Chapter 2 -

It was a tiny store in a shrinking town. Everything had two price tags. The price for locals and the price for tourists. It was a badge of acceptance when Frank gave me the nod for the local prices. I know my checkbook appreciated it. It was a quiet town, mostly retirees and a few families that ran things. There are always the tourists from the cities and wanders passing through, but none of them stay too long. Most of the town’s population left as the big businesses closed. First the fishing fleet, then the commercial stores and the last straw was the lumber yard.

It’s depressing watching a town die. People trying every day to make a living and remembering the way things used to be. They keep working hard and now it was no longer enough to get by. It’s sad. I didn’t fit in here but then I didn’t fit in anywhere else either. I didn’t need anyone’s approval so who cares. My sales are all online. I don’t care if there were no jobs here, no future. Just so long as there is a Post Office. When I lose interest, I’ll just roll on to the next trailer park in the next dying town. Simple.

I walked in and nodded to Frank as I picked up a shopping basket. He was posted by the automatic front doors as usual and was lecturing the cart kid. Poor kid has no idea that Frank needs him working for pennies just as much as the boy needs those pennies. The aisles were always clean, and everything was always in its place. A pleasant small town ‘a little bit of everything’ store. I headed for the aisle marked First Aid and Feminine Supplies.

Ah, there they were. Bandages and gauze pads. I put them in my little basket and headed for the next section. “I should get milk and ya know what.” I mumbled to myself. “Some cereal too.”

Carbs are the devil but damn that sounds really good right now. I just realized I hadn’t eaten all day. I put the 1% in the cart and headed for the cereal. I passed the beer case. Why not? I put a 6 pack of hard cider in the basket and then promptly tried to pick it all up with my hurt hand.

Shit. I carefully moved the handles further up my arm. I picked out a box of Wheaties. Yeah baby, fiber, I smirked to myself. I’m not getting any younger. Ok last thing, some soup bones for Biscuit. My hand was throbbing again, I could feel the sock getting heavy with blood. I needed to bind this wound especially since I can’t seem to NOT grab things with this hand.

The store Butcher was a harmless older man. Still large but I’m sure he was a giant in his prime. Now he was hunched, round and wrinkled with a gruff voice and gnarled hands. He sported an uncontrollable white beard and bushy eyebrows that left me wondering how he could see anything at all. Everyone female was ‘sweetie.’ He was pleasant with his old fashion ways. He liked to flirt with all the ladies, young and old alike.

I had to admit, it was nice once in a while to feel young and flirty. It’s been a long time, I’m not exactly a head turner. I had been in a few times but never spoke to him. Gods know I can’t afford prime cuts. I wasn’t in the mood today that’s for sure, my hand hurt, I was hungry and starting to feel tired. Biscuit was my savior so he deserved a treat, and it wouldn’t take too long.

I worked my way through the meat section looking for bones and found none. Looks like I’ll be a ‘sweetie’ after all and ask.  I came to the meat counter and stopped dead in my tracks. There was the Butcher and beside him was a younger man I hadn’t seen before. Not that I seek out young men but this man seemed different. Both had their backs turned to me and they were obviously in deep discussion over something, making wide hand gestures and grunting in agreement.

I got a strange tingly sensation all over my body. Man, I really do need to remember to eat, I scolded myself. They abruptly stopped and turned as I came up. They seemed to almost be sniffing the air. Odd, I thought. The air smelled of raw meat and fish but ok. Each to their own. I mean, he was a butcher by choice after all.

I smiled halfheartedly and noticed how intently they were both staring at me. “Um. Hi, can I get a...” I started and the Butcher cut me off.

“Ah, Sweetie, what have you done to yourself?” He asked.

Despite his age and size, he whisked around the counter and took my hand. He took my basket in one hand and smoothly handed it over to the younger man in one smooth motion.

He said in a gruff voice, “Here Dingo, hold the basket for this pretty lady.”

Then he gently took my sock bound hand in his. His words could be considered condescending but there was a kindness behind them that rang true. The blood had completely seeped through and was dripping a trail all through the store. I blushed and felt suddenly very childish and irresponsible that I had made a mess all over. Frank was gonna have kittens when he saw this mess. Well, accidents happen.

