Page 3 of Home Body
“Huh?”
“Home. You need to get home. You’re not driving, are you?”
“Oh. Nuh uh.” The drunk pointed aimlessly. “I, um, was withher. The bitch who screwed my fiancé. I don’t know where the other one with the car is. They’re gone.”
Dalia scanned the area. She did not want to put this person into her truck. But she also did not want to leave an inebriated young woman alone in front of a strip club where even drunker, horny men came and went.
The front door of Babette’s Gentlemen’s Club burst open and a man flew out, landing on his hands and knees. The bouncer, deputy sheriff Brody McIntyre from Dalia’s hometown, followed. “Don’t come back,” he yelled. The man scrambled to his feet and ran off. Brody turned to re-enter the building and noticed the two women. He stopped and stared.
The drunk bride-to-be chose that very moment to pass out again. Simultaneously, Dalia reached down to grab her and Brody ran over to help lest she fall and hit her head. Their arms and hands tangled as they caught the woman. Dalia backed away, alarmed at the thrill that ran through her at his macho touch.
He picked the woman up in his arms. “She’s breathing but she might need to go to the emergency room.”
“Hi. I’m Kenyon.” The woman came to and wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re handsome. Will you marry me?”
“Ah, that would be no.” Brody looked pleadingly at Dalia. “Seems like she’ll be fine after all. What should I do with her?” He held her out as if Dalia should take her.
“How the hell should I know? I don’t know her.”
Brody turned to one side then the other while Kenyon snuggled into his chest. He was obviously at a total loss.
“Okay,” Dalia said, giving in. “I’ll take her somewhere to call someone.”
“Good.” Relieved, Brody followed Dalia to her truck and carefully settled Kenyon into the passenger’s seat while Dalia hopped in on her side.
“Aren’t you coming?” Kenyon slurred through the open window when he closed her door.
“No, miss. This fine young woman here will find help to get you home.”
“Oh. I don’t have a home. Not now. I lived with the bastard. I refuse to go tohim.”
“Well, then, what about your parents?”
“Shhh.” Kenyon attempted to put a finger up to her lips but missed. “We must not tell them. They can never know.”
Dalia had become anxious to get out of there. This proximity to a man who might figure out who she was made her nervous. She could only hope the red wig and glittery makeup were doing their job of keeping her incognito.
Brody tapped the windowsill and spoke over the passenger to the driver. “Okay. Bring her back here if you can’t get help and we’ll figure out something else. Good luck, Dalia.”
He backed away and watched as she drove off, leaving Dalia stupefied that he’d known who she was all along.
“Damn it all to hell,” she whispered, devastated that her cover was blown. “Men. They’re nothing but trouble.”
“Yeah, I agree,” Kenyon said. “But I wouldn’t mind marrying that one back there.” She pointed with a wobbly finger. “He’s hot!”
CHAPTER 4
Kenyon squinted in the dim light to see that she’d died and gone to heaven, which turned out to be pink instead of the white always seen in movies. She lay in a soft bed, a twin-sized four-poster with pink chiffon draped from post to post. Shiny stars hung from each post. A flowery quilt in a variety of shades of the hue covered her. The walls – pale pink. A long window stood open letting in a refreshing breeze. Even Mother Nature participated in the color scheme as the pinkish prism of dawn broke over the horizon at the edge of a field.
She sat up, more alert. “Where in blazes am I?” She rummaged around in her ravaged mojito-infused brain where bits and pieces of memory ricocheted off the walls inside her head. She’d been at a rowdy strip club, Chad had cheated on her with a stripper and with her best friend, there had been a brawl, and she’d fainted. That much was etched into her skull like the epitaph on a tombstone, touting the death of her life as she’d known it.
She supposed she should feel destroyed, and she did. She should cry and wail and carry on. But a bit of memory came back, the one where she’d already done all that.
The rest – well – her forehead furrowed in search of recollection. Strong arms had carried her to a truck. Ah, she remembered. It had been a very handsome guy. She’d cried and talked a lot while someone drove her away from the club. She’d been helped into a house, stumbled up some stairs, and…. That was it. No more sense could be made of it all. The house was obviously this one and the person who brought her here must be an employee of the club. A stripper? Hard to imagine a stripper lived in a place as quaint and cozy as this.
She slipped out of bed and realized she wore a short, white nightgown. At the window, she could see that she was on a lovely farm, the old-timey kind that dotted Michigan’s countryside.
In a chicken coop near a vintage barn, a young woman tossed out what looked like bird seed and dozens of chickens came running, flapping their wings and clucking happily. A giant vegetable garden meandered out of sight, the rays of early morning sun forming fuzzy golden fairies atop green leaves. The young woman left the coop and went to a fence where she put one foot up on a low rail while resting her arms on the top rail to look out into a pasture full of sheep. A calico cat charged out of the barn, gracefully hopped up onto the fence, and demanded a pet from the woman, who obliged.
