MAHALIA'S DILEMMA. (BWWM)

2

True to her words, Sally Anne Osborne had cleaned her late brother's lake house, and even had filled the fridge and pantries with groceries. Her phone chimed that it was past six in the evening and the four day road trip from Los Angeles to Chesterfield had left her bones melting and all she wanted to do was shower and sleep.

And as she walked back to her car parked in the gravel driveway to get her duffel bag filled with some of her clothes and toiletries, she stopped dead in her tracks. On the left side of her grandfather's lake house, there sat a newly built mansion type house, perplexing Mahalia, because it was a private lake and her grandfather and a few other handful of people had lake houses on it.

But Mahalia was more shocked to see a familiar Mercedes sitting idly on the driveway. She stifled a groan and marched back into the house, her duffel bag tucked underarm. And as she showered and had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for dinner,she still muttered begrudgingly and stewed as she got into bed in the guest room that had a king sized bed that had fresh sheets.

Oh Grant Watterson, knew what he was doing. She saw the look in his eyes earlier that day—the comic look she'd seen in his eyes all those years ago when he tried to be gentle to her girlish schoolgirl crush on him.

Now she was an adult, a full grown woman who was trying and was going to build her own business, not moon over a married man who was seventeen years older than her. And with that thought in mind she slept off, cuddling her pillow and dreams of her and Grant Watterson flooded her tired sleep.

His mouth on hers, kissing her senseless in places no one had, gunmetal blue eyes like that of a stormy cloudy night holding her in place, why her mouth and lips arched in sheer pleasure. That hard face with those dimples that popped up at the most random times—instantly disarming people—and those lips that were kissing her and kept lowering to the point of no return.

“Nooooo!” She screamed, jumping out of bed and hitting her head against the hand carved wooden headboard.

Her alarm clock in her phone chimed that it was three in the morning. Falling back against into the bed she wrestled off the covers, staring at the rotating ceiling fan in the eerily dark room that only had the moonlight streaming in through the patio doors and wondering why that dream. She was only fifteen when she realized she had a huge crush on Grant Watterson and had done everything to make it go away.

Realizing that sleep wasn't going to happen again, and that she needed air—not the hot air the ceiling fan kept tossing around—she threw on a hoodie over her tank top and opened the patio door that led to the private walkway to the quiet lake.

She sat on the deck dipping her feet into the lake, and enjoying the cool lake breeze on her bare thighs with her short shorts and her hand tucked into her hoodie pockets,eyes closed and head calm.

“No more Grant Watterson” She said calmly to herself. “That dream should be your last and only one of him”

Her head was so lost in the chanting of the new mantra that she didn't hear the silent movement and that someone sat on the pasture a good two feet away from her.

“You should know better than to be alone and unprotected at this ungodly hour” The deep buttery voice said calmly, making her jump and land in the ice cold autumn lake.

The rumbling laughter that followed, only added more to Mahalia's annoyance as she directed a fiery glare at the laughing figure of Grant Watterson who had on a pair of black basketball shorts, slides and a black hoodie on, holding his sides in wrenching laughter.

******

Her teeth shattered and her eyes were even more deadly than before. Grant sobered up and walked up to the deck offering her his hands that she slapped away in anger, swimming to dry ground herself and taking off her soaked hoodie.

Grant stifled a groan in his throat—her white tank top was wet and stuck against her wet torso and the moon didn't help matters. It accentuated her whole body, giving her a siren type look with her kinky curly hair dripping wet below her shoulders, her white spaghetti strap tank top glued to her torso showing her full boobs and n*****s and her short shorts wasn't any help either.

For his own sanity Grant took off his hoodie and handed it to her, “Take off your tank top or you'll get frostbite ”

She was shaking her head and already walking away, but Grant merely sidestepped her. “You'll catch a serious cold before you make the walk back”

Taking the hoodie, she turned her head questioningly at Grant, who nodded and turned around to give her privacy while she pulled off the tank top and wore his hoodie.

“If you think I'm going to thank you for this, you're terribly wrong” She said in an acrid voice.

He turned around to see her still staring icily at him, her curvy frame and short shorts lost underneath the big hoodie. She was looking at him with murderous eyes, but Grant was wondering if she was a misplaced angel.

Grant shook his head at her, “But I am sorry for almost drowning you”

Her teeth shattered as she wringed water out of her hoodie and tank top. “Apology not accepted”

And with that she marched to her grandfather's house that was hidden from the view of the lake by trees all the while mumbling and muttering.

He didn't know she would be that jumpy and scared. Grant saw her walking to the lake before she even got there. He was in the gym that was on the ground floor trying to have a workout—to rid his thoughts of her—when she emerged from the shadows. And he'd thought to himself ‘If you can't beat them, you join them’, and he'd done just that, but instead it seemed he'd gotten into her bad books.

He needed a distraction and the fiery look she had in her eyes was only adding fuel to the fire. She hadn't seen the last of him, if he had anything to say about it.

The games were about to begin.

*****

Mahalia dreamt again. Oh yes, and in this dream her hands were wrapped around Grant Watterson's elegant throat without a stubble and she was pressing really hard,all the while kicking him where the sun didn't shine.

But as she hauled boxes from her car, her eyes still looked deadly even though she'd showered with boiling water and had taken a couple of aspirins. She was still cold and she knew she was definitely going to be sick in the incoming days.

Blasted Grant Watterson.

