Blackbird Knitting in a Bunny's Lair (24 page)

Aiden’s parents didn’t mention the dog under the chair in the kitchen, and Jeremy didn’t mention being nine years older than their son, and by the time they’d helped with cleanup and left, it was like that other bad memory got washed away.

But Jeremy remembered—there was no denying it.

“Bye, Jeremy,” Aiden’s mom said from the porch as they crunched their way out into the thinning spring snow. “It was a real pleasure.”

Jeremy nodded. “Yes, ma’am. Next time I’ll bring dessert again, and we’ll see if we can have a pleasant meal
and
pie.”

Susan Rhodes had the best laugh because it came from her tiny-waisted stomach and rumbled up her throat.

“That there is a deal,” she promised. And then, almost shyly, because she knew this was a big deal, she said, “And if we make a date for it three weeks from now, you can take the puppy home with you.”

She shut the door then, so she didn’t get to see the battle for delight and anxiety that took place on Jeremy’s expressive face.

“It’ll be fine,” Aiden said, patting the folder Elaine had pulled out of her backpack so Jeremy could keep his notes all together. “We’ll make a list.”

Jeremy smiled at him, and joy won. “We’d best keep it separate from that folder in your hands, boy, or we’ll be raffling off dog food.”

How was it that Aiden had laughed his whole life and only now became aware that he laughed like his mother?

“W
ELL
, M
R
.
Stillson, you have to know we’re still a little leery of working with a man of your past. You understand that, don’t you?”

Of all of the times for his past to come bite him in the ass, Jeremy hadn’t figured that taking an ad in the local paper would be the one.

“Ma’am, I’ve already offered you money out of my own pocket to place the ad—if it’s the charity rate that’s got you leery—”

“No, sir, that is not the problem.”

Jeremy had confused Alberta, the editor of the local paper, with her sister, Selma, who had apparently blackballed him from the library, and now that he’d met them both, he figured he’d have to write it on his hands to remember the difference. As far as Jeremy could tell, the only difference between the tiny women in their late fifties was that Alberta dyed her gray hair black and Selma kept it iron gray.

From Jeremy’s standpoint, they could have dyed their damned hair purple as long as they cut him a fucking break.

Jeremy tried very hard to smile, but honestly, he was hanging on to his charm by a thumbnail. Craw had okayed him for working full time as long as he stayed in the shop. The full day was nice, and he’d been doing a lot of the work on the benefit from behind the desk, but he
missed
working in the mill. He
missed
working with Aiden and the machinery and the loud clanking and the holy
God
lack of talking that the mill entailed.

But he’d promised Craw and Aiden and
himself
that he’d see this through. He had people now, and dammit… he had to
do
for his people. Craw, Aiden, Ariadne—they had
done
for him. From knitted sweaters to movie night to sports games to seeing him in the hospital when his own stupidity had landed him there—these people had
done
for him, and he wasn’t going to let them down.

“Look,” he said, strengthening his smile. “Rance Crawford set up the bank account. That man has roots from his feet to the bedrock of these hills. He’s not going anywhere with that money but to Ariadne’s front door when Rory needs gas to get over the hill again.” They were coming home the next day, but they had six weeks before the baby’s first operation—and the hotel stay that would entail. “I have got my name on a house that I cannot walk away from, along with the name of a boy who has been born and raised here. We ain—are
not
going anywhere. This is our
home
,
and this woman and her family are
part
of it. We want a chance to bring her neighbors together to help her out—that’s
all
.
Now we’ve got fliers all over this town and Boulder. We’ve got a shopkeeper in Boulder having a similar event on the same day. Now this event is mentioned in a
Boulder
newspaper, but you’re not going to be putting it here, where it originated, where the woman this benefits
lives
.”

Alberta Cuthbert narrowed her eyes. “Do you have proof of any of—”

Jeremy pulled out his cell phone.

A week ago, the day after that productive afternoon spent with Elaine and the almost normal meal with Aiden’s parents during which he did
not
make a freak of himself in anxiety, Aiden had taken him to the local Radio Shack. There, he bought Jeremy a cell phone the size of a small notebook, which now had every damned thing he needed to know in his life on it.

