Earth Child (Romance Novels of The Fae Realm) (2 page)

            “Yes, my shift starts in a couple of hours.”

            “Any plans for later?”

            I know she is hoping that I will say yes.  She doesn’t think that I have enough friends.  I’d probably have more if the girls my age were into things other besides killer jeans and
Gossip Girl
.

            “Just World History,” I reply, “I want to get it done tonight because tomorrow Sam and I are going hiking at Roaring River.”

            “You spend an awful lot of time with him.”

            “He’s my best friend mom,” more like my only friend I think to myself.

            “Have you ever considered being more than friends?  He reminds me of a young Matthew McConaughey.”

            Appalled, I looked at her with the best eew face I could muster.

            “He’s tall, handsome, considerate,” she continued.

            “No!  No way.  Not ever.  He’s Sam!”

            “That’s exactly my point.  You two already know everything about each other.  All your bad and annoying habits, what makes you tick.  Sometimes you can have a very satisfying and romantic relationship with your best friend.”

            If what Mom was suggesting was not bad enough, the mental picture of her and Dad having a satisfying relationship was disturbing.  No child adopted or not, wants to think of their parents that way.

            “No.  He’s
Sam. 
Even if, and I am talking about a
really big
if here, if we were to date it would totally screw up our friendship.  Our relationship is just fine the way things are.”

            “Well if you say so.  I still think that there is more going on than you realize.  If I were your age I would have already snatched him up.”

            “Eew Mom!  He’s Sam!”

            “So you keep telling me,” she replied with a laugh.

            By this time Dad had finished mowing the lawn and started toward us.

            “Good morning sugar,” he greeted me with a kiss to my forehead.

            “Dad!  You’re all sweaty!” I protest.

            “Well that’s what happens when you do physical labor,” he grinned, “so what are my two favorite ladies talking about?”

            “I think that Alexa should start dating,” Mom answered.

            “What’s this?  Does little Lexi have a crush?”

            “No Dad.  She wants me to date Sam.”

            “Sam?” he questions with a puzzled frown, “but – he’s Sam.”

            “Exactly!” at least Dad understands my point of view, “I got to go.  I need to stop at the library before going to work.  I’ll see you guys at dinner.”

            “Have a good day sweetheart,” Mom says with a kiss goodbye.

            “See you later sugar,” Dad says while attempting to hug me.

            “Dad!  Sweaty!”

            “Sorry Lexi.”

            I grab my bag and an apple out of the bowl on the kitchen counter and head out to my car.  I kind of have a love/hate relationship with my car.  I love that I have my own car and don’t have to rely on my parents to get around; It’s nice having that little bit of freedom.  I hate everything else about it.  I am the not so proud owner of a boat.  A giant Chevy Cordoba.  The exterior is a cracked and faded maroon.  The interior is the same.  The radio doesn’t work, but the tape player does.  Can you believe that they still make cassette tapes?  Sam thinks I should get a tape adapter for an iPod so that I can at least have music.  Yeah, I don’t have an iPod so all my CDs have been made into cassettes.

            The trunk doesn’t have a lock.  Anyone with a screwdriver and a little muscle could get into it.  I never keep anything in there anyway because it also leaks.  Southern Missouri doesn’t get enough rain so that the leaking is a big problem, just enough to make it annoying.  Sometimes the summer thunderstorms cause flash flooding.  A few years back Sam and Dad drilled holes in the floor of the trunk so the water could drain.  The passenger door doesn’t open from the inside.  Any passengers have to either roll down the window and reach for the outside handle or wait until I walk around and let them out.  Oh, and the latch to the visor is broken so if I brake too hard I get smacked in the head.  Sam thinks it’s hilarious when that happens.  It is a piece of junk, but it has four wheels and a working engine so I use it.

            I opened the door and tossed in my bag.  I was just about to slide in when I felt a tingling sensation on the back of my neck.  It felt like someone was watching me.  I turned around expecting to see my parents or an animal or something like that.  No one was there.  Everything was quiet and as it should be.  Not even the wind was blowing.  Suddenly and with a screeching yowl the neighbor’s cat came streaking through the bushes and off into the woods.  I jumped, and with a little laugh at my paranoia, got into my car and drove toward the library.

