The House on Hancock Hill (5 page)

“Oh, wow, thanks.” Our fingers brushed when I took the rescue meds and put them in my pocket.

Henry’s eyes lingered on me as he nodded slowly. “Just say the word if you need me to pull over,” he said, snapping his seatbelt in place.

It was weird. I’d have thought this kind of concern would’ve annoyed me, but it was… nice. “So it’s no one local.” I picked up our earlier conversation while Henry gave me another once-over. “The body, I mean. Or maybe it’s someone homeless who was looking for shelter and accidentally set the place on fire.”

“That’s a good theory actually.” Neither of us pointed out there were never any homeless people in a town like this, especially in winter.

Stay available over the next couple of days.
Who knew how long this was going to take? I dug my phone out of my pocket, and Henry gave me a questioning look. “I need to call my partner to let him know what’s going on,” I explained.

Something odd flickered across Henry’s features, but I couldn’t get a handle on it. “Sure. Do you want me to—” He put a hand on the door handle, and I glanced at the fat snowflakes coming down hard once again.

“No, not at all. It won’t take a minute.” I put the phone to my ear.

“Sherwood Bakery, good morning, how can I help you?” It was Denny Sheridan, my business partner.

“Denny, it’s me.”

“Jason, what’s up? How did it go at the police station?”

“It went fine. Listen, something’s come up. I had a bit of an accident—”

Denny gasped and I heard something clatter to the floor. “What? Are you hurt? Where are you?”

“No, everything’s fine, I promise. I just won’t be able to drive for a while. I’ll have to extend my stay here.”

“Do you need me to come up there, Jason? I can drive you home if you want.”

“No, the drive’s too long. Seriously, it’s only a few days.” I heard the doorbell of the bakery jangle in the background and knew he had customers.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Denny said, lowering his voice. “Take care and call me, okay?”

“Yeah, you take care, too. Bye, Denny.” I hung up. Henry gave me a weird look. “What?”

“That’s it?” he asked.

“Well, yeah. I trust Denny. He’ll be fine. And there’s no need in worrying him with—” I made a vague gesture. “It’s not like he can help from there.”

“Okay then,” Henry said, turning in his seat and putting the truck in reverse. I couldn’t help feeling the friendship we’d been rekindling suffered under the silence during the ride to Mrs. Mitchell’s house. I wondered what I’d done wrong.

Chapter 3

O
NE
THING
no one ever gets over is the death of a parent. It’s a phantom pain that lingers no matter how many years pass. I don’t know if that’s because Dad died when I was only nineteen, or if that loss sticks like a shadow no matter when it happens.

Dad wasn’t just a good man, he was everything to me. When I’d come out at the age of sixteen, tearful and scared, he’d clutched my face between his ink-stained hands, looked me straight in the eye, and, after looking pained for a moment, said, “Son, you can grow a pig’s tail, I don’t give a fuck. There is nothing about you that can ever make me love you less.” I’d sniffled and snotted my way through a thank you and clung to him like he was a lifeline. Being gay in a small city hadn’t been any easier then than it is now. I like to think I’ve come a long way since that frightened boy who stood in the kitchen confessing a crush on the captain of the baseball team.

To my left, Henry said, “Hang on, we’re about to go onto a dirt road. It won’t be for long.” I shifted my weight and tried to keep my upper body as immobile as possible, but the bouncing was still more painful than I liked. To my relief, the pickup soon rolled to a stop in front of a small, red-roofed house. “This is Mrs. Mitchell’s. My house is just around the corner, if you need anything.”

I recognized where we were: just off Montezuma Park, which meant the Portage Canal was maybe two hundred feet away, and the Johnson farm about five miles. May as well have been the other side of the moon with all that snow. A pity, because once I’d signed all the documents for the police and fire department—and looked at this body, but I wasn’t thinking about that—I intended to put the land up for sale with the first willing real estate agent. There wouldn’t be any reason for me to come back here after that.

“I’m sorry you have to go through all this,” Henry said, and I startled, unaware we’d been sitting in silence for so long with the engine turned off.

