WhiskeyBottleLover (4 page)

“Good evenin’, ma’am. Hayes Martin at your service.”

The low, slow drawl wrapped around her, caressed her nerve
endings and made her stomach flutter and then clench. It spoke. Her new
imaginary friend just spoke and he had a dreamy bedroom voice. PCP, some new
form of mind-altering drug? Whatever she’d unleashed inside her home would have
an unprecedented street value. Holy cow, she could even smell him and he stank
of stale whiskey.

And then he bowed, a graceful, elegant bend of the waist as
if she were royalty. Too much, too damn much. Chance grew hysterical and began
shaking her head, opening and closing her mouth, but words wouldn’t come. Her
legs chose then to work, making her stumble backward and catch herself against
the counter.

The man reached out as if wanting to catch her. She
stammered, slipped to the side and almost wet herself. “No touch, no touch, no
touch,” she managed, until he jerked his hand back.

“I startled you. My apologies for that, ma’am,” he told her
slowly but kept his distance. “If there were some other way of leaving the
bottle I assure you I would do it. Can’t tell you how many people I nearly send
to an early grave with all that smoke and mirror bull.”

Chance’s gaze shot to the bottle in his hand and then back
to his face. Nope, not believing it for one second. That man did not come out
of that old bottle, much less a man with a Southern drawl who should be
modeling underwear and tuxedos. A hysterical laugh bubbled up and out. Chance
slapped her hand over her mouth but couldn’t contain it, especially when he,
it, whatever, looked a bit annoyed.

“That old couple must have been playing around with a
chemical kit or something,” she muttered between laughs. “Whatever they
concocted, it’s good stuff. I can actually smell you and you stink.”

He frowned, the corners of his mouth dipping and his brow
furrowing slightly. He raised his arm and took a sniff of his shirt and winced.
He lifted the bottle and stared at it a moment.

“I need to sit down.” Chance pushed away from the counter
but her legs were still weak and she stumbled again.

This time the man stepped out and caught her. She could
actually feel his arm wrap around her waist, tug her close to his solid, real
body. Her hand rested on his chest and she could feel his heart beating beneath
her palm. Terror the likes of which she’d never experienced struck. This man
was real.

Chance released a high-pitched scream, shoved away and went
running into her bedroom where she retrieved her small handgun. He was real and
standing in her house. For what? Half-crazed and out of her mind, Chance held
the gun out in front of her, rushed back out into the kitchen and pointed it at
his chest.

“Who the hell are you and what do you want?” Oh boy, if he
didn’t leave she’d be forced to shoot and the way her hands were shaking, she’d
hit everything but him.

“Whoa,” he said, putting his hands out in front of him.
“Take it easy. No need for violence. I don’t mean you no harm, ma’am.”

“Stop calling me ma’am,” she snapped. “I’m not even thirty
yet.” Chance groaned. Why the hell did she tell him that? She had to pull it
together. Get her head straight.

“Just bein’ respectful,” he said in that slow drawl. “Don’t
mean nothin’ by it. Please, put the gun down.”

“Get out.”

“Well, now, I can’t do that.” He lowered his arms to his
sides, still holding that old bottle as if it were a lifeline.

“Yes you can. Turn yourself around and walk out the door.”
Her finger twitched on the trigger.

“It ain’t that easy. Believe me, if I could, I’d be makin’
tracks.”

Chance frowned at the sad look in his eyes. He reminded her
of a puppy pouting and, damn it, it tugged at her heart. “Oh no you don’t,” she
groused. “I don’t know what your story is but it doesn’t involve me.”

He sighed, a heavy sound that made his chest rise and fall.
Using his free hand, he scratched his jaw and then jammed his fists on his
hips. “I’m afraid it does. See, you rubbed my bottle and released me. That
makes you my master for a while. Until I fulfill your wishes, like it or not,
you’re stuck with me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” And she thought she’d
lost her mind? This guy had gone off the edge, wallowed in insanity and come
back for more. That made him dangerous.

“Okay, let me explain it this way. I’m a genie. I live in
this bottle. You rubbed the bottle and released me. That means I have to grant
you three wishes before I go back into my bottle and wait for the next person
to rub it. Simple.”

A genie? “You’re crazy.” She needed to call the police, tell
them to bring the white coat that lets you hug yourself. This guy was
delusional in a grand way.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I thought the same thing when I was
inside this infernal thing looking out.” He waved the bottle around. “After a
hundred years I was forced into acceptin’ it.” He rubbed his temple. “Look, let
me show you.”

