Misadventures Of A Single Mom (Big Sky Boyfriends #1)

Chapter 3

3

Ty and the Colonel couldn’t make heads or tails of the footprints and were not happy, to say the least, about someone traipsing through my backyard. We sat on my patio having second and third cups of coffee. I pretended I wasn’t absurdly embarrassed about the whole nipple incident. The Colonel was oblivious to the whole thing and Ty was a gentleman and didn’t bring it up. But his lips quirked up frequently as the three of us talked and I caught him glancing at my very covered chest. Nothing was falling out now that I wore a big, baggy sweatshirt. It didn’t stop him from looking though, nor from my nipples getting hard wondering exactly what he was thinking.

We chocked the footprints up to some college kid, drunk and lost. Happened often enough to be plausible. We debated what to do about preventing another late-night visitor. Options ranged from Zach’s idea of setting booby traps to the Colonel’s thoughts about adding motion sensors to my exterior lights. The motion sensors won.

Zach and Bobby weren’t completely convinced, so they strung some red velvet holiday ribbon with little sleigh bells attached—dug from our Christmas box in the garage—over the fence gate. Just in case. They believed this might notify us of intruders or bad guys. Worked for me.

Two days later, the hubbub had died down completely. No nighttime motion had been sensed. Thunderstorms had passed through which made the ground even softer and the grass taller. The footprints all but disappeared. The boys moved on to the excitement of the upcoming camping trip with the Colonel. Every summer we ventured up to Hyalite, settled into our usual spot at the base of the reservoir with a view of the peak for two nights of wilderness splendor. Even though it was still three days away, they were super excited.

So far, we’d ridden our bikes to morning swim lessons at Bogert Pool, peddled home and eaten lunch on the patio. Sounded simple, but getting two kids to ride a mile down a straight, flat bike path—two ways—was super hard. Someone complained about something. Tired legs, thirst, heat. A chain usually came off or something was dropped more times than humanly possible. To me, it was almost worth depleting the ozone by driving to prevent me from strangling my children. But they had endless reserves of energy that needed draining and bike riding wore them out. Besides, when the first snowstorm hit—most likely mid-September, only a short six weeks away—I would think longingly of the leisurely summer days cruising around on our bikes.

I was folding clothes in the laundry room when I heard Zach call for me, launching himself down the basement steps like a crazy man. He had that Holy Crap look on his face. “Mom, come quick. Bobby’s stuck.”

“Stuck? Stuck where?” I had a beach towel half folded but dropped it and ran up the steps like the house was on fire. “Bobby!” I called, panicked.

“On the patio,” Zach said.

I skidded to a stop, did a U-turn in the family room and headed outside. There, I found Bobby standing next to the patio umbrella stand, bent at the waist, his left arm inside the PVC pipe. Stuck. “Hi, Mommy,” he said calmly.

I grabbed gently at his upper arm and tugged. Definitely stuck. “How on earth did you do this?” There was no blood, his arm was still attached, and Bobby wasn’t freaking out, so I didn’t freak either.

“Zach put candy down the pipe and dared me to get it.”

I gave Zach the evil eye and he had the smarts to look contrite. The situation was actually really funny and I tried not to laugh. First, I had to get Bobby’s arm out, then I could go laugh in private while the boys contemplated life in their rooms for an hour or two of time-out.

The umbrella stand was of the homemade variety. Wind in Bozeman could gain hurricane strength without trying too hard. A thunderstorm or just the summer version of Chinook winds could take down trees, whisk kiddie pools away to another county and blow down patio umbrellas. To combat having to replace a broken umbrella every thunderstorm, the Colonel and I made our own sturdy variety, sure to keep the strongest winds from blowing over and damaging the weakest of umbrellas. Even though I had a covered patio, the umbrella shaded various spots in the yard, like the sandbox, on the hotter days.

