When tomorrow comes, p.6
When Tomorrow Comes, page 6
“Wow. She hit all your sore spots, didn’t she?”
“She made my blood boil. I had to get away before I lost it and slapped her, so I left her by the pond and took a shortcut through the pasture to come home.”
“Crap. I guess hoping for a large donation, any donation from her, is out of the question.”
“We don’t need her money.”
“Yes, we do.”
Baye was already pissed off and didn’t need to pick a second fight in the same day, so she stormed into the kitchen and slammed cabinet doors under the pretense of searching for food. Banging the doors helped bleed off the anger that gripped her.
Libby left her work and stood in the kitchen’s doorway. “Didn’t you drive over there?” She raised her voice to be heard over the commotion.
Baye halted her tantrum and dropped her chin to the chest. Her SUV was indeed still parked in front of the Maxwell mansion. “Shit.”
* * *
Teague bypassed the cottage and stomped her way to the house, pausing only to hose off Flower, who was following her. Mac was dining in his sunroom cage, so she placed Cappie in his equally large cage next to it and closed the doors on both. She wasn’t ready for them to distract her from her anger. Sensitive to her moods, Cappie disappeared into his nest—a small cat bed on a platform situated high in the nine-feet-tall cage. His obvious move to hide checked her temper a little. She retrieved a banana from the kitchen and placed half of it on his food tray, relieved to see him scamper down, grab it, then take it back to his nest to enjoy the treat. She gave the other half to Mac, who mumbled “treat” as he peeled, then began to eat the fruit.
Then she returned to the kitchen for a glass of water. She drank little else, spurning sodas and energy drinks, and allowing herself one glass of sugary sweet tea a day unless she was pulling an all-nighter to work and needed the energy boost. It was one of the many rules she made for herself. Although she couldn’t control her bouts of inspiration that might keep her at the whiteboard or her computer for days or cause her to rise in the middle of the night to work out an elusive solution to a problem, rules helped her stay in control of everything else.
“Where’s your friend?”
“I do not have friends.”
“I’m talking about the lovely young lady I sent to the cottage.”
“She left.” Teague ignored Connie’s raised eyebrow.
Connie pointed to a plate filled with crackers, small squares of ham and cheese, and peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches cut into quarters with the crust trimmed off. “That’s a shame. I made some snacks for both of you.” She placed a bowl of melon and pineapple cubes next to it. “I saw you two at the fence, feeding the donkey. I was surprised you left your work to show her around, but you seemed to be enjoying yourselves.”
“We are not friends. She does not speak proper English.” She helped herself to several of the sandwich squares. Mmm. Sweet. It was mid-afternoon and she hadn’t had lunch yet. She speared a pineapple cube with a cocktail toothpick and popped it into her mouth. Juicy. Connie had been making these plates for her since she was a child and never forgot her toothpick quirk—no regular toothpicks or even a fork.
“Ah. I’m guessing she must have said something about how you talk.”
Teague sometimes hated that Connie knew her triggers so well. “She said she was not disrespecting me. Disrespect is a noun, not a verb.”
Connie extracted her phone from her jeans and tapped on the screen for several seconds. “Actually, it has been recognized as a verb since the sixteenth century and used as one through much of the seventeenth century. Using it as a verb sort of died out during the eighteenth century, when speech became wordy and more formal, but the usage was revived by the millennial generation.” Connie knew how to check Teague’s temper.
“You cannot believe everything you read on the internet.”
Connie stepped closer and, grasping Teague’s forearm, gave it a squeeze. She was one of few people she let touch her affectionately. “And you find it very hard to admit when you are wrong.”
She pretended to be intent on choosing what she would eat next from the plate. “I am rarely wrong.”
Connie grasped Teague’s chin and lifted it, forcing her to briefly meet her gaze. “Perhaps you were wrong in this situation?”
“Maybe partly wrong?” Teague gently pulled her chin free and stuffed another sandwich square into her mouth.
“This isn’t a negotiation, Teague. You were wrong and should apologize to her.”
“She’s gone, and I do not think she’ll answer the door if I go to her house.”
“Are you sure she left? I’ve been here in the kitchen the whole time and haven’t seen her come back through to her car.”
“She drove over?”
“Yes. Why would you think otherwise?”
“Because she stormed off across the pasture to return to her own house.” Her voice rose with her effort to hold on to her anger and indignation.
“Just because you—inaccurately, I’ll remind you—corrected her speech?”
“She remarked on my language first.” Teague knew she sounded like a petulant child, but she had to defend herself. Didn’t she? She threw her hands up. “Then she went on some rant about not having college degrees does not mean you are uneducated.”
“You said she was uneducated?”
She scowled at Connie. She could be so damned insightful, a skill that eluded Teague. “Of course not. I simply said that educated people know how to speak correct English.”
“So, you basically called her uneducated.”
“I was speaking in a general sense. I know nothing about her education. Why would I remark about her specifically?”
“Maybe she didn’t go to college. A lot of successful people don’t. It sounds like it’s a sensitive issue for her. Think about how angry you get when people make insensitive remarks about you.”
The truth of the remark deflated the last of her annoyance. “I did not intend to insult her.”
