Surrendered Hearts!

Almost Caught

That was crazy!

She thought to herself as she regained her footing, her left foot sandal’s heel broken.

“Miss are you alright”? The voice of the person that had grabbed her from behind asked. She froze even before she turned, no matter how long it was, that voice was unmistakable. Slowly she turned, no matter how much prepared she was for this moment, she couldn’t help but tremble at the familiarity and intensity of the voice.

“I, uh-h ... guess so?” she replied shakily her eyes locking onto those, deep, dark and intense eyes of Deke Kentwood. He looked at her curiously.

“Mira?” he called her, unsure of her identity but wanting to be proven right. Before she could reply, the owner of the Jeep wrangler that had almost mowed her down rushed in, worry written all over his face. This gave Brenda time to compose herself in case Deke really recognized her.

“Lady what were you thinking?” he asked.

“Am sorry, I miscalculated the distance but thank goodness, your quick reflex saved the day.” She replied avoiding Deke’s curious gaze.

“Are you alright? Do you need to be checked?” he asked, still shaken but fighting for composure.

“Yes, I am completely fine except for my shoe,” she replied jokingly, trying to lighten the tension in the air. “I only need hop to my car right there across the street and I’ll be on my way, thank you,” she said with finality, indicating that she no longer wanted to be the centre of attraction.

“Have we met”? Deke insisted as Brenda was about to successfully avoid his piercing gaze and inquiry.

“No, am new to this parts. Am here for my winter holiday,” she lied smoothly even though her insides were about to explode. What if he was toying with her? She could not afford to blow her cover. Indecision danced in Deke’s eyes, Brenda grabbed this opportunity to build on to his confusion. “Am Brenda Scott,” she said extending her hand, “ and you are?”

This caught him off guard, “Deke, am Deke Kentwood.”

“Pleasure to meet you and thank you so much for your help, it could have been a disaster.” Brenda knew she was playing a dangerous game, knowing damn well that Deke could have recognised her and was also playing the fool to see just how far she was willing to go but the fact that her scent was well masked, her hair dyed, her figure fuller and eye contacts that hid her mismatched eye colour was enough to give her leverage.

“Are you sure you are not from around here?” he asked one more time. His question brought a sigh of relief to Brenda, Deke Kentwood was a straight arrow. If he was asking again, he really didn’t know who she was although his senses were telling him otherwise.

“That would be a dream come true,” she replied with a hearty devil-may-care attitude. The Jeep driver gave her a card, asking her to call in case of anything. He promised he would take care of any expenses incurred as he hurriedly got into his car, driving off into unknown parts. “Thank you once again, you saved the day,” she said as she hobbled across to the other side.

“F#ck f#ck, f#ck...that was close!” she mumbled as she darted across the street to her waiting car. That was batshit crazy. No one drove the same car for more than eight years least of all Mason Kentwood. Sliding into the driver’s seat and slamming the door, she removed her shoes, leaned behind to retrieve a pair of sandals at the back. Forget. Forget. Forget. The word drummed in her head, it’s cadence familiar from long repetition.

Brenda glanced at the rear view mirror and saw Deke’s reflection as he stood where she left him, watching her. He still looked attractive, self contained with secrets hidden behind those dark blue eyes. He looked haunted but so was she; the events of the past haunted her as well and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was haunted by the same. The decision she had made several years ago had been the practical one – the logical one – the sensible one; given the same set of circumstances, she would probably make the same decision again – so why couldn’t she accept it?

Driven by self impatience, Brenda started the engine and made an abrupt U-turn in the middle of the street, leaving the business district and Deke Kentwood behind and travelling the state highway once more. It was several minutes before she realized where she was going. By then, Brenda had made the turn that would take her of to the Key. She surrendered to the impulse to see the house where she had stayed with her aunt that summer, eight years ago. Looking across the inlet, she could see the land had been greatly developed in the interim with townhouses and condos as well as private homes. The yacht basin was filled with boats of varying shapes and sizes.

Before reaching the bridge that would take her across to the Key, Brenda passed a grove of live oak trees. The prevailing breeze from the Gulf had picturesquely sculpted the trees, bending their lowered tops. It was a common sight along the Texas Gulf Coast – more typical than the palm trees that dotted the residential lawns on the Key.

