Rock Mountain Man (Men on a Mission Book 6), page 9
Then he shoves his big head under her arm, pressing his face against her flank, and just sits there, offering what comfort he can.
“You…you…” Zoey’s voice is muffled and choked with tears. “You don’t understand,” she gets out. “I do have the same feelings for you. I just didn’t know if…I juh…juh…just didn’t know…if it could happen so fast!” Another series of sobs, but they’re settling down some now. “I…wasn’t sure if you…if you would even like someone like me. Someone so…alone. Wha…what do I even have to offer a man like you?” Now one of her arms creeps around my waist, while she hooks her other elbow around Bruce’s head and clings to it.
Holy Melting Heart, Batman! I hug her as close to me as I can and rain kisses on her silky head.
Thank God! Thank God…that’s all I can think.
Bruce leans into Zoey and absorbs her touch. Like any wounded being, he doesn’t give his trust out lightly. But maybe he feels the same good, pure energy from Zoey that I do, and is smart enough to follow his own instincts about her.
“Like you? You didn’t know that I like you? Zoey…you’re like no one I’ve ever met. Yes, it’s fast but…are we gonna look this gift horse in the mouth? You know how many lonely people there are in the world? People who could have had the chance for love but didn’t go for it…holding out in hopes the grass might be greener somewhere else? Holding off out of fear of getting hurt?”
She presses herself against me more firmly, her head still tucked under my chin, her one free hand restlessly stroking the fur under Bruce’s wide jaw.
“But…I’m…I feel like I’m kind of…damaged.” Zoey’s voice is quiet but thick with emotion. “Damaged goods. The one person in my life who I had left to care about me…just doesn’t. In my head, I know she’s crazy. Crazy like a fox. In my head, I know she needs medication. But in my heart…” She sniffs, and takes a deep shuddering breath. “But my heart doesn’t seem to get it. Maybe my heart believed all the nasty stuff she said and now, deep down, I’m afraid she’s right.”
Kissing her head again, I have a surge of anger at this fucking Izzy person for being such a piece of shit human being, nuts or not, for hurting an innocent kid.
“What exactly did Izzy do to you? What…what kinds of things did she say?”
Still cuddled against my body, Zoey shifts around a bit, pulls a tissue from her pocket and blows her nose. She leans back into my chest and I wrap my arms around her again. Nuzzling her hair, I ask again: “Maybe it would help if you told someone.”
Sighing heavily, she nods and gives her poor red nose a final wipe. Then, in a quiet, halting voice, she begins to talk; explaining the random drunken night visits, the constant put-downs, the hectoring, the complaints about every little mistake Zoey ever made.
Izzy’s verbal and emotional abuse seems to have ranged the gamut of the ridiculous to the absurd: Everything from false accusations of stealing to declarations that Zoey’s parents weren’t her real parents, or that they were, but tried to give her up for adoption and it was only Izzy herself that convinced them not to.
I listen to Zoey’s story and the picture of Izzy she paints in my mind seem to point to a clear case of some kind of personality disorder. I’m no head-shrink but the childishness, the pettiness, the sadistic cowardliness of this woman’s behavior bears all the hallmarks of a personality stunted by some kind of paranoid selfishness, or narcissism, that keeps her in a very dark and evil place.
“There’s more, but, you get the gist. It’s always the same shit with her. Round and round, you know. Predictable. Boring, even. No wonder she has no husband, no friends.”
“Yeah she sounds like a disturbed individual. It’s amazing that you came out as well as you did,” I remark.
“You think so? Well, I always had my memories of my parents. They raised me right. And, I always had the knowing that my mom made plans for me so I could leave. Looking back, I don’t think either of my parents understood how bad she was, or else, they wouldn’t have left me with her.”
“Probably not. One thing that a lot of disordered people seem to share is that they run on instinct and cunning, rather than empathy or love. They’re smart enough to know not to show their true colors to anyone who they think could cause problems for them. Like, your parents, or the police or the Child Protective authorities.”