Connie patted her hand. “I know, honey. You should explain that to her. Maybe you should explain your struggle with sensitivity issues.”
“That would have her locking her door to keep me out.”
“I have a feeling you’re wrong about that, too. Go talk to her. She took the first step toward friendship by coming over here. Now it’s your turn. Her car is probably still parked out front. Drive next door and offer her a ride back here to retrieve it.”
She considered this suggestion. It was a valid excuse for going over there. “Okay.” She stood to go to the garage.
“Teague?”
She turned back to Connie. “Yes?”
“Apologize first so she’ll be more amenable to accept your offer to drive her back here.”
“Right. Apologize first.”
* * *
Teague studied the vehicles in the expansive garage. She loved mechanical things. Which should she take? The Jeep Cherokee, her usual mode of transportation, or the Mustang convertible? She started to grab the keys to the Mustang. That should rid Baye of the notion that she was too stiff and formal. Then she spotted the motorcycle parked at the far end. Perfect.
Chapter Six
Baye peeked through the front window at the roar of an engine stopping in front of the farmhouse. A tall, helmeted figure killed the motor and engaged the kickstand, then dismounted the flashy red motorcycle. She waited while the person pulled off her helmet and shook out her dark hair. Teague. What the hell? She opened the front door and stepped onto the porch.
“Is that yours?” she asked without preamble.
“Hello again. Yes, it is mine. It is a 2023 Ducati SuperSport 950, delivered just last week.” Teague smiled at her.
This was so weird. Her neighbor was like a light switch—rude, friendly, rude, friendly. The friendly person she first met stood before her.
“Would you like to go for a ride?”
“Just like that?” Baye frowned. “An hour ago, you were yelling and insulting me. Why should I go with you now?”
Teague mumbled something to herself and shuffled her feet for a moment. “I came to apologize. You did not misuse the English language, as I have since learned.” She shifted the helmet in her arms before clearing her throat. “I never meant to insult your intelligence or your educational background, which I know nothing about.”
Baye didn’t respond. She’d been misunderstood and criticized her entire life, and Teague’s earlier rush to judgment had bruised her deeply.
Teague lifted a shoulder in her familiar shrug and stared at her feet. “I hang out with my animals because I am not very good with people. I…I have a disability that has made me the subject of ridicule since I was a child. You touched on a sore spot when you teased me about my pattern of speech.” She finally met Baye’s gaze again. “If you will accept my apology, I would like to offer you a ride back to my estate so you can retrieve your car.”
This super-smart woman had a disability? Teague’s speech and lack of eye contact made sense now. Baye’s resolve to hold on to her grudge melted away. She didn’t have a lot of friends either because they couldn’t understand or grew tired of dealing with her attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder. “I accept your apology and offer mine to you. I overreacted when you corrected my grammar.” How much should she say? “I’ve been criticized a lot because I haven’t lived up to my family’s expectations, so my lack of a college degree is a sore spot for me. I would like if we became friends as well as neighbors.”
Teague briefly met her eyes, then looked away. “I expect if we become friends, we will stumble onto other sensitive subjects,” she said.
Baye nodded. “As we become friends and get to know each other better, we’ll have fewer and fewer explosions like today.”
Teague’s smile was small, but it was a smile. “Your use of fewer rather than less is perfect. Most people get that wrong.” It was her best effort at a compliment to ease the tension.
She laughed. “If correct usage gets you to smile, I’ll have to think of another.” Maybe next time the reward could be a kiss.
Teague’s cheeks pinked, and she handed over the extra helmet that had been strapped to the Ducati. “You have to wear a helmet. It is a law in this state.”
“Normally, I wouldn’t care about breaking a law for the short trip to your place, but I have an idea that might be another sore spot for you.”
Teague frowned. “You should always obey the rules, Baye.”
“And we will,” she said, snugging the helmet onto her head and flipping the face shield up, happy to see Teague’s smile had reappeared. Yay. Explosion averted.
* * *
They rolled to a gentle stop in front of the mansion, and Baye climbed down from where she was literally lying on Teague’s back. This Ducati wasn’t designed for comfortably carrying passengers. But damn! She would ride on it all day long just to lie on that long back and feel Teague’s heartbeat speed up when she wrapped her arms around Teague’s lean torso. She bent to pull her helmet off and swing her head back and forth a few times to fluff her long, curly locks after their confinement. “That was so much fun.” She straightened to find Teague, helmet off, staring at her before glancing away. “Could we ride some more?”
Teague fidgeted with the strap on her helmet in her lap, but she didn’t dismount from the bike, or answer.
“I’m sorry,” Baye said, backtracking because of Teague’s hesitation. “I’ve disrupted your day enough. You probably need to get back to work.”
Teague blinked. “I am always working on a problem or idea in the back of my mind, but I am also good at multitasking, so it never keeps me from doing other things.”
“You can work on one of those long equations like the one on your whiteboard, then remember all of it later to write it down?”
“It is part of my disability.”
“Disability? I would call that a gift. I wish I could do that. Hell, I can’t seem to focus on one thing for very long, much less multitask.”
