Twila's Tempest Page 3

  “Your generation seemed to stick it out for some reason.”

  His father pulled his ballcap and brushed a hand through the few hairs he had left on the top of his head. “You make it sound like a prison sentence.”

  “Would be for me,” he said honestly, palming his club.

  “That’s because Heather isn’t the right woman for you. I might be a little biased, but you’re a helluva good looking man, and you draw all sorts of women, but ninety-nine percent of them don’t have what you need to be happy.”

  He smiled at his old man. “Yeah, and what’s that?” As far as he was concerned any warm-blooded woman ranked high on his list for a quick distraction.

  A commotion somewhere on the other side of the bridge caught their attention. Heads on the course snapped toward the noise.

  “What the hell is that all about?” his father asked, squinting into the distance.

  A high pitched scream put Drake’s feet into gear. Thundering over the bridge, he saw a gathering of elderly residents all peering into the waterway skirting the swimming pool area. One woman was gesturing frantically, and another had her arms around her trying to calm her down.

  Drake ran up the knoll and stopped dead. Under the bridge, a small, shaggy dog was barking its fool head off, legs stuck in the muck up to its white belly. Halfway down the steep bank, Twila navigated her way toward the water, and the gator wasn’t more than ten feet away from the dog. Shit!

  He snagged the cleaning pole from the fence, and jumped over the side as Twila reached the dog. He rammed the pole into the gator’s face. Its tail thrashed, smacking the water.

  “Don’t step in the—”

  Too late. Twila hit a soft spot, and her foot sank deep. Her arms twirled to keep balance. She stretched forward and grabbed the dog, pulling him from the mud, turning at the waist and giving him a heave toward the bank. The dog landed at the top, and a man grabbed the yapping ball of fluff. The gator’s mouth yawned open as it advanced. Twila pulled her foot from the mud, but fell on her back side.

  Drake abandoned the pole, and leaped to hard ground behind Twila, grasping her around the waist and drawing her back. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Gators were fast, and he herded Twila up the bank, staying close. She scrambled and he followed, darting a look over his shoulder to make sure those snapping teeth weren’t going to take a bite out of his leg. When he turned, Twila’s mud-caked derriere pinned his adrenaline in the red zone. They clawed their way to the top and safe ground. Twila rolled onto her back and lay there breathing heavily.

  He squatted beside her, his gaze racing around the twists and shapely turns of her body, then he shook his head. “Are you crazy? Those things are damn fast.”

  The old folks surrounded them, and the owner of the dog held it close to her chest exclaiming her thanks.

  Twila’s hand shielded her eyes from the sun and she grinned up at the old girl. Ignoring his comment, she said, “No problem, Mrs. Clarke.”

  Drake blew out a breath and stood. When he stretched out a hand, Twila’s gaze landed on him. She didn’t accept his help, but instead rolled to her feet.

  “Thanks,” she said, and dismissed him.

  She gave the dog a scratch behind the ear and sauntered away. A visual replay of soft features, bourbon colored eyes, and full lips any sane man would want to spend a few hours teasing with his mouth, churned inside him. He darted a glance at his father.

  His dad chewed the inside of his cheek for a second then said, “Heart.”

  “Say what?”

  “A valiant heart like your own, son. That’s what you haven’t found yet.”

  Sentiments like that belonged on Valentine’s cards. Maybe past generations believed in death do you part. Statistics didn’t lie. Parting happened in the form of split dividends and bitter feelings more than death. Heather’s friends kept lawyers in Mercedes’. It almost seemed like a game to them. Barely in their thirties, several of them were working on marriage number three, turning marriage and commitment into a tangled mess.

  “You gonna stand there and gawk all day, or are we gonna drink beer?” his dad queried.

  “What? Yeah, sure.”

  Drake and his father headed back to the green to collect their clubs. The mud Twila had transferred to his jeans when he’d pulled her out, dried quickly. He needed a shower. That and to calm an impromptu erection her warmth had caused when he’d slid his arms around her waist and her ass pressed firmly against his body.

  Chapter Three

  “Drake, Gordon, I’ll be back in an hour,” his mom called out, hooking a beach bag over her shoulder.

