Blind turn, p.1
Blind Turn, page 1
Blind Turn
The Blind Love Series
OLIVIA GAINES
Davonshire House Publishing
PO Box 6761
Augusta, GA 30916
THIS BOOK IS A WORK of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.
© 2021 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin
Copy Editor: Teri Thompson Blackwell
Cover: Corbin Media, LLC
Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography
ASIN:
ISBN:
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8
First Davonshire House Publishing April 2021
Joel Thomas
Chemist, Specialization, Poisonous Plants
Traffic Sign: Mr. Merge
Home Base: Monroe County, Arkansas
Also by Olivia Gaines
The Blakemore Files
The Delgado Series
Killers
Yunior
Becoming the Czar
The Technicians Series
Blind Date
Blind Hope
Blind Luck
Blind Fate
Blind Copy
Blind Turn
Love Thy Neighbor Series
Walking the Dawg: A Novella
Through the Woods: A Novella
Life of the Party: A Novella
Modern Mail-Order Brides
North to Alaska
Montana
Oregon Trails
Wyoming Nights
On a Rainy Night in Georgia
Bleu, Grass, Bourbon
Buckeye and the Babe
The Tennessee Mountain Man
Stranded in Arizona
Maple Sundaes and Cider Donuts
Moonlight in Vermont
The Zelda Diaries
It Happened Last Wednesday
A Frickin' Fantastic Friday
A Tantalizing Tuesday
A Marvelous Monday
A Saucy Sunday
A Sensual Saturday
My Thursday Throwback
Slivers of Love Series
The Deal Breaker
Naima's Melody
Santa's Big Helper
The Christmas Quilts
Friends with Benefits
The Cost to Play
A Menu for Loving
Thursdays in Savannah
DEDICATION
For Charlie.
I see you baby.
“Easy reading is damn hard writing.”
- Nathaniel Hawthorne
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To all the fans, friends and supporters of the dream as well as the Facebook community of writers who keep me focused, inspired and moving forward.
Write On!
Table of Contents
Also by Olivia Gaines
DEDICATION
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Chapter One - Toxins
Chapter Two – Venom
Chapter Three – Bane
Chapter Four – Lace
Chapter Five – Befoul
Chapter Six – Dirty
Chapter Seven – Blight
Chapter Eight – Pollute
Chapter Nine – Taint
Chapter Ten – Contaminate
Chapter Eleven – Spoil
Chapter Twelve – Adulterate
Chapter Thirteen – Ward
Chapter Fourteen – Embitter
Chapter Fifteen – Sour
Epilogue – Subvert
Meet Olivia Gaines
Chapter One - Toxins
DUSTBALLS POWDERED THE AIR, ANNOUNCING the arrival of Sheriff Skeeter Shilkins, the local busybody who was given a badge in a formal attempt to justify the man’s inability to mind his own business. Now that he had a badge, he sincerely believed it was his civic duty to butt his bulbous beak in the face of any and every citizen that resided in Monroe County, Arkansas. Half the time he’d get the information incorrect, the other half of the time he never truly understood what he was seeing, and his limited vocabulary prevented him from synthesizing the evidence to resolve a case. The closest he’d ever come to solving a crime was the one time a case of locally brewed beer was taken from Ma Ramey’s back stoop at the Juke Joint. The beer was taken by her no-good son, who sat on the front stoop wiling his cares away and drowning his sorrows. Unfortunately, Ma Ramey had to tell the Sheriff that her good-for-nothing son, was in fact, holding the missing beer.
He was, and this was something Joel Thomas tried not to repeat to another soul, the actual law and a man with a good heart. Being from a small county on the edge of the mighty Mississippi River, the lands were fertile and good for growing all sorts of food, which is what Joel did for a living. At least, that’s what Sheriff Shilkins believed. Joel saw no reason to tell the man any different; however, today there was a new problem – the kid.
There was no way, no how, and no reason for a grown man to suddenly have a teenaged boy living under his roof without some form of documentation. If not documentation, at least a form of annotation in the county records that the child was, in fact, going to be under the supervision of Joel Thomas. That was the proper thing to do. It would also put him in the good graces of the locals who really wondered often how the man made his living. A right proper Southerner would offer the lost child a place to stay, which he would, once he met with social services.
The last thing a man like Joel needed were social services and other government agencies snooping around the 40 acres he’d inherited from his grandfather. He also didn’t need a teenager with a lot of anger, and God knows what else, under his roof, but when the time came to pay back the piper, he didn’t want to be caught holding a broken flute.
“Howdy, Joel,” Sheriff Shilkins called from the rolled down window of the beat-up police cruiser. The shocks were nearly gone and two of the tires were balder than the back of Jenny Wilcox’s head after she lost the fight at Ma Ramey’s over the proprietor’s no-account son Bubba, who was also the father of Jenny’s baby, as well as her sister Ellen’s baby girl and their cousin Rita Mae’s water headed little boy, Jukie.
