The Gamble by Kristen Ashley
“Dunno,” Mindy answered.
“Well,” she began and walked to the dining room table, opening her enormous, well-made, designer leather purse. “Tell him I stopped by and brought the papers for him.” Then she yanked out some papers and slapped them down on the table.
“Papers?” Mindy asked as Kami turned back to us.
“Papers,” Kami repeated. “Curt might be dead but that doesn’t mean work stopped and Trev’s still lookin’ for a foreman and they still want Max. They’re offerin’ full benefits, have added a week on his vacation and another five thousand dollars. He’d be a fool not to take it and quit travellin’ around like he’s twenty-two and got no sense.”
I wasn’t sure I liked Max’s sister and found myself lamenting the fact I hadn’t thrown myself on the floor beside the couch like Mindy.
“Kami, Max ain’t gonna work for Dodd,” Mindy said softly and I looked at Mindy in surprise.
“Yeah? Well then it’s good he’s dead, Max doesn’t have that excuse anymore,” Kami shot back.
Now I was sure I didn’t like Max’s sister.
“Brody says he gets paid loads more on the jobs he takes out of town,” Mindy told her.
“They sweetened the pot.”
“I’m thinkin’ they’ll need to make it even sweeter for him to work for Dodd, even seein’ as Dodd’s dead. It’s still workin’ for Dodd,” Mindy pointed out.
Kami directed her gaze to the floor all the while shaking her head, walking toward the door and muttering, “Why am I having this conversation?”
“Would you…” I tried politeness again, “like to stay for a cup of coffee? We were just thinking about pulling together lunch.”
Kami stopped at the door and looked at me. “Thanks but… no.” She appeared to be fighting back a curl in her lip as her eyes travelled the length of me. “I’ll pass on having coffee with another one of Max’s women. We’ll see how long you last then we’ll think about coffee.”
“Kami!” Mindy snapped, her back up, her courage slotting into place, her anger apparent.
“You should be warned, he’s a player,” Kami said to me, ignoring Mindy.
“He is not!” Mindy defended.
Kami’s eyes went to her and she was definitely having trouble with her lip curling now. “Like you’d know.”
“Know him better than you.”
“Hardly,” Kami said derisively.
To her tone, Mindy decided to deliver a twenty-four year old girl’s lethal blow and it was good. “Know you better than you think too and I know you’re just jealous because everyone likes him but everyone thinks you’re a bitch and he’s hot, you’re not and you couldn’t get laid if you tried.”
Kami leaned forward and snapped, “Mindy Smith, shut your mouth!”
“Make me!” Mindy snapped back.
“Ladies, please, this is –” I started.
“You can shut your mouth too, fancy pants,” Kami said to me.
My back straightened as well and I asked, “Did you just call me fancy pants?”
“Yeah, you got a problem with that?” Kami voice was ugly and it was clear she was raring for a fight.
“No,” I answered calmly, deciding cat fighting with Max’s sister in his house wasn’t on my agenda for the day, “except it’s weak.” She opened her mouth to speak but I spoke first and I did it with glacial politeness. “Please, don’t worry. We’ll make certain that Max gets those papers. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Then I turned and walked toward the kitchen and heard Mindy following me.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Kami called to my back.
“Careful on your drive down, those roads are tricky,” I called back and opened a cupboard that hid my face from her but not one I needed anything out of. Mindy got close, I twisted my neck and I bugged my eyes at her. Mindy giggled.
We heard the door close then I closed the cupboard and Mindy and I watched Kami stomp down the steps, get in her shiny SUV, execute a visibly annoyed three-point turn and then drive, too fast, out of the lane.
I turned to Mindy and asked, “Did that just happen?”
Mindy turned to me and replied, “I told you.”
I looked back out the windows and murmured, “How can she be related to Max?”
“Max’s Mom isn’t much better, then again she’s mellowed with age.”
This wasn’t good news.
“You’re good,” she said, the huge smile spreading on her face was also brightening her pretty blue eyes.
“Sorry?” I asked.
“You went all Ice Queen on her, gave her no opening, it was awesome,” Mindy complimented.
“Um…” I didn’t know what to say but was strangely pleased with the praise then I finished, “thanks.”
“Anyway,” Mindy said, clearly over it and on to better things, she turned to the fridge, opened it and asked its shelves, “What’s for lunch?”
“I thought I’d make toasted sandwiches with shaved chicken, Monterey Jack cheese and avocado,” I suggested, a suggestion that was met with silence.
I turned to see Mindy staring at me then she said, “Really?”
“Really,” I answered then asked, “Why?”
“’Cause that sounds freaking great.”
I smiled and said, “It is.” Then reached passed her into the fridge to get the cheese and chicken. “Fire up the stove, darling, let’s make lunch.”
“Cool!” she cried and skip-danced to the stove.
I looked from Mindy to the ceiling and silently said, Thank you.
Then I got out the cheese and chicken.
* * * * *
I was standing at the stove, stirring the chopped veggies in olive oil in the skillet when the lights of a vehicle flashed on the walls. I turned from the range and looked to the drive.
