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“I got it,” Preacher Girl said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I have a feeling someone is hungry.”
Porsche stood, “How long are you going to be in town?”
“I’m still active in the Navy, but I’m on leave right now, spring break and all so I’ll be here for a while.”
“Spring break in Montana where there’s a seventy percent chance of snow. You know we’re in fake spring right now. By next week we could be knee deep in the second winter.”
“Eighty and sunny gets old,” he teased. “It’s good to have a little variety.”
“Okay then, I guess I will see you around. Too bad you won’t be able to stay long enough for the fundraiser.” Porsche wanted every delectable man available to help. “Hack might need back up for his Mother’s Day debut.”
“Well, aren’t you all sorts of temptation and thoughts of a good time.”
“It’s been rumored before,” she said, wanting to go tit for tat with the man.
“There’s always a chance to extend my visit. I’ll have to see, my daughter’s here.” As if on cue a blonde haired, blue eyed little girl no more than eight or nine walked into the kitchen and stood just behind Mike with a blankie tucked in tight and her thumb in her mouth.
“Daddy, where did you go?” she said around the digit.
“Just coming to find that snack you wanted,” he said as if he were ready to rush her off and make her disappear.
“Hi there. I’m Porsche what is your name?”
“Sydney.” Having pulled her thumb long enough to say her name before returning to the self-soothing security.
“Nice to meet you, we have a few kids about your age here. A little girl named Maisie and her brother Callum.”
On the mention of the boy Sydney clung closer to her father and turned her face into his hip so she no longer had to face anyone. The action one Porsche knew too well, the trauma response. One she perfected over the years and one she was probably going to have to divulge with Doc in the next fifty minutes.
* * *
Mike put together a plate with green grapes, Colby jack cheese and crackers before he left Syd in the bedroom with a tablet playing a cartoon. Whether he wanted to or not he needed to talk to Creek because cover required a reason and he’d rather not spell it out with his daughter in ear shot. The girl had reverted back to thumb sucking and woobie snuggling. Less than a year ago she’d be doing cartwheels, laughing and demanding they explore the vast wilderness that was Montana. It would be all he could do to keep her out of Matthew’s room because she’d want to care for the baby. Instead she barely glanced at the infant.
He found Creek and Preacher Girl standing at the counter rinsing a few dishes from the morning and putting them in the dishwasher. Strange how the domestic bliss of the young father played out with the man who had at one time sworn off anything beyond a good fuck. The man’s past haunted him as he feared the abuse that killed his mother would surface in him. Nature verses nurture, either way his own father had fucked him into believing the cycle couldn’t be stopped. Instead he stood side by side his young wife as they cleaned up together.
“Can I talk to you Creek?” he said, and the man glanced down at his woman who pushed up on her toes to get a quick kiss as she returned to the chore of dishes.
“Let’s go outside on the deck. Do you want a pop?” Creek dried his hands off on a dish towel that hung on the handle to the fridge before opening and grabbing a couple of bottles of coke in one hand. Flipping one, it extended toward Mike.
“Sure, I’ll take one. You guys go old school here huh?” He snagged the cold, clear glass bottle and twisted the top off. Holding his palm out Creek placed his own cap off and Mike tossed the two away in the trash as they headed outside to the deck.
“Dreamer wanted to do some craft project with the kids at school a while ago so we were all drinking our way through glass bottles, just a handful leftover.”
Tugging down the sleeves of his waffle Henley Creek took a seat on the built in bench that was flush to the house. Giving a perfect view of the land. For his wife, Mike assumed this was a cozy place to watch the sunset at night, but he knew his friend and the tactical advantage he saw from this vantage point. There would be no eye contact, the man would be surveying the landscape and who probably spent half the night reviewing footage trying to see how Mike slipped through his perimeter.
“How many more cameras you think I need?” Creek asked, his hands locked together with his forearms resting on his knees as he leaned forward.
Mike took a seat beside his friend and brother. “Didn’t walk the full perimeter. Syd was already exhausted coming from the interstate exit.”
“That little thing made it near three miles,” he replied with a note of aw.
“Even with the luggage I’m pretty sure she weighs less than a standard pack.”
“She is a tiny thing.”
“Preacher Girl doesn’t seem much bigger,” Mike said before he could stop himself.
There was a part of him finding a bit of unease around the man he called brother and his wife. Probably the reason he didn’t blurt out about the situation the moment he came in the home. While the man had passed word around about rescuing women and children he’d never shared images of his wife with the group.
