He’d imagined this walk a thousand times over the last fifteen years. Always at the end of the journey was the house on the corner, his grandmother in the kitchen, and a plate of warm chocolate chip cookies on the table for him. Not much had changed on the shade-dappled street. The clapboard houses and neat yards were the same as they had been when he’d last made this walk. Then, the house had been at his back, and the sidewalk lit by streetlights and lightning bugs. He shifted the small duffle from one hand to the other, the irony not lost on him. The bag held everything he needed, just as it had when he’d left, only now his wallet held more than enough for a bus ticket to Dallas, and there was even more in a bank account, should he need it.
He’d been on recon missions through jungles filled with deadly creatures sporting anywhere from zero to eight legs, and felt more prepared, more in control, than he did today.
Elgin ‘Hud’ Huddleston stood on the opposite corner letting the memories settle over and through him. The house looked much the same. As long as he could remember, it had been in need of a paint job. He’d sent his grandmother money to paint it a few years ago, and he could see now she hadn’t spent the money on repairs. If a house could look lonely, this one did. Its windows, despite the curtains, were like the eyes of a dead man. The ‘For Sale’ sign behind the white picket fence was like a blade to the gut.
A movement drew his gaze to the opposite side of the yard, and he closed his eyes against the mirage. She wasn’t there; his mind was playing tricks on him. Randy had dropped him off on the edge of town, and his first stop on his solitary journey home had been the cemetery next to the Methodist Church. He’d found the tombstone easily enough as the ground hadn’t yet been filled in where the fresh dug dirt had settled and sunk. No, he knew for certain his grandmother wasn’t in the front yard, but someone for damn sure was.
His hand clenched tight around the woven canvas strap on the duffle, and he stepped off the curb and crossed the street in long, purposeful strides. A woman wearing denim cutoffs and a white T-shirt knelt with her back to the street, pulling weeds from his grandmother’s flowerbed. A large-brimmed straw hat flopped limp in the early morning heat, obscuring her face. The dainty pink soles of her bare feet drew his attention. His gaze traveled up her short, milky white legs to her sweetly rounded bottom. His body reacted, despite the warning bells in his head clanging louder than the Baptist Church carillon on Sunday morning. Damn. He’d been too long without a woman. He should have stayed in Dallas long enough to at least visit one of the clubs there. A night or two on his knees would have done him good. It was too late for that now. He’d come back to Prairieview to heal, and he didn’t need sex for that. He needed peace and quiet. He needed to be left alone.
Lust gave way to white-hot anger. Coming home was hard enough without finding a do-gooder busybody in his yard.
“Get the hell out of my yard.” He used the commanding voice he knew got results, dismissing the intruder without another thought. Hud pushed open the gate and stalked up the creaking wood steps to the front door. For the briefest second, he faced the vacant oval of glass, looking, but not seeing the empty room beyond. The moment of panic passed, and he counted the flowerpots on the porch rail until he got to the fifth one. He lifted the plant out by the roots and pried the hidden key from the tangled geranium roots.
He sucked in a calming breath and fit the key in the lock. His footsteps on the polished hardwood floors echoed through the empty rooms. All the furniture had been moved to a storage facility to facilitate the sale of the house. All that was left were the ghosts of antiques, and Hud’s memory of the warm feeling of home. He walked through the empty shell of a house. He stood in the center of each room and slowly turned a full circle, taking in the out-of-date paint colors and timeless architecture of the Craftsman style bungalow.
The curtains were all that remained of his grandmother’s furnishings. There were lacy ones in the living room, cherry dotted swiss café-style in the kitchen, pink ruffled ones that matched the rose-colored carpet in his grandmother’s bedroom and faded Dallas Cowboys panels in the room that had been his until the day he graduated from high school. Since then he’d lived with a lot less than a hard wooden floor and a roof over his head. It would do for now. Hud dropped his duffle on the hardwood floor in ‘his’ bedroom and turned.
A woman stood in the doorway, blocking his exit. His ability to size up his opponent had saved his life more than once, and he instinctively catalogued her. Petite, late twenties to early thirties, red hair, blue eyes, and freckles liberally spread across a face flushed from either the strain of pulling weeds in the heat, or anger, or desire. He quickly dismissed the possibility of desire, based on the way she held the garden spade in her gloved hand as if she meant to use it on him. Her stance said attack, rather than defend. Even if he hadn’t recognized the droopy hat, he would have recognized her as the same woman who’d been in his yard. Standing up, her legs weren’t any longer, but they sure as hell were shapely. He took a quick inventory of his opponent, and decided she had just the right amount of curves in all the right places. His cock stood at attention. Too bad she’d probably run screaming if she knew what he was thinking. Hud held his hands up chest high, palms out.