The Cherokee. Max was home.
I felt a pleasant shiver slide up my spine and looked to the waning light of a setting sun.
An hour ago, Becca had shown up with my shopping and the news that Max had given the green light for Mindy to go back down the mountain. We talked for awhile, me ascertaining two things. One, Becca was still angry at Damon for “being such a dick” and two, she was “next in line” to get a facial.
They left and I checked my e-mail. No e-mail from Niles so I sent him one asking if he was all right.
Then I sorted my shopping, clipping off the tags, putting things away then I grabbed the cream and sugar bowl I’d found in town. They were handmade, fantastic pottery by a local artisan, larger than normal creamers and sugar bowls, unusual squat shapes with equally unusual twisting handles and they were glazed cream at the top and inside, terra cotta at the bottom. Perfect. I bought them for Max’s kitchen. A gift, a stupid one but my small way of saying “thanks for taking care of me when I was sick”. He didn’t need a creamer and sugar bowl, probably would never use them, but they sure would look good in his kitchen.
Therefore I took them to his kitchen, cleaned them, dried them and filled them, leaving the small milk jug in the fridge and putting the sugar bowl by the coffeepot.
Then I sat at the dining room table and wrote a couple of postcards to friends that I’d also bought the day before.
Then I started dinner.
What I did not do, but should have done, was sort out my messed up head.
The casserole dish had the cubed salmon, king prawns and quartered hardboiled eggs in the bottom, the mashed potatoes (flavored with a hint of English mustard), sitting in a bowl with a dish towel over it, were ready to go on top. The ingredients for the cheesy, mustardy, creamy sauce were by the range, ready to go in when the veggies finished cooking.
I heard the door open and I pulled in a silent breath. Then I looked over my shoulder.
“Hey babe,” Max called, shrugging off his canvas jacket and heading my way.
“Hi,” I replied and turned back to the veggies, stirring unnecessarily.
I heard the whispering sound of his j
This time that shiver went from my neck back down spine.
“Smells good,” he murmured when his head came up.
“Fish pie.”
“Mm.”
God, he could “mm” great in that gravelly way of his.
“Sorry I been gone so long,” he went on.
I picked up the cream and poured it into the veggies while asking, “Mindy’s apartment sorted?”
“Couldn’t find Damon. Did find out that the landlord has storage units at the complex, I got his shit out, put it in a unit and the landlord changed the locks on Mindy’s place.”
I didn’t like the idea of Mindy staying by herself, even with changed locks, so I turned to him and noted, “That doesn’t sound exactly sorted.”
“Yeah, but Mindy’s stayin’ at Becca’s for awhile, least until we know Damon’s permanently out of the picture and after I stopped by Bitsy’s I went to the Station, talked to Mick and Jeff and they’ll be keepin’ an eye on things. Not to mention, Becca’s talked with the totality of her neighbors and told them to keep an eye out for Damon and raise the alarm the minute he’s spotted.”
“That sounds more sorted,” I muttered, he smiled and I turned back to the skillet, swirling the cream with the veg.
Then I felt his fingertips trailing across the skin of my exposed back, sweeping my hair along with it.
The shiver came back, this time with goose bumps. I turned back to him.
Before I could speak, his eyes went from my shoulders to mine and he whispered, “Like this sweater, honey.”
Shyness hit me, sudden and nearly paralyzing. “Um…” I forced out, “thanks.”
He grinned then moved away asking, “You wanna beer?”
I turned back to the food and told myself to get it together but I told Max, “I’m going to have wine.”
“I’ll get it.”
I stirred the cream one more time, saw it begin to bubble and then turned off the stove, moving the skillet off the burner and I added in the rest of the ingredients for the sauce. Stirring it, I went to the casserole dish.
“You got three bottles of wine, which one you want?” he asked, his head in the fridge.
“The Pinot Grigio.”
“Gotcha,” he said and I heard the noise of a bottle sliding off a refrigerator shelf.
“How’s Bitsy?” I asked, still stirring, waiting for all the cheese to melt.
“Pissed, scared, in shock,” he answered, I heard him moving around then I heard kitchen noises then I saw a wineglass hit the counter beside the dish and Max was at my side with a bottle and bottle opener.
“Is she going to be okay?”
“Will be, it’ll take awhile. She isn’t cooperating, won’t talk to the police.”
I looked at him, surprised. “She won’t?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“She’s pissed, scared, in shock,” he repeated and I guessed if my husband was murdered by a contract killer while I was on holiday in Arizona and he was in bed with the town ice queen, I might not feel cooperative either.
“Is that why they need you?”
He looked at me and pulled the cork out of the wine. “Yeah.”
“I don’t understand,” I told him, because I didn’t.
“We’re close,” he said then said no more and I decided not to ask about Max being close to Bitsy, the wife of the dead man who sounded like his arch enemy.
It was strange, very strange, but I was presently dealing with another strange and not unpleasant feeling of moving around Max’s kitchen with Max like we’d done it every night for the last ten years. I didn’t have it in me to interrogate him about his relationship with the unknown Bitsy.