With a point of his finger toward her, the gun vanished out
of her hands and appeared in his. Just like that. Chance gasped, ran into her
bedroom, slammed the door and locked it. Before she could grab her phone, he
appeared right in front of her. With a screech she rushed out and ran for the
front door. He appeared out of thin air, blocking her way.

“I can do this all night, ma’am.” He jammed his fists onto
his hips again and grinned. “Although watchin’ you run around is the most fun
I’ve had in a long time.”

Chance backed away slowly, shivering beneath his lazy gaze
roaming down her body. Oh yeah, she was in trouble. A perverted lunatic and she
had no way of escaping. Well, he’d have one hell of a fight on his hands if he
had visions of violating her body. She may not be able to stop it but she sure
as hell could do some damage to him.

“Stay away from me unless you want to lose vital parts of
your anatomy.” She kept moving, one small step at a time.

He frowned again, tilted his head to the side and then
sighed. “I’m afraid you got me all wrong, ma’am. I ain’t that kinda man. Never
forced a woman to do anythin’ against her will.”

“Uh huh.” Chance was near the small hallway. She could run
into her bedroom and hopefully be halfway out the window before he popped in.
If she ran fast she could make it to the neighbor’s before he figured out where
she’d gone.

“We really started out on the wrong foot,” he muttered,
rubbing his forehead.

Chance took that single moment of distraction and dashed
inside her room, slammed the door, turned the lock and ran to her window. After
pushing it up she slipped her legs through and heaved her body. It wasn’t a big
drop to the ground but seconds before her feet hit earth he appeared, held out
his arms and caught her. She kicked, swung her arms, thrashed, did everything
she could to free herself, but his strong arms held tight.

“Stop overreactin’,” he grumbled.

Chance watched in terror as he dipped his head. Warm breath
washed over her ear. “Sleep.”

Hayes shifted her in his arms, looked down at her sleeping
face and sighed. A pretty woman, she reminded him of someone with her wavy
brown hair, pale skin and large eyes. Shrugging off the odd feeling of
familiarity, he whisked them back inside with a single thought and laid her
down on the couch.

Damn, but he messed this one up. Not once in over a hundred
years of this nightmare life had a person responded so wildly to him. A few
moments of shock followed by a quick demonstration of his powers and people
were foaming at the mouth, eager to start making wishes. This one, she goes
plumb off her rocker and pulls a weapon. He’d never encountered a woman like
her before.

Kneeling down by the couch, he pushed a few strands of her
hair back out of her face. Sleeping made her appear more docile but appearances
could be deceiving. He’d learned that over his incarceration in the bottle. It
didn’t matter what year, the most timid-looking person could become vindictive
and dangerous when faced with any possible wish they could have.

Rules said you couldn’t end a being’s life personally, but
there weren’t any regulations against giving the master the power to do so. The
first time a person wished for strength to physically whip a man’s ass into the
grave, Hayes refused and paid the price. Horrid, organ-twisting pain racked his
body, brought him to his knees and made him sweat bullets until he granted the
wish. At that moment he realized it wasn’t his place to judge. Nope, the
judging would come later and by a greater power. He’d heard it called karma by
some.

Would this woman turn out to be like those? Would she wish
to destroy another’s life? He gazed at her pretty pink lips formed like a bow.
How could anyone so beautiful harbor such hate inside? But yeah, looks could be
deceiving.

Hayes pushed to his feet and looked around the house—clean,
comfortable, touches of the owner here and there. Some of the old knickknacks he
recognized. What year did he emerge in anyway? Surely she had a paper or
something around that gave a date.

He quietly poked around until he found a paper in the
kitchen area. After tossing it on the table, he pulled out a chair and sat.

The first thing he did was look at the date. October,
two-thousand thirteen. Hayes whistled softly. Fifty years he’d been sealed up
inside that bottle. No wonder he stank of stale whiskey. His last master must
have hidden the bottle away after receiving his last wish. How’d that work out
anyway? Did the guy’s harem of beautiful women granting his every whim give him
the life he expected?

Hayes laughed. Most likely not. Wishes had a way of
backfiring on people. Put twenty women together and war broke out. The poor
bastard probably ran to the other side of the earth to get away from them.
Served him right. He had a lovely lady already. What the hell did he need more
for?

Shoot, if he had a chance for one beautiful, loving woman he
wouldn’t risk it. A face from his past popped into his head—long brown hair,
supple body and, what? He couldn’t remember anymore. The passage of a century
played hell on a man’s memory.

Pushing it aside, he continued glancing through the paper.
Violence, hatred, men stealing from others. Time moved on but nothing changed.
People with more thought they should rule the people with less, and those with
nothing wanted to take what others had. Sometimes he didn’t understand why the
greater power didn’t slingshot this planet right out of the solar system.

