Page 11 of Connected
“Are they homophobes too?”
“Nah, they don’t care who I sleep with. But you know how I said some of my money was stolen? Well, they did that. Hell, I didn’t even want to be an actor—that was all Mom’s idea. But she funneled away most of my earnings, and Dad and his third wife got their claws on most of the rest, and they were all a bunchof narcissistic drunks who didn’t give a shit about me anyway, and….” He gave a wry smile. “Hooray for loving families, huh?”
“Booyah.”
“You know the stupid thing? Every now and then I do hear from dear old Dad, and he’s always got some kind of sob story, and I always write him a check even though I live pretty close to the bone nowadays. Then he goes away for a while. Why do I keep writing the damn checks?”
Probably for the same reason that Owen was going to get in touch with his brother before leaving town. Sometimes family was a fishhook that got into your skin, and leaving it there was less painful than tearing it out.
Time to change the subject. “So now you make a living renting out a room?”
“Sort of. As you might have guessed, Copper Springs isn’t exactly a tourism hot spot. It brings some income, though.”
“Especially when you price-gouge your guests.”
Gale gave a surprised laugh. “Was that a joke, Agent Clark?”
“Owen. I’m off duty.”
“I did kind of overcharge. I’ll refund half.”
“Don’t bother. The Bureau can afford it. Besides, you gave me dinner and a tornado shelter.”
“Speaking of which….” Gale glanced at his phone. “Looks as if the warning has expired. We can go back upstairs without worrying about being carried away to Oz.” He stood.
“Youarea Gale.”
“That’s true, but call me Keaton. Come on. I have ice cream in the freezer.”
CHAPTER 5
Although Keaton woke up earlier than usual, when he glanced out the window, Owen’s car was already gone. He was probably in a hurry to finish his assignment and get the hell out of Copper Springs. Under the circumstances, Keaton couldn’t blame him.
The storm hadn’t done any damage to the house, which was lucky. A few years earlier, hail had taken out part of the roof. Today there were some fallen branches and leaves in the backyard, together with an assortment of small debris that had collected in the narrow area between the rental unit and a stone wall that ran along the back of the property. Keaton spent a couple of hours cleaning everything up, then took a long shower.
He tried not to think too much about his guest, but he couldn’t help it. Owen was interesting, and not just because Keaton was lonely. When Owen had first appeared, his whirling storm of negative emotions had hit Keaton like a tornado. Once they’d spent some time together, however, and Owen had relaxed a bit, Keaton had realized that the tornado was only on the surface. At Owen’s core were the same feelings that Keaton had sensed in him over twenty years earlier. Sorrow and loneliness, but also fierce determination, loyalty, and a richsense of wonder. Time and circumstances had built a hard shell but hadn’t destroyed the essence of a good, if vulnerable, man.
And Owen was attracted to him. Which hadn’t been a surprise when Keaton was in his twenties—hell, he’d pretty much taken it for granted back then—but nowadays it was intriguing and pretty damn gratifying.
But none of that mattered, because Owen was here on a mission and tomorrow he’d be gone.
Keaton’s original plan for the day had been to continue stripping the old wallpaper in the larger parlor, a task that was partly finished. His long-term goal was to upgrade the wiring, repair the lath and plaster as well as the wood trim and floor, and install a nice tile surround for the fireplace. With the room’s high ceilings and front bay window, it would be a really nice space. Someday.
He found that he wasn’t in the mood to get dusty again, so instead he made some almond peach muffins. Like much of the rest of the world, he’d picked up some baking skills during the pandemic, although it rarely seemed worth the effort to bake just for himself. He could freeze some, he figured, and give Owen a couple for tomorrow’s breakfast.
He’d just taken them out of the oven when he heard a car pull up in front. He felt Owen right away: exhaustion, annoyance, and disappointment. A few moments later, the sensation dimmed when Owen entered the guest house.
Then… Keaton dithered. He knew he should leave Owen alone. The guy had signed up for a place to sleep for a few nights, not a pushy host. On the other hand, he hadn’t seemed to mind Keaton’s company yesterday. Even after they’d emerged from the basement, he’d spent another hour with Keaton in the kitchen, eating ice cream and then popcorn as they chatted. Owen had told a few stories from the Bureau—amusing ones, not gory or tragic—and Keaton had filled him in on some ofthe things that had happened in Copper Springs over the past number of years.
After fifteen minutes of pacing and calling himself an idiot, Keaton marched next door and knocked.
Owen wore dress slacks and a white button-up shirt, both of which looked considerably worse for wear. He huffed a laugh when Keaton’s eyebrows rose. “Not the wisest outfit for tromping around a coal tipple,” Owen said.
“You can use my washer if you want, but you’re going to need a dry cleaner for those pants.”
“Fuck it.” Owen waved a hand. “I’ll deal with it in LA.”
Keaton nodded and cautiously opened himself a little more to Owen’s emotions. Ah. The guy was hungry. “Did you have lunch? There are a couple decent places in town.”