            I don’t remember much about the orphanage in Romania.  The buildings were squat and an ugly gray.  Even the ground was dull.  Everything was dirty and broken, the aftermath of so many wars.  The country is beautiful though.  I’ve looked at pictures.  Rolling meadows full of sweet grass for sheep to graze on and mountains covered in a blanket of giant evergreens.  If I ever travelled there I would want to visit the Voronet Monastery.  It was built in the fifteenth century.  Painters covered the outside walls with portraits of Christian Saints.  The picture I saw of it was amazing, but I am sure it would be more stunning in person.  The Romanian country side actually reminds me a little of my home now.

            The small town of Pineville, Missouri is probably like any other small town in Middle America.  Not a lot to do outside of school.  There is a Super Wal-Mart about 15 minutes south, and there is a McDonalds by the Wal-Mart, but that is about it.  The houses in the main part of town are small, usually just one story if they aren’t mobile homes.  Most of the city is made up of warehouses and industrial type buildings.  Of course there is a courthouse and a school and a small library.  If I didn’t have a car I would have to be bused to the nearby town of Anderson to go to High School.  As it is I drive the 13 minutes north.  Maybe the reason people don’t talk to me much is because I live on the nicer side of town.  Richard works at the University up in Pittsburg so he makes more than the average citizen of Pineville.  Our house is huge in comparison.  We also live on the outer edge of the city on Vancil Street.  The closest major city is an hour South to Fayetteville, Arkansas.  People go there for a real night out.  There are restaurants and movie theaters and real shopping malls.

            The library was just a few minutes’ drive from my house.  I pulled into the parking lot, grabbed my bag and walked the short distance to the library entrance.  I guess you could call me an über-geek.  I know the librarian by name, I come here so often.  Most of my classmates use the library at school.  Hardly anyone reads just for the pure joy of reading, unless it is
Cosmo
or
Seventeen
or
Twilight.
  The library expanded last year though, installing a row of computers and offering free internet access in one hour increments.  If anyone my age was at the library today it was likely that they were there to surf the internet without the ever watchful eyes of their parents.  Since I already knew what I wanted I quickly located my books and headed for the checkout counter.

            Miss Grantham was in her usual spot behind her desk.  Jennifer Grantham was not your stereotypical librarian.  She was young.  In her late twenties I would guess and very girl next door pretty.  With a little effort she could be extremely hot.  Everyone knew that she followed a guy from Little Rock to Fayetteville and when he broke her heart she got in the car and drove north.  She didn’t make it very far.  Her head gasket blew on the outskirts of town.  Jeffery Greene, the town’s only mechanic, towed her car to his shop and started repairs.  She didn’t leave when her car was fixed though.  Most people would have.  That’s how small Pineville is.  I think she started dating Jeffery.

            “Good morning Alexa.  Did you find everything you needed?”  She asked with a smile as she stood from her desk and walked the short distance to the counter.

            “Yes thank you Miss Grantham.  I have a reference book here.  Can I please have a copy of pages 112-147?”

            “Sure thing;  I’ll be back in just a moment.”  She took the large reference book and headed to the back room to make the copies.  The library still charged 10 cents a copy, but since the copier would always break down due to misuse, the staff moved it behind the counter.  When I say staff I mean Miss Grantham. 

            While she was busy I looked again through my stack of books.  I like to think of myself as well read.  Really, I just like to read so I usually check out 6 or 7 books at a time.  This month I have
Persuasion
, a collection of poems by Emily Dickenson as well as Robert Frost,
Wuthering Heights, Dracula
the Bram Stoker version, and because I do crave an undying love and romance despite what Mom thinks
The Notebook. 
With a sigh I looked up from my selections and glanced around the library.  As usual there weren’t many people there.  A mom with her three kids, were pulling a huge selection of children’s books off the shelves.  Well her children were pulling them off; she was frantically trying to put them back.  A few people were sitting at the row of computers.  I recognized Jason Stephenson from my History class.  He gave a half -hearted wave and held up our textbook.  At least he acknowledged my presence.