Instead I enquired, “Is she going to talk to the police now?”
“I’m takin’ her in tomorrow.”
I nodded then poured the sauce over the salmon and prawns before informing him, “Your sister came by.”
“Yeah, I hear, Mindy called. Said you tag teamed her but you dealt the death blow.”
I went to the sink and dropped the skillet in it saying, “I wouldn’t describe it like that.”
“How would you describe it?”
“Well, firstly, it wasn’t that dramatic.”
“Kami is all about drama, so I’m guessin’ you’re downplayin’ the situation.” Max finished pouring my wine, seemingly relaxed about the Kami situation, and set the bottle on the counter as I moved to stand in the front of the casserole dish and pulled the towel off the potatoes. He slid the wine close to me and headed to the fridge asking, “She act as big a bitch as Mindy said?”
I pulled in breath and scooped potatoes on the top of the sauced-up fish, uncertain how to answer.
I decided on, “She wasn’t um… exactly pleasant.”
Max sighed and I heard the top come off a beer. “She gets in moods.”
He could say that again.
“She brought you papers,” I told him.
“You look at them?” he asked and my eyes shot to his face.
“Of course not.”
He grinned and, coming close to me, he leaned a hip on the counter. “Why not?”
My head shook once, it was quick and it was short, then I repeated, “Why not?”
“Yeah, why not? I would. Anyway, you’re a lawyer, might be good to have you look ‘em over,” he stated before he took a drink of his beer.
“Are you thinking of taking the job?” I asked, again surprised.
“No fuckin’ way,” he answered instantly.
“Then why do you need a lawyer to look at them?”
“Just wanna know which way they’re thinkin’ of screwin’ me.”
“Kami said they sweetened the pot.”
“Yeah, I’m sure they did. Don’t mean there ain’t fine print.”
I went back to scooping potatoes. “It doesn’t sound like these are nice people.”
“They aren’t.”
“Then why would your sister want you to work for them?”
“I’m around more often, means she’ll have help lookin’ after Mom.”
I finished putting the potatoes on top; Max noticed and took the bowl from me, turned and headed toward the sink.
“Is your Mom all right?”
“Yeah,” he said, rinsing the bowl and skillet. “Just alone and doesn’t like it.” He turned off the tap and headed back to me. “Today, took care of Mindy’s shit, talked to Bitsy, hit the Station and then went to visit Mom. That’s why I’m late. She wanted to talk and then she wanted me to look at her kitchen sink. Spent part of the afternoon listenin’ to her bitch, another part in the hardware store, another part on my back on the kitchen floor under her sink.”
I looked down to the potatoes, smushing them around and coating the creamy fish, thinking of him taking care of Mindy, Bitsy, his Mom and what that meant about him then mumbling, “It’s good you look after your Mom.”
“It’s good, but isn’t fun.”
I looked at him and said softly, “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said softly back then his hand came up and his finger touched my earring. I’d put my new ones in when I put away my shopping, impatient to see the way they looked then I liked the way they looked so I left them in.
“You got ‘em.”
“Yeah.”
He grinned then walked around me.
I grabbed the dish and put it in the pre-heated oven, closed the door, tinkered with the timer and set it. He came back when I went to the other counter, picked up my wine and took a sip.
After I swallowed, Max took my glass, set it on the counter and grabbed my right hand.
His head was bent to look at our hands but he was talking.
I was watching his hands working at mine.
“Went to Karma to get you those earrings you liked, they told me you’d already been by. Jenna wa
I looked down at a ring that was the same heavy, wide, stunning web design of my earrings with solid edges. It was gorgeous and it sat perfectly, from base nearly to knuckle, on my finger.
Then I continued to stare at it and all it indicated including the fact that Holden Maxwell paid attention (which I was learning) and thus he gave thoughtful, generous gifts.
I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes and I tipped my head back to look at him.
“Max,” I whispered.
His hand came to my cheek then it slid into my hair before he asked, “You like it?”
I nodded though I wouldn’t say I liked it. I’d say I more than liked it.
He looked into my eyes, his face grew soft but his mouth grinned before he prompted, “Then you gonna kiss me or what?”
I really should have replied “or what”.
But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
The ring was beautiful, it was special and his gesture was remarkable.
So instead of saying “or what”, I did something not smart, not sane, not rational and got up on my toes. Then I slid my fingers in his hair from the neck up. Then I grabbed onto his hard bicep with my other hand.
Max helped, leaning into me, bending his neck, gliding his fingers further into my hair to cup my head and putting his other hand to my waist.
Then I kissed him, touching my tongue to his lips which he opened for me then sliding it inside, tasting beer, tasting Max and thinking he was the most beautiful taste to ever touch my tongue.
He growled into my mouth, slanting his head, his arms coming around me and he took control of the kiss.
His was better, so much better, I felt the need to slide my other hand into his hair and hold his head to me so he’d get the hint I didn’t want him to stop.