Still, he’d met enough decent people over the years to
balance out the bad. Caring, helpful people, but not caring enough to free him
from his bottle for good and it didn’t appear this one would be any different.
So he’d do his deed and hope the next one saw his plight.

He heard rustling on the couch. Yep, about time for her come
out of the sleep he put her in. Hayes braced for another round of threats and
shouting. He watched, waited and when he thought maybe she’d drifted back off
for the night, fingers curled around the back of the cushion and the top of her
head appeared along with two wide, brown eyes peering at him.

He couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his lips.
Damn, but she was a looker. “Mornin’,” he said with a tip of his head. She
glanced out the window and then back at him. “Just an expression. You’ve only
been out ten minutes.”

Her relief was plain and visible on her face. She sat up,
pushed her long locks back and then rolled her head. “What did you do to me?”

“Just gave you some downtime before you hurt yourself. Hope
you don’t mind but I needed to catch up on the last fifty years.” He lifted the
paper, showing her.

“Fifty years? But you don’t look much older than thirty.”
She curled up in the corner of the couch, tucked her legs tight against her
chest and wrapped her arms around them.

“Side effect of the curse. Time goes on, things progress but
I stay the same.”

“So you’re how old exactly?”

Hayes shrugged. He stopped counting after the first one
hundred years. “One hundred and sixty, give or take. Don’t really know for sure
and don’t care.”

She sat quietly for a moment, turned her head and frowned.
“You called it a curse. Does that mean you haven’t always been a, um—”

“Genie,” he offered. Yeah, she still hadn’t bought the
story. “No, I was a normal man goin’ about livin’ my life.” Those days were
faded shadows now. Nothing more than wisps of memories he couldn’t call
forward, no matter how hard he tried.

Another stretch of silence and then she asked, “The old
couple I bought the bottle from, were they your last,” she frowned, bit her
bottom lip and then said it, “masters?”

“Don’t really know for sure. All I remember is the last guy
to release me wished for bizarre things and then I went back into the bottle
until tonight. Thanks for that, by the way. You have no idea how lonesome and
boring it gets in there.”

A beeping sound startled him. Hayes jumped up, nearly
knocking over the chair. The woman, she eased off the couch and came around it
slowly.

“It’s just the oven. My dinner is done.”

He looked toward the oven and then made a disgusted sound in
the back of his throat. “Sorry ’bout that. I’m not familiar with modern
devices.”

“It’s okay.” She took it slow, approaching as if he were
some wild animal she needed to move carefully around.

Hayes decided to go easy on her and put distance between
them. When she opened the oven door, the aroma hit him like a ton of bricks. It
smelled incredible and made his mouth water. Real food. Home-cooked food that
satisfied a man’s stomach. How long had it been since he tasted anything
substantial?

She grabbed a towel and then reached in and touched the
glass pan. Instantly she yelped, jumped back and grabbed her hand. Hayes
pointed at the pan and it floated from inside to the top. The door shut and
then he moved toward her.

“Let me look at that.” The woman backed away with fear in
her eyes but he ignored her, reached out and wrapped his fingers around her
wrist. A small, delicate wrist with cool flesh against his warm palm and he
couldn’t believe he was actually touching a woman. “That’s a nasty burn.” He
laid the tip of his finger over the damaged flesh and in seconds it healed.

“How’d you, what,” she looked up at him, surprised. “It
doesn’t hurt anymore.”

He shrugged. “I don’t like seein’ people in pain.”

She stood there, staring at her finger in silence and then
sighed. “Do you eat? I mean, can you eat?”

“Sure. I don’t really need it to live but I can still enjoy
food.” Was she offering to share? Did anyone ever share their meal with him
over the last two centuries?

“It’s not much but I’ve got plenty. That is, if you’d like.”

“I’d like. I’d like a lot. Thank you, ma’am.” He waved his
hand toward the stove and the pan blinked to the table.

“Hot pad,” she shouted. “Hot pad. Pick it up a second.”

Hayes did and she slid a thick piece of material beneath it.
He lowered the pan and smiled. “You should have used that to take it out. You
wouldn’t have hurt yourself.”

“My name is Chance,” she said, staring at the table as if
trying to comprehend what just happened.

“Chance?”

“Yes, that’s my name. Stop calling me ma’am.” She jammed her
hands on her hips and glared up at him. “Dishes are in the cupboard.”

It took a moment but then it clicked. She wanted to test
him, that or confirm in her head what he could do. No big deal. He waved his
hand and two dishes appeared on the table along with utensils. “Anythin’ else
you’d like, Master?” He meant it as a small joke but her eyes grew wide and she
plopped down in a chair.

