BONE Page 4

  She can't be all bad the way she's taken to the mutt.

  Ninja's character judgment, however? I don't trust that dog's opinion at all.

  I'm moving through the store, cleaning things up, getting fresh coffee ready to go in the morning, turning off lights and getting ready to lock up for the night.

  Standing at the door I can see her with her sleeping bag pulled up around her shoulder as best she can get it while still petting Ninja. A soft glow lights up the inside of her tent and I can see her book sitting on the floor of the tent near her head. Looks like she's got her motorcycle jacket spread out over her too.

  She's gotta be cold in there already and it's barely 8:30.

  Not my problem.

  I open the door up and call for my dog, a little surprised when Ninja's head perks up and she comes running my way on the third call.

  Locking the store up behind the little black mop that hurries past me and heads straight for the back stairs up to the apartment, I cast one more look at her.

  She watched Ninja run inside and now I swear she's watching me as I lock the door from the inside and switch off the last light in the place.

  From the darkened interior of the closed store, I see her shoulders shiver before she zips up the door of her tent and is gone from sight.

  Back in the apartment, I turn on the heat. It might be August, but the temperature drops at night enough that it's nice to kick up the thermostat a little bit when I close the store up.

  I trade my jeans out for a pair of sweats and head back to the kitchen to figure out what's for dinner.

  "What?" I ask Ninja.

  She's laying on the kitchen floor with her face between her paws looking up at me pitifully.

  "No, no, no," I answer the dog. Because I know exactly what she's thinking.

  "She says she doesn't need rescuing," I remind Ninja as I open cupboards and slam them shut again without taking anything out. "She's not a princess, she got her ass stranded here, she can stay camped out there for a few days."

  Ninja moans, a long, mournful noise that sounds like she's dying.

  "Really?" I stop my pointless rummaging and stare at my dog. "It's not that cold out there," I tell her.

  OK. Maybe it's not that cold out there, but it's just Ninj and me up here in a 2 bedroom place. There's plenty of room for one more. With a warm bed and running water.

  I turn away from Ninja and look out the kitchen window at the little camp under the big cottonwood out front. The tent is dark. For all I know, she's sound asleep out there. Warm and cozy in that sleeping bag.

  Ninja whines and heads toward the door to the outside landing.

  Maybe we aren't destined to be friends, maybe I'm not going to get my dick inside the sweetest piece of ass I've seen since Tanya Becker in the 10th grade, but dammit-- I reach for my jacket and slip on my house shoes, grabbing a flash light as I open the door and follow Ninja down the back stairs-- my mother raised me better than to let a lady spend a night sleeping in my driveway.

  Jordan

  At first I think it's a bear.

  My eyes snap open and I stare toward the sound, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the to darkness.

  Another sound of something brushing very intentionally against the side of my tent.

  I freeze.

  I mean-- I'm already freezing. It's cold at night here. I'm wearing almost every piece of clothing I have, I'm huddled inside my sleeping bag, and I have my jacket over the top of me, yet my feet are still numb and every so often I wake up shivering. The sound outside my tent has me frozen in place.

  "Hey...you awake?"

  At first, the sound of a man's voice outside the tent has me almost as scared as the idea of a bear.

  I don't even know if there are bears in Fell's Valley?

  "Wake up," the voice says. It sounds grumpy.

  That's when I recognize it.

  "What do you want?" I ask, dropping my head back on my camp pillow limply now that I know who's standing outside my tent in the middle of the night.

  "You up?"

  I roll my eyes in the dark. Yeah, of course I'm up. It's flippin' freezing out here. Hell no, I'm not about to admit that to him.

  "Am now," I tell him. It's not a lie.

  A loud sigh sounds on the other side of the nylon wall.

  "Would you just come inside already?" He says it like he's already offered a thousand times.

  "What?" I finally reach over and unzip the door of the tent. As if being able to see him is going to make that make any more sense.

