It's A Sweet Life Part 4

The men set their snacks down on the counter and followed her to the bedrooms. Both were empty.

Ken said, "I saw the mattresses and box springs."

Still shrouded in plastic storage bags, the twin bed sets leaned against the wall out in the hallway.

"Those come with the apartment. I don't have much in the way of extra towels and bedding," she said. "That's still boxed up. I'll need to find it and get it all washed for you. It's been packed for a while. But the mattresses and box springs for the beds are brand new. My parents had put them in their guest room a few months before..." She cut herself off and quickly continued. "They're several years old, but they've never been slept on."

"That's okay," Charles a.s.sured her. "We can pick some bedding and towels up somewhere." He looked at his cousin. "I like it. Let's do it."

She fought the urge to hold her breath while Ken slowly nodded. "I'm in." He pulled out his wallet and counted out fifties. "We'll sign the lease for six months, if that's okay? And then possibly extend it after that. We don't know what our plans will be by then."

Her heart fluttered. Six months wasn't that long, but it would get her through s...o...b..rd season and take some financial pressure off her. "And I'm willing to take some off the rent every month if you wanted to help out downstairs. I can always use another set of hands in the bakery."

"I don't know anything about baking," Ken said, "but Charles is pretty good in the kitchen. Let's pay you for this right now, and we can negotiate the rest later. Seven hundred a month is more than a fair price." He offered her another smile that not only set her stomach fluttering, but warmed up places lower in her body that hadn't felt like that in years.

"Great. I'll go get the lease." She hurried downstairs to her office, to where she'd printed off a generic lease form for Florida rentals.

So what if they're gay? Her immediate problems were solved.

Chapter Five.

Ben waited until she was out of earshot. He kept his voice low. "This is perfect."

"She's cute."

Ben glared at Allan and reached for his cheese danish. "Don't even. We've talked about this. It wouldn't be fair to her. That's why we're telling folks we're gay, remember?"

"Dude, you have to admit she's a sweetie. She's tripping all over herself."

He found his hand fisting the front of Allan's s.h.i.+rt collar before he realized what he was doing. "No. We will not put someone else at risk. I've seen what those f.u.c.kers do to people. Especially what they can do to the women of men who cross them."

Allan stared at him. "Let me go," he said, his tone strained, but calm.

Ben let out a breath and released him. "Sorry."

Allan straightened his s.h.i.+rt. "One of the executive a.s.sistants in my office has fibromyalgia. Some days, she can barely function. I don't have a problem helping Libbie out in the bakery if she needs it. And you can't dictate who I can and can't be friends with."

"Friends, fine. No problem. But don't go dragging an innocent woman into our c.r.a.p. I won't put anyone else at risk." He bit into his danish. As he chewed he struggled not to moan. It was, no lying, the best pastry he'd ever had. And he'd consumed more than his fair share during stakeouts while working his way up to detective.

He glanced at Allan, who bit into his. His eyes widened. "f.u.c.k, this is great!"

Ben nodded as he devoured his. "Yeah."

Libbie returned a few minutes later with the papers and a pen. "So where are you from?"

"Omaha," Ben said, sticking to their story. "Born and raised there."

"Wow. That's a long way to move, huh?"

"We're tired of the winters," Allan said. "Been there all our lives."

"What made you pick Brooksville?"

Ben started filling out the forms. The PO Box address he listed in Omaha actually was a generic drop-box used by the DEA office out there for undercover operations. "We stopped for the night over at I-75 and decided to explore before we got to Tampa. I can work from anywhere I have Internet." He looked at Allan. "So can he. We sold everything, cashed out, and said good-bye to cold-a.s.s winters and judgmental family."

"You'll like it here," she said. "Small town, very quiet."

"And great coffee," Allan added as he sipped his.

"Everyone loves Many Blessings," she said. Her expression grew wistful. "We all miss Julie, the former owner. She was such a sweetheart. She was a good friend. We knew each other growing up." She let out a sad-sounding sigh. "It was especially hard on Mandaline. She was even closer to Julie than I was."

"What happened to her?" Ben asked, his senses on alert at her tone.

"You remember that horror writer, Stephen Corey?"

Allan frowned. "The novelist? Didn't he die a few months ago?"

She nodded. "He killed Julie before he died. He went crazy." She shuddered. "Actually, if you're staying at I-75, you're not far from where it happened. They lived in the Croom Motorcycle area there at the northeast corner of 75 and 50."

Ben remembered reading about that case in the news. It had made national headlines due to the brutality of the crime, as well as the fame of the guy. Corey didn't just murder the woman. He raped her first, before almost killing his wife and friend in the rampage. The tabloids especially had gone nuts over the story. Autopsy revealed the guy was a severe alcoholic as well.

"That kind of stuff isn't normal around here," Libbie said. "It's usually very quiet."

Ben finished filling out the lease, signed it, and handed it to Allan to sign. "Here you go, Charles."

Allan shot him a glare, but signed it correctly.

While he did that, Ben said, "We'll run over to the hotel and get checked out. Then we'll come back and help you all finish up with the moving, if that's okay?"

"Oh, sure. I appreciate that. I'm sorry it's not ready right now."

"We don't mind," Allan a.s.sured her. "We're just glad to find such a nice place so quickly."

She took them on a quick tour of the rest of the building before handing them a set of keys. "Those are for your apartment and the back door over there." She pointed down the hallway to the door to the stairs where they'd come in from the outside. "You can park in back behind the building. There's only room for one more car in the carport. I usually park in front of the door."

"We only have one truck," Ben said.

"Oh, okay. There's a washer and dryer downstairs, in the utility room. The key is the same for the back door." She led them outside and introduced them to everyone.