  Drake watched his mom slip into her shoes. “Going to the beach?” Drake asked.

  “No, honey, pool aerobics. I take it every Thursday morning. It’s good for the joints.”

  Slipping a T-shirt over his head, he said, “I’m going to head out for a jog. I’ll walk over there with you.” It wasn’t often he had one on one time with his mom.

  With an arm hooked through his, she bid other residents good morning as they walked to the pools. They stopped a few times, and she introduced him to some of the seniors. The residents rambled down the streets for their morning exercise in a common outfit, thick soled sneakers and sun visors.

  “Glad you’re doing a little exercise to keep in shape, Mom,” he said as they neared the community building.

  It housed a large auditorium, kitchen, and card room. The old boys exercise regime included telling stories and drinking beer while trying to sink an eight ball.

  “Admittedly, I may have been a little resistant at first,” she said with a quick step beside him. “Twila convinced me to do it. I gave her a good fight before I caved, but I do enjoy it.”

  He chuckled. There was that name again. “You spend a lot of time with Twila, don’t you?”

  “We’re like two peas in a pod.” She squeezed his arm. “No one else wants to listen to me griping about getting old. Besides, she needs someone to look after her. I’ve got her six.”

  He laughed at her terminology. “Sounds like you want to adopt her.”

  “I would in a heartbeat.”

  “Wouldn’t mind a little sister to pick on,” he teased, thinking about the way Twila had rebuked his help the other day.

  They reached the pools, and he saw the old girls milling to one side. Pushing on the gate, it clicked open, and he held it for his mom to pass through. He was about to leave when someone caught his eye. Instead of making a quick getaway, he followed his mother inside.

  The ladies stood in their one-piece suits, all shapes and sizes, smiling and nodding as Twila spoke to them. Her shapely legs did a scissor kick as she explained the exercise she wanted them to copy. Dark curls cascaded down her back, the ends tickling the indent of her sleek spine attached to one absolutely, mind blowing, voluptuous ass. He contemplated the lucky man who got an opportunity to see her on her hands and knees while riding his way to heaven. Twila in shorts was pretty sweet. Twila in a bikini had him sitting down in one of the lounge chairs and shifting his hands to cover his response. His mother quirked a look his way, and he waved her off.

  Twila waded up the stairs, and helped the ladies into the pool. They gripped the hand rail, taking unsteady steps. All but one found a space along the edge, chatting and starting their exercises. Mrs. Sanders watched, but remained in her chair. Twila exited the pool, quickly walked over, and knelt down in front of her. Mrs. Sanders shook her head as Twila spoke to her.

  She lived a couple doors down from his parents. A sweet lady who’d lost her husband a few years ago. Their only daughter lived in Europe, and she’d adopted his parents as good friends, always dropping off handmade towels embroidered with swirling designs for Christmas and birthdays.

  Something definitely had the old girl worried. He pushed himself up and strolled over. Twila had her hand on Mrs. Sanders shoulder when he reached them.

  “Hi, Drake, nice to see you,” Mrs. Sanders said.

&nb
sp; Twila didn’t turn to look at him when he hunched down in front of Mrs. Sanders. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the water?” he asked, giving her a friendly smile.

  With a deep sigh Mrs. Sanders looked longingly toward the pool. “I feel a little weak this morning. These old legs aren’t cooperating,” she said, her hands kneading together.

  “Mrs. Sanders, you can hang onto the edge and only do as much as you feel capable of. The water makes it easier to move. It’ll be good for your legs,” Twila reassured.

  “I used to be a strong swimmer, you know,” Mrs. Sanders said.

  Drake could see she really wanted to join the other women. Covering her aging fingers with his hand, he said, “Tell you what, why don’t I give you a hand.” He drew his shirt over his head, kicked off his shoes and pulled his socks.

  Twila stood. His gaze ran up her toned leg to a swell of hip. “You don’t mind, do you?” For a second, her pretty eyes flashed across his shoulders. Down south, his parts responded to her subtle glance, which was damn embarrassing.