“I surrender.” What else could he do, faced with such overwhelming opposition?
She continued to hold him prisoner with the spade. He gave her credit for following him. Not many men would have done it, and a few who had, hadn’t lived to tell about it. All the more reason, he thought, it was time to come home. When a woman half his size could sneak up on him with a weapon, garden spade aside, it was time to call it quits.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Her voice was steady, and she held the spade like she knew what to do with it. His cock pressed against his fly at the thought.
“Who are you,” he countered, “and why are you in my house?”
“I asked first.”
Not an ounce of fear. Either she was stupid, or she thought she had the upper hand. He dropped his hands to his sides and took a step closer to her. “Get out. I don’t want any company.”
She stood her ground. Hud moved closer. He towered a good foot over her, but she didn’t budge. Instead, she pressed the tip of her makeshift weapon against his fly.
“Come closer, and I’ll hurt you.”
Damn. She sounded like she meant it. She certainly wasn’t like any of the women he remembered in this one horse town. “Promise?” he asked, and shuffled his feet closer. Fire blazed in her eyes, and she dug the spade into his cock. Hud stepped back. “Geez, woman!” He refused to let her see how badly that had hurt, or how much it excited him.
“I warned you.” She planted her feet and waved the spade in his face. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
Under different circumstances, Hud would have found this situation promising, but not today. As cute as she was, he didn’t have the patience to put up with any more nonsense. “Look, lady, I’ve had a long day, and all I want is some peace and quiet. I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully. This is my house. I belong here, you don’t. So, unless you plan to put that spade to good use, I suggest you leave.” His voice rumbled out of his chest and over the woman like thunder across the Texas prairie. Only an insane person would hold their ground in the face of the impending storm.
“Drop your pants, and I’ll put this to good use. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Hud’s chin dropped to his toes. He made a conscious effort to close his mouth.
“You don’t think I noticed how your cock got harder when I rammed you with the spade? I know your kind. You’re big and macho on the outside, but you get turned on by a woman in charge. If I’d had a whip instead of a spade, I bet you’d have your pants around your knees, and you’d be begging me to do you.” She came close enough he could easily grab her. He was too stunned to move, much less subdue her. She waved the spade under his nose. “This is a small town, people talk, so don’t get your hopes up.”
She dropped the spade, narrowly missing his toes, and left.
“Well damn.” He crouched to pick up the spade, fingering the small gouge it had made in the floor. “Welcome home, Hud.”
He’d been on recon missions through jungles filled with deadly creatures sporting anywhere from zero to eight legs, and felt more prepared, more in control, than he did today.
Elgin ‘Hud’ Huddleston stood on the opposite corner letting the memories settle over and through him. The house looked much the same. As long as he could remember, it had been in need of a paint job. He’d sent his grandmother money to paint it a few years ago, and he could see now she hadn’t spent the money on repairs. If a house could look lonely, this one did. Its windows, despite the curtains, were like the eyes of a dead man. The ‘For Sale’ sign behind the white picket fence was like a blade to the gut.
A movement drew his gaze to the opposite side of the yard, and he closed his eyes against the mirage. She wasn’t there; his mind was playing tricks on him. Randy had dropped him off on the edge of town, and his first stop on his solitary journey home had been the cemetery next to the Methodist Church. He’d found the tombstone easily enough as the ground hadn’t yet been filled in where the fresh dug dirt had settled and sunk. No, he knew for certain his grandmother wasn’t in the front yard, but someone for damn sure was.
His hand clenched tight around the woven canvas strap on the duffle, and he stepped off the curb and crossed the street in long, purposeful strides. A woman wearing denim cutoffs and a white T-shirt knelt with her back to the street, pulling weeds from his grandmother’s flowerbed. A large-brimmed straw hat flopped limp in the early morning heat, obscuring her face. The dainty pink soles of her bare feet drew his attention. His gaze traveled up her short, milky white legs to her sweetly rounded bottom. His body reacted, despite the warning bells in his head clanging louder than the Baptist Church carillon on Sunday morning. Damn. He’d been too long without a woman. He should have stayed in Dallas long enough to at least visit one of the clubs there. A night or two on his knees would have done him good. It was too late for that now. He’d come back to Prairieview to heal, and he didn’t need sex for that. He needed peace and quiet. He needed to be left alone.
Lust gave way to white-hot anger. Coming home was hard enough without finding a do-gooder busybody in his yard.