“Sheriff, good to see ya,” Joel called back. “Glad you made it out so quick. I have a bit of a problem.”
Skeeter Shilkins stepped out of the vehicle, dressed in brown pants, emblazoned with a gold stripe down the sides, and a shirt that was missing one button at his mid-section. The other buttons appeared to be holding on tightly in fear of letting go of the fabric, which would be the cause of a body losing an eye from a flying projectile. In his jaw, the Sheriff held a wad of tobacco, thick as a small child’s fist, which stained his teeth a nice tint of shit brown, and he spat a wad of black spit at Joel’s feet.
Joel didn’t react to such petty attempts to bait him into an argument that Skeeter Shilkins didn’t possess the mental acumen to win, let alone engage. He didn’t move as he watched the sheriff place his hand on the handle of his weapon. The action didn’t intimidate Joel, only made him more resolved in his efforts to start a new merger.
“What can I do you for, Joel?”
“Came home last night and found an uninvited guest,” he said, waving at the young man. “I fed him dinner and breakfast this morning, and you know what they say. You keep feeding them, they will eventually look like you.”
“Ain’t never heard that saying,” Sheriff Shilkins said, adjusting the chaw in his jaw. “What you calling me for? You want me to take him in for trespassing?”
“No, he’s homeless, the world’s a nasty place, and I can use some help around here with chores and the like,” Joel said. “I want it in the record that the boy’s here. On Monday, I will head over to social services and file whatever paperwork I need to get him in school and put it on the books that this will be his legal address until he turns 18 or decides to split.”
The Sheriff spit again, but this time his eyes went to the boy. He pointed at the young man. “Boy, get down here. What’s your name?”
“Dex Lockhart,” the boy said, blinking furiously and looking down at his boots.
Joel couldn’t help but notice how the boy stood behind him at an angle, away from the reach of the Sheriff. He wouldn’t make eye contact, which the Sheriff would read in a negative manner. Skeeter Shilkins enjoyed making snap judgements although he was usually incorrect. Joel couldn’t afford to have him suspicious about the kid from the get-go.
“Dex, look at the Sheriff when you speak to him. A man who doesn’t make eye contact with another person while they are talking, people start to suspect they are up to no good,” Joel explained. “You don’t want the Sheriff to think you’re up to no good, do you?”
“No,” Dexter said, raising his head.
“Where you from, boy?”
It was the way the Sheriff said “boy” that made Joel want to mix a nice cocktail of his special blend of sleep tea to make the man’s tongue swell in his mouth until it choked the oxygen supply to his feeble, empty brain. The Sheriff moved closer and much to Joel’s pride, Dex didn’t take a step back, but held his ground. The small action prompted Joel to place his hand on the boy’s shoulder as a show of solidarity.
“I’m from Co nway. I ran away from a group home down there trying to make my way to Memphis, but it’s pretty dark out this way at night, and I saw the lights and just wanted to rest for the evening, maybe find a bite to eat,” Dex stated.
“You’re lucky,” the Sheriff said, “because most people in these parts will see that brown skin and think you’re gonna steal something. You’re very lucky.”
Sheriff Shilkins eyeballed the boy for a while, determining the only threat he would be was to himself. Then, thinking better of it, he asked the boy for ID.
“I don’t have any,” he said. “I’m only 15. I wanted to get a driver’s permit, but the home I lived in, well, they didn’t have a car for me to practice.”
“Why did you run away?”
Dex lowered his eyes again, and Joel squeezed his shoulder for him to look up. He did, staring the Sheriff directly in the eyes. Clearing his throat, he provided enough information to give reason, but not probable cause for other men in uniform to investigate his foster parents.
“They weren’t nice people, and I didn’t feel safe at night,” Dex offered. “I thought I’d come out better, just lighting out on my own and making a way the best way I could.”
“And the Lord sent you here to this farm,” the Sheriff said facetiously.
“No, I called the Haven Hands Help Line for a place to stay for the night, and I was sent here,” Dex said. “Mr. Thomas gave me dinner and a warm bed to sleep in. Since I had nowhere in particular, I was going, he offered to let me stay here, granted I work when I come home from school on the farm.”
“You okay with doing that...hard work on this farm?”
“If it means I can go to bed at night not scared for my life or wake up with someone standing over my bed to do me harm, I will work my pea-picking heart out,” Dex said, looking at the Sheriff with intent.
Skeeter rubbed his tummy and glanced up at Joel. He had never trusted the young black man who inherited 40 acres of prime land and paid taxes on time and never caused any ruckus; and he still didn’t trust him. In his upper shirt pocket, he pulled out a business card and handed it to the kid.
“Anything gets weird or freaky around here, use that number to call me,” the Sheriff said, sticking a skinny leg into the driver’s side of the squad car. Next, he folded his belly in behind the steering wheel, slowly dragging his left leg inside and closing the door. He looked like a sausage in a smokey hat sitting behind the wheel with his puffy red face and wad of poison in his cheek. For good measure, he spat again, this time almost getting the tip of Joel’s boot. “Make sure you get to the County Offices on Monday to get some paperwork done on that boy.”