Wait, did he just call him a Dingo? As in, a dog? What? I was trying to get my head around what was happening when he put his other arm around me to escort me to the back. I’m not used to being touched and was still a bit shaken from the earlier events tonight. The Butchers gentle touch made me jump. He looked at me, almost offended. Then as if summoned by the thought, Frank suddenly appeared and was demanding answers.

“What the hell is going on? Why is there blood all over my store? What the hell are you doing?” Frank demanded of no one and everyone.

He was seriously working himself into a tizzy and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he banned me from the store. My heart started to race and I began to shake. Frank was a decent guy but a bit of a control freak and this was not in his control.

Shit. The Butcher stopped in his tracks and glowered at Frank. It seemed Frank visibly shrunk back and swallowed any further words he was about to say. Frank looked small compared to the Butcher and he was not a small man.

“She is hurt.” The Butcher calmly said, as if explaining to a child and he continued to escort me to the back.

Frank was left mumbling as I was ushered past. The younger man, Dingo, and I swear I heard him growl at Frank. Growl? It all happened fast. Suddenly we were behind the counter, he guided me past the racks of ribs and roasts, past the bright red crabs and shiny silver fish all lined up on ice. Through the flappy rubber doors and into the office section. I shivered at the cold. It was cool before, but the air in the meat department was kept frigid cold and I only had a light sweatshirt on. I could feel my nipples get hard as the cold settled in. Fuck, I don’t have a bra on. I puffed up the front of my sweater trying to hide the points that began to raise against the soft tie-dye fabric.

The Butcher was mumbling under his breath when he sat me down on the stool. Thank goodness I’m tall or I would have had to hop to get up on it. He held up my hand and carefully unwrapped the sock. It was oozing blood and looked terrible. I felt foolish, like I was a silly girl in the school infirmary. He looked at me from under his bushy white brows, I was startled to see piercing blue eyes staring out at me. Almost through me, searching….

What on earth was happening? They both were radiating a strong sense of concern and curiosity. What? For me? My head was spinning, I really should have eaten today.  I’m an independent woman and this man just whisked me away like I had no mind of my own.

The younger man followed in behind him quietly. I could hear Frank yelling at the cart kid to mop up all the blood. How everything had to be disinfected, like I carried the plague or something. I looked back at the Butcher. He carefully used the small dry portion of the otherwise soggy sock to gingerly sop up the pooling blood.

“Huh?” I breathed.

The Butcher gently asked again, “What have you done to yourself young lady?” Tilting his head toward my bloody hand.

I blushed thinking I must appear stupid and knowing the truth of a temper tantrum was the cause, I sure as shit would never admit to that. “It was an accident,” I blurted out as if I owed him an explanation. Gods I’m an idiot. He looked over at the basket and back to my hand.

“Ah Sweetie, you’re going to need stitches for this.” He grunted in his kind but gruff voice. “I’ll wrap it for you, but you need to go to the emergency room.”

His hands were gentle and eyes kind. He seemed nice, like he wanted to help but also like he was waiting for me to… to what?

“You think so? I, I didn’t think it was THAT bad.” I stuttered realizing that I didn’t really look at it before.

“Shit, I don’t have insurance.” I mumbled thinking back to the renewal forms I forgot to fill out a few months ago.

I could feel myself starting to fall apart. What a shit show of a day. I had held it together as best I could, but I was running out of fight. I had pulled myself out of my tantrum, didn’t run over that disgusting excuse for a man and even got myself out of my self-loathing long enough to get to the store for needed self-care. My therapist would be proud.

I didn’t realize how hard I had been trying to keep my shit together especially after that altercation with John. I was tense holding everything in. The Butcher placed a warm hand on my shoulder and my eyes brimmed again with tears.

This is ridiculous! I’m a grown ass woman and while he is kind, I don’t need anyone to look after me and no one needs my trauma unloaded on them. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and straightened. Put your big girl panties on and get it done, I commanded myself.

“I appreciate your concern but really, I think the bandages will be fine.” I stated and I honestly hoped he bought my tough girl act.

