Tori Carrington - The Woman For Dusty Conrad

But at the end of the day, just after dinner, before either of them were off to do whatever they had to do that night, he and Erick never failed to call a truce and meet as if by silent agreement on the front porch steps. They’d talk about everything. Or nothing at all. He’d always sat with his fingers clasped between his knees. Erick leaning back on his hands, staring off into some unforeseen future path that was mapped out for him in the sky.

Back then it seemed as if the day might never end. As if they’d had all the time in the world to tease each other about girlfriends. Debate which sports team was the better, the Detroit Tigers or the Cleveland Indians. Or just sit in quiet companionship while their mother did the dinner dishes and their father either read the paper at the kitchen table or was off at the firehouse.

Dusty reached those same steps and slowly sat down, considering the view he’d seen a thousand times. Majestic oaks were at the height of color, setting the street on fire with their oranges and yellows, their crisp smell drifting on the air, prompting him to take a deep breath. There didn’t seem to be anything particularly unique about the view itself. No. He presumed that he and his brother had chosen this spot as their own because it was neutral territory. Not his room. Not Erick’s room. Not their parents’ room.

Of course eventually the entire house ended up his. Yet sometimes it seemed as though this spot alone was truly his. His and Erick’s.

He looked down to find his hands clasped between his knees. If only he’d been able to save Erick, this spot would still be theirs.

“Are you going to marry her?” Erick’s voice seemed to drift to him on the cool autumn air, from some long-ago, forgotten time.

Up until that point, the “m” word hadn’t even entered Dusty’s mind. He and Erick had both been working at the station by that point. And with their staggered shifts, it was rare that they were both off at the same time. But they had been that day. Before their parents sold him the house and moved off to Arizona. Dusty had been dating Jolie for barely a year by then. Erick had been dating Darby. And his brother’s question had nearly knocked him over.

Dusty snapped upright, much as he had that day.

“No,” he’d said then, the idea so outrageous he couldn’t even imagine seriously considering it. Marriage was something people his parents’ age did, not him. He was a fireman. Still lived at home.

“I don’t know,” he’d said moments later, the concept beginning to take root as he thought about the girl next door with the brown curly hair and big blue eyes who had transformed into all woman seemingly overnight. He couldn’t even remember now why he hadn’t asked her out before he had. But he suspected his motivations hadn’t come totally from out of left field, and that Jolie had had a bit of a hand in his asking.

“Yes…I think I will.” His slow answer had come after Erick hadn’t responded, and then the concept had not only grown roots, the rightness had struck him, flowing through his veins as thickly as his own blood. Just as it had that day he’d met Jolie, when he’d picked her mail up from where she’d dropped it, her heather-blue eyes soft and sexy and all too inviting.

Dusty swallowed hard. He wondered what his brother would think of what was happening between him and Jolie now. He glanced toward that spot in the sky that Erick had always stared at, that unseen road that he wondered if he’d ever be able to view himself. A path Erick might be on even now.

Silently, he asked, “Erick, where are you? If ever I could have used your advice, it’s now.”

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