Page 30 of Bombshell

When I didn’t hear Brick talking anymore, I waited a few more minutes before walking back to the bottom of the stairs.

If I never laid eyes on Micah Abe again, I would be just fine. The nerve of him to call me slow. What did even know about me? Nothing. He didn’t know me enough to have any opinion on my intelligence. He was the slow one.

I called out from the bottom of the stairs, “I’ll be up in an hour or so, Brick. I need to help Mrs. Mildred with her bills.”

Brick’s large body appeared at the top of the stairs. He had a burger in one hand and was chewing. “I’ll be right here if you need me,” he replied.

I nodded, then headed to the door to the right of the stairs and knocked on Mrs. Mildred’s door. The welcome mat needed sweeping off, or maybe I should just replace it. I made a mental note to look at getting her a new one. This one was worn and frayed.

The word slow kept taunting me, and I clenched my hands at my sides.

Damn you, Micah Abe.

I had been having a perfectly good day, and he had ruined it. I didn’t want to give him that kind of power. Not now or ever.

The door opened, and Mrs. Mildred beamed up at me. “Dolly, I just put on a pot of tea. My great-nephew is here visiting. Come on in and have a cup.”

I hadn’t met her great-nephew, but I’d heard about him more than once. Mrs. Mildred mentioned him often. She had never had kids. She had two nieces and three great-nieces and one great-nephew. Walen was the only boy. First one in three generations.

“I don’t want to intrude. I was just stopping by to help with your bills. I can come back tomorrow,” I replied.

She reached out and wrapped her hand around my wrist. “Nonsense! You come right on in and have some tea. Walen was just telling me about his latest rodeo win.”

I’d forgotten that she said Walen was a bull rider. It seemed like a dangerous, stupid choice in life, but then I had been dating the vice president of a motorcycle gang. Who was I to judge?

Mrs. Mildred tugged at my arm, and afraid she was going to lose her balance with just one hand on her walker, I went inside the apartment. It smelled of peppermint and licorice, like always.

“I’ll just have a cup and then leave you to visit,” I told her.

She turned her walker around and started toward the kitchen. “No rush. Come on in and have a seat. I’ve got a lemon Bundt cake in the oven.”

When we walked through the doorway, the man standing over by the coffeepot wasn’t tall, but he had wide shoulders and lean hips. His butt looked nice in the jeans he was wearing too. Then, he turned his head, and dark brown eyes locked on me. I hadn’t expected Walen the bull rider to be attractive. But he was nice to look at. Firm jawline, covered in a short beard; brown hair cut short; and golden-brown skin from being out in the sun so much, I imagined. What he lacked in height, he made up for with muscle. Thick, corded arms, free of tattoos.

“Walen, honey, this is Dolly Dixon. My neighbor I’ve told you about. She’s come by to help me pay my bills. I told her you just won a pretty penny at the last rodeo. She wants to hear all about it.”

That wasn’t exactly true, but I wasn’t going to correct her.

I forced a smile, feeling slightly embarrassed. “It’s nice to meet you, Walen. I tried to tell Mrs. Mildred I’d come back later, but she insisted.”

My phone rang, and I pulled it from my pocket to see Micah’s name on the screen. I declined it, then stuffed my phone back in my pocket.

He grinned. “She’s got a Bundt cake in the oven. We can’t eat all of that alone,” he replied and motioned to the table. “Please, have a seat. I need your help convincing her to come back to my hotel with me. It’s safer than her apartment, and it looks like we have about ten hours before the hurricane hits.”

On the ride home from work today, I’d seen people boarding up windows. Even Barnes & Noble had closed early to prep for the storm headed this way. I figured the apartment complex was safe enough, but if we lost electricity or there was an emergency, I liked the idea of Mrs. Mildred being with her great-nephew.

Pulling out a chair, I sat down across from where Mrs. Mildred was sitting.

“No need to worry about a hurricane. I’ve lived through my share,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Walen’s one of the best bull riders in the country,” she bragged. “What are you ranked now? Fourth, or is it third?”

Walen chuckled and sat down at the end of the table with his coffee. “No, Aunt Mildred. I just broke the top ten last year. I’m still sitting at nine.”

She waved a hand as if that didn’t matter. “You won almost a hundred grand at that win last month. That ought to put you higher up. How do they determine those rankings?”

Walen looked from his aunt to me. “She’s a touch proud,” he said to me.

I nodded. “Yes, she is that. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

He groaned and leaned back in the chair. “I’m sorry about that. I can’t imagine that is real enjoyable.”

---