“Oh yeah she’s very two-faced. Sometimes it slips but she always has an excuse.”
“Sure. But behind closed doors, it’s like they can’t help but lash out. It’s as if helpless people bring out the worst in them.” Pause, to kiss her head and stroke my hand through her hair. “It’s like they’re so empty, they can only fill themselves up through the suffering of others. Or something like that.”
Zoey nods. “That’s one of the reasons I can’t wait to have the internet. I want to study all of that, try to understand.”
“One thing I don’t understand is, why didn’t you leave as soon as you turned eighteen? That’s the legal age of majority in the States, just like it is here.”
Pause.
“I wanted to. I planned to. But, I was scared, Rock. Scared to go out into the big world by myself, money or not. My mother warned me about all the predators in the world. She told me to guard my money and watch who I get involved with.”
Ahh! A surge of appreciation for Zoey’s mother rushes through me. “Always excellent advice,” I comment.
She nods. “And, when we used to look at the internet together, she warned me that there were sites online that were full of bad people. Dating sites, sex hook-up sites, porn sites and all that. She told me what to watch out for. She told me that a lot of people pretend to be something they’re not when they get on the internet.
“Oh? Wow! That’s excellent. Your mother really was a great mother, wasn’t she?” Inside, I’m stunned, impressed and relieved that Zoey already knows about the cesspit parts of the internet. And the world. Thank God that it won’t fall to me to have to play the bad guy and try to convince her to watch herself online.
I was afraid she’d see that as controlling, when it’s really about love and protection.
Just like her mom.
Zoey may be innocent in many ways but in others, she’s much older than her years.
“My mom was the best. The best! I know she was trying to keep me safe, but her warnings did kind of scare me, too. Plus…Izzy is still my only remaining family. Maybe… I don’t know. Maybe I hoped she’d change.”
“And it took you a year after you turned eighteen to get up the courage to leave?”
“Yeah. A bit longer. I mean, if it wasn’t for that trip to Toronto, maybe I’d still be there.”
“Hmm. You’re still a brave girl, Zoey. I’m proud of you for what you did.”
She sits up, a shy smile forming on those beautiful lips. “You are? God, that feels so good to hear. It’s been years since anyone has said that to me.”
My eyes are drawn to those lips, and the beautiful way they form words.
Her face so close to mine, looking up at me…trusting me.
I can’t help myself.
My hand rises to her jaw, a finger tracing the soft skin there.
Her expression sobers, her eyes watching mine. Then, when that wide, blue-grey gaze falls to my own mouth, the time to hesitate is over.
I lower my mouth to hers and kiss her, gently… tasting her…feeling her body, cradled against mine, stiffen briefly before relaxing completely.
Her arms go around my neck and her tentative pecks turn into deeper, more searching kisses.
Her mouth knows what to do…how to meet mine…tender and shy, almost virtuous.
But with an underlying heat that I can feel to my core.
Under her pert butt, of course, my dick hardens. It can’t be helped. This moment carries such beauty and potential, my heart is more than willing to wait until the time for more than kisses is right.
“Oh, my gosh,” she sighs, when we finally break the kiss. “That was my first kiss, Rock!” Her eyes travel to mine, then over my face, then back up to mine again.
“Mmm?” I murmur, not surprised. I’m just relaxed, at ease, my girl in my arms, looking adoringly up at me.
My girl.
My finger moves to trace her fine brow, then follow the curve of her cheek. “How’d you like it?”
She flattens her hand against her chest and looks up to the sky. “Super dreamy!” She laughs, a bit breathlessly. “My heart’s pounding in there like a racehorse.” Her smile…Jesus Fucking Christ, her smile makes me want her so bad! “I think that means it was pretty good,” she continues, her lips curling in that mobile, hot way they have; her own hand rising to caress my face in return.
Brrrr-Ding!
“Oh, was that my phone?”
“Yep,” I reply, grabbing it from where she left it on the swing seat-cushion and handing it to her.