  "Come inside," he says, "it's cold out here and I have plenty of space."

  Damn he's handsome. His features are currently set in a sort of semi-worried look as he squats in front of my tent and looks at me. That, combined with the bone chilling cold that apparently passes for a summer night in eastern Oregon is enough to make my brain override any reservations I have about sleeping under the same roof with him.

  "Ninja won't leave me alone," he says, and sure enough, the little black dog noses her ways past him into my tent and starts licking my face, "you gotta come in or she's not going to let me sleep."

  Well...if Ninja wants me to come in I guess.

  "OK, fine," I don't want him to know how freakin' ecstatic I am at the prospect of sleeping inside.

  "Don't worry," he tells me as he helps me tear down the tent and gather my stuff, "you get your own room. You don't even have to share a bathroom with me."

  I carry my gear wadded up in a ball in my arms as I follow him to the stairs behind the store. Ninja runs ahead of us as we make our way up the stairs. She's already on the bed in the spare room, waiting for us, when he turns on the light and dumps the gear he helped carry in with me in a corner of the room.

  "Um," he stands in the doorway suddenly looking awkward, "If you want to take a shower, there are towels in this closet right here."

  He knocks lightly against a wooden surface just outside the bedroom door. I can't actually see the closet he's talking about, but I've got a good idea of where to find it.

  "Sure. Thanks," I give him a genuine smile.

  Smiling at him feels weird. It feels good, but weird.

  Weirder yet is the way he smiles back at me. Like we've reached some sort of unspoken truce.

  "Yeah, OK then." His smile turns to a shy grin and his eyes land on the floor. "Uh, I haven't made dinner yet," he tells me, "you know, if you're hungry?"

  Famished, really. I'm considering shrugging off his offer when my stomach growls audibly.

  "Yeah, I guess food sounds good," I tell him a little apologetically, "thanks."

  I leave Ninja on the bed and grab a towel out of the closet he pointed out before heading toward the bathroom.

  "K," he turns back toward me from the end of the short hallway, "I'll see you in a bit then."

  "Yeah, just give me a few minutes and I'll be out."

  We stand and stare at each other for a few seconds and then we both head in separate directions.

  In the bathroom I rummage through my clothes bag for something reasonably clean. When all you do is ride all day and camp all night, putting on the same dirty clothes over and over again is par for the course.

  The last time I took a shower was a few days ago at a campground that had laundry too. It's always nice to put on clean clothes when you're clean too.

  Doesn't look like that's going to be an option tonight though so I pick out the cleanest things I have, deciding to wear them for hanging out in the front room for dinner and then just sleep naked when I go to bed.

  While I let the hot water wash away the dirt and miles of the road, not to mention thaw my numb toes, I realize I don't even know this guy's name.

  When the water starts turning cool, I finally give in and turn it off. I'd have stayed in here for as long as the water stayed hot, but then, I guess I just did.

  While I'm toweling off there's a knock on the bathroom door.

  "Hey," he says from the other side, "I didn't
know if you needed something clean to wear or not?"

  I stare at my side of the locked door with the towel in my hands while my hair drips onto the bathroom rug. I can't tell if he's being condescending or genuinely nice.

  "Um, yeah, that'd be nice," I say to the door.

  "I'm just gonna leave these here by the door then," he says. His voice softens a tad and I come to the conclusion that he's actually trying to be polite. "They're probably too big, but you can make it work."

  I wrap the towel around me quickly and open the door. OK, maybe I was actually hoping to catch him while he was still standing there. Maybe I'm a little disappointed that all I find is a pile of blue plaid flannel and gray t-shirt on the floor right outside the bathroom door.

  Maybe I like the nice version of this guy.

  Stryker

  The girl that walks into the kitchen looks a lot different from the one I found in my parking lot this morning.