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” I assured him, “I guess I’m still a bit woozy from those pain meds they gave me at the hospital.”

“I’ll go fill your prescription once you’re settled.”

“Mac… Henry.” He grinned, and I didn’t understand how I could’ve missed it was him now that I knew. “I’ve imposed on you for long enough.”

“There weren’t any surgeries planned for the rest of the day, so Susannah, she’s the vet I work with, should be fine without me for a while. And you don’t have a car. Are you even allowed to drive with those ribs?”

Henry laughed when I made a face. “No, but seriously—” I snapped my mouth shut when Henry dipped his chin to catch my gaze.

“We were close friends for a long time, Jason. It’s good to spend time with you again. This isn’t any trouble, so stop apologizing.”

“Okay.” I huffed a deep breath that hurt my chest. “Okay. You’ll have to tell me what your favorite cupcakes are, though.”

Henry blinked at me, face blank. “You’re gonna buy me cupcakes?”

“No, I’m gonna make them.” When he kept looking at me with this frown of incomprehension, I clarified. “I own a bakery. Well, two soon, but—”

“You’re a
pastry chef
?” Henry asked, and I really didn’t see why that was so funny he had to laugh all the way to Mrs. Mitchell’s porch.

He knocked on the door, and while we waited, I said, “Hey, is Johnny still around?” Henry cut me a quick glance before looking away again.

“Yeah, he’s around.”

“You guys fall out or something?” Man, it was cold. Unpleasant shivers started to creep up my spine again.

When Henry looked at me, he was smiling, but it was with effort. “Something like that.”

Before I could ask him anything else, the door opened. A tiny old lady peered through the gap allowed by a safety chain. “Ah, Henry.” She shut the door, slid off the chain, and opened it again. “And, oh my word! Jason Wood, the last time you were in this house, you were wearing diapers.”

“Um,” I said, gratefully crossing the threshold when she waved us in. I didn’t remember this woman or this house at all.

“Yes, I used to babysit you every so often when your mom was… out.”

“It’s lovely to see you, Mrs. Mitchell,” Henry intervened quickly. “How’s Buttons?”

“Oh, he’s all right,” Mrs. Mitchell said to Henry but her keen eyes were on me. “His fur is matting again. I can’t brush him as well as I used to anymore.”

“I can give him a once-over while I’m here,” Henry said, “but would you mind if I took Jason upstairs first?”

“Oh, of course.” She turned to open a drawer in a small hallway chest adorned with more doilies than I’d ever seen in one place, and she straightened with a key in her hand. “Dreadful business, that accident of yours, Jason. I heard all about it on the radio.” Henry shrugged apologetically at my appalled expression. “I turned on the heat as soon as I knew you were coming, but it might still be a bit chilly. No one’s been up there all winter. I’ve got a few extra blankets you can borrow just in case.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Mitchell,” I said, and she beamed at me.

“You turned into such a handsome young man. Didn’t he, Henry?” Her eyes twinkled underneath her white eyebrows.

“Uh,” Henry mumbled, eyeing my banged-up face. “Sure.” Mrs. Mitchell said nothing else. She pressed the key into my hand and led Henry to her linen closet farther down the hall while I waited by the door, soaking the mat with melting snow.

“Take all you need including towels, all right?”

“We will.” Henry grabbed three fleece throws and a couple of towels. “I’ll be down soon to check on Buttons.”

“You take your time, love. Sorry,
Doctor
McCavanaugh.” She winked at me.

We braved the cold once more to hurry down the porch and to the side of the house where a set of stairs led to a door above the separate garage. It looked like Mrs. Mitchell had swept most of the snow off the steps, and I inwardly saluted the old lady’s bravery. The raw wind shear on the stairs made it feel like it was below zero. It was so cold it stung my face and hands, and I felt my nose go numb. Not necessarily a bad thing considering the state it was in.