We’d taken a five-gallon paint bucket, dropped a three-inch PVC pipe in the middle and filled the bucket around it with quick dry cement. The PVC pipe stuck out the top about a foot and the patio umbrella pole slid right in. Nothing tipped that much concrete since it was so heavy. Unless it was a tornado—but living in a valley between three mountain ranges—made that impossible.

“Are you hurt at all?” I knelt down and talked to Bobby at his level.

He shook his head, although his dark eyes looked a little wary. I was sure mine did, too.

“Okay, let’s think about this.” I took in his arm, the PVC pipe and contemplated. I could cut the pipe above the concrete, but I’d have to measure Bobby’s other arm to see how far down his fingers went. Didn’t want to lop off any necessary appendages. But I didn’t have the tools to cut through PVC. Screwdrivers, a hammer and a couple of wrenches. No major power tools or saws. There wasn’t much choice but to call in reinforcements.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Bobby calmly. I dashed into the kitchen and got my cell. I found the non-emergency number for the fire department on the side of the fridge and dialed.

“Is Ty Strickland there, please?” I crossed my fingers he wasn’t out on a call. Was it his day on shift or had I forgotten? What had he said the other night? I walked back out to the patio to sit with Bobby. After a minute, Ty came on the phone.

“This is Jane West. I’m sorry to call you at work, but I’ve got a problem. No one’s hurt, but Bobby’s arm is stuck in our patio umbrella stand.”

He was quiet for a moment, probably processing this and trying to formulate a mental picture. I heard him chuckle. “We’ll be right there. Tell Bobby to hang tough.”

Ten minutes later, a fire truck worth of firemen traipsed through the kitchen to tend to Bobby’s arm.

“We’ve taken bets on how this happened,” Ty told me, his eyes bright with humor. They briefly dropped to my mouth, and then lower still to my breasts.

Why did my nipples get hard whenever he was around? One glance from him was all it took. My eyes darted to the other firefighters to see if they’d noticed. They hadn’t, too busy putting Bobby at ease. But the way Ty’s mouth ticked up at the corner led me to believe he had and the way his eyes heated, he liked what he saw.

“You have a one-track mind!” I hissed.

Ty laughed, then leaned in close. Real close “With you and that pretty pink nipple? Absolutely.”

My mouth fell open and my cheeks flushed. “I have two of them,” I countered, stunning myself at the witty response.

I couldn’t help but laugh, because it was his turn to blush. It felt good to banter with a man. Special, like there was some secret between the two of us, especially with a bunch of firefighters a few feet away.

Yeah, I’d just flirted about my nipples. Kelly would have rolled her eyes at how I’d gone about luring Ty in, but it seemed to have worked. He was interested based on the way his eyes got dark and his jaw clenched

“Hey, Ty! Look at me. I’m stuck!” Bobby said, his free arm waving around and tearing Ty’s eyes from mine.

Once he turned his attention to Bobby, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. Sure, they were frazzled because I was worried about my child. It had nothing to do with Ty’s heated glances, his obsession with a certain part of my anatomy. Yeah, right.

With everyone focused on Bobby, I got to check out Ty in his firefighter uniform. Blue dress shirt with a shiny silver badge on his chest, navy pants that made his butt look amazing. If he was going to look at my chest, then I had free rein to look at his ass, and the rest of him. He had on heavy black work boots, a walkie-talkie and other various electronic do-hickeys clipped to his belt. The few times I’d seen him, he always looked crisp and precise. Not a hair out of place. Although a military buzz cut made that part fairly easy. I had my suspicions he was a neat-nick, just like the Colonel. Probably a lengthy stay in the military did that to you.

I had to admit, Goldie had been right. He was a real man. A real man who looked at my mouth as if he wanted to kiss it! At my breasts as if he wanted to kiss them, too. I stole a quick glance at his hands. Big. Rugged. Yup, he could probably do a lot with those hands. And I wasn't thinking about a snow blower either.

No one rushed to get a gurney or call in an ambulance for Bobby. I made Zach tell them what had happened. I figured it was punishment enough.