He grew a bit concerned when her flesh turned pasty white.
“Are you sick?”

She swallowed hard. “This can’t be happening. It isn’t real.
Genies aren’t real, much less Southern-talking genies wearing clothes from the
eighteen hundreds. I must be losing my mind.”

He didn’t like the sound of her tight, strangled voice.
Sitting down slowly beside her, Hayes placed his hands on the table where she
could see them. “I’m sorry, Chance, but it is real. Genies are real. It doesn’t
matter where they’re from. Can’t say I blame your doubt though. I don’t
remember much from my past anymore, but I do remember thinkin’ the same thing.”
A huge mistake on his part, one he’d never make again.

“They’re just legends,” she whispered.

“Yep, and legends are grounded in some sort of truth.” The
knowledge he learned as the shackles grew into his bone was hard to stomach.
Dragons did exist at one time. Fairies were real and still lived among humans.
The list went on. Evil did walk the earth along with true and righteous good.
There had to be a balance and somehow he factored into that.

“So, what, you were just living your life and bam, you wake
up inside a bottle, destined to grant wishes to people? It doesn’t make sense
to me.” Chance leaned back in her chair and stared at him, waiting.

Hayes thought about telling her the truth, how he was tricked
into the bottle, but what did it matter? In a short time he would be back
inside and waiting for the next person. Depending on what she wished for, her
life would go on without a hitch and he’d soon be forgotten. “It doesn’t have
to make sense, darlin’. It just is. You better eat while your food is warm.”

He sat there, uncomfortable under her scrutinizing stare,
but kept his lips sealed. She wouldn’t be the one to free him. He knew that all
the way down to his old bones. Chance had a good life and he would not screw it
up any more than he already had.

“What kind of name is Chance for a woman anyway?” he asked
as she served the lasagna.

“I was found by chance in an abandoned building. Left to
die, I suppose, or maybe my mother had died and couldn’t return to me. I have
no idea. Anyway, I became part of the system and the woman who handled my case
named me. Apparently she was into unique names.”

“Left to die?” He couldn’t fathom it. Not this beautiful,
vibrant woman. “How old were you?”

“Not even a year old.”

“No family took you in?”

“Yeah, for a while until I got a little older and then I
started getting shuffled around from one family to another. Most of them were
polite, fed me, clothed me, put a roof over my head, but something was
missing.” She shrugged, picked up her fork and took a bite of her food. “When I
turned eighteen I walked away from the system.”

Hayes mulled that over a bit. She had no family, no one to
miss her if she suddenly vanished. A prime candidate to take his place. No, he
couldn’t do it. Life had already been hard for her.

“I’m truly sorry about your past, Chance. Have you found
what was missin’ yet?”

“No.” She continued to eat without adding any further
commentary.

Silence stretched between them and Hayes didn’t mind. He
savored each bite of real food, good food, and committed it to memory in case
he didn’t get the chance to eat again for a long while. If he learned anything
from this poor excuse for a life, it was to appreciate every little thing that
came along.

“What about you? Did you have family?” she asked and then
took a sip of wine.

Hayes pulled on those memories hard but could bring little
forward. “I did at one time. The eighteen hundreds were hard, dangerous. What I
remember is bein’ alone for a good bit. Just me workin’ where I could, gettin’
by. The bottle fades a lot of memories. I suppose it’s a good thing.”

“Why?”

She honestly looked stunned at that. He shrugged. “If I had
family, people who cared about me, people I loved, it would be torture to know
they’ve already lived and died without me. It’s hard to miss what you didn’t
have.”

“That’s true,” she whispered.

When she got up to clear the table he held out his hand to
stop her. “Let me.” In a split second the dishes were clean and put away. Even
the leftover food found its way into the refrigerator. “The least I can do for
the hospitality. Thank you for sharin’, Chance. It’s a rare treat for me. Now
I’ll return the favor.”

Chance gasped when a big chocolate cake appeared in the
center of the table. He didn’t know why he chose that but it appeared to be the
right thing. After the sudden shock her eyes sparkled and she dipped her finger
into the icing and tasted.

“Oh wow, that’s good.”

A knife appeared in his hand. He cut a slab, placed it in
front of her and grinned like a damn fool as she dug in. Did people understand
that the little things were this important in life? That a simple cake could
bring a person joy? He doubted it. His experience with wishes showed the greedy
side of people.

“What will your first wish be?” He hated asking. It meant
stepping closer to being locked up in the bottle again. Still, she had a life
to live and he needed to move forward in his search to find the right person to
wish him free.