The old man glanced at the little box of bandages and gauze and grunted. I went to get up when he barked at me to “Sit!” My body did just that. My jaw dropped open, and I was stunned. Angry that my body betrayed me to follow his command.

“Sit.” He repeated gentler this time. “I will help you. Dingo, get me some large bandages, rubbing alcohol and some steri-strips.” Dingo set the basket down and swiftly left.

I wasn’t trying to be rude, but I also just didn’t want to be around anyone, especially after that episode with John. I didn’t need a handsome man to observe me fall apart either. I never get a break. I took another deep breath. I resolved to just let the Butcher help me, since it was clear I wasn’t going to be able to argue with him anyway. But now it was my choice or so I told myself smugly. It was a long silence waiting for the man to return. The Butcher was just staring at me. Trying to read me. Awkward.

I was working up the nerve to ask about Dingo, ‘Was that really his name?’ when the he returned. It was the first time I really got to see him. He was tall, like the Butcher but much leaner. Not skinny by any means. He had to be a solid 6’6” and while most of his body was hidden behind the butcher’s apron (that was three times too big) his muscled arms were exposed. His frame was definitely that of a man’s body. He appeared strong and very able.

Strong shoulders stacked up to his neck that was framed by his shaggy golden brown hair.  His tattooed forearms twitched as he handed over the items the Butcher requested. His skin was a golden tone, tanned. He must be passing through I thought. This far north didn’t get much sun in the summer let alone the fall. He had bright green eyes and a heart rending smile. Damn he was gorgeous. I couldn’t believe that I was actually getting hot looking at him.   

He looked like a surfer to me and I just stared at him and smiled. That tingly sensation started up again and my thoughts floated away to sun rays flowing through emerald-green waves on the ocean. Rising and falling. Hmmm, rising and falling….

I realized I was gawking at this guy at least 10 years my junior and was yet again betrayed by my body. My face flushed bright red and then burned redder knowing that it blushed in the first place. I swallowed hard and kept repeating in my mind, ‘It is what it is. I’m OK. I am enough.’ Alright Ms. Robinson, let it go.

“Dingo, was it? Thank you,” I managed to croak without my voice wavering too much. He flashed his smile again and my poor heart did a double take.

“No problem.” He said with a cocky wave of his hand, his eyes never leaving mine.  

Oh my! His behavior was youthful, but his eyes held a look of experience beyond what I assumed were his 25ish years. That would be a fun puzzle to figure out I pondered. What is going on with me? I don’t get like this.

The Butcher grunted and flicked his hand in a shooing motion, indicating Dingo should leave. It was like the sun setting on a perfect day when he left the room. His smiled had lighten my mood. Sigh.

“Kids.” The old man chuckled.

“Or not so much.” I replied feeling my age.

But at least I had control of my body back. He looked deeply at me, like he was going to say something but thought better of it. I wiggled in my seat trying to get out of his scrutiny. Obviously, he wasn’t going to say anything more, so I did.

“I’m not sure how I feel about a Butcher being my surgeon but…. go ahead.” I said with a timid smile. I held my hand out to him.

The gruff old man threw back his head laughing. It was a deep rolling laugh and impossible to not smile in hearing it. It’s the kind of laugh I pictured a real life Santa would have. His beard twitched and I could tell he was smiling.

“My name is Nicholas; you can call me Nick.” He chuckled.

How ironic, I snarked to myself.

“I’m Danalee but you can call me Danny.” I said and moved my bloodied hand in a mock handshake.

He grunted and got to work. He wiped away the rest of the crusted blood that was now down to my elbow, to better see the angry gash and the weeping hole through the middle.

“This is not good. You are lucky you didn’t sever a tendon. Cleaning it is going to hurt.” He said, “But it needs to be done.”

He went on mumbling something about hospitals, insurance and I should go but I couldn’t really hear. I was fairly sure of the gist of his private conversation.

“I just hope it was a clean sock.” He gruffed.

My turn to reply with a grunt as deep searing pain lit up my nerves like fire as he poured the alcohol over the wound. He gently stretched the gash a little to allow the burning liquid to flush through the torn edges of my flesh.

“It was.” I replied through clenched teeth.  