“I guess this is the kind of call you like. No one’s hurt, no fire to put out,” I said as I snapped a quick photo with my phone of Bobby with his arm stuck, grinning. I had to email the photo to my mom and Goldie and everyone else who wouldn't want to miss seeing it. Besides, I needed a picture to show Bobby’s girlfriend in twenty years to embarrass him. I stayed out of the way as Ty knelt next to him.

“Okay, champ. No big deal here. I’m going to use this hacksaw and cut the pipe.” Ty ran a reassuring hand over Bobby’s dark hair. “When you go to preschool next month you’re going to have a great story to tell!”

Bobby nodded his head happily, probably excited about sharing this experience with his fellow four-year olds. He seemed to trust Ty and didn't panic as the blade went back and forth. I realized I was holding my breath and let it out. I had faith in Ty, too, but I wanted Bobby to keep all of his fingers.

Within a few minutes, the PVC pipe that stuck out of the cement was sawed off. The firemen cheered and made a big deal out of it for Bobby, arm still trapped in plastic tubing up to his armpit. He smiled and loved all the attention. Zach did not. Served the little bugger right.

“Cheese, Mommy!” Bobby held his arm straight from his body and hammed it up for the camera some more.

I fumbled for a moment, but got the shot. I shook my head and laughed as a few firemen tended to him.

Ty stood up and came over to me. “Doing okay?”

“I could have used a little reassurance my baby wasn't going to get his arm sawed off,” I grumbled.

He moved in close, his hip brushing against my waist. “You kept a brave face,” he whispered in my ear, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. His warmth seeped into me through the thin cotton of my shirt. “Show me the picture,” he added, probably trying to distract me. I didn’t need to show him my phone to do that. Just his scent and closeness distracted the heck out of me.

Since I couldn’t tug him into my bedroom for a little grown-up time out, I held my cell up for him to see the screen. I tried to click the buttons for the photo to come up, but his warm breath fanning my neck made such a simple task extremely difficult. Ty was very good at distraction.

“This week we’ve been on three meth ODs. That’s not what I call fun.” He didn’t sound happy about it. “We sure do like a good fire, but this,” —he pointed to Bobby’s image when I finally pulled it up and chuckled— “we’ll talk about at the Christmas party.”

He winked at me.

I licked my lips and his eyes watched the motion. “I’ll…um…make sure to email you a copy.”

One of the firemen asked for some dish soap and I went to get it. They used it to lube Bobby's arm and he quickly wriggled free. First thing, he launched himself at Ty and hugged him around the legs, soap and all. Ty knelt down and hugged him back. Pagers and walkie-talkie’s squawked, signaling another call. Before the men dashed off, they quickly gave both boys Junior Fireman badges, Bobby for bravery, Zach for creativity.

I called Goldie and told her about the boys and the patio umbrella stand before she heard it somewhere else first.

“They’re boys,” she replied. “This is only the start of the shenanigans they’re going to pull.”

Great.

“Oh! I forgot to tell you. I heard from Mary Trapp’s sister who is the hair dresser for Carl Winkler’s first wife. She’s the Fire Marshall’s godmother. They were at church together on Sunday and she found out?—”

Huh? “What are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m getting to it,” she scolded.

“Well?”

“Ty doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

The Bozeman grapevine at its finest.

No girlfriend, significant other, attachments. I felt elated and petrified all at once. Just one look or a casual touch of Ty’s hand sent me into heart palpitations. What would it be like to actually kiss him? And if he got his hands—or mouth—on those nipples he seemed so eager about, I would probably come.

By eight, the kids were conked out. The full day had finished them off. After their baths, they’d insisted their plastic badges be clipped to the collars of their jammies. Deciding on a sleepover, Bobby was on the bottom of Zach’s bunk bed, Zach on top.

They’d thought instead of having the gnomes in bed with them, they’d put them out on the front stoop to watch for the newspaper man. They believed the newspaper appeared on the doorstep by magic. I kept trying to explain about the newspaper man delivering the papers early in the morning, but they didn’t buy that logic, especially since they thought everyone else was asleep when they were. It was magic something akin to the tooth fairy. So, they left the gnomes out front to watch and see what really happened.