Teague cocked her head. “You were doing multiple things at the adopt-a-thon.”
“Which I promptly forgot when you arrived and never finished.”
“When I arrived?”
“Yes.” Baye decided to take a chance and softened her voice. “How could I focus on anything else when you showed up with your handsome face and intense eyes?”
Teague fiddled with the chin strap on the helmet again, and Baye waited to give her time to digest her flirtation. Teague cleared her throat. “You are very pretty.”
Baye smiled at Teague’s matter-of-fact tone. “So, can we ride a little longer on your motorcycle? If we go to the highway, we can go faster.”
“You cannot be comfortable riding behind me. This Ducati was not designed to carry two people on a long trip.”
“I wasn’t uncomfortable. Was I too heavy, leaning on your back like that?”
“Not at all.” Teague’s face flushed red, and she lowered her voice as though she were speaking to herself rather than Baye. “I could feel your heart beating.”
“Then we can ride some more?” She put her hands together as though praying or begging. “Please.”
“Helmets back on,” Teague ordered, and started the bike’s engine again.
Baye eagerly complied and climbed on. She couldn’t see Teague’s expression with their helmets on, but she did feel her heart beating faster and stronger when she curled against her back and wrapped her arms around her.
Teague drove carefully at first, but then she gunned the throttle after they turned onto the nearby two-way blacktop.
“Woo-hoo,” Baye shouted. The wind rushing around them, the vibration of the powerful engine, and the heat of Teague’s body against hers were intoxicating.
They stayed within ten miles of the speed limit, but seventy miles per hour was much more thrilling than thirty. After they rode aimlessly for more than an hour, they returned to Teague’s garage. Still, Baye was surprised at how stiff her back and legs were when she climbed off the bike again. She stumbled a little as she dismounted and might have fallen if Teague hadn’t grabbed her arm to steady her.
“Whoa. I didn’t expect to be so stiff.”
“Did I go too far? I should have told you to tap me on the shoulder when you wanted to return.” Teague spoke quickly, appearing anxious. Baye was beginning to realize Teague was self-assured about her intellect but apparently needed constant reassurance when interacting with people.
Baye laughed. “No. Our ride was perfect.” She stretched her legs and did a few twisting stretches to loosen her back. “It’s like riding a horse when you haven’t for a while. You feel fine while you’re mounted, not realizing until you dismount and try to walk that the muscles you’ve been working aren’t in shape anymore.”
“Then you enjoyed our ride?” Teague engaged the kickstand and dismounted. She placed her helmet on a short shelf and hung the leather jacket she was wearing on a hook below it.
“Yes! It was fantastic. I wish we’d been on an old airstrip so you could have gone even faster.” She held out her helmet for Teague to stow.
Teague took the helmet and frowned. “Even though this model can go well over two hundred miles per hour, I would never go that fast while carrying a passenger.”
Her response did nothing to calm Baye’s exuberance or dissuade her from giving Teague a tight hug. “Of course you wouldn’t.” She drew her keys from her pocket. “Although I hate to end our visit, it’s almost feeding time at the rescue.”
“Here, too,” Teague said as she walked Baye to her SUV and opened the unlocked door on the driver’s side for her to climb in.
Normally, such chivalry would seem uncomfortably butch to Baye, but Teague was different. The gesture was simply true to her personality and didn’t come off as masculine. She suddenly remembered something and lowered her window. “Hey, you said something earlier today about a proposal.”
“Yes. A financial arrangement I would like to hammer out with you.” Teague looked at the ground for a quick minute, then glanced up at Baye. “Now is not a good time since we both have animals waiting to be fed, and my offer requires a bit of explanation. However, if you are not busy Thursday night, perhaps you could return and have dinner with me.”
She frowned. “You’re going to make me wait three days before you tell me about this mysterious deal you want to offer me?”
Teague wrinkled her brow and shrugged. “Thursday is my birthday. I am sure Connie will make a fuss over it—baking a cake and cooking my favorite food.”
“Oh.” Baye pursed her lips. Teague had said she didn’t have any friends. Would she spend her birthday alone if Baye didn’t accept her invitation? “Hmm. I’d be glad to share your birthday dinner with you, as long as your favorite food isn’t something weird like octopus or kidney pie.”
Teague’s smile broadened. “No. It is liver and onions.”
Baye widened her eyes and shook her head. “At least the company will be good.”
Teague laughed. “I am making a joke. My favorite food is a veggie burger and steak fries.”
“Are you a vegetarian?”
“No. I just happen to like this specific brand of veggie burger better than meat. I can have Connie prepare a regular burger for you.”
“No.” She took a second to rethink her answer. “Well, it wouldn’t hurt to have one at the ready, but I’d like to try one of your veggie burgers first.”
“Then you will accept my invitation?”
“I’m looking forward to it.” She really, really was.
* * *
“You’re late. I have to go to work, so John has started feeding the dogs.” Libby glared at Baye. “This is the third time this week that either John or I has had to feed. The evening feeding is your job, Baye. John gets up at daybreak to clean pens, do the morning feed, and keep up all the landscape and maintenance work around here. And I have a second-shift job, so I can’t do it.”
