Wolverton by Julie Steimle (best romantic books to read TXT) 📕

“You drove here from Massachusetts?” She stared at him, surprised, taking in his eyes.

Chuckling, he nodded. “Yeah. Normally we would have flown, but… uh, long story really. My father just wanted to make sure I made it to the right place.”

“What brings you to Alabama?” Her clear blue eyes shone with curiosity as well something on her mind. Her smile was hesitant, yet sincere, like she was not sure what he was, though she did seem confident he was no danger to her.

Shrugging, Rick decided to tell the truth. “My father owns a factory down here. And he wanted to teach me the ropes of the business from the point of view of the worker.”

She blinked at him, startled.

“So, I came to work here for a month and take different shifts each week,” he explained.

Her stare grew heavier. “Your father owns the factory near here? Deacon Enterprises?”

Rick nodded. He then stuck out his hand. “I’m Rick—Howard Richard Deacon the Third. I go by Rick.”

Barely taking his hand and shaking it, her eyes remained on his face. “How did you end up here?”

He looked around, raised his eyebrows at the buildings which for the most part gave him that backward feeling of being somewhere in serious Hicksville, then shrugged as he told a half truth, “Something happened at the factory. A mix-up, and I had to—uh, leave early. It’s complicated. But the manager took away my cellphone, and I really need to call my father.”

“And not your friend?” She leaned away with one eye closed.

Chuckling, Rick nodded. “My friend is actually our, uh, steward. He’s closer, as my father is abroad right now conducting business in another country. I just figured our steward would be better to call.”

She nodded, waving for him to follow her into the house, and she picked up her young child, carrying him.

They walked up to a side door. The little girl followed him, her eyes raking over Rick’s scars.

“Why do you have that big scar on your back?” the little girl asked.

The mother looked back briefly, opening the door.

Shrugging, Rick said as he followed the woman into the kitchen, “A big thing scratched me.”

“They look like claw marks,” the girl said, propping her hand and the empty basket onto her hip.

“Go back and get the strawberries.” The mother urged her away, a little embarrassed at her daughter’s forwardness.

“Did a wolf do that?” The daughter ignored her.

He blinked at her, a little stunned, then said, “No. It was more like a bear.”

“Really?” the mother said, now staring freely at it. “Where did it happen?”

With a chuckle, Rick lied, “It was on a camping trip. My father and I, when we have the time for it, love to go camping together.”

“Oh.” The woman nodded. She then pointed to an old rotary dial telephone hanging on the wall. “You can use that to call your father.”

Rick walked over to it, staring at it. It wasn’t one of those Alexander Graham Bell antiques which his grandfather Richardson owned. It was more like a nineteen-seventy’s manila colored plastic phone with the long stretchy cord. He honestly had never handled such a thing. But he lifted the receiver from the hook it hung on and then fingered the circular holes with the numbers on the machine.

The mother jogged up with a gentle snicker and said, “You do this.”

She demonstrated putting her finger in the hole and tracing it around the circle. He watched as the dial spun back, clicking. It was like a novel toy.

“It is a little slow,” she said smiling, hanging it up again. “But sturdy.”

Nodding, he then strained to remember the phone numbers, as he usually had them on speed dial in his cell phone. Should he call his father or Henry first?

He decided to try Henry.

Using the rotary dial was definitely harder than punching in a few numbers on his cell phone, but it was amusing to watch the dial spin back each time he finished a number. He almost wanted to just stand there and play with it. But he finished dialing then listened for the ringtone.

It rang once.

It rang twice.

It rang a third time and went straight to voicemail.

Groaning, Rick pressed his hand to his forehead. He leaned against the wall. But he left a message.

“Henry. It’s Rick. There’s been a problem. I need you to pick me up. I’m at…” he looked to the woman, “What is this town’s name?”

“Wolverton,” she said.

Blinking at it, as it was the weirdest coincidence, he said into the phone, “Wolverton. It is west of the factory, I do believe. Try to call back to this number. I am going to call dad. That manager is a jackass. He tried to make me work night shift this week. You understand that’s a problem. I got out before things got bad, but…” he peeked over to the mother whom he could tell was listening in. “…I had to leave my shoes. He has my cell phone.” Then thinking more, he just said, “Try to call back. I need you to get me out of here.”

Then he hung the receiver.

Gnawing on his thumbnail, he started to wonder why Henry’s phone was not on. Usually he picked up after four rings even if he was busy. He rarely turned it off. But then thinking more, Rick guessed Henry probably needed to recharge the cellphone. The road trip had been a little distracting and Henry looked like he had a lot on his plate since his father had also delegated some things for him to do as well, though Rick did not know what.

Immediately Rick dialed his father’s cell. Undoubtedly it would go directly to voicemail. Though Rick rarely called his father except in case of emergencies, his timing had begun to annoy the man when he did call. In the past, Rick had interrupted meetings and well-earned sleep on several occasions. So when the phone went to his father’s voicemail box, Rick gave him a similar rundown as the call to Henry, adding, “I lost my wallet also. I’m gonna see if I can find it. But you need to know, that manager purposely switched the schedule, and he took away my cellphone so I couldn’t call you. And though I know he was just an idiot, not realizing what he was doing, he did intend to bully me by it. Call this number as soon as you can.”

