Welcome To Corbin's Bend Page 4

  And then her attitude grew shoddier.

  She was in pain, though she had not told the doctor that, mortified by the morning's events and pissed off at the gorgeous man to her left who was being far too nice, considering how she was reacting to him. So when they reached her house, she told him off.

  Grimacing at the memory, she rubbed her eyes, as if by doing so she could forget that horrible moment.

  He had just gotten out of the driver's side of his truck when she slipped out of the passenger side, hitting the snow with a thump, but still managing to stay upright, and began her walk to the front door. "Whoa," he said, grasping her arm. "You still aren't well enough to—"

  Wrenching her arm out of his grasp, she climbed the few steps up to her porch and turned around, glaring at him from a much higher vantage point. Here she could almost stare him straight in the eyes. "Look. I'm fine. I don't know why you feel you need to treat me like an invalid or old lady but I assure you, I can wipe my own ass!"

  His eyebrows rose and a small cough left his lips, a cough that she had the feeling was a cover for a laugh. "I'm sure you can," he said dryly. "But you're in the middle of Nowhere, Colorado, Ms. Kendle. If you fell down, who would know? If your head began to hurt badly, how would you get help? I take pride in this community and do my best to help her residents. I—"

  "Oh, good for you! If you remember, I'm not a member of your precious housing development. So, why don't you just leave me alone? I do not want or need your help, Mr. Carmichael." On her high from telling him off, she turned and walked up to the door… only to realize she had left her purse in his truck. He seemed to realize the problem, and by the time she turned to march down the stairs to retrieve it, he had gone to the cab and was back, holding it out to her. Neither of them said a word as she turned back to the door, unlocked it, and walked in, slamming it behind her.

  Her high lasted all of about a millisecond before she crashed onto her couch and cried. She had spent most of the last two days in bed trying to forget. Unfortunately it didn't work, though not for want of trying. Yesterday she had been brought out of staring at her ceiling by the perpetual ringing of her doorbell. When she opened it, it was to find Lelo and Kelli on her porch smiling widely at her.

  "Fixed your truck," he told her, holding out her keys. "I also put some chains on her. This way you can go up and down your own drive with ease."

  "Thanks," she said after a moment's surprise, opening the security door. "How much do I owe you?"

  "Nothing," he assured her as Kelli walked inside and he followed, closing the door behind them against the chill in the air.

  "No, I'm sorry, I cannot take charity. I have the money. How much did it cost to fix?" she asked a little more firmly, grabbing her purse and pulling out her checkbook.

  He gave her an amused smile. "Brent paid me already for it. You'll have to take that up with him."

  She wanted to scream, rail, do something… but she was still embarrassed about her words with the frustrating, gorgeous man. "Oh."

  Kelli smiled. "Are you doing all right? Brent said it was a nasty bump."

  "I'm fine," Char said, reaching up to touch the bandage that still covered her stitches. "So, um, why don't you have a seat?" In truth, she wanted them to go, but how could she kick them out when they were being so nice? Corbin's Bend residents were so nice, they were scary. Where were the rude ones? The angry ones? The bitches? Surely they must have them. She desperately needed neighbors she could be rude to at the moment.

  They stayed for an hour and chatted before leaving to go to dinner, and afterward she had been a bit restless. The restlessness was a perfect excuse for drinking two tumblerfuls of Jack Daniels. Of course, then she got to blame the whiskey for making her throw up at one in the morning. All-in-all, it was a sucky night.

  And here she was, unable to do anything but think about it. The person inside who wanted to disappear into the woodwork and become a nonentity in the area just wanted to pay him off and forget about him and the rest of them. But the real her felt bad for what she had said to him, especially as he had gone out of his way to help her. Finding out from Kelli yesterday that that was just Brent's way made her feel even worse.

  "All right, Char," she mumbled to herself. "Time to pull up the adult panties and grow a pair." Pulling out her cell phone, she grabbed the tan envelope she still had not opened up and quickly emptied the array of paperwork onto her desk. Thankfully the phone list was on top.

  His number was the third one down, listed under Carmichael, Brent. Housing Board, President. Discipline Board, Vice President.

  Discipline Board? Was that what they called their police force?

  Taking a huge, deep breath, she quickly dialed his number and sat back, hoping she could sound like an adult rather than a raving lunatic as she had the last time they spoke.

  "Carmichael," he barked into the phone.

  He sounded angry. Did she really want to talk to him while he was sounding angry? Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

  "Hello? If this is a crank call, it won't do you much good."

  "No, hi," she said before she could stop herself. "It's me. Charmagne."

  "Ah, hello." Her head came up as his tone lost some of the bark, and her stomach commenced doing weird loop-de-loops.

  "Look, um, I'm really sorry for what I said a few days ago, and I talked to Lelo and he said you paid for my truck's repairs. So, if you could tell me what I owe—"

  "How are you feeling?"

  What did that have to do with her apology? "Fine. I had a headache for a while, but it's gone now. As I was saying, if you cou—"

  "Would you like to go to dinner?"