            With an answering nod – I pointed to Miss Grantham at the copier.  I had twisted around in my perusal of the library so that my back was to the main entrance at this point.  When the familiar tingle made its way across my neck, I took a deep breath and turned, expecting to see nothing like the last time.  Instead, someone was walking through the glass door.

            Whoever it was, he immediately looked out of place.  His highly polished shoes and crisp suit would have blended in better at a high-profile corporate office in someplace like Chicago or New York.  He was tall, definitely over six feet.  I would have had to look up to meet his eyes if he were standing next to me.  The tailored cut of his suit spoke of wealth and couldn’t hide the fact that he was well built, while not being overly muscled.  His skin was pale white along with his hair.  It looked like marble, and I had to wonder if it felt as smooth and cold as it looked.  Compared with his polished clothes, his hair was rugged, almost sloppy, but it worked for him.  His eyes were hidden behind a pair of dark designer sunglasses.  He was younger than I initially thought, almost my age.  It was more evident as he came closer.  With his pale skin,hair and glasses, I assumed that he was an albino and wore the glasses to protect his light sensitive eyes, common with that disorder (see, I am an über-geek or I wouldn’t have known that).  It was because of that assumption that I gave an involuntary but no less inaudible gasp of surprise when he removed his glasses to reveal the most startling blue eyes I had ever seen.  They were the clear blue of the ocean and ringed with dark sooty lashes.

            He must have heard my slight intake of breath because at that moment he turned his eyes toward me.  As soon as our gazes met I felt an immediate connection.  In fact I was somewhat surprised when sparks didn’t literally fly back and forth like when you see a static electricity demonstration.  He was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.  Now that he was close enough I could tell that the top three buttons on his shirt were open and, as he brushed his hair away from his eyes the shirt gapped to reveal a glimpse of a tribal like tattoo over his heart.  The markings only added to his beauty.

            He boldly returned my stare, never breaking eye contact as he continued to walk toward the checkout counter.  The electric intensity of his presence only intensified as he stopped less than a foot away from me.  He was close enough to touch and my fingers ached to feel his alabaster skin.  My arm actually started to rise of its own accord.  Trying to cover it up I did a short little wave like I was greeting an acquaintance instead of a complete stranger.  He smiled at me then.  A sultry half smile like he knew I was struggling to keep my hands off of him, and something deep within me began to kindle as heat and awareness spread throughout my limbs.  On some level of my subconscious I felt like I recognized him.

            “Good morning,” he said to me in a deeply masculine voice.  He had the kind of voice that was so rich and luxurious that he could read technical instruction manuals out loud and make them sound sexy.  I couldn’t trust myself to say anything that resembled a greeting.  With my luck it would sound like a toddler’s mumbled
hewo
.  After a few minutes I did manage to squeak out a hello, followed by what I was sure to be a most unattractive shade of red blossoming across my cheeks.

            His grin widened and just when I was afraid I would really have to speak to him, Miss Grantham returned.

            “Here you go Alexa.  It will be $3.50 for the copies, and the latest Southern Vampire series came in a few days ago.  I have the copy you reserved for you as well,” she said handing me the copies and adding the book to my pile.

            “Thank you,” I managed to whisper.

            Long graceful fingers reached out and picked up the novel by Charlaine Harris, “Do you like vampires, or just vampire books?” the stranger asked me.

            “Well, I like all kinds of books.”

            “But I think you especially like vampire books,” he remarked as he moved to pick up
Dracula
as well. 

            His arm brushed across mine as he was reaching.  He smelled like the outdoors, earthy green and fresh all at the same time.  I found myself taking a deep breath before answering his question.

            “Not all vampire books are the same.  Some are better than others.  In this one, I like the story of the hometown girl who felt like an outsider,” I pointed to the Harris novel and then pointed to the Stoker one in his other hand, “in this one I like that despite how Dracula is portrayed as a monster, a creation of evil, Mina still sees him for someone who just wants to be loved.”