“We can’t afford it,” he’d maintained flatly as Aiden physically dragged him into the store.

“We can declare it on our taxes,” Aiden snapped.

“I don’t need it. I can write stuff out.”

“I can’t read your goddamned handwriting.”

“I’ll type it out on the computer.”

“You need that time to help me knit the goddamned blanket.”

“I’ll do it at work.”

“You need
that
time to do your job
and
knit the goddamned blanket.”

“But Aiden!” he practically wailed. “I
can’t
have a cell phone! You
know
how easily those things can be traced!”

Aiden stopped right there in front of the Radio Shack and shouted, “A
-ha
! I
knew
that was it! You’re goddamned right it can be traced—and from now on,
you
are a person who needs to be on the goddamned map. So this is it. No floor safe, no shitty hotel rooms, no burner phones—you’re on the goddamned map!”

Jeremy scowled, squinting at him. “I’m not smart enough to use it,” he snarled, pretty sure this was his trump card.

Aiden’s eyes bulged. Actually
bulged
like he was having a heart attack, and he grabbed Jeremy’s shoulders and kissed him, mouth open, big body dominating, and steered him backward through the swinging door. He only pulled back when they got in front of the clerk.

They stood, chests heaving, glaring at each other, until Aiden turned toward the guy behind the counter, who was about his age.

“Billy?”

“Hey, Aiden,” Billy said, wide-eyed. He was an average kid—small town, sandy-brown hair, regular brown eyes, a wide jaw, big nose, and sweet smile.

“This is Jeremy.”

“We’ve met,” Billy said with a nod. “You brought him in to buy the laptop two years ago.”

Aiden let out a low laugh. “So you’ve dealt with this before.”

“Everything but the kiss, Aiden,” Billy said, looking only a little like he expected some man to jump out and kiss
him
.

Aiden’s laugh was downright evil. “Well, don’t worry about it. If I have to kiss him to shut him up, that’s not on your conscience. So, can you suggest a phone that’s intuitive and not technical?”

Jeremy turned and squinted up at the man he loved. “What in the fuck does that mean?”

“Windows phone,” Billy said, nodding. “My mom uses it—she says it makes sense that she can’t put into words.”

“That’s perfect,” Aiden said, and two hours later, Jeremy had this technical wonder in his palm.

And it was
that
technical wonder that he pulled out now for Miss Alberta Cuthbert.

“See here?” he said, pulling up his phone list. “Take this number down. This one is Alice—she lives in Boulder and owns a chain of craft stores. She’s the one holding the benefit down there. This one here is Stanley. He
runs
the craft stores, and he’s organizing it. This one here is the newspaper in Boulder. This here is the bank where Craw set up the account for Ariadne and her family. This here is the charity that deals with kids getting cleft palate surgeries, where any extra money is going. And
this one here
,” he snarled, because he was about fucking
done
with this noise, “is Rance fricking Crawford himself, pillar of the community, small business owner, and my goddamned friend, who told me that if anyone gave me any shit about my past then they should talk to
him first
.”

Silence fell in the small office, and Jeremy looked guiltily over the little counter of the
Ledger
,
where Aiden stood, waiting patiently for Jeremy to finish this face-to-face conversation that had been pending for over a week.

Aiden grinned that wolfish smile of his and gave him a thumbs-up.

Some of Jeremy’s ire faded, and he stood up straight, aware that as he’d been shouting at a little old woman, he’d asserted his slight height over her as well.

Well, that was no good. His father would have been appalled—no good con man ever threatened violence. That had been their creed.

Miss Alberta Cuthbert eyeballed him warily. “I’ll call these numbers,” she announced loftily. “And if I’m satisfied with their report, I’ll let you purchase your ad space.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Jeremy muttered. “And be sure to tell Stanley Schultz what you just told me, and see what his boyfriend has to say about your assessment of my character.”

After a moment of stunned silence, Jeremy wondered if the woman actually ever read her own newspaper.