“Will do, Sheriff,” Joel said and watched him drive off. “Come on Dex, I need to show you how to slop the hogs, feed the chickens, and milk the cow.”
“Seriously? You actually have a cow that has to be milked?”
“Yep, I also have a mule to go with these forty acres that I owe a pair of new shoes, which has to get done today,” he told Dex.
Dex followed along behind Joel, not sure what to say or if this were simply a ploy and later the man would expect payment in the form of some deviant sexual behavior. As far as he knew, that was the only reason grown men allowed teen boys in their homes. At least, that was his experience. Joel appeared to be nice, but they all started out that way. Dex didn’t plan to let down his guard. It was almost if Joel could hear the child’s thoughts.
“Dex, the Archangel placed you in my care. I have no ulterior motives, I like women, love them actually, and I don’t have any plans to harm you in any way. You’re safe here for as long as you want to stay, if, and this is important, you make a plan to finish high school, then either go to college or in the military, one or the two,” he said.
“I don’t know if I’m college material,” Dex mumbled. “Don’t think I’m too interested in joining the military.”
“You have two, maybe three years to figure it out and make a plan, but you have to have one for when you turn 18,” Joel said. “I will get the paperwork straight, petition the courts to emancipate you, and see if we can get you a check while you stay here to build up a savings account.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Someone did it for me, so I have to pay it forward,” Joel told the young man. “I’ve got to pay my dues.”
CASTOR BEAN WAS THE crankiest old mule to ever pull a plow on the Williams Farm, but he was loyal to a fault and didn’t like many people. Honestly, Castor Bean didn’t like any people, which is how the old boy ended up in the barn at Joel’s land. One morning, Joel had heard loud sounds and braying from an angry animal who’d gotten himself surrounded by Joel’s two cats, Oleander and Nightshade, who didn’t appreciate the mule scaring off the mice and ruining their hunting party.
Three years later, Castor Bean was still cranky and the mule also didn’t particularly care for Joel and wasn’t pleased with the idea of new shoes.
“Hey there, you cranky old bastard,” Joel said, leading Dex into the barn. “How you doing this morning?”
Castor Bean turned his thick neck to provide Joel a sideways glance, not bothered at his presence, but the mule did take notice of Dex. Out of his large side eye, he followed the boy’s movements, who stopped short of his stall. Dex held up his hand to the mule, who watched closely, then moved from his stall and came over to the young man.
“Animals really like me,” Dex said, running his hand down the pastern of the mule, giving it’s flanks a hearty pat.
“That says a lot about you since that mule doesn’t like anybody,” Joel said, watching his finicky cats come over to inspect the new guest. “The calico is Nightshade and the tabby is Oleander. The mule is Castor Bean.”
“Those are all very poisonous plants,” Dex said.
“You know about that kind of stuff?”
“I like science and experiments and stuff, but not like making meth or anything,” Dex said, suddenly cutting what he was going to say short.
“Yeah, there are a lot of screwed up adults in the world. Most of the time you don’t realize how fucked up they are until a little button inside of you clicks on and tells you that something isn’t right,” Joel told him.
“I have one of those buttons,” Dex admitted, bending over to scratch the cats behind their ears. “My button turned on yesterday and told me to get the hell out of that house. I’d had enough of those people.”
Joel didn’t respond. Instead, he walked over to grab the milk pail and the milking stool to give Dex a place to sit as he emptied the udders of Old Lace, the milk cow. She was on her last cycle of giving milk. He didn’t really want to eat the old girl, but he also couldn’t afford to have another mouth to feed that didn’t put in any work on the land. There was time to make that decision; today wasn’t the day.
“It must have been bad for you to walk 82 miles from Conway to here,” he told him.
“Hitched to the County Line, then got a ride into Stuttgart, and walked the rest of the way,” Dex said. “I think the people who gave me a ride were also sent by that Archangel guy. None of them tried to hurt me or ask me for any sexual favors.”
“Dex, you’re safe here,” Joel said to the kid. “I don’t know what you left, but you’re here. Act right. Be right. I’ll treat you right. Act a fool, and I will break my boot off in your ass until you get some right in your soul. You have a chance for a different life, and I’m going to help, but you’ve got to want it.”
“I want it,” Dex answered. “You have no idea how bad I want to just go to sleep at night and feel safe. I want to open a fridge and have a choice of what to eat or not have to wait for the lunch lady on Friday to give me a pack of food for the weekend since she knows my foster parents are jerks who make meth.”
Joel scratched the wiry hairs of his attempt to grow a beard. He had patches of hair on his cheeks and chin, and none of the hairs could make up their minds about how they wanted to connect, making him look like a beatnik hippy farmer confused about his life choices.
“Dex, I have food. The lights stay on and the fireplaces work so we have heat. You can rest at night with a door that locks if that makes you feel safer, and you can shower and think about where you want to go in your life,” Joel added.