  “Would you feel better if he joined you in the water, Mrs. Sanders?” Her tone stiff and professional.

  Mrs. Sanders held out her hand, and he helped her stand. “If you don’t mind, Drake? That would be really sweet.”

  Taking the stairs with care, he kept a wary eye on her. Mrs. Sanders really had gotten shaky on her feet since he’d last seen her.

  Twila joined them, and put the ladies through an easy workout meant to stretch and get the circulation going. She reassured them and watched over all of them. One of the old gals decided to push it a little too much, and Twila gently suggested she tone it down a notch.

  Lending an arm for support, Mrs. Sanders followed along. No longer weighted by gravity, she smiled.

  All the ladies were in better spirits when they’d finished and were back on the pool deck. Twila reinforced how well they had done while he lingered in the water since the view of her backside was worth every second. Whisking up a towel, she strung it over her shoulders then helped them gather their things.

  He loved swimming, second on his list to jogging, and he didn’t get to do it as much as he wanted. Rolling in the water, Drake stroked from end to end, putting in a few laps. Reaching the steps, he swiped the water from his face and looked up in time to see Twila shutting the gate. She looked through the bars and their gazes tangled together for a brief moment. He gave her a small nod. Within a blink she’d disappeared, obscured by the tall hedges surrounding the pool.

  Guys he’d hung with before renaming some gal ‘Mrs’ talked about chemistry. No such thing. Getting the hots for some good looking woman, he understood. Some kind of cosmic chemical reaction between two people sold a few million romance novels every month, but it wasn’t real.

  The warm day brought residents out for an early swim. Some folks toted coolers and setup for a few hours of tanning. Families and guests were permitted in this pool, while residents had the sole use of the other pool.

  “Hey,” a woman’s voice said, drawing him away from his thoughts of dark curls and curvy hips.

  “Hi,” he said, watching a blonde wade down the stairs, her string bikini barely covering her attributes. She’d arrived with her family in tow and settled at a table behind him. Big blue eyes surveyed him with interest. With perfectly tanned skin from head to toe, slender and attractive, she joined the thousands of young beauties that lined beaches and pools across the state.

  She waded closer. “I’m Casey.”

  “Drake Addison.”

  She gave him a smile and her gaze took a detour across his torso. “Nice to meet you, Drake. How long are you staying?”

  “Couple weeks. Visiting the folks.” Casey rose out of the water like a sultry commercial, the water sliding down her skin and into the crease between barely concealed nipples.

  “My Grandmother has a birthday next week. We’re visiting from L.A.”

  He surveyed the visitors, slathering on the suntan oil.

  “My sisters and I were going to head out and party a little tonight. Know of a good place?” she asked, giving him a smile that said the next question would be whether he’d join her.

  “The Criss Cross is a pretty good place,” he suggested. Heather and her friends partied there when she was in town to visit her folks.

  “Why don’t you come with us?” She’d slid through the water and slowly tread her arms in front of him.

  Sweet, young and ready to party. A few years ago he would’ve jumped at the chance. “Not my thing anymore,” he said honestly. Tempting, and he didn’t have a second of doubt he could be slamming her between the thighs tonight if he wanted to, but nothing about her stood out as more than a one-night stand. That’s how Heather had started out, but she kept coming around, and he was a guy who liked sex. Then dinners had been added once in a while, but the truth be told, he hated the party scene she kept dragging him to. He’d been, seen, and now he was long past it.

  Casey stood up in front of him. Her breasts tantalizingly close. “Well,” she said turning on a high wattage white smile. “Maybe something a little more quiet and private.”

  He grinned at her. Since turning thirty-five, the excitement had dulled after years of bed sheet gymnastics. Heather stayed for breakfast, even though he wanted her to leave. Then the texting started. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got plans.”

  “Oh.” Her pink lips pushed into a little pout.

  “Wish your grandmother a happy birthday for me.” He got out of the pool, dried off and headed out for his run.

  After three miles he doubled back, and ran twice around the outer road that circled the park. Rounding Gaynor St. he slowed his pace to cool down. Each pad held a distinctly different trailer on a clean and neatly trimmed spot of land. People puttered in their driveways or dug in their gardens. Passing an older modular trailer, he might have missed her, but that beautiful rear of hers attracted him like a beacon in the night.