The windows were open, which brought in cooler air and the smell of cut grass. Fresh Montana air. None of the polluted big city stuff.

The phone rang. Caller ID said Olivia Reed.

“Hi, Mom.”

“I love the picture you emailed. It was impossible not to laugh when I saw it. Are you sure Bobby’s all right?”

I knew she’d be worried if she heard about it from the Colonel or Goldie. Fortunately, the photo downplayed anything they might have told her.

“He’s fine. You should be more worried about Zach. The little bugger.”

My mom couldn’t help but chuckle at that. “Tell Bobby I said he was very brave and I’ll see them soon. I have my ticket for the fifteenth.”

“Can’t wait to see you.”

It was two hours later in Savannah so my mom didn’t linger on the phone. She was the early-to-bed, early-to-rise type. Ten at night was pretty late for her. I loved it when she visited since she woke up before the kids. Meaning, I could sleep in.

I plugged my cell into the charger and started cleaning up the dinner dishes. For a fifties house, the kitchen reeked of early eighties. It had dark wood cabinets with forest green laminate counters. The floor was a light pine, which matched nothing. The only updates in the past twenty-five years had been recessed light fixtures, a new fridge and stove top.

I wasn’t in a rush to update. The garage was off the kitchen and the room became a catch-all for coats, boots, school projects and all and sundry that came into the house. It didn’t make sense to modernize if it was a mess all the time.

The fabulous feature of the room was wall-to-wall windows in front of the kitchen table that looked out on the back yard. It made the outdoors a part of the room. I was closing the dishwasher when there was a knock at the door. Ty.

“Hi. I wanted to see how Bobby was doing,” Ty said, a small shipping box under one arm.

He wore his work uniform and looked perfect. Hot. Jumpable.

I wore “The Usual”. Shorts and a T-shirt. Barefooted. My hair in a ponytail. I'd looked better, but I was learning this man seemed to only see me at my less than fashionably-perfect moments. Maybe I had less of them than I’d previously thought. Pushing him out the door and getting pulled together was a stupid idea. Having a door slammed in his face for ten minutes—how long did it take to shower, blow dry long hair and apply makeup?—would be a sure sign I was trying too hard.

I stood back and let him in. “He’s fine. They’re asleep already. I really appreciate your help today.”

“All in a day’s work.” Ty placed the box on the counter, and then shoved his hands into his pants’ pockets.

“I just finished doing the dishes. Want a beer?” I walked over to the fridge and pulled out two. I wasn’t curious about the box at all. Nope.

“Sure.” Ty leaned a hip against the counter, took the beer I handed him and twisted off the top. “Can I ask you something?”

He took a swig.

I wasn’t sure what he would say. He could ask anything from borrowing a cup of sugar to what color underwear I wore, so I just nodded my head.

“Should I be making a move on you or something?” Ty’s mouth tipped up in a sly smile.

Yes! Make a move! I got that nervous feeling in my stomach, the one where the butterflies tried to escape, and took a glug of my beer to stall. And hopefully drown the butterflies. I definitely fantasized about kissing him a whole heck of a lot. More than kissing. Kissing was so seventh grade. I wanted him naked and deep inside me. Maybe his head between my thighs. I cleared my throat realizing he was waiting for some kind of response. “Why...why do you ask?”

“When I got home from work tonight,”—he pointed to the box—“this was on my doorstep.”

I frowned at it. “Order something?”

Shaking his head, he said, “Not quite. Inside there’s a super-sized box of condoms, ribbed variety.” He used his fingers to help him count off the items. “One of those fingertip vibrators, a big bottle of lube, a pair of pouchless briefs and some anal beads. Are the beads meant for you or for me?”

“Holy crap.” I was so mortified I might throw up. I put my beer on the counter with a loud thud and held onto the surface for support. I tilted my head and looked up at Ty. He seemed relaxed and unruffled, once more enjoying my embarrassment. Saying the words ‘pouchless briefs’ didn’t seem to bother him at all. In fact, he was smiling.