  She's rocking those old pajamas I gave her, with the drawstring of the pants pulled in as tight as it'll go and the waistband still sits low on her, hanging on to those hips in a way that makes me jealous. She's got the old t-shirt pulled together and tied in a knot at her waist. It's still a loose fit, not like she's trying to show off her body or anything, just trying to keep the shirt from falling down to her knees, I'm sure.

  It still pulls the shirt tight over her tits and makes it impossible not to notice that she ain't wearing a bra, and where the fabric's knotted shows off a good bit of skin where her waist dips in between her ribs and her hips.

  The cuffs of my old pajama pants are rolled up several times and yet she still manages to trip of the extra length as she heads toward me across the room.

  "Thanks for the pajamas."

  She joins me in the kitchen, leaning against the counter next to the stove where I'm standing. Her voice lacks the sarcastic bite I'd gotten used to and I admit I kinda miss it. The softness coming out of her now is so feminine, almost song-like, and it goes straight to some part of me that isn't my dick.

  I can handle the parts of her that make my dick twitch. I haven't had a chance to get away from the store long enough to feed the fucker in months. Last night was supposed to be my chance and-- well-- that pretty much went to shit.

  Hell yeah, all those curves leanin' up against my counter and those tight little nips poking against the worn out fabric of my old t-shirt making my cock hard as a fucking rock just from having her standing so close? I can deal with that. Hell, I expect that. But the way my gut tightens when I glance over at her and she gives me this shy little smile? I don't know what the fuck that is and I don't know if I want to find out.

  "Sorry I don't have anything that's a better fit," I tell her, letting my eyes wander down her body all the way to her mint green toenails. "Nice toes," I tell her with a nod toward her feet.

  She curls her toes under her feet, like she's embarrassed that I'm looking at them.

  "Thanks," she says, "I should have gotten them done right before I left-- they're looking pretty beat up now."

  I turn my head back to my cooking but I watch her from the corner of my eye. She tensed up there when I was looking at her. Ordinarily I'd think maybe she was feeling the same attraction to me as I am to her-- the look on her face when she first saw me this morning comes to mind. Hell yeah, ordinarily I'd be sure I had a shot to do whatever I wanted to the cute little thing standing in my kitchen.

  "My name's Jordan," she tells me suddenly, like it just dawned on her that she's got a name at all.

  She turns slightly toward me and gives me a big, legit smile.

  Maybe bringing her in wasn't such a bad idea after all, I think as I try to keep my smile to myself. Yeah, maybe I'm not as off my game as I thought.

  "Stryker." I tell her my name plainly with a half grin in her direction that's part hell yeah, we can be friends, and part pure wolf.

  "Your name's 'Stryker?'" Her smile takes on a tight, disapproving quality and her eyes narrow like she doesn't believe me.

  I nod slowly, but I stop watching her and go back to paying attention to dinner. That tone is back in her voice, making it obvious that nothing I do is going to impress this chick.

  "Yup, my name's Stryker," I taunt her a little, daring her to accuse me of making it up.

  "Of course it is," is all she says. Just a little hrmph noise coming out of her throat as she pushes herself away from the counter and crosses the kitchen behind my back.

  "You got anything to drink in here?" I hear her open the fridge and move things around.

  "Plenty of beer," I tell her without turning to look at her.

  In the reflection on the microwave door over the range, I can see her bent over behind me, that ass of hers up in the air just waiting to get grabbed.

  I close my eyes and shake my head with my jaw locked and then I turn my head and shoot Ninja a death glare that oughta tell her how much trouble she's in for talking me into bringing Jordan up here.

  Damn dog. I swear the mutt's trying to kill me here.

  "You don't mind?"

  Jordan's back at my side, holding up one of the dark brown bottles from the lower shelf in the fridge. Figures she'd go for the good stuff and not one of the cans of mass produced American lager from the case I brought home last night-- stuff I've got more of in the walk in down stairs.

  I'm trying to be put out by it but I gotta admit, I don't meet many chicks who like their beer dark. Hell, I don't meet many chicks who like beer at all. Fuck it-- I don't meet many chicks.