  Twila had a crowbar wedged in an old fence, trying to rip the boards off. An elderly gentleman sat close by in his wheelchair and chattered away to her. Drake’s lips twitched as he watched for a few seconds. Wrenching as hard as she could, the old boards squeaked with the nails protesting their release. He sauntered across the lawn, and the old guy gave him a nod.

  Twila huffed as she tugged on a board refusing to budge.

  “Umm, can I give you a hand?”

  “No,” she blurted, then cursed at the resistance of the old gnarly wood.

  With a palm to her shoulder, she stopped pulling. Grasping the crowbar from her, he said, “It’ll be easier if you take the crossbeam down first.” She backed away, but wouldn’t look at him. Wedging the bar between the post and crosspiece, he gave it a couple good cranks, repeating it three times, once in the middle and once at the other end. With the last pull, the beam fell to the ground. Picking it up, he tossed it onto the pile Twila had started.

  She nodded, and if not mistaken, her cheeks blushed, but it was hard to say since her face was already flushed. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Twila held out her gloved hand, and he gave her back the crowbar. Instead of starting a conversation, she went straight back to work, wiggling the boards out of the frame. Piling three in her arms, she shuffled past him and dropped them on the waste pile.

  “Thanks for your help, son,” the old guy said, looking up from his wheelchair. “Dale Christian.”

  “No problem. Drake Addison,” he said, extending his hand.

  “Ah, you must be Becka and Gordon’s son?”

  Twila didn’t stop to talk. She tugged three more boards from the fence line and walked past him again. “I am.”

  “Got your mom’s invitation for her birthday party. I’d like to bring her a little something, got any ideas?”

  “She likes flowers, but don’t spend a lot. Mostly, she wants everyone’s company, so she can fatten them up, Mr. Christian.”

  “Twila, you going to Becka’s party
?” Mr. Christian asked.

  “I promised to give Becka a hand serving and cleaning up.” With a yank on a stubborn board, she stumbled backwards, but found her footing and resumed her attack on two more boards.

  Mr. Christian and he eyed each other. Maybe he’d ticked her off by interfering or maybe the attraction only went one way, but he was having a tough time keeping his eyes off her. Twila’s T-shirt stuck to her skin, and her hair sat piled on top of her head. Some of the little curls had escaped and lay flat against her sweaty forehead. The smudge of dirt on her right cheek, made her pretty damn adorable.

  “Mr. Christian, I’m going to borrow Mr. Abernathy’s truck and take a load to the dump.”

  “Thanks, Twila,” Mr. Christian gave her a smile filled with yellowing teeth.

  Drake watched her leave, and surveyed the remainder of the fence. Within a few minutes, he had all the boards removed. Bringing down the cross rails didn’t take long.

  “Can I offer you a beer, son?” Mr. Christian asked, his hand dropping to the controls on the wheelchair.

  “No thank you, sir. Where does Mr. Abernathy live?”

  “Other side of the park,” he said with a jerk of his head.

  “Twila must be a triplet because I see her all over the park. Either that or she runs her ass off.”

  “Sure does. She’s pretty too, so I don’t mind when she comes over to help me.”

  He chuckled. “Guess not. Are you planning on replacing this fence? The posts are cemented in the ground. They’ll need to be dug out.”

  “Don’t need fences around here. Must have been city people who owned the place before me. They always want to keep neighbors out.”

  He nodded. “I can dig these out for you.”

  “If you’re offering, I’m not refusing. Twila said she’d do it, but it’s back-breaking work.”

  By the time she returned with the truck, he had two of the posts dug out. She backed the little quarter-ton onto the lawn. With barely a glance at him, she started heaving the boards into the back of the truck. When she was done, she walked over and grabbed one of the fence posts he’d dug out. The two-by-two foot chunk of cement anchored to the end didn’t deter her, and she dragged it toward the truck. There was no way she could…sure enough she squatted like a professional weightlifter and wrapped her arms around the cement.