Brenda Novak - When Summer Comes

“So you’ve met these men?” she asked.

“Just last week. I was selling my gold dredge. They saw my flyer on the bulletin board at the diner and came over to buy it. I guess they weren’t finding anything using the panning method.”

“Did you like them?”

“Not a bit.” Godfrey spoke with his usual candor, but she’d already guessed his feelings from his sour expression.

“Why not?”

“They’re unruly braggarts with big mouths and no respect. If I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought they were related to the Amoses.”

The Amoses weren’t as bad as they’d been immediately after their father went to prison. As a matter of fact, she really liked Cheyenne’s husband. But she didn’t mention that she now knew Dylan and cared about him. She didn’t want to veer off topic. “I’m surprised they didn’t hear their dogs growling and barking. You’d think they would’ve gone out to see what was going on.”

He shrugged. “They were probably passed out, drunk.”

“They’re big partiers?”

“That’s the impression they gave me.”

“Great.” She rolled of her eyes. “Just who you want living so close—and with a couple of unsafe pit bulls, too.”

He acknowledged her sarcasm with a tip of his cup. “Fortunately, it’s only for three months.”

Rifle brushed up against her, wanting some attention, so she bent to scratch behind his ears. “Short-timers or no, they still have to keep their dogs from biting people,” she said. “Mr. McCloud could’ve been killed.”

Godfrey sipped his coffee before responding. “I plan on heading over there later.”

Knowing he’d do whatever needed to be done, she changed the subject. “Will Mr. McCloud be okay?”

Her neighbor’s hands were oversize, like her injured guest’s, except that Godfrey’s were also thick. When he was stitching up Levi’s bite wounds, Callie had been impressed by how dexterous his sausagelike fingers could be.

“As long as those bites don’t get infected, he should be. He’ll have a few scars, but I made the stitches very small. That’ll help. In my opinion, he should get a tetanus booster, but he claims he was in the military, that his shots are current.”

“They make sure soldiers stay up on that sort of thing, don’t they?”

“They do. If he was really a soldier.”

Apparently, Godfrey was taking nothing for granted. The people of Whiskey Creek could be suspicious of outsiders. But Callie believed at least that much of McCloud’s story. He had a tattoo on one shoulder depicting an eagle with the word Freedom. A tattoo on the other arm said R.I.P. Sanchez, Williams, Phelps, Smith. The names were in different fonts, as if they’d been added as he’d lost friends.

She preferred not to consider how hard that would be to cope with.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help, G.,” she said, using the nickname her grandfather had given him. Poppy had coined a nickname for everyone. It was usually a shortened version of that person’s first name but Godfrey became a little tricky. Only his wife sometimes teased him by calling him God.

“Happy to help. You know how much Mina and I care about you.” Although his words were kind, he shot her a warning look from beneath his hairy eyebrows that indicated she might not like what was coming next.

“But...” she said, giving him the opportunity to speak his mind.

“But I’m going to stick my nose into your business and tell you that I think you should send this man on his way.”

“I will, of course. As soon as he’s better.”

“I mean as soon as he wakes up.”

Rifle wandered off as she sat down at the table. “G., he just got over a hundred stitches!”

“That’s okay. In a few hours he’ll be able to walk well enough to vacate the premises.”

But how far would he have to go? Godfrey had mentioned infection as if it was a serious concern. Certainly heading off into the wild blue yonder wouldn’t minimize that risk. And what if Levi couldn’t find his motorcycle? For all she knew, the cops had impounded it. Even if the bike was exactly where he’d left it, it wasn’t running. That was the whole reason he’d been in a position to be attacked in the first place. “He needs time to recover.”

“We don’t know anything about him, Callie. We don’t even know if his version of what happened is true. Having him here might not be safe.”

Callie sipped her juice. “But he has no home.” And he had no mode of transportation. “Where will he go?”

“Wherever he was going before he met you.”

His protectiveness wouldn’t allow him to consider any mitigating factors, so she didn’t argue further. “I’ll send him off as soon as I can,” she promised.

Godfrey finished his coffee and got up to bring his cup to the sink. “I’d better go. I’m sure Mina’s wondering where on earth I am.”

“Of course. Thanks again.” When she ushered him out, she put Rifle into the fenced part of the yard so he could get some exercise. Then she returned to the house and stiffened in surprise. Levi McCloud was no longer asleep. He was coming out of her bedroom.

3

“Those clothes were in the tub for a reason,” she said.

Careful not to tear out the stitches in his leg, Levi hobbled toward the door, eyeing the petite blonde who’d given him the help he needed. What was her name? She’d told him last night. Callie something... Anyway, he appreciated what she’d done for him. He also appreciated that she’d kept her word and hadn’t called the police a second time. He doubted there were many women who would’ve taken such a risk and he admired her courage. But he didn’t want her to get in his way now that he was ready to go. “I rinsed out the blood the best I could. I have to get my bike and my backpack,” he explained.

“And if you manage to do that, then what?”

“I’m out of here.” He never stayed in one place long. But how fast he could leave Whiskey Creek would depend on his bike. If the repairs cost more than elbow grease, he could be in trouble. He’d never find work in his current condition. With all the stitches in his arms, he looked pieced together, like Frankenstein’s monster.

“Where’s your backpack?” she asked.

He could smell coffee, wanted a cup but figured he could buy one along the way—provided he found his bike and was able to fix it. “I hope it’s where I left it.”

“What’s in it?”

“Everything,” he said simply. Everything he owned, anyway. That didn’t consist of a lot, but he didn’t need a lot.

She sidled over as if moving slowly would make it less apparent that she was cutting off his path to the door. “If you’ll go back to bed and get some rest, I’ll retrieve your bike.”

She had dark circles under her eyes, looked as tired as he felt. But then, he’d kept her up all night, so that was to be expected. She was still damn pretty. She reminded him of Charlize Theron. Maybe even Marilyn Monroe.

“You don’t know where it is,” he said.

“You could solve that by telling me.”

Her size relative to that of his bike didn’t make her suggestion very plausible. “I had to drop it when the dogs attacked. Even if it’s not in the ditch I was trying to avoid while I was pushing it—which it might be—you wouldn’t be strong enough.”

“But if you exert yourself, you could ruin everything we just accomplished with your stitches!”

She had a point. Medical help wasn’t easy to come by, especially for someone like him. But, as he’d said, she couldn’t lift his bike. “I don’t have any choice.”

She started to argue, to say nothing was worth risking further injury, but he cut her off. “What about the dogs that attacked me? They could still be around, licking their wounds. If they feel anything like I do this morning, they won’t be in a good mood.”