  She might be a pain in the ass and I don't have a fucking clue how to read her, but she's damn fun to look at if nothing else and I haven't had a conversation longer than "How are ya today," and a purchase total with anyone but the dog in over a year.

  Jordan can drink all the damn beer she wants.

  "Nah, help yourself," I tell her.

  "You want one?" I hear her pull a bottle out of the fridge behind me and then the unmistakable sound of a bottle cap being pried open before I can say hell yeah.

  "Thanks," I take the bottle from her.

  If I was a fancier guy I'd tell her where the glasses are and have her pour the beer like the guys that brew it tell me to. Something about letting it get air and warm up or some shit.

  I take a pull straight from the bottle and let the cold liquid wash down my throat.

  I don't know what the fuss is, the stuff's fucking delicious just like this.

  "This is good," Jordan's standing next to me again but farther away this time.

  I can't smell the raspberry scent of her towel dried hair or the crispness of whatever soap she used from where she is now. I guess that's fine and all but she took that other feeling with her when she put space between us and it's killin' me not to reach over and drag her up close to me just so I can feel it again.

  Whatever it is, I'm not sure I like the way it feels when I'm feeling it but I sure as hell know I hate it when I'm not.

  "Yeah, couple guys I know own a brewpub up in Bend. They make good shit," I sound like an idiot, babbling about the beer like I know anything about it other than how to drink it.

  I just want her to stop hating me.

  And maybe come over here again and let me get another whiff of that shampoo.

  Jordan

  I shouldn't drink the beer so fast. I haven't had much to eat today and the label on the bottle says it's pretty high in alcohol content.

  Damn if this guy doesn't make me crazy though.

  Of course his name is "Stryker," like some sort of action hero or something. He couldn't be named Marvin or Norwood or something? Like his parents gave him a ridiculous hot name and he just felt compelled to grow into it.

  And, oh man, did he grow into it.

  The kitchen is built in a U-shape with the stove and range on one side where Stryker is standing, diligently whipping up something that looks a lot more impressive than spaghetti and sauce from a jar.

  It's warm in here with 3 out of 4 of the burners
going under pots that are billowing steam into the room. I was liking standing close to him-- way too close to him. I tell myself it's because of the warmth of the stove and the smells of a home cooked meal being prepared but I'm not being entirely honest with myself.

  I lean against the kitchen counter near the sink and take another swig of the dark brew and enjoy the way it goes straight to my head. Or maybe it's Stryker.

  No. It's the beer. I can tell because suddenly I'm feeling a lot less nervous to be so close to him and I've managed to scoot back to his side.

  There's plenty of warmth coming from the cooking, but there's a heat radiating off of him that's entirely different.

  I take a step closer, leaning in to inhale the aroma of the sauce simmering in a pot on the back burner, using it as an excuse to get a little closer to him.

  "Whoa!"

  I think it's the first time I've heard him sound really relaxed, like the low laugh that accompanies his exclamation is really because he's amused and not because he's nervous or sarcastic or just being a jerk.

  But it's his hand landing on my hip that makes me lose my balance.

  I wasn't expecting that.

  "Back up a little before you fall in." With one arm behind my back, his hand wraps around my hip and it's the first time I realize how much bigger than me he really is.

  "I was just sniffing." I look up him as his other hand catches me gently by the upper arm and leans me back from the edge of the stove.

  I want it to come out just as snarky as everything else I tell him. I don't want him getting the idea that he's in charge of me or anything.

  He might be hot as hell to look at and I wouldn't mind making it worth the delay in getting back home, but it's not like he's my hero or anything. I'm not looking for happily ever after and I'm sure as hell not some damsel in distress that needs to be rescued from anything.

  Maybe it's the beer. Yeah, definitely the beer, I decide as I hear my voice come out all breathy and stupid sounding like I'm waiting for him to kiss me or something.