to throw knives.”

“Wow,” Evie said with an amazed expression, like he just told her that his mother tamed lions. “Your mom was a knife thrower?”

“Yeah,” he said with indifference, failing to understand how exotic it made her seem to Evie.

“That is far out,” she said with a wide grin.

He snickered and shook his head.

“What?” she asked.

“You’re funny,” he said. “And it’s a little strange that you’re not spazzing out right now.”

“Believe me, my heart was beating like a kick drum earlier. I’m fine now,” she said reassuringly. “You think I’m funny?” she asked. No one ever told Evie she was funny except for Gray and Katie, and Katie thought everything and anything was funny.

“Yep.” He smiled.

“When did your mom teach you to throw knives?” she asked, straddling a nearby bench and gesturing for him to join her. He plopped down on it and faced her.

“Well...,” he said, his eyes peered up in deep thought. “It took several years. She had me start throwing them when I was five.”

“Five?” Evie said in disbelief. “Were you hands even big enough to hold anything?”

He placed his hand under his chin, marveling at her inquisitiveness. She asked a lot of questions and seemed to be interested in anything he had to say. “Yes,” he said with a smile. “They were big enough.”

“Is your mom in the carnival?”

“No.” He frowned. “She passed away when I was fifteen.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“It’s not your fault. And, anyways, it was a long time ago.”

She looked down.

“It’s okay,” he said.

She peered up at him, seeing his reassuring expression. “Really,” he said with a smile.

“Were you born in the carnival?” she asked.

He chuckled. “Actually, I was,” he said. “In Iowa. I was named after the state bird as a matter of fact.”

“That’s why you’ve got a bird name.” She held her laugh.

“I don’t have a refined name like Evelyn, but Finch isn’t so bad. I know there isn’t another Finch Mills out there. At least I’ve never met one,” he said.

“Let’s hope not,” she kidded. “How’d you know my real name?”

He narrowed his eyes at hers. “Any idiot could figure that one out. Evie is short for Evelyn, right?”

“Yeah, but...”

He interrupted her and said, “Just ‘cause I work in the carnival doesn’t mean I’m two beers short of a twelve pack.”

“Do you want to skate?” she blurted.

He scrunched his face. “Okay,” he answered in a questioning tone.

“What?” Evie said, reading him.

“That was abrupt and totally off topic.”

She sighed. “We could’ve been going at it all night, and I thought it’d shut you up.” She got up and walked to the shed. She pointed to the shelf lined up with skates. “What size?”

“Eleven,” he answered.

She handed him his pair and pulled out the pair that Finch had put up minutes earlier. She put the needle back on the record, and music filled the air. They laced up their skates and headed to the rink.

Evie skated backward, turning in a perfect circle, while Finch watched her in awe. “You’re good.” He was impressed.

“I’m all right,” she said, turning around again.

He skated slowly, and she noticed he had a slight skip to his step. “You don’t skate much, do you?”

“You’re awfully observant, aren’t you?” he retorted. “I can manage.” She moved his way and skated around him in a circle. “Show off,” he said with a sigh.

“It’s my turn now,” she snickered as she said it.

“I didn’t know we were in a competition,” he said.

“I’m ahead by one point.”

“How’s that?” He folded his arms across his chest and formed a slight smile.

She counted on her hands as she skated near him. “I’m not afraid of a little pond scum, I can drive an ATV, and I can skate circles around you. Literally,” she teased, a quiet chortle came from her.

“I’d think knife throwing would carry a little more weight.”

“Hmm,” she tapped her fingers against her chin, “okay, maybe we’ll just call it even.”

“You better watch out. I got a bag of tricks up my sleeve,” he said.

“Can you swallow fire too?” She twirled in a circle again.

“Maybe,” he teased. “How about you skate to my pace so I don’t keep getting dizzy watching you go in circles?”

She slowed her pace and moved along side him. “Were you a knife thrower in the carnival?”