“I set it to notify me about Missing Person Reports from Maine. Just in case she tries to make the police find me for her. I don’t know if they’d look for me because I’m an adult now, but…” Voice trailing off, she taps the phone and then scrolls, leaning comfortably in the crook of my arm.
Suddenly, her body stiffens and she sits straight up. “Oh my God. I can’t believe it!” Her voice is shocked. “She…oh my God! Look!” She holds the phone up so I can see the thumbnail.
It’s a blurry picture of Zoey, from a few years back by the looks of it.
The caption underneath, although in a very small font, clearly reads:
Zoey Donal. Age 19.
Mentally Unstable. Approach with Caution.
Then, in larger red font:
MAY BE ARMED!!
Chapter Eleven
Zoey
One Week Later
Constable Rice of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police sits on the porch with me and Rock, a glass of iced lemonade sweating water droplets on the table by his side.
His buff body is clad in off-duty attire: A tight t-shirt and shorts, with aviator sunglasses pushed up on his crew-cut hair. His handsome, clean-shaven face, though a bit sweaty in the heat, is relaxed and jovial.
Today his visit is both official and unofficial. After introductions are made, I can’t help but notice that even though the man is good-looking and in great shape, he doesn’t compare in size or looks to Rock.
Rock. My Rock.
“So, Zoey, with Steve being our neighbor on the far side of the property, I hope you feel better now. I’m not sure if I mentioned that his whole family are coppers from way back. So…you know… you’re safe here.” Rock pauses, eyes gleaming. “All we have to do is keep your plans for World Domination on the down-low and all will be well,” he jokes.
“Oh, good thing you mentioned that. I was just about to invite him into my Underground Lair of Evil.”
The two men chuckle.
“So, what’d you find out, Steve?” Rock asks.
“What I expected to find out, pretty much,” Steve replies. “Like I said when we talked last week, there’s nothing to worry about. And, no one’s looking for you Zoey. I alerted the agencies immediately after Rock called me.”
“But…the website is still showing my picture,” I point out.
“Yeah, it takes time for the websites to be updated but don’t give it another thought.” He shakes his head. “Your aunt seems like…yeah, kind of off her rocker, I’m sorry to say.”
“Tell us something we don’t know,” Rock says.
“Well, there’s this. I finally heard back from the duty officer she first contacted in Toronto. This was the same day you gave her the slip, apparently.” He pauses to take a long gulp of his drink. “So, the duty officer told me she presented herself to Toronto Police Headquarters and demanded–no, ordered–that they place an All-Points Bulletin to have you apprehended, Zoey.” He grins. “Like, you’re Al Capone about to go on a killing spree and she’s Elliott Ness giving orders to the cops.”
Rock and Steve laugh, but I don’t find it very funny. For one thing, I don’t know who Al Capone and Elliot Ness are. I’ll look it up later.
Mostly, it’s not funny to me because Izzy’s craziness still creeps me out, even though she has no legal rights over me anymore.
“From what Zoey tells me, Isobel may herself be suffering from a personality disorder. So, yeah, I guess that’s not a big shock,” Rock says, giving me a reassuring glance.
“Well, this kind of thing happens with some regularity. Someone’s parent or guardian loses control of their adult child and try to get the authorities involved. Sometimes they’ll file false charges and accusations, manipulate the system, lie their faces off. So…it could have been worse.”
“She’ll be in for a fight if she tries that,” Rock says.
Steve nods. “She’s already got a strike against her if she does. Usually, people don’t freak out in the police station and get themselves into trouble like she did,” he laughs. “The officer told me she became enraged, combative. Refused to leave. She had to be threatened with incarceration, followed by deportation, and a five-year ban from Canada in order to get her to calm down and skedaddle.”
“I wish they had banned her,” I say, fervently. “Honestly though, I’m kind of glad she did that. So that someone other than me knows what she’s like.”
“Can’t say I blame you,” Steve replies, nodding. “So, presumably she went home, and figured out that the only way to get your name on a missing person’s list, either here or in the States, is to claim you’re mentally ill or armed and dangerous. That bullshit happens sometimes too, more than you might think. People are warned when they alert the police not to lie or misrepresent the situation on pain of being charged themselves, but…” He makes a circle around his temple with a finger. “…Some still do it anyway.”