He then hung up.

Sighing, Rick nodded to the woman of the house and said, “Thanks. I hope you don’t mind if I wait here for them to get back to me.”

But she had an introspective expression on her face which worried Rick a little. Her smile was halting as she said, “No. No problem. I don’t mind.”

Then she went about getting together a breakfast, setting each thing on the table. She quickly shooed out the little girl for the strawberries again, then she went after eggs from her refrigerator, which also was an older model with a huge latch handle on the front. Rick stared at it, realizing people stopped using those in the fifties. His eyes traced around the room. Many of the technological items seemed out of date, like the light switches and door handles. It was like he had stepped into the Twilight Zone. He wasn’t exactly back in time, as he had been able to get a hold of Henry’s and his father’s voicemails, but at the same time it wasn’t like he was in the modern era either.

That is, he thought that until he saw a teenage boy trot down the far stairs into the room while obliviously listening to his iPod. The boy's eyes lifted onto Rick the moment he stepped toward the kitchen, and he stared. Pulling out an earbud, he gestured with one hand and said to his mother, “Who is that?”

His mother said, “He is using our phone.”

The boy chuckled, shaking his head as he sat in chair, jerking his chin at Rick. “You’re supposed to pick up the receiver and dial.”

Massaging his forehead, Rick laughed, nodding. “I already made the call. I’m waiting for an answer.”

The boy, who looked like he was something between fifteen and sixteen with brown hair and a well-earned tan, said, “Don’t you have a cellphone?”

“I did,” Rick replied, relieved they knew about cellphones. “But it was taken from me.”

Laughing more, the boy reached over to the food his mother was placing on the table and plucked up two strips of bacon. “It looks like you got mugged by a bear. Where’s your shirt?”

Pawing his bare chest, Rick laughed more then walked over to the table, nodding to him. “I had taken it off last night and left it in the bushes with my pants. And I can’t find either of them now. After this, once they call back, would you help me search for them?”

“Why did you take them off?” He stared at Rick, his amusement melting into curiosity.

Shrugging, Rick replied, “I went for a swim in the creek.”

But the boy’s smile fell off entirely. His eyes widened. It unnerved Rick a little.

“Is that bad?” Rick asked. “Was their poison in the water or something?”

The boy shook his head. “No. No. But… when did you go swimming in the creek?”

Cringing, Rick shrugged. “Last night…?”

He watched the color wash out from the boy’s face. He looked to his mother who was quietly setting the table. The boy’s eyes then turned to the items on the table, marking different things on it. He pushed away from it, his eyes lifting and regarding Rick more warily.

“What?” Rick looked from the boy to his mother, his back stiffening. “Did I do something wrong?”

The woman shook her head. “No. Not at all.” But her eyes were cautious, calculating. “Come have breakfast with us.”

He stared, his instincts telling him to run. This was way too weird for him.

“While you wait…” she added, gesturing to an empty seat. “I get the feeling they won’t be calling back any time soon.”

“Why?” Rick did not budge. The instinct to run welled over him, and he only barely resisted. He was getting that old horror movie vibe. There was poison in the food. Or an axe murderer hiding in the pantry. They were cannibals or something. He wouldn’t discount it after all the things he had seen. His hometown was dominated by witches, for pity’s sake.

Sighing, the mother said with a more relaxed posture, “Because you got voicemail twice, and you said your father was abroad on business. And most likely that friend of yours is busy on the road and will not talk on his phone while driving.”

Oh. Henry was probably driving, Rick thought. She was probably right.

Rick glanced to the meal. There was bacon, eggs, orange juice, and toast. Nothing weird. Maybe he was just psyching himself out. It was just that the way they were staring at him was giving him the heebie-jeebies.

The boy leaned nearer to him and drew in a breath like he was smelling a rare steak. When he let it out, a smile crooked up on one side of his mouth.

Finally Rick just said it, leaning towards the door, “Please don’t tell me you are cannibals because this week has already started out really bad.”

Busting into a laugh, the boy shook his head. “No…”

The daughter jogged in with the basketful of strawberries.

“Let’s wash them,” the mother said, repressing a smirk.

Immediately the boy went back into eating breakfast. The little girl soon joined them. The toddler slid onto a seat and stared up at Rick with wide eyes.

“I’m Kurt.” The teen boy stuck out a greasy hand.

Rick shook it. “Rick. Rick Deacon.” Then he looked for a napkin to wipe his hand on, pulling out a chair and sitting.

The boy’s smirk widened. There was confirmation in his eyes, though what Rick was not sure.

“I’m Susi,” the girl said. “Susi Elanora Blithe.”

The little toddler waved a hand and shouted. “I’m Luko.”

“Nice,” Rick said. “Uh, nice to meet you.” He then nodded to the mother who