“It was what?” He ask, without taking his eyes of my hand.

“A clean sock!” I nearly shouted. “Mother fucker that hurt.” I hissed.

The old butcher just chuckled, “You did good kid, that was the hard part.” He dried it and applied the steri strips to close the gash, then he dabbed on an ointment that smelled delicious. Like warm herbs and honey in sunshine. Then he rolled on the gauze.  

He did a good job, twisting it snuggly. He cleverly tied it off and tucked in the end. It was clear he was well practiced at this. Maybe he was in the military or an EMT. Funny that he is now the town butcher, I snickered to myself.

I took a few deep breaths, acutely aware that my nipples were quite hard and I’m sure standing straight to attention. He didn’t seem to notice. He was still focused on my face.

“Thank you, Nicolas. I’m feeling much better. Tired, it’s been a hard day, but much better.” I said heavily.

It did feel better all bound up so that the gash could start to heal. “I guess I won’t be painting for a while then.” I sighed.

I was actually very glad now for his help as there was no way I could afford an out-of-pocket hospital visit and now I doubted I could have cleaned it out myself.

“Just call me Nick.” He repeated. “So, you’re an artist then.” It was more of a statement than a question and I wasn’t sure how to answer.

“I sure try to be.” I sighed and managed to crack a small smile.

This was all very strange. Again, those sharp blue eyes searching mine. Searching for what?

Oh shit! I nearly forgot. “Nick, do you have any soup bones? I didn’t see any in the meat case.” I asked.

He raised his brows at me and grunted. “Making soup huh?” We both started to walk back to the meat counter.

“Nope. My hero, Biscuit, earned a right reward today.” My voice trailed off remembering the encounter with John.

Dingo’s head snapped around at the mention of food. Typical man, I laughed to myself.

“Soup and biscuits? Sounds good to me.” He said in his smooth masculine voice.

He smiled as he took off his apron, revealing tan cargo pants and a clingy olive green t-shirt that clearly outlined his sculpted chest muscles. I could watch him all day.

“It’s quitting time Nick.” He said with an upbeat tone.

“No. Biscuit is my dog.” I giggled softly as my eyes drank in his muscled frame again.

I really was tired but I couldn’t help myself. I giggled. What was this? I don’t giggle. I was just staring at Dingo again. I blushed, “Wow, that really took a lot out of me.”  

“Why didn’t you say so?” Nick gruffed. “I have a box of bones you can have for free. Fresh today. Dingo why don’t you get them from the discard bin and bring them out to Danny’s car.”

“Danny?” Dingo said questioningly and raised an eyebrow.

Says the man named ‘Dingo’ I smirked to myself. “It’s the old red truck.” I told him.

Dingo looked at Nick and then at me. He smiled and left to get the bones. Damn he was a good looking man. Sigh.

“Thank you again Nick.” I said. He grunted and waved me along with the same shooing motion he used with Dingo just a few minutes ago.

6:30 gosh, it got late fast. I hurried to the checkout line to pay for my bandages and groceries. The small girl rung me up, she was a local high school student I was sure of it. Oblivious to the world beyond her books, boys and cell phone. She had soft doe eyes with long lashes. Blond curls, perky boobs and a perfect butt. I was envious to be young again. Fully feeling just how bedraggled I must look.

Screw that! To have to make those mistakes all over again. Nope, not worth it, I thought to myself. I turned to grab my bag just as Frank appeared.

“I hope you are doing better.” Frank said in a flat disapproving tone.

I was a right mess. I felt bad I bled all over his store but I wasn’t in the mood for games. “Thank you, Frank. I’m sorry I made a mess. Nick is a very kind person and I truly appreciated his help today.” I said as pleasantly as I could. I then added, “And your store. I appreciate it too.”

That was lame, but it was the best I could manage. It seemed to smooth things over alright. Frank wasn’t a bad guy he just clearly didn’t have anything better to do with himself. The kind of person with no imagination so they boss around cart kids and fret over perfect lines of soup cans. I don’t know the dynamic between him and Nick but it was clear that Frank was scared of Nick. He nodded and stepped out of my way.

“Have a good evening.” He said as I left.