I pulled the box toward me and pried back a cardboard flap with a finger. Yup, there was the great big box of condoms. Then I realized he thought I was the culprit.

“You think I did this?” I sputtered. “This isn’t really my style. I usually take a plate of brownies to new neighbors.”

“Maybe you’re the aggressive type. Likes to show a man what she wants. Or certain parts of her,” he replied, smiling. His eyes moved blatantly to my breasts. “I like that in a woman.”

It was so absurd, I laughed. There was casual flirting and then there was this. Goldie’s box.

“Me? You think I’d pick out pouchless briefs for a guy?” If he only knew. I was so un-aggressive. I wanted desperately to tug him down the hall to my bedroom, maybe to begin with just to kiss him, but I couldn’t even do that. My nerves would make me start to giggle. I was such a mess! If I couldn’t even make the first move, how could I push pornographic underwear on him? Or anal beads!

“Just because I work in a sex store doesn’t mean I go for,”—I held up the black mesh pseudo-briefs with one finger—“this!” I slingshot them across the room. They landed on top of the toaster oven. I shivered. “I’m not getting a good mental image right now.”

Ty or any man, no matter how hot they were, would look ridiculous in a pair of underwear that left his bits and pieces hanging out. It was like the crotchless panty for men. And in black mesh. Again, whatever floated a person’s boat, but it didn’t do a thing for mine.

“I’m more a boxers kind of girl.” I darted a quick glance at Ty’s lower region wondering what he had on.

He noticed and waggled his eyebrows. “Wanna see if I’m a boxers kind of guy?”

Yes. “Um…” I felt like a fifteen-year-old girl with brand new, raging hormones mucking up all modest thoughts. I tapped the box. “This is all Goldie. My mother-in-law. She thinks I need…sex. She thinks I need sex with you .”

I ran my hand over my face, hoping to wipe off some of the scorching heat I felt there. I was more than competent to embarrass myself without any help from Goldie. Especially since I’d been caught checking out his package. I considered how I was going to murder her. Strangulation was good. I could strangle her with the pouchless briefs.

“Your mother-in-law…your MOTHER-IN-LAW thinks we should have sex?” Ty’s eyes bugged out, his mouth open, looking stunned. He took a big glug of beer. “Jesus. Your mother-in-law thinks we should have anal sex.”

“Can you please stop saying anal?” I asked, dying a slow death.

“I’m not sure if I should be thankful or hurt. Does she think I need that much help with a woman?” He pointed at the box.

I groaned. I had no doubt Ty knew exactly what to do with a woman.

“Let’s take Goldie out of this for a minute because she’ll be dead by morning. You haven’t thought about having sex with me?” Might as well put him on the spot.

“Well…yeah,” he replied. He grinned, looking a mixture of sheepish and eager. “Definitely. Very thoroughly and in about twenty different ways.”

Twenty? My panties were now officially ruined.

“Especially the other morning when you weren’t wearing a bra and your nipple… And that other time when your nipples?—”

I held up my hand to stop him. Obviously, the man wasn’t a monk and had a breast obsession. “I get the picture.” I did. I had the image in my head of his mouth on my breast, sucking and licking, tugging on the tip, maybe even using a little bit of his teeth, my fingers tangled in his hair. Yeah, that was a really good picture.

“I really like your nipples.” One side of his mouth tipped up in one of those wicked male grins. It was the grin of a man with sex on the brain. “And they really seem to like me.”

They did. They certainly did.

I felt heat shoot to the roots of my hair as my very desired nipples got hard beneath my thin bra. Time to change the subject.

I cleared my throat. “Goldie doesn’t think you need help, she thinks I do.”

He raised one eyebrow, then looked me up and down. The gaze was heated and intense. He took his time doing it, too. Especially in the nipple region. “If you keep going the braless route, you’ll have guys lined up around the block.”