Why was he even in the lake house, two minutes from her grandfather's? And she knew he was alone there—no Elvira Watterson or any of his three kids at that. Not that it was any of her business, but Mahalia felt like she should keep her safe distance.

Chesterfield wasn't only for the rich, it was also filled with vindictive rich people and if she stepped on the wrong pedicured toes she probably wouldn't be able to live peacefully anywhere else in North America.

“Morning Mahalia” The voice greeted from a safe distance this time, with a tint of mockery laced voice.

Mahalia gave a toothless grin at the smiling figure of Grant Watterson, who sat in the backseat of his idling car, dressed in another cashmere sweater, this time navy blue—like his eyes when he was triggered, like last night.

“Morning, Mr Watterson,” She said calmly, the direct opposite of her tumultuous insides.

“Have a nice day now. ” And with that she turned back to her boxes, hefting the ones containing little trinkets from the fashion shows she'd attended over the years.

“Let's help you out with this,” Grant Watterson said, hauling the box she'd been holding and adding another one on top from the open boot of her car, with Jude Hayes in tow still with boxes in his arms.

Mahalia looked around to make sure there wasn't anybody in sight but she could never be sure. She picked up a box and followed them into her house.

“You guys don't have to do this, they're just miniscule items and I am capable and able to do it,” She said, dropping the boxes at her feet in the room.

Jude Hayes went out to get the last three boxes, why Grant stared at the portrait over the fireplace. Her grandfather, father, Sally Anne and herself were smiling broadly at the camera, the lake behind them her cheeks stuffed with popsicles on that hot summer afternoon.

It was the last time she'd seen her grandfather and father, because hours later they both died in a ghastly motor accident.

“It's been what—fifteen years—right?” He turned and looked at her momentarily before turning back to the picture.

Mahalia cleared her throat, her train of thoughts returning to her and not glued on his sexy hands that were crossed—the same hands that were tormenting her earlier in her dreams.

She didn't care if he was reminiscing about her grandfather or father all she knew was she wasn't about to get caught up in whatever drama he had going on with his wife.

“Thank you for helping me with the boxes, but I'm sure you have to get on to work” It was a question, it was a dismissing sentence and Grant knew it too.

He turned to look at her, and she was just a head shorter than his six foot two self, but they were on eye level. “And you, don't you have a job to get on top?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I'm still settling in”

Grant Watterson smiled at her,then dipped his hands into the back pocket of his jeans, never taking his eyes off her and gave her a sleek black card with gold cursive writing.

“I have a job that's right for that masters degree in accounting you have under your belt”

His shoulder brushed hers as he left but she didn't mind because her eyes were fixated on the card and the fact that she just got a job offer—a job offer that she wasn't going to follow through on.

The idea was to run away from the fire and not towards it. Grant Watterson was fired and if she kept running into him, she was definitely going to get burnt. With that in mind she squeezed the business card, and threw it in the unlit fireplace.

Sally Anne must have been speaking to Grant about her, but if Mahalia has learned anything it's that, ‘you only have yourself’

******

Elvira Watterson nursed a headache and a mug of coffee, her sips and Sally Anne's little chatter the only thing she could hear in the vast house.

How did it get this bad? Her husband and kids are all gone and all she had now was Sally Anne—and even Sally Anne didn't work for her. Her eyes watered and all she wanted to do was crawl under the dining table and just cry.

“No more of that now, Elvira” Sally Anne said in a stern voice. “I made this pancakes with my strong secret ingredient to curb that nausea for you”

Sighing, she bit into the pancakes knowing that Sally Anne wouldn't let her wallow in pain on her watch. “Thank you, Miss Sally”

Sally Anne smiled and continued cooking, her back to Elvira, who was enjoying the pancakes.

“I thought the cleaners already had breakfast this morning?” Elvira asked to see Sally Anne whipping more pancakes.

“Oh, these are for Mahalia,” Sally Anne said with a smile. “Even though I stacked that kitchen with groceries, I know she wouldn't cook so I invited her to have breakfast with me”

Elvira then remembered, Mahalia Osborne was back. And even though she was drunk, she didn't miss how much that chubby faced teenager who always reined in her sharp tongue and blended into plain sight had changed.

She might have been sitting when Elvira stumbled in, but the changes were there and Elvira had felt senescence while watching her watch her from under her long lashes, with those big chestnut colored eyes and that smooth caramel chocolate skin.

Clearing her throat she pushed the remaining pancakes away, her appetite instantly ruined. “I never thought I'd see her here again, with the way she packed up and left years ago”

Sally Anne shrugged. “I'm just glad that she's okay. I know she's strong willed and self depending but I hope she'll let me help her this time”

Elvira wanted to roll her eyes, young, attractive women like Mahalia Osborne didn't work, all they did was attach themselves to rich married men like Grant and........

All they do is attach themselves to married men.

Elvira pondered it, there was no way Grant would leave her for a non-entity like Mahalia—the cooks great-niece. No absolute way in hell.

Grant only thought she'd cheated on him, he had no evidence, no idea—just a gut feeling. And now that gut feeling without proof has driven a wedge between their once happy family.

But if Grant gets caught in the act, she could be the victim, the innocent housewife and the woman willing to forgive her husband and ready to put their twenty plus years of marriage and children at the forefront.

The plan sounded so crazy that it just might work and Mahalia walking in dressed in a flowery summer Aline dress that subtly accentuated her curves was all the sign Elvira Watterson needed.

*******

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