  She watched her fingers pick up her pen and begin doodling in the middle of the lined page as if completely disconnected from her body, as she tried to make sense of this completely nonsensical conversation they were having. "Dinner?"

  "Yes. You. Me. Food. At a restaurant. What do you say?" The bark was most definitely gone, but as amusement had taken its place, she began to wish for the bark to come back. The bark made her body tingle.

  She supposed it wouldn't hurt to go to dinner with a member of the development board, give an in-person apology, and then she could write him a check. By the time she left, she could go back to being by herself.

  "Ms. Kendle?"

  "Char," she corrected him quickly. "It's Char. And yes, I'd like to meet you for dinner."

  After setting a time of six the next evening, she put her phone down. "What the hell was that?" Something told her he once again had control of the situation. Hopefully he would tone it down during their dinner. It would be bad if she had to apologize again for insulting him on top of apologizing to him for her horrendous behavior. Shaking her head, she looked down at the pad of paper in front of her and felt heat from her toes to her cheeks, definitely high up on the blush scale. Tossing the pen aside, she got up and left the office. If she kept herself busy, she could ignore the fact she had just drawn a wooden paddle along with the words "Spank Me" on it.

  She really needed to get a handle on this thing. Maybe her ex was right and she was a freak.

  Rushing into his house, Brent undressed as he made his way to the bedroom. A call from Mrs. Lauder, one of their widows, had informed him that one of her trees had fallen down, but had also made him late. There was no way he was letting Char – he loved that she told him to call her by her first name – out of this date. Char was a good name, though if things worked out, he would love to call her Charmagne while he was painting her ass a nice, bright pink.

  After taking a quick shower, he quickly dressed in black jeans and a dark blue button-down shirt, tossed on some aftershave, and was out the door twelve minutes after he entered it. The roads were mostly clear in their development. As the snow had only fallen for six hours and there had been no snow since, he and two other men had gotten the roads plowed. Of course, he thought, as he pulled onto Char's steep drive, her house was not part of the development, so it had n
ot been done. Cursing that the plow was on the front of his four-by-four and not the truck, he made it through the snow, which was now a mixture of slush and ice, and parked in front of her garage.

  He barely had his door open and had hopped down before she was out of her door and on her way to meet him. A large part of him rebelled at that, as he was an old-fashioned gentleman and would have preferred to escort her the whole way. But Char was full of twenty-first century bravado and until he had the right, he would just have to accept that. If she was at all into spanking and was open to the kind of relationship he wanted? At that point, he would convince her that following his lead was the better way to go.

  "You look lovely," he told her, looking hungrily at her tight black jeans and long pink sweater than hung just slightly below her hips, clinging to her in wonderful ways. Damn, she was an incredibly sexy woman.

  "Uh, thanks?" she said, sounding unsure of herself. "I assumed it was casual."

  Nodding, he walked around the truck with her and opened the passenger side door, smirking when she opened her mouth and closed it. The flash of something in her brown eyes told him she had just been about to make a comment about being able to open her own door. Oh, honey, you have no idea. He respected and fought for women's rights. Eliza had been a powerful attorney who could do anything herself. She just chose to follow his lead, and he had loved taking care of her. Would Char allow him the same courtesy?

  Once inside, he backed out slowly and down her drive.

  "So, where is there a diner?" she asked.

  "Diner?"

  "Well, it isn't like we're near a town."

  Chuckling, he shook his head. "No, but our development is huge and almost half full. We have five restaurants – none of them fast food – two mini-markets, three coffee shops, and one modified movie theater."

  "A movie theater, really?" she asked, halfway turning toward him with interest.

  "Yep. We'll drive by the clubhouse. It's behind it."

  "How big is it?"

  "It'll seat seventy-five."

  A soft laugh poured from her lips. "I'm used to stadium seating."

  "True. This isn't the most up-to-date cinema out there, but it works for our little community."

  "So, what made you build out here? You aren't from here."

  "How can you tell?" he asked in a light tone. She seemed to be relaxing, not putting off that vibe that said "go away", which she tended to do all too often.

  "You have an accent."

  Snorting, he glanced at her as he drove along Spanking Loop. "I do not."

  "Yes, you do!" She laughed. "It isn't always there, but sometimes the New Yorker in you comes out."

  Chuckling, he shook his head. "On the New York Police Department for fifteen years."

  "Did you grow up there—oh, what's that?" she asked, pointing to their largest building. Built as a dome, their clubhouse was the venue for all their town meetings, was a fun place for anyone to hang out – especially the teenagers – and was three stories tall with a basement.

  "That's the Corbin's Bend Clubhouse."

  "Wow." As they drove by, he took a moment to look at her as she stared at it, almost awed. That did not gel with what he thought he knew about her. She always came off with that big city vibe; well, except for the night he took care of her when she was hurting too much. It made him even more intrigued to get to know Ms. Charmagne Kendle.

  "You can't see it from here, but the movie theatre sits right behind it."

  "Are they first run films?" she asked, now looking over her shoulder at the receding building.

  "About three months out. There are tons of movie theaters in Denver for first run films." When they reached Cabner Drive, he turned right and drove to the end, parking alongside what looked like a one-room hut.