I fumbled the key with my frozen fingers but managed to open the door and stumble inside while trying to hide how badly I was shaking. Henry pushed past me and opened one of two doors on the right. My exhausted mind went momentarily blank while my face grew hot at seeing Henry arrange the blankets over the bed. He carried the towels through the other door that opened to reveal a small bathroom. I stood next to a chintz couch that divided the living room in two: TV to my right, kitchen to my left, dining nook underneath the only window straight ahead. In the bathroom, Henry turned on the faucets.

“You have a hot shower,” he ordered, not at all fooled by my weak attempt at hiding how cold I was. “The water’s heating. I know it looks like you’ve gone back in time by two hundred years when you walk in here, but the bathroom was recently redone. I’ll go get your things. Do you have your insurance card?”

I tried to talk, but my teeth were clattering, so I just pulled my wallet out of my coat. My fingers wouldn’t cooperate, and Henry took the wallet from me. There was enough cash in there to pay for the medication.

“I got it,” he said gently. “Go.”

T
ANTALIZING
STEAM
curled through the bathroom door, and I hugged myself in relief when I stepped into the moist heat of the room. I stripped and looked at my reflection. My ribs weren’t taped, and my flank had started to bloom interesting colors.

As for my face, that was really beginning to bruise. Still, it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been. Dr. Donalds was probably right about the cold having helped. Apart from the bridge of my nose, the swelling wasn’t too pronounced, and I didn’t have any trouble breathing. It looked like the bruising was going to be the worst underneath my left eye, where the skin looked black. But my right eye was just vaguely green on the brow bone and blue around the inside of my eye. From the faint coloring on my left cheekbone, it looked like that had gotten hit too, and it was tender to the touch. Mrs. Mitchell must have been joking when she told Henry I was handsome. I’d always been rather proud of my body, tall and lean as I was with wiry muscles that were nicely defined, but the last few months of working ten or twelve hours a day while planning for the second bakery had taken their toll. I was too thin.

The water was scalding by the time I stepped into the shower. I adjusted the temperature, although I realized the water wasn’t actually piping hot, it was me who was so cold. Hopefully Mrs. Mitchell had her own water heater, because I stood under that spray until I was warm all over, which took a very long time. Apparently, I started to feel better, because when I grabbed the available shower gel—oh God, lavender—and began to wash, I noticed I was half-hard.

It wouldn’t take long since I’d been too busy either working or being unconscious to take care of things for a while. A few hard strokes already had my balls tightening, so I steadied myself against the tiles with one hand and set an even pace, water pouring over my back like warm rain. My mind drifted toward Daniel, my only “regular” casual hookup, if such a thing existed. He was gorgeous, blond, and muscular, and unable to keep my interest right then. Henry’s beautiful face came to mind instead. I thought of his soft, luscious mouth—Jesus, how those lips would feel on my skin. I imagined his strong arms holding me down. It didn’t happen very often that a guy was taller than my six-two, but Henry had at least three inches on me, and it turned me on like crazy. Fantasizing about a straight guy wasn’t my usual fare, but just this once, I allowed my imagination to stray. Quick and hard, I orgasmed with the mental picture of Henry’s mouth on my cock.

“Jason? I just brought in your bag. It’s on the bed.”

Sputtering around a gulp of warm water, I nearly slipped on the tile as I watched the come rinse off my knuckles. “Uh, thanks,” I croaked, squeezing my eyes shut.

Great, I couldn’t make it more obvious what I’d been up to if I tried. Behind the door, Henry cleared his throat.

“I’ll, uh, go fetch your medication next.”

“Okay.”

I stood under the spray for a long time, but I couldn’t hear if Henry had left. How long had Henry been there? Had he tried to get my attention before? Shit.

After pulling on a pair of jeans, a long sleeved Henley, and the warmest sweater I’d brought—which wasn’t very warm, to be honest—I went back into the living room. It was small but tidy. When we’d walked in, I hadn’t paid attention to the décor, but I saw what Henry meant about going back in time. Everything, from the wallpaper to the curtains to the couch, was pink and flowery. It kind of made me think this was what living inside a strawberry cheesecake would be like. Even the carpet was a shade of salmon that made my head hurt. It gave way to pink tiles in the open plan kitchenette which held a stove I was sure had seen the turn of a century or two.