Blind Reader Wanted

That was three months ago.

The silence after the laughter was comfortable. I ate one cupcake the old-fashioned way, and then turned the second one into a sandwich. Lara began to read. Her sweet voice flowing over me as I bit into the cake. The world was good.

I decided I liked the cupcake better the sandwich way.

Seventeen

Kit

Outside it had begun to snow lightly. I could see the wolves milling about in the backyard, and by the grove of trees where they liked to hide out. Inside, it was warm. Through the small square of glass set into the cast iron door of the wood burner, the red-orange glow of the flames spilled out and lit up Lara’s face as she sat opposite me.

Her coat was draped around the back of the chair, and she was in a pink and blue floral sweater, with the collar of her red shirt underneath peeking through. There was some kind of yellow scarf tied loosely around her neck and a green hair band on her head.

She should have looked like a human bag of Skittles; instead she resembled a warm scene on a Christmas card. One of those that reminded you of a tree full of glittery decorations, a roaring fire, laughing children, a table heaped with good food, spicy scents in the air, and the sound of exploding crackers.

I feasted my eyes on her, safe in the knowledge that she would never know I was staring, or even begin to imagine how much pleasure I took from watching her smooth skin, the apple like tightness of her rosy cheeks, and the way her plump mouth moved as she read quietly.

I took a sip of my whiskey. Yeah, me and tea decided to part company after our first meeting. She must have heard me, because she stopped and reached for her cup.

“Thank you,” I said softly.

“You’re welcome!” The teacup remained suspended midair as she smiled. It was genuine, open. Like a child’s. “Although, you don’t need to thank me. Turns out I’m really enjoying this demonically comic book. John Self as the narrator of his own train wreck is pure genius, and taking money to read this seems almost unfair.”

“I meant … thank you for everything. All of it.”

She put her teacup down without drinking from it. “All of it?”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is it’s nice to have company.”

“You don’t like company, Mr. Carson. You mean you like my company.”

She grinned irrepressibly. What a sweetheart! I wanted to touch her. My hand even lifted, then dropped. “Yeah. You … brighten the place.”

She laughed. “You make me sound like an ornament.”

I sighed. “Okay, you win. I like your company.”

“I’m glad, because you were mighty ornery that first day I was here.”

“I know I was rude to you then, and I’m sorry. I’ve been holed up for so long with no one for company but my wolves. I’ve forgotten how to act around a lady.”

She nodded slowly. “Luckily for you, Mr. Carson,” she said with an exaggerated Southern drawl, “I ain’t no lady. My Ma used to call me a right hooligan.”

I shook my head even though she couldn’t see me. “I have trouble believing that.”

“Do ladies put cow crap into people’s shoes?” she asked impishly.

I laughed. “You did?”

She took a sip of tea. “Afraid so.” A considering expression came into her face. “What’s the baddest thing you ever did?”

An involuntary sound tore out of my throat. The baddest thing? Oh, Jesus! I closed my eyes. My insides were quaking. No, I can’t go there. Not with her. She lives inside a Christmas card.

She frowned anxiously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry or make you remember anything painful. I only meant as a child what was the baddest thing you ever did? You don’t have to answer it.” Her hand shook as she put the teacup back on the table. “I’ll just continue reading.”

I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t see her hurt. Without thinking, my hand reached out and covered hers. Two things happened simultaneously. My dick became hard and she froze with shock. I snatched my hand back. My body started throbbing with sexual tension.

I don’t know where the hell it came from but I wanted her so fucking bad it hurt. Her hand stretched out tentatively towards me. I was dying to grab it, sweep her into my arms, and kiss her senseless, but I balled my hands into fists, and forced myself not to. I would only ruin her. She wanted a friend. I wanted to spread her legs and bury my cock in her sweet pussy.

I wanted to make her mine.

“There is nothing for you to be sorry for, Lara,” I said. My voice was harsh.

She was too naïve to understand the raw need in my voice. She took it as a rejection. Her hand dropped back to the table, and the color drained out of her cheeks. She looked devastated.

Jesus, in my stupid, bumbling way, I caused that! I felt worse than I would have if I’d kicked a puppy. I hated hurting her. Silently, her hands moved towards the page. They fumbled uncertainly, looking for the last sentence she had read.

“When I was six years old,” I began, and her fingers stopped moving on the page. I swallowed and continued. “I did a very terrible thing. Far, far worse than putting cow crap in someone’s shoe.”

I watched her plump lips tremble and part as she exhaled the breath she was holding. A ghost of a smile appeared, and it made me ridiculously happy to see it.

“My father had gone to the mall and he’d taken my brother and sister with him. I was not allowed to go with him because I had broken my brother’s favorite toy. I was furious so I splattered ketchup all over my stomach and chest, fired my father’s shotgun out of the window, and let my mother find me on the ground with the gun on top of me, with my eyes wide open as if I was dead.”

She gasped with shock.

“That was the baddest thing I ever did as a child.”

“What did your Ma do?” she whispered.

“Before or after I blinked and laughed at her?”

“After, I think?”

“She went crazy and then took me to the kitchen and gave me cookies and milk. I got the whopping of my life when my Dad came home, though.”

“I’m not surprised. That’s unbelievably naughty.”

“What else do you want to know about me, Lara?”

She blushed. Oh, but she was beautiful. “I wouldn’t know where to start, Mr. Carson. I have so many questions for you.”

I was caught completely by surprise by that. “You do?”

“Absolutely. You’re quite the mysterious man around town, you know.” She smiled.

“I thought I was just a run of the mill, blood drinking, axe murderer,” I mocked.

She smiled. “Yes, but there are other things they say about you too.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Some of it … is actually quite fun,” she said cheekily.

“Yeah, like what?”

“They say you make your own shine. You have a whole factory in the forest. Barrels and barrels of it.”

I laughed at the nonsense the town folk had been making up about me. “Sorry to disappoint, but no. I don’t make shine. I don’t even know how to.”

“Awww … and I was going to buy a bottle off you.”

“Sorry.”

“I think I know exactly what I want to ask you!” she blurted out suddenly. Her face was intense, and I braced myself for what was coming.

“What is it?” I asked. I figured she would ask about my military service. About why I stayed out here in the middle of nowhere. About what my life had been like before I came here. She could even ask me how I got my scars, but what she wanted to know took me by surprise.

“Tell me about your wolves,” she invited.

Eighteen

Kit

She hit on the one thing I could talk about all day long.

The wolves were my companions, my family, my babies – even though they were wild animals, and I was committed to keeping them that way, but that distance didn’t mean I didn’t understand them as well as I understood myself.

I knew instinctively when they were in trouble. Once I was sitting in the kitchen eating a meal, when I felt my stomach become uneasy. It was so strong I couldn’t eat another forkful.

So I went out of the house and stood on the porch. It was summer and the evening was still young. I grabbed my Wolf Pack Howling Horn and began to walk. Every now and again I blew into my horn. It imitated their howls. I walked for an hour until one of my wolves responded to my horn. I found Thomas caught in a thorny hedgerow.

When you help an animal facing down death, it recognizes your deed, and shows its thanks in whatever way it can. Not in the cheesy way we’re taught by watching Hollywood movies about animals, but in a subtle way.

In the case of an Alpha like Thomas, he came onto the porch whenever I was there. Even though he kept a space between us most of the time, every now and again he would come to check me out, and give me the gift of petting him for a while. It was the same with Adam, who roamed wherever he wished, but always came back – not because he needed to be with me, but because he wanted to.