Ben was glad to see his instincts were still sharp. Grover turned out to be the father, or father-in-law, of most of the others.

Grover smiled as he shook hands with them. "Welcome to the family, guys. We have plenty of food left, if you'd like some."

Allan reached for a plate before Ben could stop him.

What the h.e.l.l, why not? Can't hurt to be friendly. "Thanks, Grover," Ben said. "We appreciate it."

By nine o'clock that night, the moving had been completed, the men had taken a quick trip to the store for sheets, pillows, towels, and groceries, and they were settled in for the night. Before Grover had left for the day, he'd slipped Ben a piece of paper with his name and several phone numbers written on it.

"You call me if she has trouble," he told Ben. "Girl's too d.a.m.n stubborn to ask for help when she needs it the most. I'm counting on you two to help me keep an eye on her when I can't be here."

Libbie had gone to bed nearly two hours earlier, her face pinched with pain as she bid the men good-night.

I wish I could make her feel better. Ben shoved the wistful thought back into its cage again and slammed the door shut. He really liked Libbie and could tell Allan did, too. That was dangerous.

Very dangerous.

It wouldn't do to fall for her. From the way she'd acted that afternoon, Ben could tell she'd quickly grown comfortable around them.

It would be too d.a.m.n easy for him to fall for her.

You're just lonely. Don't be a d.i.c.k and hurt her. Keep your distance.

Later, as he collapsed into bed, alone, after taking a shower, he couldn't help but think about her sweet green eyes.

Libbie slowly sank into the deep tub of hot water with a relieved groan. Galileo, still disgruntled by the upheaval, strolled into the bathroom and put his front feet up on the tub's edge.

"Mwrao."

She closed her eyes and put her head back against the tub pillow. "Stuff it, buddy. This is Mommy's time."

Everything hurt. Hurt worse than it had in a long time.

At least something makes my hands seem to feel better. She smiled at the irony. Tonight, her total pain level was through the roof, meaning her hands were the least of her problems.

And now she had some nice man-candy to think about while waiting for sleep to kick in later. Ken and Charles were sweethearts.

Just my luck they're gay.

Didn't it figure? The first two decent guys, not to mention hunktacular guys, to cross her path in years, and neither was available.

Too bad. At least I have Bob. He never let her down as long as she kept fresh batteries in him. And he could stay in her bedside drawer, so she knew he couldn't sleep around on her or lie to her about who he'd been with.

Bonus.

She'd learned the hard way it wasn't worth having a relations.h.i.+p with someone who couldn't give as much as she did. She'd divorced her first mistake, fortunately before her parents had died, eight years ago. They'd been totally supportive when she'd found out he was a cheating, lying b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

Especially when she admitted he gave her a hard time about her fibro and accused her of faking it.

After she caught herself drifting off, she drained the tub and got out. She rubbed more of both the ointment and oil mix Mandaline gave her into her hands and headed for bed. Tomorrow, with the shop closed, she could sleep late. And she would. As well as spend most of the day curled up on the couch with Galileo, a heating pad, and her Kindle. She had a new Cooper McKenzie menage waiting for her.

If only those kinds of things happened in real life. Well, they did to lucky people like Mandaline. While initial scuttleb.u.t.t about the woman's triad with Ellis and Bradley had been scandalous, eventually the rumors died down when people realized they didn't do anything shocking like have s.e.x in public or try to convert everyone to their lifestyle.

Libbie could give a flying rat's a.s.s what Mandaline did in her bedroom. Truth be told, she was a little envious.

She let out a wistful sigh. Maybe I should ask Mandaline what they're putting in their drinks over there and order a b.u.t.tload of it for myself.

Chapter Six.

Libbie's first thought upon waking Sunday morning was that she was caught in a nightmare. The light looked wrong, her whole bedroom seemed out of place, and it felt like every single muscle in her body was simultaneously caught in a horrible spasm.

Even rolling over proved out of the question. She was caught on her side, tangled in the sheets and blankets without the strength to free herself.

As her panicked brain struggled out of sleep, rational thought took over. I switched apartments.

That slowed her racing pulse and allowed her to calm down.

It left her, however, with the problem of pain she could barely grit her teeth against and the stupid thought that the headline about her death would read "Woman Trapped and Killed By Her Own Tasteful, but Deadly, Bedding."

That set off laughter. Soon followed by tears of pain and self-pity.

After taking a couple of deep breaths and trying to calm herself again, she started with her feet. Feeling around with her toes, she managed to wiggle her feet enough to get a grip on the sheet with them and slowly tug it down a little.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she did that several more times until she had gotten her lower legs and ankles limber enough she could draw them up and carefully s.h.i.+ft onto her back.

That triggered another round of tears as pain wracked her body.

I've got to pull myself together. The pain and weakness scared her more than anything. Pain alone she could deal with. h.e.l.l, she had more than her fair share of experience dealing with it. But she'd never felt that level of weakness before in more than just her hands.

Remarkably, she realized her hands, while achy, felt reasonably good.

Figures. Maybe I can bathe in that d.a.m.n stuff Mandaline makes. It'd be worth it.

After a few minutes, she finished freeing herself from the covers and slowly stretched her legs out again with a pained groan.

Thank G.o.d it's Sunday. She no doubt had way overdone things yesterday. She'd need every bit of her two days off to recover enough to work Tuesday morning.

It took her twenty minutes and a few more tears, but she eventually managed to get herself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed and stand up. Which was a good thing, because now she had to pee.

The bathroom felt like it was a thousand miles away, but as she slowly stretched, her protesting muscles and painful joints allowed her to shuffle into the bathroom.