“Can she be kept out of the country if she faces charges?” Rock asks.
“Yeah. She’d be flagged at the border if she tries to cross. They’re talking about mischief charges right now which should be enough to keep her out. “
“Good,” Rock and I say at the same time.
Steve grins. “But…if she bothers you online or by phone or something, document every contact she makes.” Turning to look at me now, he continues: “In the meantime, you’re an adult, Zoey. She can claim what she wants but you can’t be forced into custody or treatment, unless you prove yourself a danger to yourself or others.” He drains the last of his drink, turns and burps discreetly into his fist. “Excuse me.” Then he grins again. “And that’s all there is to it. Stop worrying and get on with your life, is my advice.”
“Alright, good. Thanks for coming over on your day off to let us know,” Rock says.
“Oh, I have an ulterior motive, never doubt it,” Steve says, standing up. “You got that portable log-splitter fixed yet? Remember? I wanna borrow it for a week or two to get my winter wood done. I’ll hook it up to my bike right now if it’s ready.” He gestures towards his four-wheeler in the driveway.
“Naw,” Rock answers. “I forgot all about that. I’ve been busy. I’ll probably get it done this week though.”
“Well, shit. Hurry up, will ya?” Steve’s tone is cocky but amiable.
“Oh, sure, I’ll get right on it,” Rock says, smirking. “Or, you could hurry up and buy your own damn splitter.”
“One day, one day. For now, it’s more fun to pester you.” Another grin. “Say, how about you deliver it when you’ve got it running? Save me having to come down again.”
“How about you get off my property before I call a cop,” Rock rejoins tartly, waving a big hand in a shoo-ing motion at the other man.
Steve laughs. “Nice meeting you, Zoey. I’ll see you around, I’m sure,” Steve says.
“Nice meeting you too,” I reply. “Thanks for helping me out with this.”
“No probs. Later, guys.” The young constable pushes his sunglasses down onto his nose, walks over to his ATV and fires it up, revving it noisily. Lifting a hand, he takes off, sending up a small rooster-tail of gravel in his wake.
“Great guy, but a cheeky bastard,” Rock jokes, watching him go.
Turning his dark, intense eyes on me, he nudges my foot with his. “C’mere,” he crooks a finger at me.
“Who, me?” I tease.
“Yeah, you,” he says. He holds out his arms so I can fold myself into his lap.
Sweet kisses, followed by a peaceful cuddle, me against his solid chest, listening to his heartbeat.
Heaven!
But I soon get antsy to go take care of a small housekeeping chore. “Hey Rock?”
“Mmmhmm?” His arms tighten around me.
“Could we go finish getting my room set up now?”
In Rock’s spare room–my room now–a new foam mattress sits on a new bed-frame, unboxed the day before and ready to be made up and slept in.
A desk from Ikea waits to be unboxed and assembled, and the laptop that we picked up in town a couple days ago sits on an old chest, already on the wifi network.
A boxed printer sits nearby, along with a new night-table and a pair of pretty curtains I picked out for the window. Boxes of bathroom stuff like a new shower curtain, a set of soft bathmats and fluffy new towels are ready to be opened.
“You know, you had me worried for a few days,” Rock says as we go into the room. “I thought you were going to turn down my offer to stay here.”
Looking at him ruefully, I shake my head. “No, I know it’s for the best. It’s just…Granpa’s cabin, you know? It took on, um, epic proportions in my head. I guess I wanted to enjoy it for another few days.”
“It’s not going anywhere,” Rock reminds me. Opening the carton containing the desk at one end, he yanks on one of the foam-packed pieces inside. It doesn’t budge.
“Here, hold the outside of the box so I can get this out,” he says.
With me hanging on to the outside of the box, Rock teases all the tightly-packed desk parts out, then stands and surveys the packs of screws, knobs, nails and lengths of pre-cut, veneered particle boards for a moment.
