Hollywood Dirt
Page 37

“It’s a rooster,” I repeated. “Or, well, he will be when he grows up. Fred sexed him for me. That’s why he has those little spikes on the top of his head.” I used the sink, filling the bowl half full of water and setting it in the corner of the plastic bin. Plugging in the lamp, I put it on the floor, next to opposite end. “You’ll need newspaper to line the bottom. The lamp is for heat. Baby chickens need a lot of warmth. Keep it on, even at night.”
“Summer!” His hands closed around my shoulders, and he turned me around, looking down at me, his face dark, our bodies close in the small space. “You are taking that thing with you.”
“No,” I said firmly, reaching down and pulling off his hand. “I’m not. It’s a gift, and you don’t refuse gifts. It’s rude.”
I moved around him, snagging my towel from the floor, and walked to the door, glancing back as I opened it to find Cole, his hands on the edge of the plastic container, looking helplessly from me to it, the pose distractingly sexual given his lack of shirt.
“Newspaper. Find some and line the bottom. Oh, and Cole?” I smiled sweetly, and he looked at me. “You’re welcome. And welcome to Quincy.”
I shut the door and skipped down the back steps, moving through the yard and out the gate before he had a chance to respond.
Okay, maybe mending fences had been my goal. Or maybe, I just wanted to give the man a jab back. Kissing might not be my forte, but sparring… I could do that just fine.
CHAPTER 43
As God as his witness, if Cole knew a place in this small town to hide a body, Summer Jenkins would be dead.
He stood in his new kitchen and stared down at a tiny bird that stared right back up at him. And then scratched at the edge of the plastic. And then stared at him some more.
He left it, him, whatever, there and jogged up the stairs. Grabbed his cell off the bed and, damn the time change, called California.
The hospital was not very accommodating, the nurse hesitant to put the call through, her tone flipping when he said the two magic words that made all doors open: Cole Masten.
The phone rang six times, Cole pulling on his shirt, before Justin answered.
“Cole.”
“Justin. How are you?”
“I’ll live. Sorry I can’t be kicking ass and taking names for you down there.” His voice was weaker than normal, his words slower than standard, and Cole felt a moment of guilt for his early call.
“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I’ll let you get back to bed.”
“Shut up, man. I’m surprised you’ve survived without me this long. What’s it been, three days?”
Cole laughed. “Yeah. It’s been hell. Literally. Satan would be comfortable in this heat. How long before you’re back in my corner?”
“Doctors say four weeks. I’ll be out of here in about a week, but I won’t be able to travel until around the time filming starts.”
Cole stood at the top of the stairs and looked down, swallowing his list of requests. “Get better. I need you back.”
“You know it. And call me if I can do anything from here.”
Cole only nodded, his feet trotting down the stairs and back to the kitchen. Back to the bird. He hung up the cell, eyed a thin telephone book that sat underneath a cordless phone, and headed toward it.
“Coach Ford and Buick, this is Bubba.”
Cole glanced down at the ad and reaffirmed the number. “Yes, do you service the Quincy area?”
“Sure we do. Quincy, Tallahassee, Valdosta, Dothan. We’ll service anybody that brings us business.” The man’s tone was hearty, a bellowing voice that probably couldn’t whisper if it tried.
“I’d like to purchase a truck.”
“Wonderful! We’re open ’til seven. Do you need directions?”
“No. I’d like to buy one over the phone and have you deliver it.”
There was a long silence. “We don’t really do that. There’s financing paperwork, an inspection check, the test drive…”
Cole let out a long, irritated sigh. Maybe he should have called American Express. Let them handle this shit. “I’m paying cash. I’ll give you a credit card number and someone from your dealership can bring the paperwork with the truck. Okay?”
Another long pause. “I think I better let you talk to Mr. Coach.” There was a muffled shout and the huff of breath, as the man seemed to, from all sound indicators, run. Cole stared at the chicken and wondered if he should name it. It was kind of, despite any level of common sense, exciting. He’d never had a pet before. His father had always said no, and Nadia was against anything that might, at any point in time, smell, make noise, or cause inconvenience.
Cole wandered over to the fridge and opened it up. Stared at empty shelves and wondered what to feed it. He needed a vehicle; that was the first step. Then he and the bird would get whatever they needed to survive.
Bubba came back on the line, this time with the dealership’s owner. Cole introduced himself and, ten minutes later, had verbally chosen one of the six trucks they had on the lot. They promised delivery within the hour, and he hung up the phone with a newfound sense of accomplishment. Maybe a few weeks without Justin would be a good thing.
“Well,” he said to the bird, “I guess it’s just me and you.”
Damn Summer. Damn her to hell.
CHAPTER 44
It took twenty minutes in his new truck—a red F250 Super Duty—to find Quincy’s version of a pet store, a long white building with the words FEED AND TACKLE in big, red letters along its side. When Cole stepped in, Summer’s tub under his arm, the store’s lone inhabitant looked up from his counter at the back of the store and grunted a hello. Cole stepped gingerly forward, his new boots squeaking as he walked past horse collars, mud boots, bags of horse feed, and an enthusiastic display of rat traps. He got to the counter and set Cocky’s tub on the worn wooden surface. The chick’s name had come to him while driving, a humorous play on words but also wholly unoriginal. No biggie. There was only one Cole Masten; if he had a less than uniquely named rooster, so be it. He waited for a moment for the recognition, the traditional ‘Hey, aren’t you...’ but the man just glanced at the tub, then at Cole, his mouth opened enough to roll his toothpick to the other side and then it closed.