“For a while,” he answered.

“How long?”

“About five years.”

“What made you stop?”

“You’re really nosey,” he said, feigning annoyance, but deep down he struggled to be irked with her. She was like a nice little space heater on a cold winter’s day. He wanted to hover close to her and let her warmth envelope him.

“And you’re evasive,” she said with a glint of humor in her eyes. She was teasing him, mercifully, and he knew he’d stand there and take it.

“I’ve been called worse, even by you.” His mouth felt dry, like it was stuffed with cotton balls, and he sounded hoarse when he spoke. He cleared his throat and regained his confidence. “How about you fix me a glass of that famous sweet tea you Southerner’s talk about all the time and I’ll tell you what you want to know?” He tried to say it in a suave way, but Evie didn’t seem to notice or care that his voice cracked as he said it. Or maybe she just wasn’t impressed, he thought.

Chapter 13

Her nerves were shot, and her hand had a nice little twitch to it that she couldn’t seem to stop. Finch made her nervous – but not in the psycho “Son of Sam” way. Her heart fluttered, and she couldn’t think straight. She lost her train of thought when she was around him. When he asked her about having tea, and he licked his lips while doing so, all she could think about was kissing those lips with the tip of her tongue and running her fingers through his shiny hair. It looked like satin, and she wondered if he used hair spray or if it had a natural sheen to it.

He was fidgeting with his hands, rubbing index fingers and thumbs together, as she poured two large glasses of sweet iced tea. It was late in the night. If Gray knew a man was in her house without him there, he’d spit fire and grab his rifle, aiming it directly at Finch’s shiny head.

“Here you go,” Evie said, handing him his glass.

“Thanks.” He smiled and took a sip. “It’s so sweet.”

“How else would you drink it?”

“Without a cup of sugar,” he teased. “They serve sweet tea in Florida, but I never order it.”

“You live in Florida?” She sat down and leaned forward, engrossed in any tale he’d have to tell her about the sunshine state.

“About five months out of the year,” he answered. “I rent a garage apartment from this retired carny named Rolf. He’s a cranky old coot and has an obsession with collecting James Bond stuff. He has a fit if you touch any of it though.” Finch laughed thoughtfully. “It’s an okay place I guess. Not like here,” he said. He glanced at everything in the kitchen: the painted white maple cabinets; butcher block counter tops; white porcelain sink; the oak floors; and the planted begonias that filled the window sill. He brought his gaze back to her. “This kitchen is nice.”

“It’s old as dirt but thanks,” she said. “Florida.” She sighed and rested her palms under her chin. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“What’s stopping you?”

“Oh, just about two hundred cattle,” she said.

He fiddled with the cow shaped salt and pepper shakers. “Are these part of that two hundred?”

“Those were my Grandma’s. Half the stuff in here belonged to her,” she said.

“It’s got to be tough working with cattle,” he said.

“Probably just as hard as what you do. At least I can stay put. You’re always traveling from place to place.”

“Yeah. Tell me about it,” he grumbled.

“Do you get tired of it?”

He thought for a moment and then stared her in the eyes. “Yeah. I do. I really do”

“What would you do if you weren’t working in the carnival?”

“I don’t know. It’s all I’ve known all twenty-two years of my entire life, and that’s a difficult thing to walk away from. I wouldn’t mind owning a farm like this,” he said.

“Trust me, the life of the farmer is not at all romantic. You smell shit all day, and if you’re lucky, you get a few hours to relax.”

“But it’s yours. You own it. There’s a difference,” he said and leaned forward, placing his arms on the table. “When you own something, all the kinks and bad things don’t matter as much because you’ve got some say in it. You’ve got an investment in it.” He took a sip of his tea and swallowed. “You think I have any investment in the carnival? I couldn’t care less about it. It’s just a job. I fix what’s broken and go to work like a drone hoping something will wake me up, but nothing ever does.” His lips cast down.