Thank goodness I was wearing one right now, although it wasn’t doing much to hide my…interest in him. “I’ll…um, keep that in mind.”

Ty took another swig of beer. “You have an…interesting family. Never a dull moment around here.”

“Excitement’s not so bad,” I said. My life had been ho-hum for so long, I had to admit the past few days had been…action packed. Exciting. Thrilling.

Ty shook his head. “I’m done with excitement. Two tours in the Middle East and I’m full up on excitement. I’m trying for the quiet life.” He grabbed the box of condoms, left the rest. “I’ve got to go.”

I frowned. “Hey, I thought you didn’t need Goldie’s help.”

His grin was back when he turned to me. “Goldie helped by saving me a trip to the store.” He held up the box of condoms. “Tell her thanks for me.”

He walked toward the door but stopped and came back, stood right in front of me. Close enough I could see the blond stubble on his jaw, smell his fabulous scent, whatever it was. “Look, I’m more than okay with sex. That’s adventure, not excitement. A relationship, not happening. That’s more than I can handle right now.”

“What are the condoms for then?” I wondered.

He lifted the box. “Condoms are for sex. A relationship is when you don’t use them.”

Made sense to me in a single, commitment-phobic male sort of way. Goldie had said that I needed sex, not a relationship. She obviously thought an orgasm or two would help. In theory, I couldn’t argue with that. An orgasm would be darn good, but in reality, unless I pulled out that fingertip vibrator from the box, I’d have to get up enough nerve to be with a man. And with Ty, it was obviously no-strings-attached. While I wanted to jump him right now, it was something to think about

Ty brushed the knuckles of his hand holding the condom box ever so gently over my left breast. I felt my nipple harden from the contact and I watched as his pupils dilated at the sight. “Let me know.”

My mouth dropped open, my eyes briefly closed at the scorching, and surprising touch. It had been years since I’d had male contact like that.

Before I had time to react, Ty opened the door to leave and ran square into a man who had George the Gnome hugged against his chest. He was about five-ten, white, scraggly brown hair with an attempt at a mustache above his lip. He had a startled look of a deer about to be run over by a semi.

“What the…?” Ty said, surprised.

The man turned and bolted, Ty making chase after a moment to process. I dashed after them once I’d gathered my wits about me. I had a slower pace as my legs weren’t nearly as long as Ty’s and I didn’t have the same adrenaline rush as Gnome Stealer. Ty grabbed the guy’s arm but he wriggled free, stripping off his shirt in the process. He kept going as if the hounds of Hell were on his heels.

The gnome slipped out from under his arm and fell onto the street, breaking into pieces. Ty skidded to a stop, breathing deeply, the man’s flannel shirt dangling in one hand, box of condoms in the other. We watched the man take off around the corner onto Lincoln. He wasn’t coming back anytime soon. He was halfway to North Dakota.

After a moment of stunned silence, we looked down at George. He was broken into four large pieces of ceramic. I wasn’t sure how I would explain this to Zach. I couldn’t even explain it to myself. Hopefully, it could be put back together with the glue gun.

“What the hell?”

Ty knelt down next to the pieces and picked up a small bundle that had been hidden inside the gnome. Clear bubble wrap protected something that wasn’t gnome gizzards. It fit easily in Ty’s palm. I heard a car approach, so I quickly scooped up gnome parts and we walked together back to the house. I placed the pieces on the kitchen counter and watched as Ty unwrapped the packaging. Inside were an empty plastic bag and a glass vial with a black plastic screw top, the kind scientists used to create secret potions. It was filled with some kind of white goo.

“What is that?” I peered closely at it, squinting. “Glue? Dish soap?” This was super weird. Why was glue inside a gnome?

Ty lifted it up to the light, turned it around. Eyed it funny. “Looks like bull semen to me.”

That was the last thing I thought he’d ever say. Bull semen? I tried not to think about how one got sperm from a bull and into the vial. Yuck. Double yuck.

“I need to wash my hands.”