Even though it had been more than eight years since she had been to her aunt’s house and a multitude of new ones had sprung up around it, Brenda had no difficulty locating it. Raised on stilts to protect it from a storm’s waves, the house was painted an egg shell blue instead of the sea green her aunt had chosen. Tricycles and toys were scattered over its driveway and lawn, revealing the house’s present owners had young children. She slowed the car to a stop at the curb to look.

Within seconds her gaze was drawn to the large Spanish style dwelling on the corner lot across the street. A canal ran behind it, allowing homeowners to Dock their boats virtually in their backyards. There was an empty look to the house, an unlived-in quality. Brenda wasn’t surprised since it was only a summer home for the Kentwoods, a place near the Gulf to escape the inland heat . During the rest of the year, it wasn’t used.

Staring, she sat behind the wheel of the car, the engine idling. One of the neighbours noticed the strange car at the curb and came to investigate its occupant. Brenda wasn’t aware of the man’s approach until he bent to peer in the driver’s window.

“Are you trying to find a certain address miss?” he asked, polite yet wary.

“No, that is –“ Realizing her behaviour might seem suspicious, she explained, “...my aunt, Mary Beth Franklin, used to lice in this house several years ago. I was in the area so I thought I’d come by and see if the place had changed much.”

Between her explanation and her respectable, as well as her attractive appearance, the aging gentleman was no longer concerned about the reason for her presence. “I imagine you see a lot of change. Houses have sprung up like mushrooms around here.”

“They certainly have,” Brenda agreed and let her gaze wander back to the red tiled roof of the house on the opposite corner. “Do the Kentwoods still own the hacienda-style home over there?”

“They do,” he nodded. “Of course they only open it in the summer. The rest of the year it’s shut. They own a big ranch out of town,” the man said giving her a considering look. “Were you a friend of the Kentwoods?”

Brenda hesitated, a lot of things trembling on the edge of her tongue, but only one escaped. “Angela Kentwood are about the same age. We used to visit each other whenever I visited my aunt.”

“A lovely young woman.” His head bobbed in approval. His brown golfers cap reminded Brenda of a Cork. “Warm and friendly. You should stop by the ranch to see her.”

Brenda flexed her fingers and curled them tightly around the steering wheel. “We’ve lost touch over the years,” she said by way of an indirect reply to his suggestion. Overcome by the restlessness that had been festering just beneath the surface, she flashed the man a quick smile. “I guess I better be going before am accused of loitering. It was nice talking to you.”

“My pleasure, strictly my pleasure.”

The man straightened as Brenda shifted the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. After crossing the bridge, she headed back to the highway. This time she passed the intersection to the business district of Davenport. She’d travelled only a few blocks when she noticed the old time service station that had been converted into a short order café specialising in Texas barbecue. It had been one of her favourite hangouts that summer. There was an ‘Open’ sign in the window.

She flipped the car’s turn signals and crossed the lane to park next to the building. Leaving her car, she entered the little café. It had changed so little that it was all so poignantly familiar to her, although she didn’t recognize the human couple working behind the counter. Where were old Mr and Mrs Logan?

Two customers were ahead of her – werewolves by their scent. While she waited her turn, Brenda looked around the small interior. He masked scent allowed her to blend effortlessly although the werewolves couldn’t stop checking her out of curiosity for this newcomer. The table and the four chairs by the window had been ‘their’ table. She and Mason had sat on the side facing the door and his sister Angela and her boyfriend- what was his name? Kyle? Cobb? Brenda couldn’t remember, she could only recall a dim image of a boyish-looking face and dark hair with the scent of a beta.

“What can I get for you ma’am?”

Half startled, Brenda turned to face the man on the opposite side of the counter. She checked her impulse to say ‘the usual’. “Sliced barbecue beef sandwich and a coke.”

She watched him slice a portion of meat from the succulent beef brisket. The outside had been seared to hold in the natural juices, then coated with a tangy sauce and cook slowly until it was tender. Brenda was too aware of the aromas that filled little café. There was nothing like Texas barbecue! Mason had told her it was because the meat was cooked over mesquite wood, its smoke adding a unique flavour to the neat- so she recalled.

After paying for her order, she carried the tray with her sandwich and drink away from the counter. No one was seated at ‘their’ table, but she walked to a smaller one fighting the urge to sit there. The food tasted as good as she remembered it had, yet after a couple of bites, her appetite fled. She didn’t know whether to blame the empty table by the window or the sudden freshness of her memories. She forced down a couple more bites, then gave up, nearly bolting from the café.