  She leaned forward and looked at it. "What's this?"

  "Our restaurant," he informed her, grinning as she startled in astonishment. Hopping out of the truck, he was pleasantly surprised when she did not open the truck door herself, though he thought it had more to do with her shock than letting him treat her like a lady. "I should have asked," he said quickly when she looked at the sign above the door as she got out. "Do you like Mexican food?"

  "Love it," she said quietly. "You're sure this is a restaurant?"

  Relieved, he nodded. "When we planned the development, we had a lot of things in mind. Some of those were the restaurants we would attract. If you notice, even though it's smaller than the houses and has no garage, the basic design fits well."

  Compared to the houses that were several feet away, it did appear small from the outside. Inside, it looked cozy with candlelight flickering in the middle of each round table. There was a maximum seating of fifty, but so far the most Brent had seen at any given time was thirty-five, and that was on a weekend.

  "Two?" Bernie, the hostess asked, smiling at them. She knew everyone in this development, having been the fourth individual to have her contract approved, and as she was almost sixty, the residents mostly took her nosiness as actual interest.

  "Yes, please," he responded, and, placing his hand at the base of Char's back, he guided her after the woman walking toward a booth in the back corner. No doubt Bernie was figuring he was on a date. He had never come here with a woman before. Amused, he figured by the time he got home there would be at least five phone calls from his friends, and even more phone gossip amongst acquaintances.

  "Your server will be right with you," she said, turning so just Brent caught her wink before she walked back into the kitchens.

  "This looks wonderful," Char said, taking his attention off Bernie and returning it to her. Turning, he smiled as she scanned the menu. "They offer a lot of things for such a small restaurant."

  "They are subsidized by the development. For guarantee of a twenty-year contract, we agreed to help fund them, and they agreed to consistently serve fine food."

  A smile crossed her face as she turned to look at him. "Why is this development so important to you?"

  Darla, their server, walked up and placed a glass of water in front of each of them, as well as a basket of fresh tortilla chips and salsa. "Anything I can get you to drink tonight?"

  Brent raised an eyebrow at Char, asking her preference.

  "Margarita?" she asked Darla, obviously still not expecting the small restaurant to have the items she would expect from a larger city.

  "Regular? Or the Blusharita?"

  "Blusharita?

  Darla grinned. "It's pink. Kind of tastes like strawberries and has a bit of a kick to it."

  "Sounds good."

  "Your regular, Brent?" Darla asked, turning back toward him.

  "Yep. How is Danny doing?" he asked before she left to turn in their drink orders.

  She rolled her eyes. "Please tell me you are going to take the teenagers out camping again? That is all he talks about. 'Mom, Brent is so cool! You should see what he can do with just wood and a piece of flint.'"

  Grinning, he nodded. "Got a week-long campout planned for spring break. I'll start doing mini classes in January. If he wants, I need a few who have done it before to be my helpers."

  Her whole face lit up. "Oh, you have just made his year. And mine. He'll be thrilled. It will be like Christmas came early. Now, I'll leave you two to decide what you want… though I am sure Brent will have his usual," she added with a wink before walking away.

  Chuckling, he turned to Char, whose eyes danced with mirth. "Everyone knows you," she said, shaking her head. "Doesn't that get tiresome?"

  "Not at all," he assured her. "I like knowing the people I'm with. Back in New York, I knew many of the people on my beat. Even the crooked ones. Most of them weren't bad people. Just in a bad situation. And since I'm on the housing board, the people here meet me first." He shrugged. "I like our community. It's pretty close. Probably because we have something important in common."

  "And probably because the head of the housing board likes having a close-knit community," she added,
watching him appraisingly. "That's actually kind of impressive."

  "It's home." Home was something his family taught him when he was growing up in Denver. When he moved to New York to attend college, which within a year turned to the police academy, his parents were sad to see him go, but encouraged him in his dreams. That they were happy he was now so close had been a given. Though they did not understand what they called his spanking obsession.

  Putting Char's Blusharita down as well as Brent's imported lager from Germany – the only non-Mexican drink they served and only because the owner insisted on carrying it once he found Brent's love of it – Darla picked up a small pad and smiled. "Are you ready to order?"

  Dinner ended up being laid-back and easygoing. Once Char let down her guard, she showed herself to be highly intelligent, interesting, well read, and, even more important, she had a great sense of humor. "I mean it," she laughed as she sipped on her second Blusharita. "When I was a kid, I had heard the word ogre, and when I saw a word that kind of looked like that, I assumed that was what it was and used it in one of my research papers in eleventh grade. I didn't find out until the teacher called me and my parents in that I had used the wrong word."

  "What word did you use?" Brent asked, finishing his lager.

  "Orgy."

  Snorting foam out his nose, Brent burst out laughing, his deep rumble bouncing around the room. Several people who were there tonight turned, smiled, and then turned back to their conversations. He had no doubt they were interested to know who he was here with but were too nice to barge in and ask.

  "I'm sure your teacher wondered what you were learning at home," he said when his full laugh turned to a chuckle.

  "Well," she grinned back, "you should have seen her face when I asked, 'What's an orgy?'"