“Get the hell out of my yard.” He used the commanding voice he knew got results, dismissing the intruder without another thought. Hud pushed open the gate and stalked up the creaking wood steps to the front door. For the briefest second, he faced the vacant oval of glass, looking, but not seeing the empty room beyond. The moment of panic passed, and he counted the flowerpots on the porch rail until he got to the fifth one. He lifted the plant out by the roots and pried the hidden key from the tangled geranium roots.
He sucked in a calming breath and fit the key in the lock. His footsteps on the polished hardwood floors echoed through the empty rooms. All the furniture had been moved to a storage facility to facilitate the sale of the house. All that was left were the ghosts of antiques, and Hud’s memory of the warm feeling of home. He walked through the empty shell of a house. He stood in the center of each room and slowly turned a full circle, taking in the out-of-date paint colors and timeless architecture of the Craftsman style bungalow.
The curtains were all that remained of his grandmother’s furnishings. There were lacy ones in the living room, cherry dotted swiss café-style in the kitchen, pink ruffled ones that matched the rose-colored carpet in his grandmother’s bedroom and faded Dallas Cowboys panels in the room that had been his until the day he graduated from high school. Since then he’d lived with a lot less than a hard wooden floor and a roof over his head. It would do for now. Hud dropped his duffle on the hardwood floor in ‘his’ bedroom and turned.
A woman stood in the doorway, blocking his exit. His ability to size up his opponent had saved his life more than once, and he instinctively catalogued her. Petite, late twenties to early thirties, red hair, blue eyes, and freckles liberally spread across a face flushed from either the strain of pulling weeds in the heat, or anger, or desire. He quickly dismissed the possibility of desire, based on the way she held the garden spade in her gloved hand as if she meant to use it on him. Her stance said attack, rather than defend. Even if he hadn’t recognized the droopy hat, he would have recognized her as the same woman who’d been in his yard. Standing up, her legs weren’t any longer, but they sure as hell were shapely. He took a quick inventory of his opponent, and decided she had just the right amount of curves in all the right places. His cock stood at attention. Too bad she’d probably run screaming if she knew what he was thinking. Hud held his hands up chest high, palms out.
“I surrender.” What else could he do, faced with such overwhelming opposition?
She continued to hold him prisoner with the spade. He gave her credit for following him. Not many men would have done it, and a few who had, hadn’t lived to tell about it. All the more reason, he thought, it was time to come home. When a woman half his size could sneak up on him with a weapon, garden spade aside, it was time to call it quits.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” Her voice was steady, and she held the spade like she knew what to do with it. His cock pressed against his fly at the thought.
“Who are you,” he countered, “and why are you in my house?”
“I asked first.”
Not an ounce of fear. Either she was stupid, or she thought she had the upper hand. He dropped his hands to his sides and took a step closer to her. “Get out. I don’t want any company.”
She stood her ground. Hud moved closer. He towered a good foot over her, but she didn’t budge. Instead, she pressed the tip of her makeshift weapon against his fly.
“Come closer, and I’ll hurt you.”
Damn. She sounded like she meant it. She certainly wasn’t like any of the women he remembered in this one horse town. “Promise?” he asked, and shuffled his feet closer. Fire blazed in her eyes, and she dug the spade into his cock. Hud stepped back. “Geez, woman!” He refused to let her see how badly that had hurt, or how much it excited him.
“I warned you.” She planted her feet and waved the spade in his face. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
Under different circumstances, Hud would have found this situation promising, but not today. As cute as she was, he didn’t have the patience to put up with any more nonsense. “Look, lady, I’ve had a long day, and all I want is some peace and quiet. I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully. This is my house. I belong here, you don’t. So, unless you plan to put that spade to good use, I suggest you leave.” His voice rumbled out of his chest and over the woman like thunder across the Texas prairie. Only an insane person would hold their ground in the face of the impending storm.
“Drop your pants, and I’ll put this to good use. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Hud’s chin dropped to his toes. He made a conscious effort to close his mouth.
“You don’t think I noticed how your cock got harder when I rammed you with the spade? I know your kind. You’re big and macho on the outside, but you get turned on by a woman in charge. If I’d had a whip instead of a spade, I bet you’d have your pants around your knees, and you’d be begging me to do you.” She came close enough he could easily grab her. He was too stunned to move, much less subdue her. She waved the spade under his nose. “This is a small town, people talk, so don’t get your hopes up.”
She dropped the spade, narrowly missing his toes, and left.
“Well damn.” He crouched to pick up the spade, fingering the small gouge it had made in the floor. “Welcome home, Hud.”