Then her eyes widened, and her lips parted, and she took in a little breath. “Oh.
That
Stanley.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied stonily. “Are my scars not obvious enough? Would you like to see the surgery ones as well?”

The woman’s eyes searched his face, and he was sure she was marking the ones on his forehead, and the rip in his cheek that they’d so carefully repaired, and his chin.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said primly. “I’ll just verify with the bank. You can—” She licked her lips nervously, her eyes darting to his scars again. “You can have that space for free.”

Jeremy remembered his charm at the last minute. “Well, thank you, ma’am,” he said, with an outstanding
measure of grace. “Me and Ariadne would
surely
appreciate that.”

After an uncomfortable ten minutes, Jeremy finished up with the particulars, including signing paperwork and turning over the thumb drive with both the flier Aiden had designed and the article his sister had written. Finally, after shaking a hand that felt like a small dead eel, Jeremy gave a bow and a smile and turned around to walk with Aiden out to the car.

It was getting close to a spring-purple dark, and they both struggled to put their jackets on after the overheated press office, but he could smell something promising in the air, something warm and fragrant as the daffodils and pinks that pushed themselves up in people’s yards, gave the air hope.

“Jer?” Aiden said as they hopped in his car.

“What?”

“You know when you were yelling at her and she just totally bent to your will?”

Jeremy flushed. That had been bad manners, there was no arguing with that. “To my shame, yes.”

“That made me really fucking horny. How’s your stomach?”

He’d been cleared to go without the anti-inflammatory pain meds after their last visit to see Ariadne and the baby. “Real good,” he said smugly.

Aiden chuckled and started the car. “I am
so
glad to hear that,” he murmured. The car was still in park with the brake set, and Aiden turned in his seat and grasped Jeremy’s chin. His kiss felt hard and warm and familiar, and Jeremy’s whole body caught fire like the sunset-lit mountains above them.

They ate at the pub before they went home, as sort of a celebration. Aiden helped Jeremy feed the critters, and in the close quarters of the hutch, he put his hands on Jeremy’s waist, his hips, his shoulders, the back of his neck, again and again and again. Every touch was warm, firm, and particular.

When the final critter had been brushed, petted, watered, and fed, Jeremy turned to leave the rabbit hutch and found himself directly in Aiden’s arms.

He raised his face and smiled in anticipation as that hard, pretty face lowered in the darkness.

Aiden tasted like Aiden. There was
no other word for the gruff, growly, kind, practical, poetic,
shining
boy who loved Jeremy. There was
no other word for the taste of the mountains and the grass and the snow. He was warm and wet and he took over Jeremy’s body like Jeremy had been born with Aiden’s fingerprints already prestamped on his skin.

The kiss went on, and Jeremy would have dropped to his knees right there, debased himself, begged, just to taste everything Aiden had to give him, but Aiden wouldn’t do Jeremy like that. Aiden took care of his boy, broke off the kiss, pushed Jeremy outside, and locked up the critters.

Aiden told Jeremy to undress while he ran the shower, and they could both wash the day’s work off their bodies and then wash each other’s bodies in the warm water.

“This shower’s damned big,” Jeremy acknowledged, and Aiden kissed under his ear and soaped his chest.

“Does that mean you like the house?”

Jeremy laughed softly. “I’ll like it better with the dog,” he said smugly.

Aiden nuzzled the crook of his neck. “You’re acting all clever now,” Aiden murmured. “Back in January, you weren’t nearly this confident.”

Jeremy felt that, felt it in the pit of his groin, and he turned in Aiden’s arms, slicked up to that strong young body in the heat and the soap and the spray.

“Nope,” he said. “And not back in October neither.”

Aiden made a “hmph” sort of noise. “So you’re saying it didn’t kill you, so you must be stronger?” he asked, skepticism casting a bit of frost on Jeremy’s epiphany.

Jeremy buried his face in Aiden’s wet shoulder. “I’m saying I’m not a person who’d run anymore,” he said against Aiden’s slick skin. “I’m saying I can eat dinner at your mother’s table, mostly like a human being. That I know the people who love me, that I can do for them, take care of them, like they been caring for me.”